Creature Comforts

Alpine winds, rocky soil, and discovery of Vermont’s rugged soul

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This week’s edition of Next Adventure kicks off a two-part series exploring history and hunting in Vermont.

[Read Part II by Clicking Here]

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Hunting & Trapping Grounds

The Green Mountain State (aka Vermont) became the fourteenth state in 1791. Back then, it was considered a thoroughfare and hunting & trapping grounds. As a result of a longstanding boundary dispute between New Hampshire, New York, and Massachusetts, Vermont came to be.

Lake Champlain is Vermont’s most notable landmark, a natural border between the Green Mountain State and New York. This 435 square-mile lake is 400 feet at its deepest and 12 miles at its widest. Following Jacques Cartier’s footsteps, Samuel de Champlain mapped the Saint Lawrence River and its surrounding geographies in 1603 as a passenger on his uncle’s fur trading expedition up the waterway. Champlain, with the help of native populations and their birch bark canoes¹, eventually ventured up the Richelieu, making his way to this lake in 1609.

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Present-day Vermont was originally part of the disputed area west of the Connecticut River and east of Lake Champlain. The New Hampshire Grants were land parcels covering this area, actively sold by New Hampshire while simultaneously sold by New York in the form of patents. Some settlers wanted to farm the land, while others tried to sell it, resulting in a confusing series of disputes that ended in the formation of the Green Mountain Boys and ultimately culminated in the Revolutionary War.

The area I’m hunting today is land that was once a New Hampshire holding. Up high on the ridges, between 2,500 and 4,000 feet, where I typically chase bucks, the ground underfoot is rocky, wet, and undulating—prime territory for twisting an ankle or bruising a tailbone.

The deer hunter habitually watches the next bend; the duck hunter watches the skyline; the bird hunter watches the dog; the non-hunter does not watch.

- Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac, 1949

I’m walking south, with my face to the wind, following a whitetail buck, leaving a hoof print that keeps my heart racing to such a degree that I remain warm despite the frigid temperature. This particular buck is starting to play games with me. What I mean by that is he knows I’m hunting him (or at least something is following him) and wants to lose me.

We’re meandering over classic Appalachian terrain. We walk on ancient logging roads for brief periods, where the ground is soft, forgiving, and gradual. Most of the time, however, we go up and down steep forested ridges. Ridges define this area; if you examine a detailed topographic map, it becomes abundantly clear that this part of the state is a maze of ridges. High-level topos and relief maps may lead you to believe that the chain of mountains that span the state, from South to North, are the only hilly sections. In reality, hills, mountains, and ridges cover the region.

Daniel Leavens Cady’s poem “The Hills of Old Vermont” conveys the undulating character of this region:

They say Vermont if rolled out flat would equal Illinois in size; but primaries then would cost so much the rich might win and not the wise…

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An Ogre’s Hand

When I look up at the mountain I’m ascending, I don’t just see trees growing out of the ground; I see trees growing at impossibly steep angles, some even sprouting without soil. The yellow birch tree has an uncanny ability to take root on bare ground or even rock, resulting in a root system that looks like an ogre’s hand grabbing a boulder.

The sprawling crown of a yellow birch tree.

These trees are also adept at taking hold after fire and other disturbances. Vermont has had its share of forest fires, but a hurricane in 1938 devastated many of the trees in the state, adversely impacting an economy that still relied heavily on its agricultural and forestry base. Evidence of this event is present today and takes the form of mounds and holes left by trees tipped over in the unprecedented winds.

I’m looking at rocks and boulders, downed trees, moss, and various forms of water: streams, vernal pools, and springs. Charles Edward Crane explained the formula for Vermont in an aquatic context: “Take 9,564 square miles of mostly mountain land, cover 430 square miles of it with water, and, presto! there’s Vermont!.”

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Rocks & Peaks

Vermont lies at the southern end of the Canadian Shield, a massive rock crust that covers about half of Canada. When the Laurentian ice sheet receded about eight thousand years ago, the boulders and debris it contained carved the formations we see in today’s landscape across most of northeastern North America.² Mountains, hills, lakes, streams, ponds, and rivers were all created. Fluvial dynamics continue redefining the regions’ topography, often exposing new rocks pushed upward from the ground due to the seasonal frost/thaw cycle.

A Vermont mountain ridge.

Above 3,000’, more rock is visible, the balance between coniferous and deciduous trees starts to be dominated by the former, and your exposure to wind increases. This alpine zone runs north-south throughout the entire state and is part of the northern section of the Appalachian Mountain Range, the highest peaks with elevations in the 4,000’ range. Mountain summits are exposed and windblown, containing only vegetation that can grip the metamorphic rock it sits upon; in this case, stunted conifers and a few other delicate alpine plant species.

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The Impatience of Quiet Snow

The temperature was cold enough for snow to form but warm enough for the ground to be soft and quiet. I lucked out with these conditions.

During another hunt in the Green Mountains, with substantially more snow, I succumbed to crawling for short stretches to dampen my comically thunderous footsteps. An icy layer of crust formed on top of ten inches of fluffy snow, and even the deer responded to the conditions by taking quick, incremental steps in spurts to minimize the potential for detection.

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If there had been more snow that morning, I probably wouldn’t have made it up the Forest Service road since these dirt roads don’t get plowed. This morning, I was scanning the snow-coated road for deer tracks while driving: a freshly made print from earlier that morning would enable me to avoid wandering the woods to discover deer sign. Creeping along at 10 miles per hour, I was getting antsy. The radio was off. I had just finished the crinkly package of King Size Twizzlers stashed in my center console, and the sun was rising.

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[Read Part II by Clicking Here]

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1. For an excellent history of the birch bark canoe, I recommend John McPhee’s book, “The Survival of the Birch Bark Canoe.”

2. The Eastern Alpine Guide examines this process in detail and will also give you ideas for places to explore in the alpine regions of eastern North America.