"DON'T BE A FOOL. Come hike to a trailless New Hampshire peak with no views. Bring your boots and take home some scratches. Distance 11 miles. Moderate pace." invited the Wilderness Matters, newspaper write-up. By Wednesday night, seven people had signed up to go along on this three peak hike. By Friday night, the numbers had been whittled back to four. Now, that was not many, considering that the leader and co-leader were both included in that number. It also allowed me to make some changes, adding Scaur Peak and removing Middle Tripyramid from our destination list.

Ginny S. was co-leader on this AMC published trip. Bill D., with whom I had hiked many times, had expressed interest last month when we had done Mount Clough. That left only one other new participant; one whom had had little bushwhacking experience. Despite her minimal bushwhack background, I was confident that she would have no problem completing the distance. As for actually enjoying the part about being off the trail, following the compass, collecting skin scrapes and battle badges, well that was another matter. Susan H. was well aware of the "off trail" aspect. She just was not too sure how much she would enjoy it. This hike was a good place on which to learn.

The time read 7:15 a.m., as I drove into the Sabbaday Falls parking area right behind Ginny. We were the first two vehicles to arrive on this warm, weekend day. At 7:30, in drove Bill D. After he had readied his gear, we drove his truck and mine down the highway one mile, and spotted his at the Pine Bend Brook Trail. Returning on foot, via the pavement for one mile after our long hike, was something I knew none of us had any interest. Bill and I returned to the Sabbaday Falls parking area within minutes. Soon afterwards, in motored Susan. We all applied bug spray and were on the trail at 7:55, five minutes ahead of my expected start time.

Ginny's SUV had two other passengers, her son and a friend of his. Although they started the hike along with us, they were not officially part of our group. Their destination was only one of those peaks above us, Middle Tripyramid. Within one mile, we had parted ways; they pushed ahead of our moderate pace, having no interest in a bushwhack and leaving the comfort of the trail.

Somewhere along the way, I asked Bill to check the temperature. It was sixty, but with the humidity and exercise of toting the pack, it felt much warmer. I just lamented for those winter months on the trail. During THOSE months, there were NO bugs, NO sloppy humidity, MUCH less heat, and FAR fewer people. The snow covered ground was also much easier on the legs. Oh, how I remembered and longed for those comfortable winter months, dreaming of that SKOOSH, SKOOSH sound of the friendly snowshoes. The dryness of the . . I snapped myself back to reality. Today, there was no snow. Instead, all the moisture was in the air, taking on the form of mugginess. Yuk!

By the 1800 foot elevation, a trickling brook made for a small break in the trees. A scant view opened and there was our first destination, the Fool Killer. I had no intent on allowing it to make a fool out of me.

The trail twisted and turned 180 degrees from its starting direction. Now, it pointed towards a zero bearing as it began to climb more sharply. This was our first indicator; we were getting close. Up we went, till just above 3000 feet. The trail hooked sharply left and I knew this was the place where we were to trade the worn path for the scruffy woods. Of course, bodily fuel came first. So, sandwiches and what ever nibblings, were opened and eaten before we climbed through the brush and crossed the brook. Our bearing showed 90 degrees and the ground pointed us UP! With the severity of this incline, I was glad that it was not the temperature that showed 90 degrees. Thirty minutes, several deadfall clambers, and a few blood letting scratches later brought us to the more level and scrubless ridgeline. A five minute traipse through the open woods dropped us precisely at the register. This was a bottle without a top, as if it was a mouth opened to the rain. All items inside were soaked, regardless of the plastic bag wrapping. The register's wet paper was real difficult on which to write. So, I didn't. One peak was complete with one left, well at least one that counted.

Only one hour after our last sandwich break, we were back on the trail having more. We had enjoyed a fairly quick downward jaunt. Now, the real climbing began. We had to follow the trail over the summit of North Tripyramid at a 4180 elevation. Presently, we were still just over the 3000 foot mark. With the packs back on, up we went over the sometimes loose footing of the trail. Without resting at the Mt. Tripyramid trail junction, we pushed onward to the summit. At this peak, we rested, enjoyed eye dazzling views and took our third sandwich break. The hard part was now behind us. To get to the top of Scaur Peak, we actually had to climb down the trail, down more than 500 feet. As the trail's ground dropped away from our feet, Scaur peak lay in our sights. There it was! Along the ridgeline we continued, keeping just one step ahead of the ensuing bugs. We were unaware that they were right in our wake, stealthily tracking us like a famished dogs.

Shortly, after we passed the Scaur trail junction, I checked the altimeter and the compass. Ahhh! We were there at last, right at the point where our bushwhack was to start. I dropped my pack and, . . . attempted to fold up my hiking stick. Instead, I became instant food. All four of us did. The mosquitoes and black flies descended on us as if the dinner bugle had blown. Those bloodthirsty pests were ferocious, absolutely brutal! They were fierce and amassed with a ravenous desire! It was we that they were after! I did more swatting than putting away of my stick. With triple speed, I was ready. The others, having already abandoned me, had left my body as a sacrifice. I was bait! With no intent on giving my body for chow time, my feet proceeded with reflex action. They carried me quickly, running down the . . . trail? Yes, there was a trail of sorts. It was a herd path, probably made by the local moose inhabitance. This herd path crossed the Pine Bend Brook trail in both directions, creating a four way intersection. However, with no moose having submitted their official trail to the map makers, my map showed no such path. Following the compass, I put some stock in the belief that this herd path might stay on our bearing all the way onto Scaur Peak. Carefully watching our bearing, we followed along this well-used stretch. With minimal obstructions, it led to the top and beyond. Fifteen minutes after leaving the official trail, we located the cairn on the bulbous hump of a peak. On the map, the summit was an unmistakable protrusion. On the ground, we found no register, just the rocks. Pictures froze the moment, etching them into one more trail story.

This time, our round trip only took us thirty-five minutes. Thank goodness for the moose trail system. The long Pine Bend Brook trail, we followed all the way back to our spotted car, Bill's truck. Once again, I detected that those unscrupulous trail gremlins had been hard at work lengthening the last, flat stretch of trail. Never-the-less, we were down to the Kancamagus Highway by 3:40 p.m. Oh, what a day! We had hit two peaks and did not sign one register, but we had the bite marks to prove that we had been there.