By Marty Basch

Less than 36 hours after they re-opened the woods following capricious Tropical Storm Irene, Jan Duprey and I were in the White Mountain National Forest with Mount Cabot in our sights. Having not seen any trail, trailhead or road closures on the Forest's website pertinent to our 9.6-mile hike due to the storm, we pointed the pick-up truck to the northernmost section of it.

The large and unwieldy 4,170-foot mountain is the main peak in the remote Pilot Range, its wide and wooded summit home to a sliver of views. Near it is a small cabin operated by Boy Scouts in Jefferson. By the cabin is a composting toilet with a sign actually encouraging hikers to do number one in the woods, and number two in the outhouse.

Up There

North of Berlin, the trailhead is reached on a winding back road before crossing an opened gate allowing entry to the Berlin Fish Hatchery. From there it's another few miles on both pavement and dirt to the trailhead across from a fenced area with containers for fish. The gate is sometimes closed, so it's best to call the hatchery at 449-3412 to be sure (which I did).

The area was once a spot favored by mountain bikers during the infancy of White Mountain mountain biking. Riders would do a loop incorporating York Pond and Bog Dam Roads. Though the circuit is still there, mountain biking has thankfully progressed to single track and beyond.

With boots firmly on dirt, there was a tad of trepidation going into the woods so soon after Irene's wrath, but research was done both online and over the phone. The message was simple: Be prepared for water higher than normal and blow-downs.

No problem. We could always turn back.

Wet and Wild

But that wasn't necessary as downed trees were minimal. Portions of the way were wet and muddy. In addition, about 30 yards contained a stretch of trail where the pathway and Bunnell Brook that ran alongside it merged as one. But it was easily navigable.

Plodding up the mountain from the east, we used the York Pond, Bunnell Notch, Kilkenny Ridge and Mt. Cabot Trails providing us with a generally moderate grade that slabbed up the mountain. All the plank bridges were intact along the way, as were the stone steps built by grizzled hands.

For Jan, it was her first trip up the North Country peak, while for me, it was the first time without snow. I had climbed Cabot in April of 2009, snow still on the trails, and had come across a moose in the snow suffering from moose tick, bloody blotches on its coat. This time, we saw only moose prints but came across a few drumming partridges and one lone hiker.

Morning dew soaked our boots as we piloted through the narrow path at the beginning rimmed by large overgrown brush giving glimpses of Cabot up ahead. There are several simple brook crossings at the onset before the Bunnell Notch Trail leaves a former logging road for a lovely secluded brookside notch with many fern-filled patches. Bunnell Brook was rushing with a fervor I suspect hadn't been seen by many this time of year. Though largely dense with forest, there were occasional looks out to minor peaks on Terrace and Weeks mountains. The ascent went from muddy rocks and roots to larger stones before reaching a side path to Bunnell Rock, a sun-drenched ledge with rounded hefty peaks of Bunnell Notch to see.

Vacancy

Soon enough, we found the cabin, a nice resting and view-spotting locale before tackling the final swell to the wooded summit. Behind the cabin is a site where a fire tower once stood with a look over to Maine. The tower was built in 1911 and manned until 1949. Over time it fell into disuse and had a rather captivating end. It was blown up as part of an Army training exercise in 1965.

For the descent, hiking poles helped make it rather painless and we took advantage of another peek out at Bunnell Rock. About the only diversion we took was during the final mile when we finally noticed the multitude of blueberries, raspberries and black raspberries along the Bunnell Notch Trail on the old logging road. We took the time to do some picking and filled a plastic bag after bagging a sweet North Country peak