Dan Szczesny chronicles his adventures in New Hampshire’s White Mountains.
In 1869, a prominent Manchester lawyer by the name of William Little – a well read man with an office right on Elm Street and a deep interest in meteorology – found himself in the position of being able to make a deep and historic contribution to Mount Washington history. Though he didn’t know it at the time. READ MORE
“But something went terribly wrong. Peppersass had made it just passed the ladder when the old girl huffed her last breath. A tooth snapped perhaps, a gear bolt jumped the track and when she came down, there was nothing but the gravity between the men crowded into the contraption and the base camp one mile down. Peppersass had only one brake system and try as they might, the engineer – an aptly named big man named Jack Frost – could not slow her down. So they jumped, all of them, except Daniel Rossiter.” READ MORE
For one glorious week – full of sun, wind, rain, snow, sleet and wonder – I lived in the highest place in New England, atop Mt. Washington at the Mount Washington Observatory. I researched, interviewed weather observers and hikers, spent afternoons in the sun or the ice and I took notes for my upcoming book, The White Mountain. Here are some of my notes from my first day there, with accompanying photos. READ MORE
Manchester author Dan Szczesny is living at the Mount Washington Observatory for a week researching how the place works, talking to meteorologists, and experiencing the weather, all research for a book he’s working on about New Hampshire’s White Mountains. READ MORE
I don’t know if Weagle heard this back in 1951 – or if he read Whitman, or poetry, at all. I don’t know. But yesterday, sitting in my bed, I played that recording on my smart phone; from wax to micro chip with 125 years of space between us. And behind the haunting crackle and fuzz of that early marvel of sound engineering, there he was – that old man with the long, thick beard, the elder statesmen of American letters. Like a ghost. I listened again and again until I memorized each skip and pop, Whitman’s voice – the slight affectation to his words, like a Long Island lisp, emerging from another century, giving me chills. READ MORE