When Thoreau stood on the flank of Maine’s Mt. Katahdin 1846, he was one of a handful of Americans who had ventured so deeply into the wilderness for the mere sake of seeing what was there. Today, hundreds of thousands of people—some with cell phones and GPS—stand where Thoreau did. For some, Katahdin is the long-awaited terminus of the Appalachian Trail, the 2,160-mile footpath from Georgia to Maine. For others, Maine’s highest peak and the state park surrounding it are the closest they can come to wilderness—the Glacier National Park of the east. In North to Katahdin, Eric Pinder uses Katahdin as his laboratory to explore what draws people to the mountains and whether hikers today are having remotely the same experience as did Thoreau. Are they even trying to? And if wilderness means "an absence of humanity," what do we call it when it’s filled with people? Pinder’s interviews with hikers and accounts of his own treks, humorous and witty, filled with knowledge about the region’s lore, geology, and weather, create a vivid portrait of wilderness and its denizens.

Imagine a place where moose outnumber people, where bears chase cyclists down mountains, where the Milky Way shines brightly in the sky and the nearest traffic light is an hour's drive away. In this collection of stories, essays, and poems, author Eric Pinder celebrates America's rural way of life. In "Signs of the Times," governors, senators, and presidents grovel at the feet of farmers, mill workers, teachers, and Wal-Mart clerks during the New Hampshire Primary. Are sheep the stupidest of the mammals? Are border collies the smartest? Morning chores on the farm become a battle of brawn versus brain in "Sheep Football." A young park ranger gets paid to tolerate tourists and execute bears. He'd rather just go hiking. In "An Eye for Detail," he stomps into the wilderness in search of job satisfaction. Enjoy these tales and two dozen more in a book that journeys from the vanishing family farm to the windswept summit of Mount Washington to the cold beaches of Maine.

Where can you build a snowman in June, commute by sled, and witness hurricane-force winds twelve months out of the year? The answer is only at the 6288-foot-high Mount Washington Observatory, perched amongst the clouds in New Hampshire's White Mountains. A record-breaking 231-mph gust of wind shrieked across the summit in 1934, earning the mountain its nickname: "Home of the World's Worst Weather." A few hardy souls live at the Observatory year-round, enduring savage thunderstorms, twenty-foot snowdrifts, blinding fog, and odd questions from visitors ("Can you see New Hampshire from here?"). Discover what a meteorologist's typical day is like in the harsh but spectacular world above timberline. Come meet Nin the Cat, Marty on the Mountain, tobogganing ravens, hapless hikers, and meandering moose. These humorous and informative stories about life on a mountaintop are sure to appeal to hikers and weather aficionados alike. Foreword by meteorologist Mish Michaels.