47 & 48 - Carrigain (again) and Cabot

Heading up Carriagain

I was on my way to pick up my buddy John up in Newton at about 5:30 AM on Saturday, October 13; it was still dark and pretty chilly, but clear, a good indicator that the weather up in the Whites may be cold but sunny. The forecast agrees, but with the weather in the mountains, you never know. Part of the reason I sprang for a new rain jacket the day before; as Fall moves along in the mountains, the weather turns wet; combined with the dropping temperatures, and a functional rain jacket becomes essential. My old Marmot Precip wasn't cutting it (I've complained about it for months) so I went to REI and dropped some serious cash on an Arc'teryx shell - more on that later - and some Microspikes, in case we run into any icy conditions and need traction.

So as I drove in the crisp darkness, I was geared up and feeling good about the weekend and the prospect of finishing my list. It seemed like a long time since I decided to do The Forty-Eight, and the many dreadfully early mornings spent driving to New Hampshire all seem to blend together. I was looking forward to Mt. Carrigain (4700'), looking forward to finally climbing the mountain that sent me back before summiting a couple of months earlier. I was looking forward to the mountains in general, with their fall colors whitening to the snowy slopes of winter. It would be a good weekend.

ice on Signal Ridge trail

I picked up John at about 5:30, and we stopped at Dunkin' Donuts for coffee and breakfast before hitting the Mass Pike up to 93, driving North as the sun slowly presented itself. John had procured the use of a ski condo that belongs to some friends of his, so we wouldn't be camping or spending the night at the "Hiker's Paradise", the motel in Gorham that - according to on-line reviews isn't such a paradise after all - as we were considering. The day came, and we turned onto the Kancamagus Highway and took Bear Notch road to 302, and onto Sawyer River Road, which would take us to the trailhead. Sawyer River Road had been closed earlier in the year due to Irene's damaging effects, but it was open now. It had washed out - I had walked it earlier in the year while it was closed - but now was shored up with an asphalt reinforcement, making it safe to drive on again. It's always a good idea to call the AMC or the Forest Service if there's any question about road closings.

We parked at the trailhead, and were surprised by the number of cars present. Looks like people were taking advantage of the newly opened road, especially since the weather was starting to turn and this is probably one of the last weekends to hike in non-winter conditions. We exchanged pleasantries with some other hikers also just starting out, and hit the Signal Ridge trail at about 9:30. We were looking at mileage of about 10 miles today, so we wasted no time. I like trails like this; pretty easy going on for a couple of miles before the elevation really hits. Gives you some time to find your pace, and your trail legs. The trail had been diverted from the start, again, due to Irene's wrath, and the new trail was soft and spongy, having not been pounded down fully by trampers. After 1.7 easy miles we hit a junction with the Carrigain Notch trail but we stayed to the left, toward the summit. The trail became increasingly steep, and frost appeared. As the feet piled on, the frost turned to snow and ice. The first time I've hiked in snow since Moosilauke in April! It wasn't deep, but it made the footing a bit more challenging. A couple of areas of rocky scrambling, coated in ice, were tricky, but all in all, it was a pretty manageable climb. Views east, toward Mt. Lowell and Mt. Nancy were beginning to open up. A lot of friendly folks were on the trail, which I like; we were all enjoying this cold, crisp, clear day in the mountains.

Southern Pemi border, Carrigain summit

We climbed steadily, and finally emerged onto a rocky outcropping. I realized this is where I'd turned around before, when I came out in July, due to adverse weather and fog. John and I joked that this was my "personal summit". I hadn't ever come this close to completing a mountain and failed, and I felt a bit foolish for leaving when I was so close. But, I also wanted to return to Carrigain because I'd hear the views were amazing, and the last time I was here I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I wasn't disappointed; the vista afforded a jaw-dropping view out to Crawford Notch and the Presidential Range. Ancient Mount Washington, as it had when I decided to undertake this project, stood majestically in the distance, snowcapped. It was very cold and windy here, and we weren't even at the summit yet. Though, we could see it, the observation tower at the top looked to be maybe another 20 minutes' hike. We dropped our packs for a moment, ate a snack, and marvelled at the view with our fellow hikers.

Carrigain summit

The White Mountains are one of the oldest mountain ranges in the world. They are small, comparatively to other ranges, but they are ancient and craggy and exposed, and the trails don't include switchbacks as often as many mountains, making the task of climbing them that much harder. Some folks from out West, or who hike in the Rockies, consider 4000' mountains merely hills. But, what some don't realize is that Mount Washington has an elevation gain of 4250 feet in 4 miles, while Mt. Whitney has an elevation gain of 6100 feet in 11 miles. It all depends on where you start from. Add to that that the Whites - Mt. Washington and the Presidentials in particular - have some of the most erratic and dangerous weather in the world, and people begin to understand the weight of hiking these "hills."

We eventually made the final push to the snowy summit, dropped our packs at the base of the observation tower, and climbed the stairs to the top. A dozen or so folks were milling about; eating lunch and sitting in strategically sunny spots, enjoying the views. The panorama from the apex of the tower was breathtaking; so was the freezing wind! According to the weather report, the temperature was 20 degrees with a 30 MPH wind - putting the wind chill at about 0. My awesome new Arc'teryx jacket cut the wind nicely, and I could have added my down jacket, but didn't. No amount of cold could have detracted from the glorious views. The view from the tower on Carrigain offers an unencumbered vantage of something like 43 of the 48 Four-Thousand footers in the Whites. We took some photos, lingered a bit, and then descended the tower, out of the wind, and found a sunny spot to sit for a while. It was about 1:30, and after a while, we headed back down, the way we came.

The hike down was pretty uneventful; a lot of icy spots required care to cross safely, but no spills occurred. A lot of folks were hiking down the mountain at the same time, to the point where occasionally a traffice jam would occur, usually at a tricky scramble. Aside from a quick pit stop for me to moleskin a blister I felt growing on my toe, we made pretty good time, and we back at the parking area at about 4:30. We'd hiked Carrigain in 7 hours, about an hour and a half under "book time" (the AMC White Mountain Guide's estimation of hiking times) and aside from some sore Achilles tendons and knees, we were feeling pretty good. We changed into some clean clothes, and headed back out to 302, toward the AMC Highland Center, where we planned on procuring some well-deserved grub. However, dinner wouldn't start til about 6, we learned when we arrived, so we continued on down the road. After pulling off the road to join other gawkers to take some pictures of Mt. Washington in all its snowy early-evening splendor, we stopped at Fabyan's in Bretton Woods for some burgers and chili. It was delicious.

Mt. Washington from Crawford Notch

We headed to John's friends' ski condo, which was amazing. It's a big, spacious, two-story place with high white walls and carpet, and a distinct early-90's decor vibe - but very cozy. It was an unexpected pleasure to end a hard day of hiking laying on a white leather couch watching Ocean's Eleven, taking a hot shower and sleeping on an actual bed, instead of crashing in a tent or in the back of my truck. We were planning on doing Mt. Cabot (4170') the next day, weather permitting, and we kept an eye on the forecast. Looked like rain was possible, but it might just miss the area we'd be hiking. I went to bed, hoping for decent weather and very much looking foward to summitting number forty-eight. I crashed hard and slept a solid 9 hours.

Sunday morning came quickly. The first thing I did was take a look out the bedroom window, hoping rain wouldn't be coming down in sheets. It wasn't; just a bit grey and damp. After making coffee, we packed up our stuff and headed out about 9. It sprinkled on us a bit as we journeyed toward Gorham, but never too much, and looked like the weather might hold out. We turned toward Berlin, and eventually found the entrance to York Pond road off of Route 110. This would lead us into the backcountry, eventually onto a gravel road, and to the trailhead that would take us to Bunnell Notch Trail. We were driving along the road, when I saw a large, dark shape ahead, that looked to be in the road. My mind and my middling long-distance vision were trying to out the pieces together when John said, somewhat nonchalantly... "Moose." And then a bit more emphatically, "MOOSE." I stepped on the brake, and it finally sunk in that there were 3 moose - what seemed like a small male and two adults - on the right side of the road. As we drove slowly toward them, I marvelled at their size and beauty. They soon saw us, and quickly ambled off and disappeared - unexpectedly gracefully - into the woods. It was exciting, and I considered it a good omen for my final peak. The mileage today would be about 9 miles.

Kilkenney Trail

We passed through the Berlin Fish Hatchery area, and after a while we located the trailhead. One other car was there; a very different picture from the happening scene that was Mt. Carrigain. It was grey and drizzly, but had warmed up considerably from the day before - this change was apparently the beginning of a warm front moving through - and the temps were supposed to be up into the low 50's. All in all, it wasn't bad weather for hiking, though the Bunnell Notch trail was pretty wet and boggy. I wore my Vasque boots - the trails were far too wet for my Merrill hikers - and we started up at about 10:30. The first mile and a half or so was pretty flat - the beginning stretch was an easy hike through open, muddy marshlands, and soon we arrived at a sign indicating that the Bunnell Notch trail turns left. The trail entered the autumnal woods, and quickly began to climb moderately. The trail was a bit obscured at points; the leaves made it blend into the forest, but it was still fairly easy to follow, especially since it skirted a brook most of the way. It was certainly wet, as some points I was unsure if it was raining or if a breeze was simply causing water to sprinkle from the canopy above. The forest floor was yellow with wet leaves, which occasionally made footing tricky as it obscured the muddy, rocky trail below. The climbing was easy, moderately hilly, and passed over a couple of rough log bog-bridges as we approached the junction of Kilkenny Ridge trail at about 3 miles in. The trail swung right as we hit a cutoff that brought us north toward the summit and soon saw the junction of the no-longer-maintained Mt. Cabot trail. Apparently, due to a dispute with the landowner of the property near this trail, it is no longer an option for the approach to Mt. Cabot, which is why we took the Bunnell Notch trail from the east. I would like to, at some point, explore the route from (reportedly beautiful) Unknown Pond down to Cabot from the north, which brings you over The Bulge and The Horn, and which you can work into a triangular loop with Bunnell Notch. We passed the old trail and began to see some elevation, and the mountain grew snowier and rockier as we climbed around it. At this point we ran into a wet, somewhat bedraggled couple - the owners of the only other car at the trailhead - who greeted us with a cheery "Hey, we aren't the only crazy ones!". We chatted for a minute; the woman was working on her 48. John mentioned that it was my last peak, and she gave me an enthusiastic high-five.

Cabot cabin

We climbed through increasingly wintry conditions until we finally came upon the cabin that sits near the top of Mt. Cabot. It's maintained by the Boy Scouts, and on this particular raw and wintry day, is a welcome reprise from the elements. We drop our packs in the cabin and we make our way to the summit. Any other time, this would be a fairly inconsequential place - a small, viewless, snowy clearing surrounded by stubby evergreens - but for me, it's the completion of a quest I started six months before. To climb The Forty-Eight. And I'd done it. The cold chill left my bones as the warm satisfaction of a journey completed overtook me. I ceremoniously drank a Long Tail beer that I'd brought for the occasion, and we returned to the cabin and snacked on sausage, before packing back up and heading down.

We trudged along the trail, back the way we came, through the mud and the muck and the wet leaves. There was no one else on the trail. As we came down the mountain and out of the woods, and hit the final stretch, the rain finally began to open up a bit. I pulled the hood of my new rain jacket up over my head, and the sound of the rain hitting it made me feel a bit as if I were in a tent, cozy and warm, waiting out the weather. Eventually we made it back to the car, a bit damp but no worst for wear. Now the peak was officially conquered. Now the list was done.

The last peak of my list is not the end of my time in the White Mountains. On the contrary, it's only the beginning. As I flip through "Wandering Through the White Mountains", the book I picked up at the Highland Center a couple of months ago, I realize that even having done the Forty-Eight, I've only touched the tip of the iceberg. One could spend a lifetime in these mountains, exploring the trails, summits, and cols. They foster a sense of community, of sharing, of comaraderie that I've rarely experienced outside the boundaries of the backcountry. I've begun friendships and strengthened friendships in these mountains; the wilderness had tested my resolve, my courage, and my belief in myself. My love affair with the Whites has only begun, and I can't wait to see what's around the next bend in the trail.

Waumbek

Gretel and I ascended Mt. Waumbek in the Pliny Range somewhat unceremoniously on September 29. It just squeaks into the four-thousand footer list, standing at 4006'. It is known as one of the easiest peaks on the list, which was fine with me, having hiked some big miles on Isolation the weekend before. Waumbek is one of the two northernmost peaks in the WMNF, along with Mt. Cabot, and the trip to the trailhead brings you through some beautiful country full of quaint farms and small communities. Driving east on 116 an unexpected, sweeping view opened up on the left, colored with large swaths of autumn foliage. It was grey and drizzly when we arrived at the trailhead, and we got started around noon, up the Starr King trail. Autumn was in full swing; the colors in the forest were beautiful.

We soon passed the remains of what looked like an old well, and climbed steadily for a couple of miles. The trail was wide and easy to follow, with good footing, and climbed steadily and moderately as it circled up the mountain, and we soon came upon the summit of Mt. Starr King (The mountain is named after Thomas Starr King an orator and politician in California during the Civil War) An old stone chimney - all that remains of a cabin that used to stand here - stood in a clearing, surrounded by evergreens. Usually this summit offers some pretty nice views, apparently, but not on a grey day like this - also, apparently, the trees have grown up in the last few years. Gretel scoped out the chimney ruins, and we found a little sign that read "PATH" on the other side of the clearing, leading the way down into the col between Starr King and Waumbek. It was a pretty quick hike down and back up, over a very nice, scenic trail, and we popped up onto Waumbek. A couple sat near a cairn that marked the top, eating lunch. We talked a bit, me and Gretel noshed on some snacks, and we got going, back the way we came. Gretel tore around in the woods, happily meeting me back at the path at regular intervals. We passed the old well again and soon emerged into the parking lot, 7.2 miles under our belt. Waumbek is a nice, relatively easy mountain, it would make a nice day hike, though it's pretty far north, and takes a good long while to get to from Boston.

Gretel explores Mt. Starr King

Waumbek summit

The plan was to hike Cabot the next day, so Gretel and I drove up toward Gorham and ducked into the Moose Brook campsite, to find a place to pitch the tent. The weather was still grey but rain had held off. I paid for a remote site and some firewood, and we drove up and around. It was nice, though some kind of logging or construction machinery - not exactly sure - was making a hell of a racket nearby. I pitched the tent and started working on a fire. It took a while -  dry tinder was hard to find - but I persisted, and with the help of some birch bark and a lot of newspaper, I eventually got it going. I cooked some noodles while Gretel tore around in the woods. The sun began to disappear and I sat by the fire for awhile before turning in. It got cold in the night but my bag and the dog kept me warm, and I slept well.

on the Starr King Trail

In the morning, Gretel and I awoke to rain. I packed up the tent - never fun in the rain - and we headed into Gorham, and turned toward Belin. The rain was picking up, and it was cold. So, I decided to wait on Cabot. I probably should have sucked it up - being so close - but we turned around and went home. Next time... the mountain's not going anywhere anytime soon.

Home Stretch! Isolation and Jackson

getting above treeline

I'd been wanting to get out to Mt. Isolation for a while, so on the weekend of September 22nd, I decided to do it. It was the first day of autumn, and was appropriately gray and misty when I arrived at the Rocky Branch trailhead at about 8 on Saturday morning. I was meeting up with Scott, a fellow Massachusetts mountain enthusiast I met at the Garfield Ridge shelter a couple of weeks before. We were spotting my car at Rocky Branch, then heading north up Route 16 in Pinkham Notch to the Glen Boulder trail, which we'd take as the approach to Isolation.

It was misting and a bit chilly as Scott and I started up the trail, and though we started off with rain jackets they were quickly shed, as the going was steep and the woods were muggy. We hit treeline shortly, and soon reached Glen Boulder, an immense rock that is actually visible from the road as you drive up Route 16. We stopped to take a couple of pictures, and then pressed on. There were some tricky hand-over-hand scrambles, made more arduous by the moist air making the rock quite slick. Blue sky grew more prevalent as we gained altitude, as we climbed up out of the fog.  It was quite beautiful, the clouds forming a pillowy floor, sweeping up over the Wildcat Range, across Pinkham Notch. We passed through a scrubby alpine grove, and back out onto the exposed mountainside. Cairns marked the way, and eventually the rock gave way to a beautiful, clear view west, and grassy alpine meadows of Bigelow's Sedge that swayed in the cool breeze. We pressed on into the Dry River Wilderness.

slippery rocks give way to scrubby alpine fields

The trail became less steep as we crossed the mountainside; we were getting up around 5000 feet and just over 3 miles when we came to the trail junction of Davis Path. Going right would take you up to Mount Washington - would've been a great day for it! - but we were going left, south, but first we took a lunch break in the sun. It was a spectacular place for lunch, positioned under a small crag, with views sweeping over the fields of scrubby burnt ochre grass, rows of cairns disappearing into the distance, and mountains in the distance shrouded in thick snowy clouds. As we ate, a group of hikers, men and women who were apparently on a over-forty Meetup hike, came up over the ridge and we exchanged greetings. They were also going to Isolation, and Sheila, one of the ladies in the group, said it was her 48th! They hiked on, and Scott and I finished up and headed down the trail after them.

junction of Glen Boulder and Davis Paths

Most of the elevation was done with at this point, we'd actually climbed almost a thousand feet over the summit of Isolation (4003'). It's name is no accident; it is pretty removed - the route we took brings us over 13 miles of mountain trails. We hiked down the Montalban ridge along muddy trails stamped with moose tracks into the col and then up a bit on the approach to Isolation. We ran into Sheila and her fellow hikers again, just as a view of Mt. Washington opened up behind us. We hiked along with them, more or less, past the junction of Rocky Branch that we'd later return to, and up the .9 miles to the summit of Isolation. If you're heading down this way, watch for the "turn" onto the summit spur on your right; it's easy to miss. We hiked up a short, steep rock face out on the open summit. The sun was out, the skies were blue, and the peak was busy with people, mostly from the Meetup group, I presumed. The view of Washington and the Southern Presidentials was terrific; Mizpah hut was visible in the distance. Everyone celebrated Sheila's final peak, and Scott and I ate another lunch. It was number 44 for me. By the end of the weekend, I'll only have 3 peaks left.

on the Davis Path, heading toward Isolation

I've seen a lot of the White Mountains since April, when I decided to climb all the peaks. The cool thing about doing "the list" is that it requires you to visit parts of the mountains that you might not otherwise, parts that are more remote and free from the throngs of tourists that flock to Tuckerman's Ravine or Franconia Ridge. Several times, the only other hikers I encountered were also peakbagging, and the common drive - some may say compulsion - to pick off peaks binds hikers together in their love for the White Mountains. Every summit is different, every peak is memorable and special, even those whose views are obscured by forests or clouds, or whose trails are muddy and blocked by Irene's blowdowns, or tangled with thorny thickets and obnoxious buzzing critters - they are all beautiful in their own right.

Fall colors coming in

We grudgingly descended from Isolation's scenic summit, and headed back down to the junction of the Davis Path and Isolation Trail, which would eventually bring us to the Rocky Branch Trail and back out to 16, where my car was parked. Sheila and two of her hiking partners accompanied me and Scott, as they didn't feel like taking the same way out, which was the plan of the rest of their Meetup group. I told them I had room for them in my truck, and I could give them a ride back to the Glen Ellis Falls area, where they parked. This last leg of the hike (it's over 7 miles from Isolation to the end of our hike) was arduous, a long haul, the trail sloping down gently most of the way, with a few easy brook crossings and lots of early fall colors coming into the foliage. The trail was very wet, at many points you're basically hiking down a shallow brook, hopping from rock to rock to avoid stepping in the water. At this point my feet were pretty wet, since I was wearing my Merrell Vents, which are light, non-waterproof, but dry quickly. But I wished I'd been wearing my boots - my feet were killing me, and my stiff, sturdy boots would have made this a lot more comfortable. I think my new rule might be for hikes longer than, say, 8 miles, I might go for the boots, even though they're heavier. As the weather gets colder, the boots will be a necessity.

We all trudged on, sometimes engaging in jovial conversation and sometimes just quietly taking in the colors in the trees that the first day of autumn was offering us. I had a minor spill, when I planted my foot on a smooth, large rock, that turned out to be slicker than I thought; I wound up splayed out on the ground in a hurry. I was fine, just a bit muddy, and carried on. Eventually, at about 6 PM, we staggered out onto the parking lot where I was parked. We were all tired and happy to be done, and we snapped a few pictures before piling into EmmyVue and heading back north to the other cars at Glen Ellis. Meeting cool people who enjoy the challenge of hiking in the Whites is really a big part of this; I feel really lucky to be able to make these connections. We all parted ways, agreeing to plan to get together again - possibly to all hike my last 4K, Carrigain - and I headed up to Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, alone, to try to rustle up some grub.

Route to Isolation

I went into the visitor center and a woman who worked there looked me up and down and said "looks like you're wearing a bit of the trail!" - I looked down and saw dried mud running the length of  my leg, a souvenir from my spill on Rocky Branch. I smiled and shrugged. I bought dinner for 23 bucks (that's with a 5 dollar AMC member discount - membership has its privileges), but it was worth it. Homemade carrot soup, fresh bread, baked chicken, salad, and strawberry-rhubarb pie for dessert. I ate heartily, and sat with several older folks, who were very friendly. A man seated directly across from me was a Vietnam vet and had lots of crazy stories about his world travels. He also told me that he had tried a couple of times to sleep in his car in the visitor center parking lot and was asked to leave - which was a bummer because that was exactly where I was planning on spending the night. I started thinking about other places I could go; there's that seedy hiker's motel in Gorham, just up the road, that caters to AT thruhikers. Wouldn't be bad, I thought; or maybe a campsite, but it was pretty dark at this point, and I didn't really feel like driving around on a campsite-goosechase. I put it out of my mind for the moment, and chatted with my tablemates. A couple of older ladies asked about a hike they could do the next day, and I recommended the Mount Willard hike from the Highland Center, which I'd never done but heard that it's the best "bang for the buck" in the area. A "small world" moment happened when I realized that one of the ladies is the mother of a guy who's in a Somerville band with guys I know. We talked for a while, and eventually everyone parted ways after we finished our pie.

early morning at PNVC

I decided to go for it, and make camp in the Vue. I had parked in the back of the lot, hoping not to attract too much attention, and I blew up my Thermarest and got cozy under my sleeping bag in the back. I couldn't stretch out all the way, but it was pretty cozy. I fell asleep quickly - 13 tough miles and a hot home-cooked meal will do that - and slept pretty well. I woke up in the middle of the night to a downpour, but it was actually kind of nice; the rain hitting my truck's roof soon lulled me back to sleep. I finally roused at about 7, having slept a fairly sound 10 hours!

After drinking a cup of coffee on the porch of the visitor center and watching the morning mist burn off into what would become a beautiful day, I headed back down 16 and headed west on 302, toward Crawford Notch. Just before reaching the Highland Center, near a large pond, I found the trailhead for the Webster-Jackson trail. I put on my Vasque boots - my shoes were still wet from the day before and didn't treat my feet well on the previous day's hike - and started up at about 9.

The Webster-Jackson trail is a pretty straight shot up, about 2 1/2 miles to the summit of Jackson (4052'). I hadn't gotten all the way to Jackson during my Presidential Traverse; sometimes it's included but we didn't have the time. It's on the smaller side of the 4000 footers but this trail isn't an easy one. Soon, I passed a sign that pointed out a "cliff view" on a side trail, and decided to check it out on the way back down. The weather was overcast, and looked like rain might be in my future. But, it held off, and grew sunnier as the day went on. About halfway to the summit, the trail splits, to the right will take you to the Webster-Cliff trail, part of the AT, which will also summit Mt. Jackson. I haven't been on the Webster-Cliff trail but I've heard it's very challenging. I bore left, and continued up.

It took me some time to get into a rhythm; I was becoming sweaty and the moist mountain air was putting a chill in my bones. Especially when the temperatures start to drop, sweat management becomes important. I didn't want to put on any other layers yet, as I would just sweat through them. I pushed on, and eventually I saw the tell-tale signs of significant elevation gain; the trees were becoming shorter and scrubbier, the air got colder and drier. I was growing a bit weary and was really looking forward to summiting. I rounded a corner, which I thought might bring me to a final scramble to the top, but instead saw the peak towering above me. There was quite a bit more to go. I sighed. It's a common occurrence, and it can be a bit disheartening. I decided to take a break and have a snack. Usually a good idea, it's amazing what a breather, some water, and some chocolate can do for your mental game and your physical stamina. Three older ladies - I'd later learn they were sisters - passed me with a very friendly black lab who stuck her nose in my pack, looking for treats. I donned my rain jacket, to conserve a little body heat and to break the wind that was beginning to pick up - and we exchanged pleasantries. They disappeared around the corner, and I took a few more minutes before getting back in my pack and trudging on. I wasn't worried about getting my rain jacket sweaty - it's not really an insulating layer - and I had my down sweater and a light fleece in my pack if I needed dry layers.

summit of Jackson

I quickly caught up with the ladies as they paused at a very steep rock face, trying to figure out how to ascend it. I scrambled up the rock without too much trouble, but there was more where that came from. Actually, this was some of the trickiest hand-over-hand scrambling I'd done in a long while; the rocks jutted from the side of the mountain, askance, with gaps and slick faces making traversing them fairly precarious. I was cautious, but the energy boost I got from my last stop carried me through. I finally saw the summit sign, and after a bit more tough climbing over slick granite, I made it to the top. It was windy and quite chilly, and after I dropped my pack I added my down coat over my rain jacket, and put on a wool hat, and was pretty comfortable. The views were partial due to blustery, cloudy skies, but they were striking. I ambled around the summit, greeting a couple of other hikers, and checked out a couple of outlooks. The sisters eventually made it up, and we took each others' pictures. I was surprised to learn they were descending the Webster Cliff trail; the conditions were wet and slick, I know that trail is tricky coming up, let alone down, and they didn't seem to be super comfortable with scrambles. I said "that's a tough trail," but I didn't want to be discouraging. I ate some sausage, dawdled a bit, and finally headed back down.

cliff view, off Webster-Jackson trail

I was glad to be heading back; I made pretty good time going back down, steadying myself with my trekking poles. I shed my additional layers and tied my bandana around my head to try to sop up some of the sweat that streamed into my eyes in the muggy woods. I passed a lot of people coming up; I got an earlier start than most, it seems. Eventually, the clouds mostly burned off and the sun came out fully, thought I couldn't enjoy it too much, as I was under a thick canopy. But, at a spot about halfway down, near a brook, a sunny spot presented itself, and I stood in the warmth for a couple of minutes. A small mountain pleasure; a little sunny patch to dry your sweat and chase the chilly ache from your bones.

Conway Scenic Railway

The descent went smoothly, other than a misstep that landed my foot in six inches of water and sent me stumbling back, landing on my ass on the trail. Thankfully no one was around, and all I could do was laugh. My boots did well, though; even stepping in water past my ankle, my foot remained dry as a bone. I exchanged greetings with several more hikers, and finally got back to the sign pointing to the cliff view. I was glad, it meant I was close to being done, and now I had a final outlook to enjoy. I scrambled up a large boulder and crossed over a small clearing to a cliff face, and a very cool view of Rt. 302 and the Highland Center. I hung out for a few minutes before heading back down. I came out to the parking area shortly; a lot more cars were there than when I arrived, 4 hours before. Not great time - well over my usual 2 MPH - but it was a nice hike. Challenging, not too long, with beautiful forest hiking and a rugged, exposed summit. As the Conway Scenic Railway chugged by, I changed into a dry shirt and jeans, and took off, up 302 to I-93, toward home.

And then there were five... a 2-day jaunt through the Northern Pemigewasset wilderness

The weather for the weekend of September 1st and 2nd looked great; 70s in the day, low 50s at night - great for hiking and sleeping outside. So, there was a 2-day backpack I had in mind that would allow me to bag a couple of peaks I needed along the rim of the Northern Pemigewasset Wilderness, Galehead and North Twin. John and I had taken this particular route last year, so I was familiar with it, at least most of it.

My route for the weekend would run up to Mt. Garfield, from the Gale River Road, off of Rt. 3. The Garfield trail connects to the AT, and from there I'd take the AT east, stay at the Garfield Ridge campsite, and then the next day continue to Galehead, and then to South Twin. From there, split with the AT and hike to North Twin, and back out. The total mileage for the weekend would be just over 15 miles.

Now, if you look at a map, you'll notice that my end spot is pretty far away from my beginning. If I was there with another person, we could spot a car on either end, but I was alone. But not to worry... I spotted my bike my end point, and then drove back to the start. Simple! But on the was back from spotting my bike, driving 60 MPH down Rt. 3, I realized just how far the bike ride back would be. And, after completing a 10-mile hike that day over some very difficult terrain. And, as it turns out, in not-so-great weather after all.

Thruhikers emerging onto the Garfield summit

I took the Garfield Ridge trail in more so because I wanted to do an overnight at Garfield Ridge, and other than Galehead Hut there wasn't much in the way of sites. And, John and I stayed there last year and it's a very cool little site. The 4.8 Garfield Trail is fairly inconsequential; a steady uphill slog through the woods, with very few views in any direction. I saw a lot of people pass me going the opposite way; I didn't actually see anyone going up like I was. There were lots of cars in the lot and along the road on the trailhead, I'm guessing a lot of these were folks doing a dayhike. I'd gotten a pretty late start - around 2 PM I think - but I only had a five mile hike the first day. After reaching the trail junction (right goes to Georgia, left goes to Maine...) I headed down a very steep trail to the campsite. I figured it was wise to get there early and claim a spot - I was counting on sleeping in the shelter but had my tarp in case. Turns out, they'd rebuilt the shelter recently, and it was a beauty. Click here to read about the new shelter. I inflated my Thermarest and stuck it in the far corner, under the loft. I laid out my sleeping bag, and changed into a dry shirt. A few people were drifting in, but there was plenty of room, as it was still pretty early. I threw a few essentials into my pack (water, extra layer, first aid kit, map, whistle, etc.) and traced my steps back up the trail to go to the summit of Garfield.

I'd gone up Garfield last summer but it was socked in, and I heard the views were great, so even thought I had already "bagged" the peak, I couldn't be this close and not go up on what was a clear, beautiful day with only a few clouds in the sky. It was a quick but steep climb, and I came out onto the vista.

Like so many of these gorgeous summits, about all you can manage to utter is "Oh, wow...", as your breathing catches up and your mind reels at the vast, wild beauty. I sat near the foundation of an old fire tower with a couple of other people, the sun and the summit breeze felt great, and began to dry the sweat I'd accumulated on the quick climb up. Three young NOBO (north-bound) thruhikers and their dog soon joined, and we chatted about their adventures, gear, and other things hikers chat about. They said their daily mileage had plummeted since hitting the White Mountains, a common occurrence. But they couldn't complain, after all; it's some of the toughest going on the whole AT, but also some of the most scenic. Everyone who comes through these mountains seems to understand what a special place it really is.

summit of Garfield

You never really can stay at these places as long as you want; at some point you have to go back down. So I did, wishing happy trails to the epic hikers, and returned to the shelter. I cooked dinner and had some great conversation with the ever-increasing number of visitors, most going the opposite way than me. We shared stories of the trail, and our plans for the rest of the long weekend. The caretaker showed up, and when he saw my form that listed Somerville as my home, we quickly discovered a connection: his sister worked at my neighborhood bar, and I know her pretty well. Small world! He was a very funny and informative guy, who seemed to be an endless font of knowledge concerning all things mountain-related, especially skiing and other winter sports, of which I know almost nothing. A few of us spent the hours of waning light and into the darkness at a little outcropping near the entrance of the site, with a beautiful view of the ridge extending out to Galehead and the Twin Range. A Blue Moon hung in the clear sky, and a shooting star streaked across it, and the caretaker pointed out a tiny glint of light on the side on the ridge in the far distance. "That's Galehead hut. They usually turn the light out right at 9." and explained that oftentimes he'd sit and for some time for it to go off. It's funny, it seems incredibly boring or pointless to sit and stare at a tiny light on a mountain miles away, waiting for the crew to extinguish it after feeding and putting all their guest to bed, but we all knew we'd do the same. Things like that make sense in the mountains.

My mom sent me a card recently with a quote from Thoreau on it. "The moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow." I felt like that much of the next day, after sleeping quite soundly and waking to a light, cold drizzle. I got my stuff together, got my food out of the steel bear box, and munched on a bagel and cream cheese I got on the way up. Everyone was milling about, waiting for the rain to stop, but it didn't seem to be letting up. It also wasn't very heavy, so I decided to get going. I stopped at the spring nearby, filled up my water bladder (I treated with tablets), and hit the AT, hiking east. It was only a couple of miles to Galehead hut, where I could get more water, so I didn't take any more than I needed. Water is heavy, after all. The hike down from the site was arduous and steep, and slick from the rain. I moved slowly, taking great care. It eventually evened out, and my thoughts were definitely flowing.

I think a lot about nature on the trail, naturally, and why it is people seem so keen on being out here in these mountains. I'm not a religious person at all, but at the top of a mountain, I have overwhelming emotional responses that some might consider spiritual; I'd agree in the sense that it's the way, as a child, I always thought I should feel in church, about god; but those feelings never came. But it's not worship for me - for it to be worship would entail believing in a diety or force that can be, and know it's being, worshipped. This is clearly not what nature is, at least I have no reason to believe that's so. With nature it's more about communing, a word I like very much in this context. We are all made of the same stuff that nature is, we are literally, atomically, the same, constructed from billions-year-old stardust. To worship nature would be to worship ourselves, which seems pretty ridiculous; to commune with nature is to commune with ourselves, our own minds and consciousnesses, which seems like a very good thing to do. With every mile, every sore foot, every sunburn, we grow to know ourselves more and more. Nature doesn't care if we're there or not, but that doesn't make the experiences we have within ourselves to be any less powerful. I think just the genders we use to think about these concepts - Mother nature, Father god - is telling about their roles in our lives. In some broad cultural sense, mothers nurture and teach compassion and communication; fathers control and impose discipline and punishment.

thruhikers on South Twin

I arrived at the Galehead hut chilly and wet, my rain jacket seemingly making me even more so due to it's ability to trap sweat in and yet somehow fail to repel water - Marmot, I love my Sawtooth sleeping bag but I'm not impressed with your Precip jacket. Time to go to REI and I fear shell out some big bucks for rain gear that actually delivers. I ditched my pack on the porch and headed inside to try to dry off and warm up. I read a book for a while about the history of the AMC huts, had some hot cocoa and a chocolate chip bar baked by the hut "croo", avoiding going back out in the cold drizzle. But, you gotta keep moving; so after a while I make the quick trip up to Galehead Mountain - finally, bagging a peak on this trip I needed - which was a bit disappointing; no views but a big pile of rocks on the summit. It's like Owl's Head all over again! I came back down to the hut, and ran into the thruhikers again. They hadn't stayed at the site, but opted to camp in the woods a few miles down the trail, probably to avoid the $8 a night site fee. Thruhikers are cheap, but you have to be, if you're taking months off to walk 2200 miles with no income. They were carrying on, loudly joking with each other in faux Jamaican accents. The thruhikers I meet in the Whites always seem a little crazy - I think you have to be to undertake such a journey anyway, but by the time they get here, they've been on the trail a loooong time.

scattered clouds on S. Twin

After filling up my water - all of it, my 2L bladder and 1L bottle since there wouldn't be another chance till I was up and over both South and North Twin - I headed up the .8 miles to the summit of South Twin. I'd done this trail before, and remembered that it was quite steep. I was trying to limit my sweating, since most all my clothes were now wet, and it was rainy and in the 50's. Hypothermia is a concern in those conditions, and mind you, it's still technically summer. This is why you don't take hiking in these mountains lightly, and always have your essentials. In my effort to control my perspiration, I found myself hiking in a way that actually made the mountain quite a bit easier to tackle. I tried to control my movements, hike steady and slow and strong, one foot in front of another. All day I'd felt like my stride was little more that a controlled stagger, I'd been lurchy and stumbly, and it was taking it's toll on my mood. Now, having made small adjustments to my pace and rhythm, I was feeling much better about things, and this steadiness followed me through to the end of the day. I will keep this in mind from now on.

I was glad to read the summit of South Twin, though it was pretty foggy. Quite beautiful, though, anyway; the clouds were blowing by and trying to burn off; the sun would peer out and patches of blue sky presented themselves here and there. It was actually really cool to see views open up, like looking outside through a drifting window, and I was hoping the sun would soon come out at last.

Happy trails leading to N. Twin

I bid a final farewell to the gang of thruhikers, as they would continue on the Appalachian Trail and I was hiking out to the north, out the North Twin trail, back to Rt. 3. I never caught their trail names, but I bet they'll make it to Mt. Katahdin no problem. Finally, travelling down in the col between the Twins, the sun finally came out! It felt really great to finally have dry, sunny weather after being chilly and damp all day. I started to dry out a bit. This might have been my favorite part of the actual hike - other than the summits. It was easy going, the forest was diverse and interesting, song birds were singing, and I was warm. After a short climb back up, I saw the sign pointing me down the North Twin trail, and one pointing to the overlook. I dropped my pack and headed out to the vista.

Garfield was great; North Twin is spectacular. Words can't do it justice, pictures are laughably inadequate. For the first time since sunrise on Mt. Bond, I was actually brought to tears by the sight. The Pemigewasset Wilderness was laid out in all its massive splendor, peak after peak, rolling mountains carpeted with countless trees of late-summer, sun-baked green. The clouds were rolling away. What I think was the warbling of a spruce grouse drifted in from the brush. I was alone, on top of the world. It was marvelous.

overlook on N. Twin

The North Twin trail was long and a steep climb down; I was very glad I wasn't walking up it. About 2 1/2 hours later, I finally made it to the trailhead where I'd spotted my bike. A few exhausted hikers laid around in the sun, and I considered joining them but I wanted to keep the momentum going: I still had to ride my bike a few miles down the road, with a full pack.I drank the remainder of my water and started riding. It was tough, especially going down the gravel roads that connect to Rt. 3. By the end, when I was nearing my car, I had to get off and walk it - I had nothing left.

As I ambled over the last couple of miles through the forest, I had thoughts that I only have when my feet beat a path across this well-worn ground. Revelations and insights come and go like a remote AM signal, insights that many have likely had on this very same trail. Sometimes the signal fades, as if in a tunnel, and sometimes you lose it altogether. But when it does come in loud and clear - and music fills your ears - you remember.

What I should have brought that I didn't have: another layer, preferably a long sleeve Smartwool job. When I wasn't sweating I was getting rained on, and a dry layer would have been welcome. • A rain jacket that actually works...

Luxury item: Thermarest Pillow. A birthday gift, and wow, it's comfy. Usually cram clothes into a stuff sack for a pillow but it doesn't work well. I strapped this to the outside of my pack and credit it (along with my Thermarest Prolite and Sawtooth bag) for getting a better-than-average night's sleep. Might not carry it for a long trip, due to its weight, but for an overnight backpack or car camping, I'll deal with it for a night's sleep almost as comfortable as at home.

Glad I had: Extra socks, as usual. • Light Warm hat; small synthetic bike hat with fleece liner. • Down Jacket; wore at camp when it got dark and cooler, in the morning under my rain jacket before I started hiking. • MSR Pocket Rocket stove: While others were futzing around with iso stoves that have to be assembled like a puzzle or boiling water slightly faster with a Jet Boil the size of a rocket engine, my trusty, lightweight Pocket Rocket boiled water for dinner almost as quick, even on my cookpot without a lid (note: get a cookpot with a lid). • Patagonia Capilene long top & bottom. Haven't used them til now, since it's cooling off; they're warm, dry quickly, light and comfy.

Forgot: Coffee. D'oh!

Owl's Head & Hale

I figured it was about time to tackle Owl's Head (4025'), one of the more remote 4000 footers in the White Mountains. Situated in the Pemigewasset Wilderness west of Franconia Ridge, Owl's Head is long a thorn in the side of peakbaggers attempting to accumulate all the 4k peaks. Owl's Head is often left til the end of the list for a lot of hikers, due to the fact that the easiest route to it, and back out, is about 18 miles (maybe more like 19 with the additional mileage to the "new" summit), and there are absolutely no views from the top. There are many things to like about this little mountain, however.

I approached the Lincoln Woods from a large parking area off the Kanc at about 7:45 AM on August 19th. It's nice, with restroom facilities, a visitor center, and informational kiosks. It's the most popular area for accessing the Pemigewasset Wilderness, with trails leading to Franconia Ridge, Owl's Head, and the Bonds, among others. After finishing up the 4000 footers, I'd love to attempt a Pemi Loop, a usually-multi-day hike circling most of the Pemi Wilderness and hitting lots of peaks. I crossed a large 160' suspension bridge that crosses the Pemigewasset river and hiked north at a quick tempo, due to the fact that the Lincoln Woods trail takes the route of an old logging road. The path is very flat, smooth, and wide, and I made great time along here. I think this is why a one-day trip to Owl's Head is done so frequently; it's an 18 mile day but so much of it is on easy terrain, it can be done in a reasonable amount of time. My time for the whole trip was about 10 hours. Also, if you start later in the day or are hiking when the sun sets early, this flat, wide path could be easily taken out in the waning hours of light, or in the dark, with a headlamp.

hikers crossing a bridge

I passed some other interesting landmarks, like a stone foundation of a building, and another large bridge, before the trail hits the Franconia Brook Trail, and then turns sharply west onto the Lincoln Brook trail. The trail becomes a bit rougher at this point, and starts to angle up a bit. But still fairly easy in relation to many trails in the Whites. There were a couple of challenging brook crossings here over Lincoln Brook. The White Mountain Guide warns to be very careful during high water or the spring melt, and I can see why. We hadn't had much rain recently and the crossings were still not easy. On one, rock-hopping wasn't an option, and I took of my shoes and waded across the brook with bare feet. No complaints; the cold water felt great. Around here I met a couple of guys who'd camped out around Owl's Head and were making a 2-day trip of it. I asked where they camped (there aren't any official sites in this area) and they said something to the effect of "We threw our pads on the ground and slept!" Fair enough. The powers-that-be discourage "stealth camping", I think to minimize effects of repeated camping on delicate foliage, and also to encourage people to stay at legit sites in order to raise revenue with the site fees. They also told me the slide was dry, and in good condition.

The slide on Owl's Head is definitely the most interesting part of the day. After hiking for 8 miles over rather unchallenging terrain just to get to the mountain, you're hit with a 1500 foot climb in a mile, up the rocky, rough, and steep western slide. A little cairn in the middle of the trail, 3.4 miles after turning onto Lincoln Brook trail, shows the way up. It's an unmaintained spur, so it's kind of hard to spot. But turn right at the rather conspicuous pile of rocks, and you'll be okay.

I was a bit nervous about the slide, but it was actually quite fun. Hard, but fun. There are few places that are actually treacherous; even if you fell you'd likely just slide a few feet back down and maybe get scraped up. A couple of dangerous-looking cliffs were adjacent to the trail, but easily avoided. I was hiking at this point with a very friendly father-son duo, Henry and Jeff. Henry was trying to finish the 4000 footers before his eleventh birthday! He was a strong little hiker, and didn't complain once, and his dad and I had a lot of welcome conversation.

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I stashed my poles, and we climbed up the steep grade, rocks tumbling down below our feet, trying to find footing that would propel us up and not have us sliding back down. Most of the time you're touching the ground in front of you, finding handholds in the rock and trees along the exposed, sun-scorched trail, and looking for little cairns that guide the way. The Guide recommends staying to the right on the ascent and decent, due to the stability of the rock and availability of handholds. After getting up into some elevation, we looked behind us and had the first view of the massive Franconia Ridge, from a perspective I've never seen. It was quite beautiful. The day was hot and clear, and it was about noon.

After a while we cleared the exposed part of the slide and ducked into the woods, still climbing at a steep incline, but at least now sheltered from the midday sun. At this point were were all very tired and now devoid of views, it turned into a full-fledged slog. Every bend, we'd say surely this is it! But no... more climbing. After about 15 minutes of this the trail finally leveled out, and we approached the "old" summit.

There's an old summit and a new summit. The old summit was the one they used to believe to be the highest point on Owl's Head, but some busybody with a GPS found that there is actually a higher spot. All these trails are officially unmaintained by the AMC (still haven't gotten a clear answer as to why...) but they are pretty well trampled, due to its inclusion on THE LIST. Many say no hiker with all his marbles would visit this mountain, with its long approach, super-steep slide, and viewless summit, had it not been included in the 48. Apparently the AMC doesn't require those who climbed Owl's Head before the new summit was discovered to go back and get the new summit, but many do anyway. So, after passing the old summit, we followed a maze of cowpaths and eventually got to the new sucker, where a large cairn has been built in a nondescript wooded area. I think so many paths now exist because everyone just kind of finds their own way, and creates several rough paths to the true summit. What happens when no official path is established.

uneventful summit

After getting pictures and resting for a few, we headed back down. The hike down the slide was a bit more unsettling than going up, but it was definitely easier. We enjoyed the views all over again, and eventually got back down to Lincoln Brook trail, back to flat ground! Now, another 8 miles out. I changed my socks, getting into a comfy, dry pair before the long haul, and ate some lunch. We contemplated taking a bushwack that apparently connects Lincoln Brook and Black Pond trail, shaving a couple of miles off the return trip, but decided against it. At one point, cruising down the trail, Jeff and I were talking and suddenly WHAM! I rammed my head full-tilt into a huge tree that had fallen over the path and rested about 5 1/2 feet about the trail, that I should have ducked under. But my head was down, I was hiking fast, and I had a brimmed hat on, so somehow I just didn't see it. Ouch. Not recommended. Jeff asked if I was okay, and I was, just a bit embarrassed and left with an aching neck.

We waded across the brooks again, the ice-cold water welcome on my aching feet, and at this point I hiked ahead and told Jeff and Henry I'd see them at the trailhead. My pace was slightly faster than theirs - but not by much - and I just wanted to shift to a higher gear and get this day done with. After seeing everything in reverse, I found myself again on the wide, flat Lincoln Woods Trail, and began to see families and dayhikers taking an afternoon jaunt. Eventually the suspension bridge presented itself, and I skirted down the side down to the river and stuck my feet in again. Ahhh. Nice way to end a hike. It was about 6. Henry and Jeff walked across the bridge a few minutes later, and we exchanged pleasantries and said goodbye. Hikers are great folks.

I got back to EmmyVue and got into my Birkenstocks and a dry shirt before driving a short way down the Kanc to Big Rock, where I pitched my Coleman tent at the same spot John and I stayed at a couple of weeks before. I paid the fee, got some firewood from the caretaker, and then headed into Lincoln to the Common Man, a great little bar/grille/ski lodge, where I met Dana and her dog Gretel. Dana and I had a couple of beers and some food while Gretel dozed in the car, and after a while headed back to Big Rock where we built a fire. Before long we turned in; I was bushed.

Gretel, looking for large land mammals to terrorize

The next morning we head to Mt. Hale, a 4054' foot mountain up near Zealand Notch. We took Zealand Road to the Hale Brook trailhead, and the three of us started up. The climb up this trail is a lot like Tecumseh; very lush, not too steep, but a challengingly consistent grade. Gretel, as usual, would bound off into the woods, splashing into puddles and brooks and tearing through the underbrush, occasionally looked back and me and Dana as if to say "What's taking you guys so long??"

At one point, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a big black creature tear down the mountain, about 15 feet to the left of the trail, obscured by trees. I assumed it was Gretel but simultaneously was surprised at the much-louder-than-normal noise she made crashing through the thickets and the speed at which she ran. I looked ahead, and Dana, with a look of surprise and concern on her face said "That was a bear!" At first I thought she was kidding, but then I saw Gretel far up the trail, looking down at us, a bit baffled. She'd apparently startled a small black bear, who then took off like a shot back down the mountain. It was exciting, my first black bear encounter! Even though all I saw was a black streak, it's a first. I really couldn't believe how fast it moved. We proceeded with caution.

About halfway up the Hale Brook Trail the grade steepened, and a couple of little switchbacks carried us around toward the summit, positioned to our left. It wasn't extreme but I was dragging, maybe due to the long day I had up Owl's Head. Of course Dana barely broke a sweat (:P). The weather was clear and warm, a great day for hiking. Eventually the trail opened to a partial view out toward Tom, Field, and Willey, and after a couple more minutes, we found the summit. It was a small clearing surrounded by trees, not much view, but with a huge pile of rocks, the top of which granted a limited view of the surrounding mountains. Though mostly viewless, it was a very nice open summit; the sky was bright blue and the midday sun was warm, a nice change of pace from the humid woods we'd been hiking in. We had some lunch and lingered on the summit, resting and chatting. Gretel enjoyed licking the inside of my tuna-pouch quite clean, and we tried to get her to sit still for a photo on top of the rocks. Almost.

Atop the Hale Summit rockpile

We moved on, starting down the Lend-a-Hand trail, toward Zealand Hut. This is actually one of the nicest trails I've been on in the Whites, fairly easy and passing through swampy marshes, fields of grass and mossy trees, and beautiful, rocky forests. There seemed to always be something interesting to look at. One of the cooler things was a very small venus fly-trap plant growing near some water; almost too tiny to even see. I'd imagine the bugs it eats are actually too tiny to see. The biodiversity in these woods seems boundless, and never gets boring.

We eventually got down to Zealand falls, and took a break at the top, where Gretel found a natural waterslide down into a basin, which she rode down a couple of times, her legs flailing around. Zealand falls is an incredible natural occurance, and the mind reels at the infinite number of shapes water, given enough time, can carve from rock. Ice cold water cascades down from shelves of varying sizes, creating clear basins and pouring down again, over and over. Swaths of smooth, hot granite, baked in the sun, provide excellent places to lounge and lose track of time, contemplating these ancient falls.

We hiked down to the hut, where we took another break and leisurely watched the visitors come and go. A northbound thruhiker shared his adventures, and a somewhat socially awkward AMC guy was inviting folks to look at sunspots through a telescope. Gretel tried to infiltrate the hut, probably smelling something delicious inside, but we intercepted her. After taking in the beautiful view of Zealand Notch opening before us for a few minutes, we hiked down a short but steep rocky descent from the hut and tramped north on the fairly easy Zealand Trail. Easy, but quite scenic, with rustic bridges over ponds, well-worn paths, and nice views of Mt. Hale on the left and many peaks to the right. After reentering the woods for a while, we eventually hit the parking area. The trek down Zealand Trail seemed an awful lot shorter this time than when I did it coming back from the Bonds. Maybe because my pack was lighter, or I hadn't hiked as many miles that day, or because of conditioning, I'm not sure.

We walked back down the road for about a mile to get back to the car. Our mileage for the day was about 8.6 miles, and other than the Hale Brook Trail, was relatively easy; and the hard stuff was out of the way pretty quick, leaving us to enjoy the day on some of the nicest trails in the area. No super-amazing views, but a side trip up to Zeacliff would be a fantastic addition to this hike. I'll definitely recommend this one to people looking for a nice tour of the Zealand area.

Another beautiful, challenging, and memorable weekend in the White Mountains, with big miles and great conversation.

Tecumseh and Carrigain

Over the weekend of July 28th and 29th, my buddy John and I went up North to do a little camping and hiking. We did a long hike last September, when I summited my first 4000 footers, and we both needed Tecumseh and Carrigain for our list. So we headed up early on Saturday, accompanied by The Best Dog In The World, Gretel. Gretel's human, Dana, was working all weekend and asked if Gretel could come with us, and I'm glad she did.

We drove up 93, keeping an eye on the weather, and headed down the Kanc to secure a campsite. We found one at Big Rock, and I set up my Coleman tent, to secure the space (these spots are first-come-first-serve, and on the weekends in the summer fill up quick. It's a good idea to stake one out early if possible), we paid our 20 bucks at the self-pay station, and headed back down to Tripoli Road (one exit south off 93 from the Kanc) to find our trailhead.

Summit of Mt. Tecumseh

Last time I was on Tripoli Road was to go to the trailhead for my Oceolas hike. We went a bit further this time, and turned off onto a gravel lot to access the (trailhead name?) to hike up Mt. Tecumseh. On the way down Tripoli I saw a sketchy character walking the opposite way, who looked very unlike a hiker, walking along the road looking into parked cars. I think he actually tried to open one. Break-ins at trailheads are common, and I hoped my car wouldn't be his next victim. But we were on a somewhat secluded lot, off the road, which I wasn't sure was better or worse.

Tecumseh is a pretty no-nonsense mountain. It is the smallest of the 4000 footers, and the trail pretty much goes straight up, at a consistent grade, to a sub-summit, then down a bit into a small valley, and up to the true summit. Not terribly taxing (which was a bit surprising because the guy I met on the Hancocks said it was deceptively difficult...maybe he used a different approach). But the views at the summit were very nice. This would be a great dayhike for beginner hikers wanting to get a taste of the mountains, especially those coming up from the south. It's pretty much a 2 hour drive from Boston, it's a truly beautiful trail, resplendent with lush green in summer and giving off a very Hobbit-y vibe, John and I decided, with great views from the top. And with about a 6 mile round trip hike up and down, it's a pretty quick dayhike, you could be back home before dark.

I hadn't done much hiking with dogs, and it was quite fun. Gretel would bound off into the woods after a critter, crash into brooks with abandon, leaping like a deer through the brush off in the forest. I was impressed at her abiliby to tear through thickets and water and rock with little effort or resistance, almost like she was made for this terrain. She didn't ever seem to tire (at least on the first day!)

Me and Gretel on Tecumseh

We ate some lunch at the summit and enjoyed the view, and Gretel ran to a couple happily expecting them to share their lunch with her. The man suddenly said to me, "Are you a Redditor?" Reddit is an online community of folks who post photos, links, stories, and other tidbits and then comment and vote on the content. "Yeah!" I replied, a bit taken aback. He subscribes to the "Camping and hiking" community on that page, and had seen the pictures I posted of my Presidential Traverse the weekend before, and recognized me. Small world! We talked for a bit; turns out he'd commented on my photo album, saying he and his girlfriend were going up Washington this weekend. Turns out they didn't, and came to Tecumseh instead. I felt a tiny bit famous.

I contemplated the vast difference between last weekend's Traverse and today's hike. One, an epic 20-mile 9000-foot-gain journey over the highest terrain (and up the highest peak in the Whites, and the entire Northeast) and today's hike, a quick jaunt up the smallest 4000 footer of them all. Starkly different, but both very enjoyable in their own ways.

Camping at Big Rock on the Kanc

We got back to the car in the early afternoon and headed back up to the Kanc. Big grey clouds were starting to roll in. After a quick stop at that awesome roast beef place in Lincoln (check it out) and at an outdoor supply place, just to poke around, we went to our site at Big Rock. It was starting to rain. We rigged up my Equinox tarp over the picnic table, made tea and had some more food, and chit chatted for a few hours. The rain was coming down pretty hard at times, and our attempt to make a fire in the pit was not successful. After the sun set, we turned in, John in his hammock and me and Gretel in my Coleman. The tent kept us pretty dry through the night, and it rained pretty steadily for most of it. I slept pretty well, considering I was snuggling with a stinky wet dog, and we were up at around 8.

AMC Highland Center - photo from mtwashingtonvalley.org

John wasn't feeling up to another day of hiking, so we decided that I'd drop him at the AMC Highland center and Gretel and I would go hike Mt. Carrigain. We drove east down the Kanc and took Bear Notch Road to 302, and headed up toward the Highland Center. On the way up we saw that Sawyer River Road, the road that would bring me to Carrigain's trailhead, is closed. At the Highland Center they told us it had been closed ever since Irene blew through, almost a year before, and that the only way down it was to walk. After some deliberation I decided to go for it, even though the road walk would add time to the hike. I left John and headed back down, parked at the top of the road, and started hiking in with Gretel at about 10:30.

The road didn't look too bad, some wash outs, but it looked as if it could be driven on. Perhaps it's unstable in parts with the weight of a car. I hope they can get it fixed up soon. The road walk took almost exactly 30 minutes, and I came across the trailhead for the Signal Ridge trail, that heads straight to the summit of Mt. Carrigain. The first couple of miles were quite easy, a flat trail that skirts Whiteface Brook. Still a lot of blow-downs and storm damage that has yet to be addressed, but pretty easy going. I made great time on this part. After the junction with the Carrigain Notch Trail, things started to get tougher. After a while, it was a straight-up slog that seemed to go on forever. It was very humid, the rain we'd gotten the day before seemed to linger, making everything wet and slick. Gretel bounded off the path now and then, after god knows what. I was completely soaked, and I couldn't even tell if it was sweat or if I was just soaking up ambient moisture like a sponge. I passed a couple coming down, and they said the top was basically inside a giant cloud. Great. They also said they'd heard thunderstorms might be coming through. This made me a little nervous, but we pressed on.

Signal Ridge trail kicked my ass

The trees started getting scrubby, and the fog got thicker and thicker. The mist that hung over the trail was unsettling, and visibility was getting worse. We finally got up to a clearing, but views were non-existent. I'm not even sure if it were the summit; I know there's supposed to be a tower somewhere but I didn't see it, either because I was at a false summit or the visibility was so poor that it was hidden in the clouds. It started to rain at this point, and I called it - we headed back down. The hike down was long and hard, and eventually we the rain sunsided and we emerged from the cloud and it was sunny again. Strange how quickly the conditions can change in the mountains. We made it back to the trailhead and Gretel and I horsed around for awhile before taking a quick break. I took my shoes off and ate a snack and drank water before walking the road again. I realized I hadn't really taken a break the whole time, and had had little to eat. Not the way I like to do things, but the weather and the rough terrain distracted me from taking an opportunity to take breaks and eat. I was a bit disheartened by this hike; due to the fact that I am unclear if I even was on the summit, and that apparently Carrigain has amazing views on clear days, I'll be doing this one again. Ah well. It was a good workout, anyway, and Gretel and I had fun. It was a 10 mile hike and took 5 hours. The road walk added another hour to the total time.

"why are you doing this to me?"

We made it back to the car and I was so wet I felt like I'd jumped in a lake. I put on some dry clothes and loaded Gretel up. She collapsed in the seat, immobile. Tired pup. We met John back at the Highland Center, where I was delighted that a barbeque buffet was happening on the patio. We paid for our meal tickets and I got a cheeseburger, potato salad, ribs, sausage, cornbread, and a beer. I ate every bite, and I felt a lot better. We sat at a table with some folks - a mom and her two sons - who were visiting from New York. The younger son had volunteered on the A-Z Trail during the summer, and the older son was planning a thru-hike of the Vermont Long Trail. They were extremely friendly and John and I recommended hikes for them to do. The hiker community, whether moms and sons on weekend trips, or scrawny, bearded thru-hikers with names like Furbag or Teflon, is wonderfully friendly and open, and I enjoy their company a great deal.

After stuffing ourselves and bidding our new friends adeui (and purchasing a new book) we headed to the Sugerloaf II campsite where we grabbed a lovely campsite above the Ammonoosuc River. The caretakers were friendly, warning us of bears while they collected our fee. They even said to put the food in the car and cover it, because if a bear sees food in your car he'll peel the thing open like a tin can to get at it. I'd never heard about this behavior before, I thought they went by sense of smell. I get a bear warning so frequently, but I still haven't seen one! I wasn't worried, bears rarely will come to a site with a dog; Gretel will protect us. John pitched his hammock (or as he calls it, his "bear pinata" and I pitched my tent - we rigged the tarp again over the table, in case of rain, but it never came. We built a nice campfire and I drank a couple of beers we'd picked up on the way to the site. We had a great view of the sunset and the night was great, with a little nip in the air. After sitting around the fire for a while Gretel and I turned in - we were both beat. Other than waking up once to Gretel growling at something outside the tent - this was disconcerting - I slept great.

Camp at Sugarloaf II near the Ammonoosuc River

I didn't like what happened on Carrigain, and I'm looking foward to going up it again on a nice day. But it was a very enjoyable weekend of hiking, camping, and fellowship with nature and friends, old and new.

What I brought: Everything. For car camping I usually just throw everything into EmmyVue Harris and go. For the actual hiking, it was my standard fare, but with very few warm clothes and lots of water, due to the heat and humidity. I probably could have taken my little Flash 18 pack up Tecumseh, it was such a short hike. For the quickie dayhikes I have left, I might do that.

What I was glad I had: My Equinox Tarp. though I still haven't used it as a primary shelter, I like carrying it. It came in handy at camp the night it rained, though I might pick up a much larger, cheap blue tarp at a hardware store for car camping. My silnylon tarp is only 6' x 8' and left us susceptible to some residual rain splatter here and there, but when weight isn't an issue, the bigger the tarp the better. I'll probably pick one up and just leave it in the car.