Before we get into rooty, peaty territory this week, let’s talk about what’s happening in Vermont right now. Torrential rain and flooding has devastated the state. Roads are destroyed, buildings have been swept away by the floodwaters, and many Vermont residents have suddenly found themselves among the rising crowd of unhoused people in the Green Mountain State. (And that number was rising before the rain arrived.) A federal major disaster declaration has been made, and six Vermont counties are included in its scope. I was working in the White Mountains for the Appalachian Mountain Club in 2011 when Hurricane Irene pulverized the north country, and as shocking as the damages were back then, this flood disaster is on a completely different level.
Because we live in a country with a threadbare safety net—a reality that we could always decide to change—mutual aid is going to be a crucial pillar of Vermont’s recovery, which will take years. And to that effect, if you’re able, you can donate to regional mutual aid networks by going here.
Flooding has battered many of Vermont’s trails as well, and for the foreseeable future, any trip to Vermont to hike is going to require extra research and flexibility, as trails and access roads are closed and rehabbed. (Again, we’re talking years: not weeks or months.) So you might need to squirrel part of this week’s multi-regional newsletter away. But as summer temperatures grow more infernal, exacerbated by that goddamn dew point, I thought now would be a good time to talk about a special kind of swimming hole that some of you might want to take advantage of this summer—a swimming hole that requires some bucolic huffing and puffing up front.
The other week, I was mopping the sweat from my face while doing something that requires almost no physical labor—typing up the recent Pitttsburgh newsletter, I think—and it occurred to me that freshwater fish are somewhat protected from the seasonal swelter. While the rest of us seek shelter from the broiling sun and wring out our shirts, New England’s fish are just cruising around in their waters. (Maybe evolution was a mistake!) Wherever you go in New England, it’s a good bet that you’re within a mile or two of a veritable fish sanctuary. And some of the most pristine and inviting fish venues happen to be located above tree line, on our mountaintops.