An Epic Day: The Presidential Traverse

The wild, rocky Northern Presidentials

My buddy John and I summited Pierce, Eisenhower, and Washington last year - but since we got a ride down from the big boy, they didn't "count" as peaks - according to the AMC. So, to claim them as a "climbed" 4000-footer, I'd have to tackle these suckers again. So, I figured, why not do them all?

The mountains that lay South of Mt. Washington are known as the Southern Presidentials. Monroe, Eisenhower, Pierce, and Jackson. Also included is "Little Monroe", Webster, and other smaller sub-peaks. Jackson is sometimes included in a "Presi Traverse", but we didn't hit it this time. These mountains are all above treeline, and are rocky and exposed, but nothing compared to the Northern Presidentials, which rise up north of Washington. These mountains are truly the most wild and otherworldly in the region; sometimes it's almost as if you're traversing an alien planet; fields of scree and lichen, wild winds, erratic weather, and steep, craggy cliffs. But gorgeous; just absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. The official 4000 footers in the Northern Presidentials are Madison, Adams, and Jefferson (we also summited Mt. Clay). Add Washington in as the mid-point, and we're climbing the tallest (well, 5 of the tallest, Eisenhower and Piece come in a bit down the list), roughest mountains in the Whites, over 20 miles, with 9000 feet of elevation gain... in a day. Yeah, it sounds a bit crazy.

cairns made of quartz on the trail

After spotting a car at Crawford Notch near the AMC's Highland Center, we made camp at the Crawford Notch campground and were up before the sun. We hit the trail at Appalachia Trailhead on Route 2 - the northern terminus of the Presidential Range - at about 5:15, Sunday, July 22nd, and hiked south. The woods were muggy and full of toads as we climbed toward Mt. Madison; by the time we hit treeline, the morning mist was burning off and a beautiful day was presenting itself. We carefully followed the cairns - piles of rocks that mark the trail - over a seemingly unending upward expanse of large rocks. Constant attention must be paid to footing, and it's almost hard to appreciate the beauty of this place and choose your steps at the same time. Eventually we made it to Madison's high summit, and started down the other side, toward the Madison Hut. This hut, run by the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) is actually the final one for me to visit. We took a break, chatted with the crew, filled up water, and had some coffee and delicious baked goods, prepared by the Croo (nickname for the AMC Hut staff). On this decent, I met my first northbound thruhikers of the year, this trail being part of the venerated Appalachian Trail, and this being the time of year when they typically begin passing through the White Mountains.

Washington from the climb to Adams - Auto Road visible

After a short respite we headed out, up the very steep climb to Mt. Adams. Here Mt. Washington presented itself in the distance. The ascent was very steep, and soon we were back up above the summit of Madison, and soon at the rocky summit of Adams. I found the going here to be some of the toughest of the day. Lots of people were out on the trail, which is normal for being so close to a hut. A lot of folks will stay at the huts and do short hikes around to the surrounding mountains. A couple of young, exceedingly fit guys passed us, also attempting a Presi Traverse. They'd left a good while after us, and were hiking pretty fast. We kept up with them, more or less, until Jefferson, but didn't see much of them after.

The Great Gulf Wilderness

A Presi traverse is essentially the longest time you can stay above treeline in the White Mountains. The only runner-up is Franconia Ridge, on the western rim of the Pemigewasset Wilderness, and it's significantly smaller than the alpine region in the Presidentials. The Traverse is an entire day (considering you're lucky enough to have good weather) of incredible, vast, sweeping views in all directions, as you hike along the ridge. To hike along the rim of the vast glacial cirque that is the Great Gulf Wilderness for miles upon miles, on a clear day, is an experience I will not soon forget.

We reached Jefferson's summit sometime after noon. I would call it a friendly summit, for these mountains at least, and hikers sat about, dozing on sleeping pads, and eating lunch. I ditched my pack and climbed to the top of a large rockpile, upon which was the true summit. After my thousandth sweeping panoramic gaze, breathing deeply and peacefully in the chilled mountain air, I went back down and a had a quick snack before trekking on. The key to finishing a hike of this magnitude is to keep moving. We already will likely be hiking out in the dark, but minimizing the night hiking is a good idea. Keep moving.

Cog Railway

We proceeded down the Gulfside trail - which skirts most of the major peaks, requiring detouring on other trails to get the summits - to Mt. Clay on the Clay Loop trails, and then on to the arduous climb up Mt. Washington. My feet and knees were definitely starting to ache, and the psychological game began. So much of this kind of hiking is all in the head; you have to keep a positive mindset if you want to accomplish such a goal. You have to tell yourself, "well, self, you're hurting, but you have many more miles to go. So you can dwell on the pain and each step will be misery, or you can get out of your body, look past the discomfort, and enjoy this wonderful place." Of course, you need to be able to differentiate between normal discomfort and pain that might indicate an injury. At this point, however, this is normal pain for having trekked over sharp rocks and up steep embankments, over and over again, for many mountain miles. So, I put my head down and kept going.

For this hike I went for my Merrill Vent hiking shoes, and not my Vasque boots. I thought a lot about this decision, and I think I made the right choice. Though the lightweight Merrills aren't as tough as my boots, and transfer more of the rocky terrain to my feet, they are significantly lighter. After thousands of steps, that kind of small weight differential adds up, and can increase your chances of fatigue and possibly injury. It's gonna hurt, one way or another, so I decided to go lighter.

Washington summit

We hiked along the cog railway, and the train that totes tourists up to the 6288' summit of Washinton on a track much like a roller coaster. Built in 1869, they still run the original coal-powered steam locomotive once a day, but biodiesel trains do the duty most of the time. I waved to the folks in the train, and they waved back. After what seemed like an eternity, we got to the summit of Washington at about 2:30 PM. It was buzzing with folks who had taken the train or the Auto Road up. I had a chili dog, a bag of chips and a soda, and changed my socks. Definitely glad I brought another pair of socks - comfy, thick, Smartwool ones at that - and my feet appreciated it. While the urge to dawdle was strong, we moved on after about 20 minutes, this time hitting the Crawford Path for the first time in the hike. This path, leaving down the south side of Washington, is the oldest maintained mountain trail in the United States, and would bring us all the way through the Southern Presis and to the end of our hike.

You have to listen to your body very closely on hikes like this, and you must find a rhythm that works for you. It seems obvious, but sometimes the urge to charge ahead is strong. If you're getting tired, take a break and eat. Drink water as consistantly as you can (I would never go on a hike like this without my hydration pack). If your feet hurt, take your shoes off, change your socks, loosen and adjust the laces. If you feel a hot spot on your foot, don't wait - pull over and fix it with a bandaid or moleskin immediately. If your shoulders, hips, or back hurt, take off your pack, release all the straps, and readjust. Taking a few minutes to address these essentials will increase your chances of making it - and enjoying it - immensely.

Lake of the Clouds hut, Mt. Monroe

The hike down to Lake of the Clouds Hut was beautiful, and not terribly difficult. I had my trail legs at this point, and my brain was emitting some kind of welcome endorphin to kill most of the pain in my knees and feet. The Coke I slammed at the summit also helped - I normally avoid heavy doses of sugar but on the trail it can do wonders. We took a quick stop at the hut, this being the last place to get water for the remainder of our hike. I eavesdropped on a young, bearded thruhiker regaling a group of older well-to-do mountain yuppies in expensive outdoors gear with stories of the trail. They were engrossed, asking questions like wide-eyed schoolchildren. The thruhiker munched on uncooked Ramen.

Only three mountains remain, and from our vantage point they look pretty easy compared to the Northern Presidentials. I'm not sure what geological event or conditions cause the Southern Presis to be so different from the Northern, but they are strikingly so. We were hiking strong at this point, and cruised up Monroe, and though Eisenhower looked very hard from a distance, a series of switchbacks led us up rather painlessly. The sun was getting low in the sky, it was getting up around 6 on the summit of Eisenhower (near a very large cairn), and other than a friendly red-haired thruhiker named Teflon, we didn't see a soul. At this point I started to recognize things; we were walking in reverse the route John and I had taken last year. This time, the weather was much clearer. But late in the day in the mountains is a strange time; it's very beautiful up on this ridge, but there is the nagging, worrisome feeling in the gut that night is coming.

We pretty much bombed up Pierce, the last peak on our hike. We took a break to snack, then donned our headlamps and headed down Crawford path at sometime around 7:30. It wasn't dark yet, but soon it would be. But Crawford Path coming off Pierce isn't difficult terrain, and after a lovely sunset in the woods, with yellow dappled light streaming in through the trees, the sun was replaced with a small rising moon in a dark blue sky, and we hiked out for a final hour with our headlamps; going was slow, I was exhausted, but the psychological game continues; you still have to measure each step, especially in the dark, and fight the fatigue, because this is exactly when you can get hurt, even on an easy trail. My eyes played tricks on me in the dark; roots were snakes, strange things glittered in the dark woods, and I could have sworn I saw a bear cub - but it was just a large rock. But by the light of the headlamp everything takes on a strange, grayscale tone. After what seemed like a very long time, we reached the road crossing - I turned my light off for a second, engrossed by the absolute blackness of the mountain night - and the trailhead parking lot at around 9:30.

night hiking down Crawford Path

A short drive back to the campsite, where I took a lot of Ibuprofen and a shower and slept like a log. A very long but amazing day in the Presidential Ridge, this hike will stay with me forever. In the future, whenever I may think something is too difficult, too long, too painful... I will think of this day among these Mountains' beauty and ruggedness, and hopefully, it will give me the strength to face it with peace and patience.

Tripyramids, Whiteface, Passaconaway

I was lucky enough to have some great company on this trip; my friend Brandon and his friend Hanako accompanied me up to the Tripyramids, two four-thousand footers that lay just south of the Kancamagus Highway. We met up at about 6 AM on Saturday, July 14th, at a Dunkin Donuts in Somerville, near I-93. We discussed the plan, agreeing to meet at the Hancock overlook at the hairpin turn on the Kanc, that being a pretty hard place to miss. From there we spotted my car at the Sabbaday Falls parking area, and took Brandon's car to the Pine Bend Brook Trail, a short distance back west. That way we could hike the Pine Bend Trail, cut over to the summit of North Tripyramid on the Scaur Ridge trail, pop over to Middle Tri, and hike back out to my car on the Sabbaday Brook Trail.

view from Middle Tripyramid

Total time was about 9 hours, well over book time but it was very hot and humid so we took a lot of breaks, and generally took it at a slower pace. The Pine Brook trail was very beautiful and lush, fairly moderate terrain up until about 2 miles in, when it began to get rockier and steep. The conversation was welcome and made the miles fly by, but after so many miles of hiking alone, I had to fight the urge to buckle down and charge ahead. For the most part, I resisted, and it was good; it made me remember that this isn't a race and to enjoy the people and spaces around me; to enjoy the moment. The summit will come, fast or slow.

After a steep, sweaty climb up to the Scaur Ridge trail we had a short, very beautiful wooded ridgewalk, through small scrubby meadows and forests, before making a final, steep push up to the summit of North Tripyramid (4180'). The summit is relatively unremarkable and tree-covered, but a nice overlook is a quick amble down a side path. We had a pleasant - though somewhat bug infested - lunch of salami, cheese, bread and assorted snacks.

Sabbaday Falls - thanks to Hanako for the pic

After awhile we packed up and headed to Middle Tripyramid (4140'), almost directly south for about half a mile. We got to the bottom of the ridge and ditched our packs, deciding to head up to the next summit unfettered. The view from there was quite nice, open and sweeping toward the west. After a few minutes of mountain-gazing we headed back down, got back in our packs and started the descent down Sabbaday Brook, a 2.5 mile trail that seemed a lot longer, probably because of an inordinate about of brook crossings; we were all wondering aloud why the hell the trail can't just pick a side and stay with it?? At one point, when we stopped to refill our water (I was glad I toted my Katadyn Filter) I left my (remaining) hiking pole leaning against a tree and didn't notice I did until at least half a mile down the trail. As soon as I realized I didn't have it, I asked my hiking partners to take a break while I ran back to get it; they obliged. Not sure how I can fail to notice the absence of something in my hand that I've hiked with for so long, but who knows. I retrieved it, and we carried on.

Sabbaday Falls - thanks to Hanako for the pic

We left the Sandwich Wilderness and approached Sabbaday Falls. A great way to end a big day; these falls are marvelous. A wooden catwalk brings you up and over these ancient falls, granting great views of the rock that has been carved for millennia by the subtle but relentless seige of rushing water and ice, leading up to a sheer granite face topped with trees, casting a dappled, late afternoon light on the ice cold basins of green and blue water. Definitely go check out this peaceful, gorgeous place if you're driving down the Kanc, it's only a short walk down from the parking area, and well worth it.

We tried to find a campground on one of the many sites along the Kancamagus but no luck: we were sent down to Campton on Exit 28. We got there after dark and set up camp, cooked some food, drank a few beers and talked about the day. I'm glad I had some company for this hike, and I congratulated my friends on their first four-thousand footers. We turned in around 11, me and Brandon in his new Coleman tent - us both being epic snorers - and Hanako in my Eureka Spitfire solo tent, safe from our nocturnal cacophony.

I slept like a log and morning came quickly. I threw my bag and sleeping pad in the Vue and headed back up 93 to the Kanc and to the Downes Brook trailhead, right across from the Passaconaway campground entrance. I got started at about 8:30, this time alone. Brandon and Hanako were only up for one day of hiking and were heading back today, Sunday July 15th. My goal today, 14 miles up to Mt. Whiteface and Mt. Passaconaway, which would be my final summits in and around the Sandwich Range.

Kate Sleeper trail sign

cairn marking the Whiteface summit

Total time was almost exactly 8 hours, and a hot and humid 8 hours it was. The approach was very much like the day before, but longer, with an almost 6 mile hike up to my first summit, Mt. Whiteface (4020'). The first leg was the Downes Brook trail, a wild and rough trail that crossed the water several times. A couple of times the trail became extremely hard to follow; once I rock-hopped over the brook, thinking it crossed, but finding no trali on the other side. Going back over, I realized it hadn't crossed at all, but went right up to the water and then skirted up along the side. I had to pay close attention to stay on the trail. It was a bit monotonous for a while, and a bit mentally taxing, up until I hit the Kate Sleeper trail, where I got a bit of a second wind. A few minutes more of climbing and I got up to a clearing, close to the summit of Whiteface.

I took a break, removed the shoes, and layed back on a wide, hot rock, enjoying the quiet wooded clearing. It looks like a good place to camp; and people clearly have before, leaving a small amount of charcoals from a fire. There really are no "official" backcountry campsites in this range, so people have to "stealth camp" if they want to spend the night out here. A campsite called Camp Rich, near the junction of the Rollins and Dicey's Mill Trails, still very much a flat campsite, is still apparently used, but isn't an official site anymore. Not sure why all sites have been removed (since sometime in the Nineties) from the Sandwich/Wonalancet area, but suspect it's because not many people, relative to other parts of the WMNF, hike in this area. Clearly; I didn't see anyone at all until at least 8 miles into this hike, and he actually took me by surprise, having been hiking for so long and not seeing a soul.

view from Rollins trail

The Rollins trail connects Whiteface and Passaconaway, and was one of the highlights of the day for me. Views south are available now and then through the trees, and you're hiking pretty much right along the ridge that drops down into the Bowl. I started to run very low on water around here - I'd already sucked down 3 liters due to the conditions - and was starting to get concerned; but then I came around a bend and saw a small spring crossing the trail.

When you're at home, you don't have to think about water; turn the faucet and you have as much as you need. Out here, not so much. I was relieved and happy for such a simple luxury; a clean, ice cold mountain stream. I filled up my 2-liter bladder and Gatorade bottle, soaked my hat, and carried on. Not a lot of elevation here, and after a while I hit the junction of the loop that summits Passaconaway (4043'). The ascent up here was probably the steepest and most difficult of the hike, and it was early afternoon at this point, and it was extremely hot and humid. It was rocky, rooty, with poor footing, and so steep that I was touching the trail in front of me with my hands. I was hiking in as little clothing as possible, and even my pack was starting to get saturated in sweat. By the end of the day I'd gone through more than 5 liters of water. I was filtering using my Katadyn pump, and was fine with the extra weight, as I could get drinkable water immediately (not having to wait for iodine tablets to take effect) and there was no off-putting taste.

I descended from the summit and headed down the fairly steep and rocky Square Ledge trail, hit the Passaconway cutoff, and took it to the Oliverian Brook trail. The trail leveled off and grew wider, until I was walking on a wide, pine-needle covered path. Ski trails began to cross it laterally, and eventually I hit the Oliverian trail parking area. I got back to the Kanc and walked west for about 15 minutes back to my starting point. I was glad to see the Vue, glad I was finished. Though I felt good, I was sweaty and tired and ready for the day to be done. It was about 5 PM; time to head home. I bid the Sandwich Range adieu and thanked the mountains for their hospitality. A cool breeze blew by gently, as if to smile back.

The Whiteface/Passaconaway hike wasn't my favorite, but it was very nice. A long slog to get in and out, and no super-awesome views, but the trails are lush and wild and you have a great deal of solitude.

The Osceolas & The Hancocks

view from outlook, S. Hancock

I'm beginning to notice the effects of regular hiking and my trips to these mountains. Not only am I feeling physically strong and more and more confident in my abilities to do things I once thought would be too hard to attempt, but a lingering feeling of calm and patience is starting to color my day-to-day experiences. Driving to a party in Charlestown a couple of weeks ago, I got lost (of course). There was a time in my life that something that simple would make me upset and stressed; not like freak-out upset (well...maybe), but tense and irritated at my own navigational incompetence and the general insanity that are Boston roadways. But, I noticed something different this time, and attribute it to a regular hiking practice: I was completely calm. I told myself  "you'll get there. One foot in front of another. Breathe, move forward, find the way, and enjoy the moment, in peace", a mantra I utilize so often now on the trail, that it was second nature; an automatic response to a challenge.

I find my mind, mid-week, more and more drawn to the mountains. In its idle moments, it is tracing the White Mountains map, devising a hike, plotting a traverse, grouping peaks and arranging strategy to tackle them. My 48-attempt is slowly morphing from a simple summer project to a calling, a ritual; I think this might be how loyal churchgoers feel. I just happen to prefer communing with the natural instead of the supernatural; this is where I find peace and redemption.

Day one: the Osceolas from Tripoli Road; round trip is 8.4 miles. I got a bit of a late start on Sunday, July 1, and hit the Mt. Osceola trail at about 11:30. This 3.2 mile trail is relatively easy, following a series of switchbacks up the south side of Mt. Osceloa (4340'), from Tripoli Road (exit 31 off I-93). It has two peaks that are considered four-thousand footers, and lies in the Southern part of the Whites near the Sandwich Range, all south of the Kancamagus Highway. The trailhead was actually busy; cars filled the small gravel lot, and a sizable group of teenage girls and their leaders were taking role call and getting ready to hike.They started before me by a few minutes, but I overtook them quickly; we wished each other a good hike, and they seemed to be in good spirits.

The terrain wasn't difficult but the heat of the day followed me up; I was pouring sweat within a half hour of starting. I took a break about an hour in, and dipped my bandana in an ice cold stream, soaking it and squeezing it onto my head. One of life's most enjoyably simple pleasures. I repeated this several times before tying it around my head and moving on, refreshed.

I approached the summit after about 1 1/2 hours; I was hiking at a little better than 2 MPH, which is about my average in these mountains, I've found. The summit is partially wooded and there isn't a paroramic view, but a wonderful open vista affords views out to the neighboring Tripyramids and beyond. I sat for a while, basking in the sun with about a half dozen other hikers on an impressive granite shelf. I drank some water, ate a snack, and laid back on my pack and closed my eyes. The conversations of the other people scattered around the rock, set against the breezy mountain soundscape and strangely intelligible - like a conversation on the other side of a glassy pond - move in and out, encircling me. I tune into one, a group of college guys ribbing each other about being out of shape; then another sneaks in from the other direction, some German women talking about how it's their first summit. Another sunny, dreamy day on a mountain, and everyone seems happy.

To "bag" the East Peak (4156'), I must hike another mile down the trail. My plan is to hike there, then back to Mt. Osceola and back down to Tripoli Road. I could continue north to the Greely Pond trail, which connects to the Kanc, but I need to get back to my car. This would be a nice hike to spot a car on either end and traverse. The hike between Osceola to East Osceola was similar to a lot of hikes from close peaks. To have a sub-peak "count" as a 4000 footer, the rule is that there has to be at least a vertical change of 200 feet between the two. So, there's always some climbing involved, but less than getting to either peak from the bottom. The hike down Osceola was pretty steep and rough, with quite a bit of loose rock.

"The Chimney" / photo from Summitpost.org

I then approached "The Chimey", which is a very steep rock face, almost a large groove upward through the rock. I heard a woman singing the Theme from Rocky, just as she climbed out of the top of the Chimney. Her hiking partner soon followed, and they told me about it. I had read about it in the AMC guide, doing my homework, and it was mentioned that there was a detour around it, that was less steep if one didn't feel like tackling it. She was very boisterous and encouraged me to do it; I told her I'd do it on the way up, but I decided to take the detour trail down. We wished each other well and I did just that. Another 20 minutes or so I got to the more-or-less viewless summit of East Osceola; I ate some lunch and after a brief rest, headed back.

I breezed back past the first summit and descended the trail I came up. About halfway down, I passed the girls again, they were on their way back down (having visited only the first summit) singing and playing "I spy", laughing and having a good time. Shortly thereafter I passed a group of boys going up, about the same age, who looked to be on a death march; they carried a lot of gear, looked straight ahead in silence, miserable. Their slightly-overweight troop leader asked me how far to the summit - I said it was a ways yet. He looked deflated. Funny how different boys and girls are at that age. I arrived back at the trailhead at about 4:30, and after getting out of my boots and into my Birks, I drove back down Tripoli, up 93 to the Kank exit, and hit the first campsite I found; the Hancock tentsite.

The campsite backed up to the Pemigewasset River, and cost $22 a night. A little steep as compared to $8 for backcountry sites, but there was water and a fire ring and a picnic table. It was fairly busy, but quiet. A caretaker came around and mentioned that there was a bear in the area, and to make sure all my food was kept in the car. Not the first time I've been warned of bears at a site in the Whites; still never seen one. I set up my tent, read and planned the next day's hike, until the sun set. I slept relatively well, and was up and out of the site by about 8.

A mere few minutes' drive west down the Kanc brought be to the Hancock trailhead. My plan for day two is to hike the Hancock loop, and clocks in as just under ten miles. Gary, a hiker from Manchester, was getting ready to hike this loop too. We started talking, and wound up hiking together all day. I was a little hesitant at first; I've gotten very used to hiking alone, but Gary is an interesting guy and I was happy to have a hiking partner for the day.

Em at the Hancock loop tralhead on the Kank

The hike in, north up the Hancock Notch trail, was smooth sailing for the first 3 1/2 miles, right up until the loop splits; right goes to the South summit (4319') and left goes to Mt. Hancock (4420'). Both are very, very steep. We went up to the South peak first, reason being that the guidebook described this as the steeper of the two, and Gary and I agreed that we'd rather go up the steeper; more to the point, we'd prefer descending the less steep trail. Turns out they're both quite tough, and I might reverse it next time, due to the looser rock and scree we encountered on the way down. It's only half a mile from the split to the summit of South Hancock, but it was slow going. The weather was nice; overcast, looking like it was going to rain, but it held out til we were heading back out.

Both summits are wooded, but have overlooks, pointed out by signs and usually a quick walk through some underbrush, out onto a rock shelf. We pause for lunch at the first overlook, enjoy the view and chat with some German medical researchers who work in Boston. We cross the ridge to Mt. Hancock on the Hancock loop trail. It's actually quite wet and muddy in the low part of the ridge, but after ascending back up, the forest takes on a magical quality, shaded and woody, the overcast skies creating soft, dappled effects on the scrubby brush. We meet a couple with a husky on the overlook near the second summit; they are working on "The Grid". This is a project taken on by serious White Mountain hikers who aspire to climb every 4000' peak, in every month of the year. That's 576 peaks. Not all in one year, of course (although I bet some crazy person out there is trying to figure out how to do it), but still, an impressive feat. Others do every peak, in every season, so 48 x 4 summits. I can't imagine mountain x would be very different in July than in August, but hikers out here are continuously coming up with new configurations of how to hike these mountains; setting the bar for themselves higher and higher. Red-liners are people who have hiked every marked trail in the White Mountains. It can take decades. Pretty wild.

The hike down Mt. Hancock is steep and scambly, pitching down at almost 45 degrees, but actually quite fun. I'm hiking with only one pole these days, and in situations like this I prefer it. I can grab trees and rocks and balance myself with the pole; I move faster and safer, especially downhill. There are lots of trees and roots to grab on this trail. The trail bottoms out at about .5 miles, crosses a riverbed, and goes back up briefly to the split. From here we go back the way we came.

looking toward the Oceolas from Hancock trailhead/overlook

Gary and I chit-chat, he's a 50-something retiree with a couple of college aged kids, and has a strong (typical for New Hampshire folk) libertarian leaning. He hikes behind me, down a mild decline, and we keep a similar pace. We meander into the topic of politics but don't get too far into it, I'm clearly pretty far to his left, and so we wrap it up quickly with "regardless of your politics, all sides should work hard to have a civil dialogue". We both agreed with this sentiment.

Out of nowhere I near Gary start to fall behind me, and I turn to see him crashing to the path. I try to do something, break the fall, but I'm not close enough. I help him up, he had hit his head on a rock, and skinned his arm up pretty bad breaking the fall. He says he's fine, not woozy or anything; it didn't look like he hit his head hard enough to cause a concussion. After cleaning himself up a bit we move on, a little more cautiously.

I wonder how much worse it would have been if he'd fallen on the steep part of the trail; I wonder if it's safe to hike alone at all. Falling down is common, but a minor accident can turn into an emergency under certain circumstances. I remind myself: pay attention, watch your foot placement, and don't get lazy. I think most accidents happen on the way out, when you have a "home stretch" mentality and you get careless.

After another hour or so we're back at the trailhead. I'm glad to be done; it was a long day and I'm sopping with sweat. I take a few minutes to sit on an overlook bench, dirty and spent, under a little pavilion, where lots of bikers in leather and tourists in J. Crew gather to take in the view. Funny, how different the mentality is, between hiking these rugged mountains, and driving up them, walking to an overlook, maybe giving as "ooh" or "ahh" and then getting back into the air-conditioned car. I looked over at the Osceolas, where I'd been the previous day, and was proud of hiking them.

There was a sign mounted to the stone wall by the pavilion that described the sport of "peak bagging", or collecting summits. A crisp middle aged couple pondered it, and the woman pontificated, "Maybe we should become peak-baggers." The man grunted, uninterested, and they walked back to their car and continued driving down the Kancamagus highway.

Liberty and Flume

The weather on Sunday, June 24, was supposed to be great, so I headed up for a dayhike in Franconia Notch. I wasn't disappointed; actually, it was one of the nicest days I'd ever seen in the White Mountains. Clear, warm, dry, hardly a cloud in the sky. I parked in the lot that accesses "The Basin", a 20-foot-wide natural granite abyss, which is a geological wonder in and of itself. I was still unsure of my route; you can do Liberty and Flume as a loop, much like the Franconia Ridge loop, which usually refers to Lincoln and Lafayette. However, the Liberty/Flume loop is also uses the Franconia Ridge to connect the two peaks (4,459 feet and 4,328 feet, respectively). And while the ridgewalk between Lincoln and Lafayette is above treeline and the views are more sweeping and majestic, this hike is great too.

 

 The view from atop Liberty, looking East to Mt. Washington

Doing research on the trails I was planning to take, I read that the Flume Slide trail, the southern east-west leg of this loop, is extremely steep, and should not be taken in wet weather, or in winter. The AMC guide and a lot of information I found on line discouraged going down this trail; if it is to be attempted, it should be going up, and in good, dry weather.

So I decided to hike in Liberty Spring trail, summit Liberty, then walk along the (mostly wooded) ridge to Flume, then backtrack the way I came. That way I avoided Flume Slide and it didn't add much mileage. Especially hiking alone, and me being a sometimes-overly-cautious person in general, I decided to defer to the safer route.

Getting started at about 8:30, I accessed the trailhead by walking down a paved bike path, south from the Basin parking lot. I hadn't used one of these bike paths before, but it's a good idea; you can spot a bike along the path, so you can get back to your car if you don't want to do a loop.

The hike up Liberty Spring is quite nice, and not extremely difficult. It's flat and easy terrain for maybe half a mile, then after a brook crossing, the trail pitches up, pretty much relentlessly. After about an hour I stopped for a quick snack; I was hiking strong but needed to keep up my energy, especially in the muggy heat of the forest. I read recently that a break once an hour is a good rule of thumb, but quick, not too much more than ten minutes - so your muscles stay warm and you can get going again quickly. I like this advice, it seems to work for me.

Another half hour or so and I passed the Liberty Spring tent site; I pretty much blew past it but it seemed like a nice site, a heavy canvas tent for the caretaker, and a spring right off the trail, where a few people gathered.The trees started getting smaller and scrubbier, a clear sign you're starting to get up into the alpine zone, and the summit is near. The woods started to open up and the trail became brighter and started to flatten as it crests the ridge. A sign pointed me south to the Liberty summit, and withing minutes I scrambled up a large rock face to the top.

The weather was absolutely perfect. A few pillowy clouds lingered in the azure sky, and the visibility was excellent. You can see the whole ridge curve around like a giant horseshoe, to Garfield, Galehead, and the Bonds. Owl's Head lay in the foreground, looking diminutive against the massive mountains that sweep across the landscape. Washington stood boldy in the distance; I bet the views from there on a day like this would be astounding. But I was extremely happy with the view from Liberty; actually I think it's one of my favorites so far.

On the summit, a ham radio operator with a large portable antenna guyed out to rocks was listening intently to headphones while fiddling with his equipment. I started talking to a woman who had her map out and was comparing it against the landscape; we chatted a while, she gave me a lot of good advice about choosing my upcoming hikes. The sun had warmed the granite, the wind was tame, and I didn't even put on an extra layer (a first this year on a summit). The muggy woods had made me extremely sweaty but I dried quickly as I sat and took it all in. Nothing like being at the top of a mountain like this to put things in perspective; I feel liberated by my own insignificance, awestruck by the perfection of nature, my mind clear of worry and anxiety. I stayed up there for a while.

On the way back down I stopped at the Liberty Springs site to refill water at the spring. I didn't bother treating it, which is a chance I took - it's recommended you treat all back country water sources chemically, with a filter, or boiling - but it was fine, sweet and ice cold. I met a guy on the trail who had been walking the ridge south from Lafayette, and overshot the Falling Waters path; he took a right on Liberty Springs and caught up with me, and we chatted on the way down. He'd gotten an inadequate paper map from the Flume visitor center, and it wasn't meant for hiking. After we got back to my car, I gave him a ride back to his starting point at the Lafayette campground, where he would have wound up if not for overshooting his intended trail. I gladly returned the hiker karma I received when I did the Carter-Range! It comes around, and goes around. I was back in Somerville before dark.

What I didn't need: rain jacket. I have a Marmot Precip that I'm actually not fond of. It doesn't really keep you very dry and I just sweat more when I wear it, getting wet either way. It is good for cutting wind on a chilly summit, but it was warm and not too windy this time so I didn't use it.

What worked well: I'm liking my new Smartwool socks I got on sale at Kittery Trading Post. Mmmmm... Smartwool.