What's with all the devil hikes in New Hampshire?
What's with all the devil hikes in New Hampshire?
Seriously
Let me just say something from the top. I really like New Hampshire. Too often, the state is inaccurately maligned by outsiders—including New Englanders—as a stony backwater of right wing anxiety: as the “Live Free or Die” state. You can certainly find that in parts of New Hampshire (see this bonkers story about a town that was invaded by bears after disbanding its local government) but the truth is that the Granite State is a crossroads at which you’ll meet many denizens of the northeast. Maybe they’ve come here to clomp around the White Mountains or tube the Saco River. Perhaps they’ve heard of the exquisite European ales at Schilling. They may be packing tickets for a Fisher Cats game in Manchester, or binoculars for “Moose Alley” up in the Great North Woods, in hope of their first moose sighting. All of which is a way of saying it’s time to stop being snooty about New Hampshire. (Especially if you’re throwing stones from Vermont: there’s nothing utopian or progressive about Vermont’s land prices)
But there is something uniquely weird about New Hampshire that I’d like to talk about today: specifically, a resident of the state who seems liable to spring up from behind every boulder or horsetail cascade. His breath sweeps through the spruce boughs overhead when you’re out in the woods alone. Legend has it that he keeps several homes in the woods of New Hampshire, which are visited at your own mortal risk.
I’m talking about The Devil.