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.