But my own load was saddled with the extra burden of a hope that may have imposed an unrealistic load. I wanted to believe maybe too desperately that such a thing as wilderness could still exist in New England. With the Wilderness Act of 1964, the Congress created a legal definition of wilderness and rules for managing designated wilderness areas such as the Pemigewasset Wilderness in the White Mountain National Forest, prohibiting such things as mechanized or motorized forms of transportation. But a purist might take the stricter view that anyplace bearing the imprint of humans falls shy of true wilderness. By that measure, the 100-mile Wilderness is a misnomer.
Signs mark every trail junction they even point to scenic viewpoints down side paths.
The well-blazed trail virtually leads you by the hand, expropriating the satisfaction of finding your own way. Shelters often fill with backpackers, and tents spring up around them nightly. The feller-bunchers and hauling trucks of logging operations are frequently heard in the distance, as if some Orwellian machinery kept the birds singing and streams flowing and churned out the occasional moose across your path. During a half-hour lunch break on a sunny midday at the Rainbow Ledges, we saw at least 20 other backpackers. On another day, a dog belonging to a pair of backpackers charged up the trail at us, barking aggressively twice surely scaring off any nearby wildlife.