A Warm(ish) Day on Whiteface

A few years ago, if you told me I'd be hiking in January in the White Mountains, I would have suggested an immediate psychological examination. As much as I enjoyed the outdoors as a kid, I grew up in the South. Heat and humidity are a way of life in the Arkansas delta, along with country music, good barbeque, and "muddin'". But when that rare winter weather blows in, life tends to grind to a halt. Centimeters of snow can close down a major city. People skid off the roads in a panic on their way to the grocery store to frantically buy canned creamed corn. As kids, we prayed for snow - no matter how little - because school would close and there might be enough powder to take the sled down the top of the hill. But usually, it wouldn't stick. And if it did, it didn't stick around for long.

So as a young adult, and even after my relocation to New England, I generally saw winter weather as a cue to go inside and hole up. I've skied on water, but not snow. Before last weekend, I'd never put my foot in a snowshoe. But the beauty of the White Mountains is too important to me at this point in my life to sit around and wait for spring to roll around. Though I started my 4000-footer list in May of last year, when snow still clung to the trails, last winter was mild and spring came early. I hiked all through the spring, summer, and fall. I hiked in blistering heat and humidity, that some people will avoid at all costs, but that I never minded so much, maybe due to my Southern origins. But winter hiking is new and scary to me. The fact that people voluntarily - for recreation - deck themselves out in neoprene and Gore-Tex and wool and drag a heavy pack up the side of a frozen mountain, all for the pleasure of having a eighty-mile-per-hour wind blow frozen ice pellets at their face is still a bit mysterious to me. But, the mountains call me, and I have little choice but to join the shivering throngs and heed their invitation. I'm not just a three-season hiker anymore.

My first official winter White Mountain hike was on January 12, 2013. It was a well-attended Meetup outing to Mt. Whiteface, a 4020' peak in the heart of the Sandwich Range, and the southernmost 4000-footer in the White Mountains. I climbed this mountain in July, approaching from the Kanc, and pairing it with Mt. Passaconaway to make for a long, hot dayhike. This time, we approached from the South, from Ferncroft Road in Wonalancet, and took the Blueberry Ridge trail all the way to the summit. I'd picked up two other "Randomites" (members of the Random Group of Hikers Meetup group), one from Cambridge and one from Somerville, at about 5:30, and we were on the road at 6. We arrived at the trailhead at about 8:30; the early morning temperatures were hovering around freezing. Weather reports of icy roads were forecasted, but the roads were in pretty decent shape all the way to the parking area, near a large snow-covered field, and we joined a large number of cars and hikers getting their winter gear ready to go. The weather was overcast and the air was moist, but it was relatively warm, and it was certainly nice to be back in the Whites after taking December off. We met up with our group, which numbered about twelve; the largest group I've hiked with so far. Above and beyond our group, there were a bunch of other folks also heading up Whiteface. The leader/organizer greeted us, and we went around in a circle and introduced ourselves. After doing a gear check and making sure everyone's snowshoes were attached securely to their packs, we headed off to the trail.

We didn't start with the snowshoes, and turns out no one used them the whole hike. From the get-go, the trail was packed down pretty well. On most of the way up we were hiking with our Microspikes on about a foot of snowpack. Blueberry Ledge trail isn't particularly difficult, but you hit a pretty decent incline pretty quickly, and it took me about an hour before I dialed into my pace. I hadn't completely taken the month of December off - I'd hiked in the Fells and the Blue Hills and Breakheart Reservation - so I was doing okay; but I was huffing and puffing and sweating profusely - and a few things were contributing to this (aside from the fact that I was walking up a mountain).

One, I was carrying my winter pack. Two liters of water, extra food, several extra layers, and extra hat and gloves, my tarp, and various emergency items. I was also carrying my new MSR Lightning Ascent snowshoes, which weigh in at almost four pounds. Two, I was wearing my new Merrell Isotherm winter boots, which are well over three. Lastly, the temperatures were not terribly cold, and the air was moist, and I probably started with too many layers. But after about an hour and a group break to shed a layer, I found my pace and the going got a lot easier.

It's hard to emphasize how important layering and sweat management is when hiking in the winter. For this hike I wore my Patagonia Capilene baselayer (top and bottom), a thicker Patagonia sweater, and my Eddie Bauer insulated vest that I found in the curbside trash one night. Funny, the one piece of clothing that I'll probably wind up using the most this winter I got for free. I used my Nike mid-weight running pants, which I like a lot for hiking pants, and they also make a pretty good mid-layer on really cold days. I topped it all off with some high winter gaiters I got at Ocean State Job Lot for 12 bucks - always be on the lookout for deals! I hiked in this for most of the day, but also carried my OR down sweater, North Face fleece, and Arc'teryx rain shell for breaks, or in case the weather changed.

We climbed on, through woods that rained melted snow and ice on us due to the climbing temperatures (it got up above 40°F that day), and finally out onto a ledge with a great view of the western portion of the Sandwich Range. It was somewhat obscured but we were getting up above the clouds; this would probably be a fantastic view in clear skies. After a brief rest we pushed on, descending into a small col, and the summit presented itself high over us. The terrain became steeper and more challenging, the ice grew thicker and more rugged. A few tricky scrambles had to be carefully executed (they were even tougher coming down), and before too long we were at the top. There's always a collective lightening of the spirit when those final steps are taken to a peak. We dropped our packs at a flat overlook and a few of us went a further down the trail to locate the "official" summit, which I recalled from my summer trip was on a viewless section of the Rollins Trail and marked only by a simple cairn, which of course was now obscured by snow. We met another group of old-timers looking for it as well, and we all agreed on a spot. Then we returned to the vista, where we all ate lunch, with pretty much everyone else who'd hiked up from the parking area. There was a lot of fun conversation and good vibes. We had some other hikers take a group picture of us, and eventually we packed up and headed back down.

The hike down wasn't quite as simple or easy as I was expecting; descending a steep mountain on packed snow takes more energy and muscle stamina than you might think. At one point or another we all tried the "butt slide" on a part of a trail that was somewhat chute-like, which I have to admit was pretty fun, though I'm not sure if it's proper trail etiquette or not; it has the potential to make the trail harder for others to ascend. I'm not the fastest descender in the world, and lagged behind the group a bit more than I would have liked. At the junction of the Tom Wiggen Trail, the whole group, distracted by conversation, kept to the left, leaving the Blueberry Ledge trail and sailed right past a sign warning that the Tom Wiggen Trail is not recommended for travel, due to loose and steep trails. Someone at the end sounded the alarm, and we went back to the junction and headed back down Blueberry Ledge. We were almost the victims of "the group mentality", when you stop paying attention to where you're going, because in the back of your mind you figure someone else in the group is. Of course if everyone's thinking this, no one is actually paying attention. I happen to think that's what happened to the Tufts kids who recently got lost coming down from the Mizpah hut, and took Dry River Cutoff east into the Dry River Wilderness, instead of the Mizpah cutoff west back to the Crawford Path and to their cars. They were hiking in the exact wrong direction, for hours. If any one of the group - and there were a few - had bothered to look at a compass (or wondered why they were breaking trail on what should have been a well-used path) they wouldn't have had to be pulled out of the mountains by Fish and Game at 2:30 in the morning. Group or not, pay close attention. We all need to be reminded of this sometimes.

We got back to the car after hiking about seven miles. The old timers we met at the top came down shortly after us. They'd gone down - deliberately - the Tom Wiggen trail, which is why we didn't run into them on the way down. We asked how it was; they said it was "rough" - and those guys didn't look like they threw that word around lightly! We threw our gear into the cars, got into some dry clothes, and decided to take the party to the Pizza Barn, over on 16, which is exactly what you think it is. Also, they have terrible pizza. But, we had a good time, I got a free coffee for the road, and we headed south on 16, back toward Massachusetts. My first winter four-thousand-footer is done, and I'm already looking forward to the next one. I'm beginning to see what all these crazy four-season hikers are talking about...

New gear for this hike: New snow baskets for my Leki poles (really glad I went to the effort of getting these), new Merrell winter boots (20 bucks at REI garage sale, whaat), MSR snowshoes (unused), water bottle insulated coozie (though not cold enough to warrant it).