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.