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#151003 Peabody River 3

I have traveled the trail into the Great Gulf Wilderness many times, walking along and crossing the picturesque Peabody River, which emerges from the Great Gulf, a deep and long glacial cirque of the Presidential Range.

This day, wearing my photo backpack full of gear, I spent a leisurely afternoon strolling the path, listening to the gentle river sounds of the Peabody. The sun streamed through the trees, lighting up the soft orange, yellows and reds of fall, amongst the dark green conifers, with splotches of bright blue sky at the tree tops. A beautiful contrast of colors and textures. Red squirrels scrambled by, as the sound of a blue jay’s “cheeee”, broke the soft silence of the rambling river.

I eventually left the narrowness of the soft trampled path, striking through the woods, occasionally getting poked in the face by an errant branch (ouch!..marks to show later), as I ducked and weaved my way out to the river. I finally broke through the forest, scrambling down a steep embankment to the rivers edge. The Peabody at this point is more of a stream, than a true ‘river’, as it is fairly shallow and narrow, with a quick flow amongst giant boulders, and occasional deep clear pools, of amber and juniper.

I walked upstream, admiring the emerald-green mossy banks, climbing over said boulders, stepping in unavoidable shallow pools, and occasionally scrambling up another embankment to bypass the unnavigable sections. I turned a bend in the river, to discover these series of pools, and narrow flows, deciding this is where I will wait for sunset. I removed my backpack of camera equipment, and spent some time walking around sans camera, seeking out the best compositions.

After analyzing the area, and noticing the best scenes faced north and south, I concluded I would need a strong wide sunset to give the color I hoped for in the flowing water. After settling on some strong image ideas, I found a nice sloping patch of mossy earth, and reclined in a filtered sunny spot…aaaahhhh:). I sat there enjoying the beauty of the woods and stream surrounding me, as a blue heron approached from downstream, navigating the rivers path. I watched it fly over, hearing the “whoop whoop whoop” of it’s long wide wing stroke, as it passed just above me. Enjoying the sounds of the river, I drifted off for a late afternoon nap (for those of you that know me, will recognize this photo sequence;).

My light slumber was eventually interrupted by the cooling temperature, and shadows of the setting sun, indicating it was time to focus on my work. As the light waned, I scrambled back and forth amongst my determined compositions, shooting the soft early evening light. Even though the scene was still truly magical, all the while, I was hoping for a dramatic sunset. Alas, the last of the light came to a close, with some mild vermillion hues to the west, but not enough to enhance the scene in front of me. Satisfied that I still had come away with something very nice, I repacked my bag, slung my tripod over my shoulder, and scrambled back up the embankment before the light was entirely gone. In near darkness, I walked the path in silence back to my car. A wonderful evening:)!

 

The last time I mucked around this stream deep in a ravine, was 7 years ago. At the time, it was a drier summer and the moss wasn’t nearly as vibrant. I’ve been meaning to get back to it ever since, and this summer has been so cool and wet, the moss everywhere is truly electric this year.

The most important thing with photographing streams, is to make sure you are shooting on a cloudy day with no direct sun. The highlights off the water are simply too bright in contrast to the dark shadows, so something has to suffer. I don’t get much time off from my gallery in the summer months, and have been looking for one of those cloudy days to fall on my day off. I know, most people would be glad to get nothing but sunshine on their days off, and I too revel in swimming the sunny rivers on those days. But I was getting frustrated after 5 weeks of it not happening, knowing there may not be a better opportunity for years. So recently, I decided to drive to this location after work instead, and hike the 2.5 miles to this location. My plan was to arrive late enough in the evening, to shoot the stream after the sun had set beyond the height of the steep ravine, eliminating the contrasting light, but before it got dark.

I made a few mistakes that day though. First, I biked up Bear Notch in the morning. Then I ate an early lunch, and in my haste packing, I forgot to add an afternoon snack. Next, with map and compass always on hand, and my familiarity with terrain, I cursorily looked at the map before starting. I also planned on using my cup to drink water from the streams as I went, and forego my water bottle. Lastly, and most importantly, I forgot to safety text my plan to my best friend in case something happened. Well, I realized three of these things when I got out of the car at the trail head, but was so intent on getting the shot, I decided to go anyway. After all, I’ve been doing this for years and would be extra cautious.

But I didn’t look at the map closely, and misjudged my water availability, so I didn’t get very far before I began to get thirsty and hungry, my stomach growling. I also realized a 1/2 mile in, coming upon a trail sign, I had miscalculated the distance. My 3.8 miles RT, would now be 5. Not a big deal on most days, but already having biked a vigorous uphill in the morning, and with no food or water, I could feel my pace slowing. The struggle was real, but I’ve pushed through far worse in my life, so plodded on. After a good hour+ of uphill hiking with all my gear, not seeing a single hiker this late in the evening, parched, hungry, and beginning to bonk, I came across the brook I had been seeking. I drank long and deep from it’s clear cold waters, fully satiating my thirst. I surveyed the situation, and it was just as green and mossy as I imagined.

With the deep wood evening light already waning, I gently climbed down off the trail into the brook bed, scouting compositions as I went. After some time, I settled on my first composition, placing my tripod mid stream, straddling slick rocks, and took a few photos. It was so beautiful, the rich emerald green contrasting with deep black rock, and a crystal clear water flow. I wanted to spend hours going up and down the stream. But being so deep in the ravine, the light was already fading fast. It was super slippery too (A mossy brook bed, shocking I know), even with my Limmer boots on.

I looked downstream, and as I crept further on, my situation came to mind: The air was cool and damp, in the 50’s, and supposed to drop into the low 40’s in the mountains (perfect hypothermia weather), I had not seen a single hiker, was now off trail, no one knew I was here, and it would be dark soon. I wanted to continue on, and didn’t relish the thought of trying to duplicate this effort another day, but being hungry and tired, if I slipped and got hurt, even with all my gear, I knew I could quickly be in deep trouble. This is just the thing you read about in the paper the next day, and I wasn’t about to push my luck any further.

I backed off, crawled back up the embankment onto the trail, and repacked my gear for the hike down. As I walked back down the trail, I could hear a pair of wood thrush singing sweet songs to each other. Night closed in about half way down, and I pulled off my pack to retrieve my headlamp for the rest of the way. At least I remembered that important item. Well, I will be back again with more images from this magical spot soon, but you can bet I will have water, food, and a quick safety text before leaving. Until next time:)….This is the image from my second trip, with more time and proper planning.