DFPer Chris Desir climbing with the Dartmouth Mountaineering Club. Photograph courtesy of DMC.
12:14, not 12:15, but 12:14. That’s when John Joline, a Dartmouth alumnus and enigmatic mainstay of the Dartmouth Mountaineering Club, suggested we meet to catch the free shuttle to the Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center. “Does the bus have a bike rack?” I asked in my confirmation blitz, and luckily, it did. So I pack my bag with my climbing shoes and chalk, a water bottle, and some pre-made sandwiches from the Hop—the essentials. I walk down the staircase of Maxwell only to find my beloved bicycle stolen. My initial wave of panic-tinged rage subsides as I realize I left my bike chained to a fence outside of the Hop the previous morning. I retrieve my most prized possession from its burglar proof moor and find a seat in front of the Dartmouth bookstore, waiting for John, and the shuttle, to arrive.
I spot John walking down the street. His signature outdoor attire, free-to-be white hair, and oversized glasses are unmistakable among the Main Street mix of chic Dartmouth students rushing to class and Hanover working folk in their business attire. I tell him my “stolen” bike story and he is easily able to relate; he says he too often misplaces his bicycle. As we wait for the bus, John, in his unusual and effortlessly eloquent English, begins telling me about “new” (he made sure to note that although they were new to us, they had been there for thousands of years) boulders we hoped to climb before the sunset. Given that it is 12:14 on a mid-November day in New Hampshire, we have to hurry. On the ride over, John’s emphatic talk about the beautiful, sculpture-esque objects in the woods draws a few strange looks. One man’s curious glance seems to say, “These guys are talking about rocks!?” Yup. Rocks. And we were excited.
The bus ride is short. We get off at the hospital stop and retrieve our man-powered vehicles from the front rack of the petroleum-powered behemoth and set off for the nearby trailhead. On the brief ride over, we share our mutual amazement at the seemingly endless number of boulders in this part of the world.
The woods surrounding Dartmouth are no exception, and John recounts the countless hours he has spent hiking, bushwhacking, and even snowshoeing through the area in search of, among other things, the most climbable and aesthetically interesting rocks. We use John’s lock to secure our bikes to a tree near the outcrops, and he tells me his lock combination in case I need to leave before he is ready. We plan to hike to what John calls the “UFO” boulder first. Next, we’ll head to the nearby “Stamina Wall,” and finally we’ll end at the “Tip Top” boulder, so named for the disintegrating Tip Top Bakery truck permanently parked nearby—a vestige of the now overgrown road that circumvents the Hanover forest. I had never seen the Tip Top boulder before and its hidden novelty sounds particularly exciting. John goes on to describe other difficult and interesting boulder problems that might satisfy my desire to climb—at least for the day.
We make the short, easy hike to the “UFO” boulder—a 15 foot high, 70 foot long granite beauty— and John shows me his hidden stash of brushes and other tools that he uses to clean lichen and excess climbing chalk from the outcrop. We clean and prepare the boulder for about ten minutes before we begin climbing. John, who is a strong climber for any age, knows every hand and foothold on the rock, and it shows. We traverse back and on forth on a formidable crag for some undefined period of time (neither of us had a timepiece) and sit down to change from our climbing shoes into our walking shoes.
“What’s your major?” he asks during the interim between boulders. “Philosophy,” I answer, which changes the nature of the conversation for the rest of the outing. In between boulders, we talk about our favorite philosophical ideas and traditions. We touch on subjectivity, enlightenment, and the ineffable quality of experience, all before we even get to the Stamina wall. By the time we reach the Tip Top boulder, we’ve covered—in as much depth as a couple hours in the woods will allow—thousands of years of philosophical and spiritual thought. We arrive at the Tip Top boulder and return to the business of cleaning and climbing.
The easier of the two most obvious problems on the 16-foot high, slightly overhung, pure granite boulder stumps me. I fall a few feet from the top three times. We don’t have a crash pad (think of a portable gymnastics pad), but the ground is soft and almost flat—a boulderer’s dream landing. John gives me some helpful tips as to the easiest way up the boulder, but I am unwilling to commit to a high, sketchy heel-hook near the top of the rock that would have me a hanging inverted 10 feet above the ground. Exhausted and running out of light, I resolve to come back later with a crash pad, to give it another try. John draws me detailed map, and we set off into the fast approaching darkness for our bikes.
We hike through the dimly lit trails. John leads and I can barely see the ground as he calmly guides us back to the main trial, politely refusing the headlamp I offer him. “I like to use it as a last resort,” he says, and “I have one in my back-pack.”
John comments on the “bittersweet” sound of cars getting louder as we reach the road. “It’s nice to be able to share this with someone who appreciates it,” he says, and I thank him for the tour. We ride off in different directions and I lament at the darkness; John gave me directions to many more boulders that I now want to visit, but I can barely see the road in front of me—not to mention my bleeding hands and aching muscles. Fortunately, the relatively small area of woods around us has the potential to supply enough boulder problems to occupy a lifetime, and (just in case I get bored) the thoughts running through my head—the aftermath of our free-wheeling philosophical discussion—could occupy a few more.
