Where There's Smoke: Chapter One
A Father and Daughter On The Trail To NH's Fire Towers
Welcome to Week Two of Where There’s Smoke: On the Trail to New Hampshire’s Fire Towers, a weekly Wednesday publication brought exclusively to subscribers of Day By Day. We hope you enjoy this old is new memoir of a father and daughter’s adventure to all of the Granite State’s active lookouts. And while you all are getting these chapters first and we won’t be sharing across networks, the link is open should you want to share or pass on to someone who you think would be interested in subscribing. Please like and comment and let’s make this run a success!
If you’d like to catch up first, here’s a link to last week’s Introduction. See you in the tower!
Ready? Let’s Start Hiking!
#1 Warner Hill, Derry
We begin with, by far, the easiest New Hampshire fire tower to reach, and one of the least visited. East Derry rolls and twists through the state’s southern suburbs, and though random cul-de-sacs and mcmansions now sprinkle the landscape around Warner Hill, there’s still plenty of wide landscapes and farm land to suggest what the area looked like 81 years ago when the New England Hurricane swept through the state.
Nicknamed the Long Island Express, the hurricane knocked down thousands of trees in the area, leaving it susceptible to brush fires with no other fire tower in the area.
So, in the summer of 1930, using Federal Emergency Relief Administration money, the state erected a new tower on the 605-foot hill, which at the time was a mostly treeless rise with unobstructed views all the way down to Boston and beyond.
Today, the tower site is neither treeless, nor tranquil. To the right of the short, crumbling paved road to the tower, a dog kennel provides us with a non-stop cacophony of yips and howls.
“Daddy, what is this place again,” Uma asks as we walk slowly up the road. I’ve left the car at the bottom, unsure how pitted the road is up ahead. The walk, though, is only about one tenth of a mile.
“Well, we’re hiking to a fire tower. That’s where Forest Rangers work and they watch all the trees and call for help if they see a fire.”
She takes this in silently. This is new territory for her, a new approach to the outdoors and to the forest – the beginnings of her understanding that even here, there is management and that we play a role in how the outdoors looks and how it relates to our connection to the trees.
The dogs howl, and the sun warms our backs and before long we turn left off the road and there it is. Uma tilts her head as far back as she can to take in the whole 40-foot tower. She pauses for the briefest of instants before breaking into a run.
Over her shoulder she yells, “We can climb up, right?!” So up we go.
When Uma was about seven months old, we designed a baby obstacle course in the nursery, full of pillows and folded rugs barriers. And at the other end, a brand-new panda stuffed animal, given to her by her uncle. She’d crawl/climb that course with all the determination and focus a wee thing could muster. She’s been climbing fearlessly ever since.
She hits the bottom set of thin stairs at a run, and I struggle to keep up with her. A year later, we’d come back to this tower to discover the cab open and a fire ranger willing to shower Uma with Smokey the Bear stickers and book marks. But today, on her first climb, the cab is closed.
“Daddy!” She’s breathless. “We’re as high as the trees!”
Indeed. We are also alone up here, surrounded by the warm metal and tops of trees. I lay out a picnic blanket, break out our strawberries and cookies and we feast. We are barely 600 feet into the air, but we may as well be on the top of the world.
Later, with our bellies full, we explore the small clearing. There used to be a long fence around the whole area, to keep out the surrounding, grazing livestock. And somewhere at the bottom of the hill, the small ranger’s cabin sat.
“What’s that?” She’s pointing into the forest. About 50 feet down into the woods, north off the crest of the hill, I can see the faint outline of an old New England stone wall. These ubiquitous barriers can be found everywhere in the forests around the state, old property markers for the farmers in the area, now overgrown and crumbling.
“Let’s go explore,” I say and we tromp off into the woods. I hold her warm hand as we bushwhack through some bramble. “These old walls are everywhere in the woods. It means that this used to be a marker for a farmer’s property.”
“Is the farmer still here in the woods?”
“Long gone, baby, all that’s left is these old stone walls.”
“Then what’s that?” She’s pointing.
The crumbling wall is itself up on a slight ridge. On the other side of the wall, from this vantage point, we can see a long open strip in the woods, perhaps all that’s left of an old railroad bed or farm road. And at what appears to be a turn or corner in the wall, an enormous maple tree seems to smash out from the stones. In that old growth is a tree house.
“It’s spooky!” she says, but not fearfully.
Four or five crumbling 2x4s are nailed to the trunk, creating a makeshift ladder to a platform assembled in the crook of a large branch, perhaps five or six feet off the ground.
“Tree house, baby, but super old. Kids like you played here a long, long time ago.”
“Can I go up?”
I grab one of the wooden steps and a piece of the rotten wood comes apart in my hand. “I’d say no.”
She touches the wood herself, then the trunk of the tree. This was a sacred place once, for a kid her age. Not the tower, this place, under an old tree, along a wall, sitting up high watching the trains, or cars, or carriages go by. Perhaps a farmer’s kids sat here with their own lunch, with their own dad, high on a low hill.
“You want to stay here for a bit?” I ask. “Have a snack?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s cool but I think I’d like to rest in the car a bit. I’m tired.”
We retrace our steps back to the tower, across the lawn and back down the road. The whole way back to the car, she holds my hand while the dogs bark.
“How many towers are there, daddy?”
“Counting this one, fifteen.”
“Ok,” she says sleepily, the climb and the air and the adventure finally taking their toll. “That’s fine, we can do that…”
And she’s out. On the drive home, with her sleeping soundly, I begin to consider which tower will be next.
Warner Hill, Derry (Elevation 605 feet)
Location and Directions: The tower site is technically in East Derry, just off Warner Hill Road. The road up is easy to miss as it sits right on a curve in the road, but there is a small sign at the bottom.
Our Route: There’s only one way up. You can park near the bottom of the pitted tar drive and walk up, or take a chance if your car has decent clearance. There is a gate at the bottom, but I’ve never seen it closed or locked. The short hike up the road is about a tenth of a mile.
If You Go: Warner Hill is like no other fire tower in that the site isn’t geared to accept hikes or really any visitors. Despite the tower’s interesting history and easy access, there’s no park benches or facilities, but plenty of howling dogs. During our return trip, the fire warden stationed there was so happy to see us unfurl a picnic blanket and relax under the tower that he brought down a bunch of stickers and pins for us. So, bring a lunch and sit a spell!
Special Update Note: The last time we went up, last year, the dogs appeared to be gone. We’re unsure if the kennel moved or the dogs were gone that day.
This sounds like so much fun!
Rome and I had a blast that day on the Warner Hill Tower with you and Uma. Looking forward to our next adventures (at towers, rocks or waterfalls, etc..) together per our recent conversation. Perhaps Milan Tower and Atlas Boulder are on deck?