Monthly Archives: August 2017

Mountain Day on New Hampshire’s Mount Washington

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On August 11, 2016, Japan’s inaugural Mountain Day holiday, I was climbing Mount Fuji with my son and thousands of other hikers. We didn’t know it was Mountain Day, but later, when I learned about the holiday, aimed at getting people out of the office and into the mountains, I was pleased to know we had been part of this first celebration.

In 2017, with summer racing towards its conclusion, I asked my son if he wanted to go on a hike before fall sports practices invaded the calendar.

“Let’s go on Mountain Day,” he said. “Can we hike up Mount Washington?”

Although I’ve visited the summit of Mount Washington a couple of times in recent years (including a week-long January stay at the Observatory), I hadn’t climbed Mount Washington since 1998 or so, when my husband and I, along with a friend, hoisted ourselves up the granite blocks of the Huntington Ravine Trail.  Climbing Washington would be challenging, I knew, but well within our reach as a day hike. The hike would also be a birthday “celebration” of sorts, just as Mount Fuji had been, since my birthday falls on August 10. And I could even get a Diet Pepsi at the summit!

After driving to the Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, we set off on the Tuckerman Ravine Trail around 10 a.m., with plans to do a loop via the Lion’s Head Trail. The forecast looked good for Mount Washington: Probably no views, with the summit in and out of clouds, and maybe a thunder shower later, but no driving winds or freezing temperatures.

In my memory, the 2.4-mile trek up to Hermit Lake Shelters was a piece of cake, a highway packed on spring mornings with ski-toting hikers jazzed to test their skill on the steep slope of Tuckerman Ravine. In middle-aged reality, this stretch, with its 1,800 feet of elevation gain, was a relentless uphill trudge, interrupted by some flatter sections. Still, we made it to Hermit Lake with no complaints and enjoyed a quick lunch break on the porch.

At Hermit Lake, I peeked inside the main lodge at the counter where on spring days, skiers and spectators can buy candy bars and other treats. That made me think of the Diet Pepsi awaiting me on Washington….and then I remembered: I had left all my money in my car. At the last minute, I’d had a brain cramp and tucked my wallet into the console, because why would I need money on a mountain?

Hermit Lake, just past the Shelters, with the Tuckerman head wall looming above.

Thoughts of Diet Pepsi continued to plague me as I slowly made my way up the steep  trail that ascends Tuckerman Ravine. We had plenty of food, I reminded myself. Water is way better than Diet Pepsi. Artificial sweeteners aren’t healthy. Still, I cursed myself for leaving those dollars in the car.

In the meantime, my son scampered ahead, occasionally waiting for me to catch up. Lagging behind, I wondered if I might find a trail of M & Ms on the rocks, like the ones I used to leave for him as motivation to keep hiking.

We rested briefly at Lunch Rocks, the gallery where spectators gather to watch the drama of spring skiing:  the dramatic falls and wipeouts, the waving hand that signifies a fallen skier has survived.

A summer waterfall cascading in Tuckerman Ravine.

Along the trail, we met other hikers, but far fewer than I expected. Compared to Mount Fuji, the weekday crowds on  Mount Washington are just a sprinkle of people, even at the summit with its cog railway and auto road.

After a steady hour or so of hiking, we emerged from the scrub and hiked over the lip of the ravine, only to face the rock heap of the final ascent.

Hiking up the rock pile as clouds move in over Tuckerman Ravine.

A multi-generational family of hikers ranging in age from 8 to 70-ish climbed over the rocks around us.  “Where’s the trail?” a kid wondered. “Do you just go straight up?”

One of the adults said he’d heard about a train on top of the mountain. If that rumor was true, maybe they could take it down.

“There is a train,” I told him. “It’s been there for over a hundred years. And yes, you can take it down.”

The kid went crazy. “We can take the train, we can take the train!”

I also knew that he could probably take a hiker van shuttle down the auto road, but I didn’t want to get his hopes up too much. With my wallet in the car, those options were off the table for us, but I’d never seriously entertained an alternate route down.  I knew I could hike this mountain.

We continued on, up and over the piles of granite rock. In the distance, I could see a piece of a tower — one of the structures on the summit. And then we were there, landing on the Auto Road, and facing the wooden staircase that led to the summit.

In the clouds on Mount Washington. What the photo doesn’t show: the small line of other visitors, many of them shivering in shorts and flip-flops, waiting patiently for their turn at a photo.

Mount Washington’s summit hosts several buildings, including a weather observatory, gift shop and the multi-purpose state park building that houses a cafeteria, post office, and the Mount Washington Observatory’s “Extreme Weather” exhibit.  The cafeteria food didn’t look very appetizing — hot dogs and slabs of pizza — but I considered making an effort to set up Apple Pay on my cellphone to buy a treat. But then I saw the “Cash Only” sign. A relief, as I didn’t really want to fiddle with my phone on a mountaintop. We would get our treat in the valley below.

The “stagecoach” gift shop building for the Cog Railway originally was the weather observatory, where on April 12, 1937, weather observers recorded the world’s highest wind speed ever,  at 231 mph. That record was surpassed several years ago, but still stands as the highest speed manually recorded by a person.  If you think about hurricanes and what they do to wooden structures, it’s amazing that the observatory building was not torn apart. It is (and was) secured with chains.

By the time we began to hike down, the clouds were drizzling rain. We began the rocky descent on the Tuckerman Ravine Trail, aiming for the first left, to the Lion’s Head Trail. We wondered if we should stop and gear up with rain jackets and pants, or wait it out a bit in our damp fleece. Getting wet on Mount Washington can be lethal, but I wasn’t sure if we’d stay dry with the rain gear, given the humidity. We decided to push on through the drizzle.

Heading down the mountain towards Lion’s Head. The footing is rough and rocky as you make your away across the mountain, with little evidence of “trail” (but well-marked by cairns).

The Lion’s Head Trail travels above the northern edge of Tuckerman Ravine and then, after a short steep descent, links up with the Tuckerman Ravine Trail below Hermit Lake. I’m glad we took this route, as the descent didn’t feel overly steep, and the trail was mostly empty. We only encountered two other parties on Lion’s Head.

The Lion’s Head Trail heads down along the northern flank of Tuckerman Ravine,  offering great views into the Ravine.

By now, I was definitely feeling beat up. On Lion’s Head, I stopped to rest and take stock of my snack supply. I pulled out a Clif Bar I had tossed into my pack after reaching into the inner recesses of my kitchen cabinet. The expiration date read “16April13.”  Did that mean April 16, 2013 (which meant the bar was probably baked some time in 2012)? Or April 13, 2016? My son confirmed the former.  But the bar was sealed.  If I was waiting out a nuclear disaster, I would eat it. So I did (to no obvious ill effects).

After making our way down the Lion’s Head trail, including one ladder, we reconnected with the Tuckerman Ravine Trail around 5 p.m.  I knew my goal of getting to Pinkham Notch by 6:15 was well within reach. On the way down, we passed several parties hiking up to Hermit Lake Shelters, mostly Boy Scouts with middle-aged leaders carrying large backpacks. I felt for those guys, both for the heavy packs and the complaining kids.  As we closed in on Pinkham, one kid hiking uphill asked me if they were near the Hermit Lake shelters. I asked his leader if  we were almost to Pinkham Notch.

“Pretty close,” he said grimly, fully aware that our proximity to Pinkham meant his distance from Hermit Lake. But they were out there hiking and, in the end, would have a great time. Except that the forecast called for a hard rain in the morning. Still, the hike would become an epic tale. The boys would be proud of themselves, and the men, well, they would feel satisfied that the boys had learned they could do something hard.

We made it back down to Pinkham Notch by 6:30 and high-tailed it to Elvio’s Pizza in North Conway, a long-established pizza joint where I’m pretty sure I ate pizza after my first hike up Mount Washington, back on October 31, 1980. On that day, we had left my college campus at 4 a.m. and returned around 8 p.m., in time for Halloween parties. I got dressed up in a silver go-go girl dress with white boots that I’d found at Goodwill, danced until 2 a.m., then fell into bed. When the dorm fire alarm sounded some time later (a regular weekend occurrence), my roommates left me in my bed because they could not shake me awake.

This time, armed with a Diet Coke to keep me awake, I set off on Route 16, aiming for home. We arrive after 9 p.m., feasted on birthday cake, and then fell into bed without dancing.  An epic Mountain Day and a new tradition.  Although I could hard move the next day, we were already planning for next year. Somehow I need to work in the dancing.

Sources and resources

I planned on eight hours for this hike, because I know I am a slow uphill hiker, and I usually budget one mile per hour, including rest stops. Several sources I’ve read suggest planning on two miles per hour, with an extra half-hour for every 1,000-feet of elevation gain, which would make Mount Washington a six-hour hike.

The weather in the “higher summits” of the Presidentials can be very different from the valleys and other mountains. If you are planning on hiking Mount Washington, I recommend checking the higher summits forecast at the Mount Washington Observatory, where you also read a great article about the many who have died on the mountain, Surviving Mount Washington.

For a gripping account of the dangers on Mount Washington, I also recommend Nicholas Howe’s 1999 book, Not Without Peril.

Friends of Tuckerman’s Ravine offers many great photos, history and other information about this beautiful place on Mount Washington.

And finally, my posts from my week-long winter stay on Mount Washington:

The world’s worst weather: Bring it on!

Cat vs. Camel: An epic battle on Mount Washington provides an opportunity to write about Marty

Crisis on Mount Washington: The Empty Sugar Barrel

The wind howls, and we stir the pot

36-hour Montana Road Trip: Driving into the Big Hole and the Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway

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In 1905, Montana pioneer Joe Maurice experienced the worst possible losses. Although blind in one eye from a horse kick, the Belgium immigrant had persevered in eking out a living at the homestead he’d established on Gold Creek, supplementing cattle with gold prospecting.

But that winter, his wife died of diphtheria, which by 1905 was curable if you could get to a doctor with anti-diphtheria serum. In the spring — possibly before he had the chance to bury his wife in the frozen ground — his two young children died of typhoid fever.  Was Joe all alone? Or did neighbors help him to bury his family, or with the grim task of piling rocks on the fresh graves so that animals didn’t dig up his loved ones?

On our 36-hour Montana road trip, we stopped to visit these lonely graves, marked by blank wooden headstones, just off to the side of the Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway (Route 73) in southwestern Montana’s Beaverhead County.

On this June day, we saw few cars. A hundred years ago, this valley was an even lonelier place. I wonder how diphtheria, a highly contagious disease, managed to invade Joe’s home. Had a passing traveler carried the bacteria (which can be transported by health “silent carriers”)?  Had Joe brought the diphtheria back from a trip to town?

Most of us would be crushed by these losses. I haven’t been able to find much additional information on Joe–if he married again, or had more children–but the Forest Service road sign told me that he Joe persevered. Having arrived in this valley in 1883, at age 13, Joe was determined to stay on, perhaps mining copper at the mine bearing his name on a nearby mountain flank. Joe lived at his homestead until 1963, when friends persuaded the 93-year-old pioneer to move to a rest home, where he died a few years later at age 97.

On Montana’s Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway in late June, alpine meadows and mountain “parks” bloom with lupine and yellow daisies– beauty that belies the challenges faced by those who tried — and are still trying — to make a living here.

Joe’s story is one of many that lie beneath the pavement of this route running between the Big Hole Valley and the hamlet of Wise River, Montana. Today, as in the past, cattle — along with elk, bear, and other animals — remain far more common than people.

Cows, cows, everywhere, as we encounter a ranch family escorting a herd of cattle to summer mountain pastures. Two pickup trucks and five people on horseback were herding the cattle along a five-mile stretch of the Byway.

On our 36-hour road trip, we aimed to discover new territory in the vast state of Montana. We were visiting a friend in Darby, in the scenic Bitterroot Valley, which is the Montana of travel brochures: snow-capped mountains and rivers teeming with trout. The Bitterroot is great for fishing, relaxing, and hiking, with miles of trails in the Bitterroot National Forest.  But we wanted to explore further afield.

With our borrowed 1999 Chevy Lumina and a full tank of gas, I knew I could cram a lot into 36 hours — a day, a night, and another full day — without feeling cramped. We left Darby after breakfast, heading south on Montana Route 93 to the Lost Trail Pass, near the Montana/Idaho border, and then up and over Chief Joseph Pass, on Route 43, into the Big Hole Valley.

Our first stop was Big Hole National Battlefield, where the Big Hole River meanders through a grassy meadow. In the summer of 1877, this meadow was the site of  a small but significant battle between the U.S. Cavalry, and a band of Nez Perce who were resisting forced removal onto reduced reservation lands in Idaho (the government seized the land  after prospectors discovered gold on the reservation).  Here, the Cavalry surprised the sleeping Nez Perce, with many women and children killed in their teepees. But the Nez Perce warriors rallied, counter-attacked, and ended up forcing the Cavalry to retreat, thus allowing the surviving band members to flee.

When we visited the Battlefield, rain was falling, so we didn’t walk out to the memorial site, but inside the small visitor center, we touched the howitzer cannon that the Nez Perce captured from the Cavalry. I’m thankful that the National Park Service permits visitors to touch this object, giving visitors a tangible connection to the Nez Perce fighting to preserve their way of life as well as the Cavalry soldiers who died that day.

Back in the car, we drove to the tiny town of Wisdom for lunch at the local café, a busy spot, with one waitress trying to cover 12 tables. Then we returned to the road, turning on t0 Route 278 and into the wide open heart of the Big Hole Valley.

Big Hole Valley, overlooking Hamilton Ranch.

Was this land truly a “valley”? Or something else, like a tableland, or a plain?  It was so wide and open, with green sagebrush stretching for miles in all directions, and mountains in the distance. I had never seen a landscape as vast as the Big Hole Valley (most of it ranch land, in private hands).

We continued on  Route 278, heading towards Bannack State Park, once the territorial capital of Montana and a thriving community of 3,000 souls. Today, Bannack is an official ghost town, full of abandoned buildings, rusty artifacts, and stories.

The old jail, with sod roof, at Bannack State Park. At its peak, after the 1862 gold discovery, Bannack was a thriving town of 3000 people. Although people began to leave by the turn of the century, the mining industry remained active through World War II.

Visitors can wander, at their own risk, through any unlocked building.  You have to watch your step on loose floorboards and creaking stairs, as Bannack is not prettied up for visitors.

Bannack’s main drag. The building with the cupola on top was built to serve as both a Masonic Lodge (second story) and the town’s schoolhouse (first floor).

Bannack’s one-room schoolhouse. At one point, the town had so many students that some attended classes in the Methodist Church and in the Masonic Lodge hall on the second floor.

 

Bellying up to the bar in Skinner’s Saloon, which served as the headquarters for the notorious criminal gang, Plummer’s Road Agents. After the gang’s demise, the saloon became a store.

As thunder clouds moved in, we returned to the Chevy and backtracked west to set off north on the Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway, heading towards Elkhorn Hot Springs. We stopped first at the Grasshopper Inn, because its many roadside signs advertised gas for sale.

But the inn was out of gas. We knew we would be fine, but the empty gas tank signaled the struggle common to much of rural America: the slow depopulation and decline that perpetuates itself. If you can’t offer a necessary product like gasoline, then it’s even harder to attract people to come visit, never mind stay.

A few miles past the Grasshopper, we turned off to Elkhorn Hot Springs, which exactly met my expectations for rustic western hot springs: cabins with no running water, a restaurant/main lodge serving adequate food, and two hot spring pools that could benefit from a little love, but which were clean and relaxing.

The “cool” pool (96ish degrees) at Elkhorn Hot Springs. An adjacent pool is around 101 degrees, and a sauna in the building ranges from 104-106 degrees F.  The water is crystal clear and clean; the discoloration stems from the pool’s pitted concrete bottom. A room at the Lodge for one person goes for around $35 a night, including breakfast and the hot springs. Now that’s a bargain!

Elkhorn, it seems, is teetering on survival, as is Maverick Mountain, the ski area next door. The hot springs and the mountain are just too far away from large numbers of people.    Like so many places in rural America, Elkhorn Hot Springs needs a benefactor who could pour some money into the place without needing to worry about a return on investment.

The next day, after a morning soak in the hot springs, we headed north towards Crystal Park, a Forest Service area where visitors can dig for quartz (bring your own pick and shovel). Unfortunately, the Park was closed for a week of site improvements.

The meadow or “park” across from Crystal Park.

The mineral batholith stretches across the road and into the meadow. The Forest Service ranger told us we could dig there (usually off-limits), but we decided against it due to an onslaught of hungry mosquitoes.

Another view, just off the Byway.

Back in the car, we considered our options. Hike up to Coolidge, another ghost town, or aim for one of the high mountain lakes? We didn’t have many provisions, so we elected to continue on, eventually passing the Maurice family graveyard and the roaming cattle, and then landing in Wise River for a hearty lunch at the Wise River Club.

Skalkaho Falls, on the western side of the pass, heading towards the Bitterroot Valley.

Having come this far, we decided we would drive back to the Bitterroot via the Skalkaho Pass Road (Montana Highway 38), which travels through the Sapphire Mountains on a seasonal Forest Service road built upon a Native American trail.  After passing through more beautiful country, we spied the tall smokestack marking the former industrial town of Anaconda, and then detoured for tea and ice cream in Philipsburg, a small town known for its brewery, shops, and cool vibe.

I was nervous about the Skalkaho, since it is described as a “narrow winding road” on one of Montana’s “least travelled mountain roads,”  but I figured it couldn’t be any worse than the rough Forest Service roads we’d been taking to various hiking spots near Darby. Along the way, we stopped at the Gem Mountain Sapphire “Mine,” where visitors can buy buckets of gravel from a nearby mine and sift for sapphires (located just past mile marker 38 on the Skalkaho Pass Road, just before the paved road becomes gravel).

As it turned out, the Skalkaho was a breeze, especially since we were driving on the mountain side of the road, and not the edge. Also, because of some major spring washouts, the Forest Service had just finishing re-grading the road, making for smooth driving. Although the Skalhako isn’t exceptionally scenic, we enjoyed the ride up to the pass and through the forest, where anglers seek out certain fishing spots.  Not scary at all.

Skalkaho Road landed us just south of Hamilton, Montana.  Back in Darby, we finished off the road trip with a visit to Bandit Brewing Co., Montana’s smallest brewery, where beer is power.  Just ask the owner, a relative newcomer to town who recently become Darby’s mayor. We’d only been gone for 36 hours, but as we drank our beer, I realized that Darby was beginning to feel like home.  Fingers crossed, we’ll have another opportunity for a return visit and another 36-hour road trip.

Sources and resources

At the bottom of the post, see the hand-drawn map (on a Google map) covering our journey.

For more information on the Nez Perce, see the National Park Service website for the Big Hole National Battlefield.

See this Forest Service link for more detailed information on sights and stops along the Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway.

Find more information on Skalkaho Pass Road here.

This is my amateur and approximate map of our road trip, including detours to Bannack State Park and Philipsburg. We began and ended in Darby, Montana, south of Hamilton. Skalkaho Pass Road, parts of the Pioneer Mountains Byway, and the back road we took to Anaconda are all closed in winter, which starts early. Check locally on road status if you are traveling October through early June.