Category Archives: Mountains

24 hours/four seasons: a spring hike on New Hampshire’s Mount Lafayette

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On that 95-degree Thursday afternoon in May, we headed north from Kittery, seeking cooler air and adventure. But at 4 p.m., when we pulled into the Franconia Notch parking lot for the Old Bridle Path trailhead, the car thermometer read 93 degrees.

Undaunted, and knowing that we had “only” a 2.9-mile hike to Greenleaf Hut, we hit the trail — a mom, her teenaged son, and his friend, the latter two carrying packs heavy with sleeping bags, extra layers, and clean underwear (maybe). The mom still carried most of the load, including a reward stash of 3 cans: one Baxter Paloma beer, two Brisk Ice-Teas.  The teenagers quickly charged ahead, despite the drag of ill-fitting packs.

By mid-May, the lower section of the Old Bridle Path was dry, but I knew that snow probably lingered on the upper slopes of Mount Lafayette and on the upper third of the Falling Waters Trail. I’d been to Greenleaf Hut several times in the spring, drawn by the low self-service fee, and the opportunity to feel like I am traveling in a wilderness. On spring days, at least during the week, these higher elevations in New Hampshire feel wild and remote, barren spaces where you might be the last person on earth.

On gorgeous summer and fall days, hundreds (and sometimes thousands) of people hike to Lafayette, completing a 8.9-mile loop that includes two 4,000-foot summits and almost two miles of walking on the open and exposed Franconia Ridge. Weather can change rapidly on Lafayette and along the ridge, with a bluebird sky transforming into a dense fog cloud. Thus, I knew not to take 93 degree for granted. I had consulted the Higher Summits forecast, and knew what to expect: four seasons, 24 hours.

Hiking steadily up the Old Bridle Path, which climbs 2,450 feet from the trailhead to Greenleaf Hut, a steady stream of sweat dripped into my eyes and down my back. I gulped water, but could barely keep up with the sweat, or the boys.  Occasionally they paused to wait for me, and I nagged them to drink their water.  About two miles in, we burst out of the woods into the krummholz, the twisted low-growing spruce trees shaped by the wind. Gray clouds were gathering, but the temperature remained warm. I knew thunder might break out at any moment, and encouraged the boys to hustle to the hut without me, while I hustled at my own pace.

Clouds moving in over Franconia Ridge as we break out of the forest.

I made it to the hut by 6:30, about ten minutes behind the teenagers. The beer and the iced teas went down in minutes as we lingered on the back porch of the hut and watched dark thunderclouds roll in. Dinner was simple: grilled ham and cheese, a few carrots, some chocolate chip cookies. We shared the dining room with just two other hikers, who soon headed off to their bunks.  But not us, as the show was just beginning.

As darkness fell, lightening crackled across the sky and lit up the mountain. Deep booms of thunder shook the hut. The storm was glorious and magnificent, and we were safe and snug in the hut. Henry Thoreau’s observations, recalling his 1846 hike on the “Burnt Lands” plateau of Mount Katahdin, seemed fitting:

“This was that Earth of which we have heard, made out of Chaos and Old Night…Man was not to be associated with it. It was Matter, vast, terrific…rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks! the solid earth! the actual world! the common sense! Contact! Contact!“

When we went to bed around 10, sheets of rain poured from the sky, washing away the snow fields on the mountain’s upper slopes. By morning, the front had ushered in cool air, a fall day that called for sweaters and long pants.

At Greenleaf Hut, elevation 4220 feet, the intrepid hikers, undaunted by the morning chill, were ready for the morning hike to the Lafayette summit. The temperature had dropped about 50 degrees overnight (but some teens will never give up their shorts).

From the hut, we hiked steadily up the 1.1-mile section of the Greenleaf Trail that climbs up Lafayette.  This stretch is rocky and steep, but never feels too difficult because the views are unrelenting and magnificent.

Morning view of Greenleaf Hut, with Cannon Mountain behind it.

As we climbed higher, a misty cloud surrounded us, limiting visibility. My son, aka The Seal, finally pulled out his fleece shirt.

Hiking into the clouds towards the 5,261-foot summit of  Lafayette.

On top of the mountain, the wind was blowing hard, creating a windchill in the 30-degree range. Not full-on winter with a raging blizzard, but definitely winter, by almost any standards (including New England).

At the summit, the wind was strong enough to lean into. Such conditions — and even stronger winds — are common on Lafayette, and weather on the mountain often changes rapidly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Playing in the wind on Mount Lafayette

 

Taking a break from the wind in the foundation of a shelter built on Lafayette around 1860. The structure is long gone, but hikers today still appreciate the protection offered by the old foundation.

The wind abated once we began to descend from the summit onto the Franconia Ridge Trail, a two-mile open ridge walk.

Franconia Ridge, viewed as we descend Lafayette and head towards 5,089-foot Mount Lincoln, with Little Haystack, Mt. Liberty and  Mt. Flume following. The temperature remained cold, but the hiking kept us warm.

At Little Haystack, we turned right (west) onto the Falling Waters Trail.  Narrow ridges of snow called monorail, formed by the steady tromping of winter hikers all season long, typically linger on the upper stretch of Falling Waters until late May.  The monorail is deceptively treacherous, especially if the surface in hard and slippery (in such cases, microspikes advised).  The heavy rains made the snow soft, but we picked our way carefully along the monorail to avoid any slips that might twist an ankle or knee.

Thanks to the rain and spring run-off, the Falling Waters Trail was a drama of roaring cascades.

Cloudland Falls, the first of three cascades on the Falling Waters Trail as you hike down from Franconia Ridge.  This photo is a pale imitation of the falls we encountered that morning, after the big storm.

At Swiftwater Falls, we crossed the brook, and a short time later came upon Stairs Falls, where a large cliff with a slight overhang rises above the trail.  Here, I hurried the boys along to the other side of the brook. I believe this spot is where a five-by-three foot boulder dislodged from the cliff and killed a young woman from China ten years ago around this time of year (I hiked the loop with a friend that spring, about a week after the accident). This kind of freak accident is very rare, but I do not like to linger by Stairs Falls.

Leaving the falls behind, we hiked the last mile to the car.  By this time and at this lower elevation, the morning was warming up: spring had arrived.  Four seasons/24 hours — what many would say is just another day of hiking to the higher summits in the White Mountains.

Sources and resources

This hike took place on May 18-19, 2017, with record-high temperatures on May 18, as reported in this Washington Post article, “New England has the nation’s hottest weather.”

To read Thoreau’s entire account of his Katahdin hike (in which he did not reach the summit), see the KTAADN chapter in The Maine Woods, published after the author’s death in 1862.

For information on summit hotels and structures, most of them built during the 19th century, see Rick Russack’s article, “White Mountain Hotels and Summit Structures” at WhiteMountainsHistory.org.

To check current trail conditions (especially important in the spring, when ice and snow may linger many weeks after the ground is bare down below), see NewEnglandTrailConditions.com.

This Boston Globe article provides some details about the May 2008 accident that killed 28-year-old Shu Qin, a young woman visiting from China.

For a day hike, the recommended route for the Franconia Loop is counter-clockwise (up Falling Waters to the ridge and down the Old Bridle Path), to avoid hiking down some slippery sections of the Falling Waters trail. From Memorial Day through the mid-October, hikers can take a break at the hut to enjoy hot soup and cookies.

 

Jurassic time-traveling in NH: A hike to Mount Shaw

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Up in the White Mountains,  winter hangs on long past its official ending date, especially this year, when most of the snow fell in March and April. Even as I write this post in mid-May, iced-covered trails and unstable snow bridges are the rule and not the exception. But this is a great time of year to hike in New Hampshire Lakes Region, when the snow is gone and the black files have yet to hatch.

For that first spring hike, I highly recommend 2,990-foot Mount Shaw, tallest of the Ossipee Mountains and part of the Castle in the Clouds Conservation Area (in which Mount Roberts also offers a great hike). Last October, I hiked Mt. Shaw with my husband a few days after a massive wind storm wiped out power to much of northern New England and wreaked havoc on many hiking trails. Some quick internet consulting revealed that Mount Shaw’s trails were passable, so we packed a lunch and headed north.

The 7.7-loop trail on Mount Shaw is definitely a hike, not a walk, but because of its relatively low elevation and its Tuftonboro location south of the White Mountains, Shaw is a great three-season hike in regular boots, and, in the winter, a nice option for a snowshoeing adventure (see trail map bottom of post).

Mount Shaw’s main reward are panoramic views of Mount Washington and the Presidentials.  Other rewards include views of Lake Winnipesaukee and the Ossipee Ring Dike, along with the joy of stepping off a rocky trail on to a grassy carriage road built by shoe magnate Thomas Gustave Plant, when he developed his Lucknow Estate in the early 20th century.  Also, Mount Shaw is on the “52 With a View List”, a fine collection of New Hampshire mountains offering great vistas and fewer weekend crowds compared to the 4ooo-footers in the White Mountains.

Mt. Shaw and its neighbors  are the remnants of the largest volcanic ring dike in New Hampshire, the Ossipee Ring Dike.

This geological map shows the Ossipee Ring Dike, the result of Jurassic-era volcanic activity.

According to the website NH Geology, a ring dike forms when the ceiling of an underground magna chamber collapses beneath a circular crack in the bedrock.  The magma erupts in blobs that tend to be rounded in shape, so a bulbous  circular dike emerges. These sorts of eruptions were typical of volcanic activity  in New Hampshire 150 million years ago, when Pangea was breaking up, with Pawtuckaway State Park providing another example.

The trailhead for the Mount Shaw loop, including a small parking lot, is located on NH Route 171, and NOT at Castle in the Clouds.

After hiking .4 miles into the forest from the trailhead, picking up the Italian Trail is a little tricky as several old woods roads diverge. At .4 miles, look for this old log, marked with red blazes, that someone has carefully place on a makeshift cairn. The general direction is away from the brook, to the right, and uphill.

The Italian Trail heads up through the forest towards the flat and open perch of Mount Tate (about 1.2 miles from the fork).

Views of Dan Hole Pond and beyond, from the open flank of Mount Tate, also known as Big Ball Mountain.  The pond is approximately in the middle of the ring dike. How amazing that we can view the remnants of the Jurassic-ear breakup of Pangea right here in New Hampshire!

From Mount Tate, we could see the ridge above us that included Black Snout and the summit of Mount Shaw.  Surprisingly, we saw little evidence of the windstorm  that left us in the dark a few days earlier. We picked up a couple of stray branches, but overall, the trail was in great shape.

From Mount Tate, we followed the blue-blazed Big Ball Mountain trail up towards the ridge of Mount Shaw.  Along the trail, the roots of a big old red maple tree (I think) sprawled across the trail like the tentacles of a comic-book monster.

When the Big Ball Mountain Trail reached the ridge, we stepped on to  the soft grassy path of the old carriage road, now part of the High Ridge Trail.

Thomas Plante built these carriage roads for sightseeing pleasure of his guests. The roads lace the Castle in the Clouds Conservation Area, and make for hiking that’s easy on the feet.

At the ridge, we turned left towards the Black Snout Spur Trail, because you can’t come all this way and not visit a mountain feature called Black Snout, where we took in views of Lake Winnipesaukee.

The view from Black Snout.

The top of the ridge is fairly open, suggesting either a fire or extensive logging to create a park-like environment. Although filling in with small trees, the open ridge provides  opportunity for winterberry to flourish.

Bright red winterberry, a relative of holly, stands out in the late fall after its leaves have dropped.  Birds feed on the berries but they are toxic for humans.

After backtracking from Black Snout, we continued on the easy walking of the High Ridge Trail and after a half-mile reached the summit of Mount Shaw.  The summit offers a sort of bench (as well as a literal log bench) for enjoying the panoramic view, almost like sitting in form of a big wide movie screen.

Northern views towards Mount Washington from Mount Shaw.

After enjoying the views, we backtracked on the High Ridge Trail, intending to return via the 2.5 mile Shaw Trail, a straight shoot downhill to the trailhead. At the junction, we

The Turtleback Mountain Trail follows one of the old carriage roads and eventually takes hikers back to Castle in the Clouds. 

studied the map, t0 make sure we should head right towards the Turtleback Mountain Trail. We soon found the Shaw Trail, a hard left  off the carriage road.

The Shaw Trail drops quickly from the ridge, with rough rocky footing, eventually reaching a mountain brook which the trail then follows for most of its length. On the downhill, we felt the  7.7 miles of the loop trail—i.e. “will we EVER get to the end of this trail?” (Again, this is a hike and not a walk).

Down, down, down the Shaw Trail, until we reached the brook, and hiked another 1.5 miles to the trailhead.

The Shaw Trail offers a pretty walk through the forest, but I definitely recommend going down via Shaw rather than up. Back at the car, we pulled off our boots, guzzled our water, and flipped a coin to see who got to nap first on the ride home. The best part: home, in Kittery, Maine, was only an hour and 15 minutes away, and Route 16 offered plenty of coffee opportunities.  The second best part: it will be easy to return.

Map of 7.7 mile Mount Shaw loop (New England Hiking, 4000footers.com)

Driving directions:  Get yourself to New Hampshire Route 171 in Tuftonboro.  If coming from the east, you’ll find the small parking area just before the bridge over Fields Brook.  If you pass Sodom Road on the left, you’ve gone too far.

If coming from the west, you’ll pass Sodom Road on the right, and then cross  the bridge over Fields Brook, and turn left into the small parking area.

I highly recommend buying the waterproof trail map to the Castle in the Clouds Conservation Area.

My other posts on hikes in the New Hampshire Lakes Region

Mount Roberts: The Legacy of a Bankrupt Millionaire

One hike, many discoveries: A plane crash, a fire tower, and stone-age couches

Exploring caves and climbing ladders in the New Hampshire Lakes Region

Wandering in the wilderness of Mount Paugus

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.

Mount Roberts: The rich legacy of a bankrupt millionaire

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Mount Roberts is located at the Castle in the Clouds Conservation Area, once the mountain estate of benevolent capitalist Thomas G. Plant.

Mount Roberts, located in Moultonborough, New Hampshire at the 5,300-acre Castle in the Clouds Conservation Area, was once the country estate of benevolent capitalist Thomas G. Plant.

Mount Roberts, a small peak with big views, is “such stuff as dreams are made on”:  one man’s dream, for building castles in the air.

Although he can’t claim credit for creating  the mountain itself, shoe magnate Thomas Gustave Plant paved the way for conservation of this land in the early 1900s when he began buying up old farms and lots in New Hampshire’s Ossipee Range for his Lucknow Estate, where he built his Arts & Crafts-style Castle in the Clouds in 1913-14.

But by the time Plant died at age 82 in 1941, he was bankrupt and broke, thanks to bad investments in Russian bonds and Cuban sugar, followed by the 1929 stock market crash. During the Depression, he tried to sell his mountain estate but found no one willing to buy the estate as one parcel. Plant lived with his wife Olive at the Castle until he died, just before creditors  auctioned off everything he owned.

After Plant’s death, the property passed through the hands of several stewards, until its 2002 purchase by the Lakes Region Conservation Trust.

Thomas G. Plant

Born in Bath, Maine, to a working-class family of French Canadian immigrants, Plant played baseball, cut ice, and worked in a shoe factory before starting his own shoe company, reportedly with money garnished in a baseball wager.  An “enlightened capitalist,” Plant sought both to make money and to enrich the lives of his workers. He claimed his Thomas G. Plant Shoe Factory in Roxbury, Massachusetts as the largest in the world. There, workers enjoyed a park and other amenities.  In 1917, he built The Plant Home, an assisted living home still operating today in Bath.

On a recent Sunday afternoon, as we began our hike to Mount Roberts, we passed the old stables, which continue to house horses and carriages today (available for riding in season).  Plant probably rode in his carriage on the old road that winds up the side of the mountain.

Our first views of Winnepesaukee, with more to come.

Our first views of Winnipesaukee, with more to come.

The 2.5 mile trail to the Mount Roberts summit soon reaches ledges with great views of Lake Winnipesaukee. The terrain looks rough for carriage rides, but then again, bumpy rides on carriage paths once were common in these parts.

On my visit to Castle in the Clouds Conservation Area, the small parking lot was full, and families with young children were cavorting in the meadow around the small pond.

But as we hiked to Mount Roberts, we mostly had the trail to ourselves.  At the summit, with its view of Mount Washington, we were the only hikers present.

On the summit of Mt. Roberts, we had great of Mt. Washington with its snow-covered summit.

At the Mt. Roberts summit, we had great views of Mt. Washington with its snow-covered summit.

I’m sure that from July through Columbus Day, Castle in the Clouds is a bustling place on weekends, filling up with weddings, bus tours, and people out enjoying the day. But 5,300+ acres offers lots of room to roam. My guess is that most visitors stick pretty close to the Castle.

Thomas G. Plant died broke and bankrupt, but he left a rich legacy, (albeit indirectly): an outdoor inheritance will never be exhausted, thanks to the stewardship of the Lakes Region Conservation Trust.

Sources and resources

Find more information about Thomas Gustave Plant at a family genealogical page.

The Jamaica Plan Historical Society offers more information about the Thomas G. Plante Shoe Factory fire, Boston, Massachusetts 1976.

Find links to a trail map and additional information at Lakes Region Conservation Trust Castle in the Clouds Conservation Area (but please support LRCT by buying one or better yet, join the trust).  The Conservation Area includes several great hikes; I look forward to a return visit to hike Mount Shaw. Parking available at trailheads on Route 171 and at the end of Ossipee Park Road in Moultonborough, New Hampshire.

Castle in the Clouds, along with the on-site restaurant, is open for touring from mid-May (usually for Mother’s Day) through mid-October.

The Little Lodges that Could: Exploring Maine’s North Woods with AMC

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I stepped outside the Library to watch the sunrise glow on snow-covered Long Pond. Not a soul or a sound deep in the North Woods of Maine.

Instead of the buzz of the snowmobiles that flock to these parts come winter, I hear my boots crunching on snow as I walk up the short hill to Gorman Chairback Lodge, to pour myself a cup of coffee. The cook is working on breakfast, but the comfortable couches around the wood stove are empty, everyone still snuggled in their beds in the cabins sprinkled on the property. The leather couches are inviting, but I take my coffee to go, for the cozy experience of reading in bed in the Library.

Inside The Library, an octogon-shaped cabin originally built by Civil War veteran X with his young son in 1867. The cabin, which sleeps four, has been renovated and rebuilt many times, but includes some original features. Propane lights provide a gentle source of light.

Inside The Library, an octogon-shaped cabin originally built by Civil War veteran W.P. Dean with his young son in the 1880s. The cabin, which sleeps four, has been renovated and rebuilt many times, but includes some original bones. No bath, or electricity, but propane gas mantle lamps provide a gentle source of light, and the fully equipped bath facility in the Lodge includes hot showers and a sauna.

This is my Florida, my Caribbean, even when the skies are gray and temperatures hover in the single digits. I’d long wanted to visit Gorman Chairback Lodge, a backcountry ski destination owned by the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC).  Scoring a stay in the Library was an added bonus.

The Library, which sits just steps away from Long Pond. Several of the rebuilt cabins at Gorman now have bathrooms, although the Library retains its 19th century rustic ambience (a walk up the hill to use the facilities).

The Library sits just steps away from Long Pond. Several of the cabins at Gorman now have bathrooms, although the Library retains its 19th century rustic ambience (a short walk to the lodge to use the facilities).

In the summer or fall, I could drive right up to Gorman, park my car, and settle in a for a week or several days of relaxing, kayaking and hiking, to Gulf Hagas, or along the Appalachian Trail, which follows Chairback Ridge not far from the lodge. And I’ll do that some day. But first, I wanted to ski in.

Setting off on a February morning to ski in to AMC's Little Lyford Lodge, the first stop on a three-day adventure.

On a February morning, we set off from the Winter Parking Lot on the Katahdin Iron Works Road (northeast of Greenville, Maine) to ski  on groomed backcountry trails into AMC’s Little Lyford Lodge, the first stop on a three-day adventure. During the winter, AMC provides snowmobile shuttle service for baggage. For an extra fee, AMC will also shuttle in passengers, making its lodges accessible to all ages and abilities.

After an 8-mile ski through the woods and then along the Pleasant River, we discovered Little Lyford Lodge in a snow-filled hollow that felt like a snug Swiss village. There, we recovered in the lodge, and baked in the sauna. That night, after a meal of hearty lasagna and conversation with other visitors, we slept soundly in our cabin.

Little Lyford Lodge is tucked into the land on First Little Lyford Pond, in the shadow of Indian Mountain. The bunkhouse, which housed three mothers and a pack of kids while we were visiting, is pictured in the foreground.

Little Lyford Lodge is tucked just above First Little Lyford Pond, in the shadow of Indian Mountain. In the foreground, the bunkhouse, which housed three mothers and a pack of kids while we were visiting.

Twenty years ago, when I hiked from Monson to Mount Katahdin on the 100-Mile Wilderness section of the Appalachian Trail, virtually all of the surrounding land (and much of the trail as well) was privately owned, mostly by paper companies.

AMC’s purchase of Little Lyford Lodge in 2003 was the first step in the organization’s “Maine Woods Initiative,” an ambitious project aimed at conserving land in the 100-mile Wilderness region, east of Moosehead Lake. Since the early 2000s, the organization, working in collaboration with others, has conserved almost 80,000 acres through a combination of direct ownership and conservation easements. Now, a corridor of preserved land extends all the way to Baxter State Park, and further east, thanks to recent designation of the Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument.

AMC also has developed an extensive network of trails that connect its three lodges along with a private lodge, West Branch Pond Camps, so that guests can ski or hike from lodge-to-lodge. The third lodge, Medawisla, currently is closed for renovation, but will reopen in summer 2017.

Little Lyford Lodge, where guests relax, and enjoy a full dinner and breakfast. The Lodge also provides a trail lunch to all guests. During our visit, temperatures were seasonable, but mild by mid-winter North Woods standards. Visitors wearing hats and mittens took full advantage of porch rocking chairs.

Little Lyford Lodge, where guests enjoy dinner and breakfast. The Lodge also provides a trail lunch to all guests. During our visit, temperatures were seasonable but mild by mid-winter  standards in these parts. Visitors wearing hats and mittens took full advantage of porch rocking chairs.

The organization’s initiative also has served to reinvigorate the tradition of the Maine sporting camp that once drew thousands of “sports” each year to the North Woods. Although you can still find 40 or traditional camps through the Maine Sporting Camp Association, many more have closed since their heyday in the first part of the 20th century, as the automobile and the airplane, along with busy work and family schedules, have changed the way people vacation.

With its huge membership base, the AMC has a ready pool of potential guests eager to get off the grid and away from the glow of the screen.  In the long run, I suspect that Maine’s many family-owned sporting camps will benefit from AMC’s marketing efforts, as a new generation discovers the North Woods.

We were snug in the Gray Ghost cabin, equipped with a wood stove and propane lights. Each cabin has its own outhouse, or visitors can use the fully-equipped central bathhouse, which includes a wood-fired sauna! Hence its nickname, the Spa.

At Little Lyford, we slept soundly in the Gray Ghost cabin, equipped with a wood stove and propane lights. Each cabin has its own outhouse, or visitors can use the central bathhouse, which includes a wood-fired sauna.  Hence its nickname, the Spa.

After our night at Little Lyford, we set out for Gorman Chairback Lodge, skiing on a “green” (easy) trail along the Pleasant River. We considered a side trip by snowshoe to Gulf Hagas, the largest gorge in Maine, but decided we best conserve our energy for the ski to Gorman. The skiing was irregularly groomed, but not difficult, and easily accomplished by anyone with some cross-country experience (or an enthusiastic novice).

After eight miles, we burst out of the woods at Gorman Chairback, just in time for a cup of fresh Carrabassett Coffee. The cook was busy preparing the evening’s dinner, an authentic chicken Cordon Bleu. Gorman is noted as the best of AMC for its cuisine and also offers beer and wine for sale.

Gorman Chairback Lodge, on the shores of Long Pond. In the summer and fall, you can drive to the Lodge, but winter access is by ski or snowshoe, or, for those who wish to, snowmobile taxi.

Gorman Chairback Lodge, on the shores of Long Pond, was extensively renovated several years ago and reopened in 2011. The lodge includes rustic and modern cabins as well as  bunkhouse accommodations.

After our night in the Library, and a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and blueberry muffins, we packed up our trail lunches and set off on a bluebird sky day. My only complaint was that our stay was too short.

We skied out on the trail across Long Pond, then into the woods for several miles until arriving back at the Winter Parking Lot.

We skied out on the trail across Long Pond, with Chairback Ridge in the background, then into the woods for several miles until arriving back at the Winter Parking Lot.

On the long drive home from Greenville, I did my usual plotting: this summer, a return to Little Lyford for the hike to Gulf Hagas? Next winter, a ski into Medawisla and a couple of nights at West Branch Pond? Not exactly “California Dreamin,'” but if I need to escape the cold, I know where to find the sauna.

Sources and resources

More information about AMC Lodges here.

You could spend a well-lived life visiting Maine’s many sporting camps listed at the Maine Sporting Camps Association.  I have especially fond memories of visits to Bulldog Camps, and look forward to checking out many others.

For information on the history and economic impact of AMC’s Maine Woods Initiative, see this Baseline Report written by economist David Vail (a former professor of mine!). Also, I’ll point out here that in the North Woods, thousands and thousands of acres remain in private ownership for logging, snowmobiling and other pursuits.  Economic activity and conservation are not incompatible and often work well in tandem.

For more information on another hut-to-hut ski adventure, see my post on Maine Huts and Trails:

Celebrating the new year in hut heaven: Champagne toasts at Maine Huts & Trails

The AMC also operates a system of hut-to-hut hiking in the White Mountains, although most are closed in the winter (with the exception of Lonesome Lake and Carter Notch Huts). Here, my post about a visit to Madison Hut:

Presidential aspirations: You can’t always get what you want

Celebrating the new year in hut heaven: Champagne toasts at Maine Huts & Trails

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We set off for Poplar Stream Hut on a perfect December afternoon.

We set off for Poplar Hut on a perfect winter afternoon.

At Poplar Hut, nestled on a hill in Maine’s Carrabassett Valley, the staff sets out the champagne glasses at 9:30 p.m.  By 10 p.m., most guests will be fast asleep in their bunks, worn out by an afternoon of snowshoeing, cross-country skiing or hiking into the hut.

But the party continues for those dedicated to the stroke of midnight. They sip on beer, wine or softer beverages, while pursuing wild games of Bananagrams and Settlers of Catan.  Completing jigsaw puzzle becomes a communal activity, and then everyone settles into the comfy couches by the fireplace or in the upstairs reading room, waiting for the clock to strike midnight.

The countdown begins. At midnight, instead of watching the ball drop in Times Square, we cheer as a crew member ceremoniously lowers an old ball of a wasp nest tied to the ceiling.

This is my first overnight visit to Maine Huts & Trails, and I’m wondering what took me so long.

Two feet of fresh snow made for nice soft cross-country ski conditions, with no scary ice to contend with when skiing downhill.

Two feet of fresh snow made for nice soft cross-country ski conditions, with no scary ice to contend with when skiing downhill. Shown here is the junction at the Narrow Gauge Trail (a popular rail trail, to the left) where it intersects with the Maine Hut Trail to Stratton Brook Hut. The trail climbs about 1,000 feet in 4.7 miles from the Airport Trailhead, making for a good workout. A shorter 3.1 trail with less elevation gain departs from the Stratton Brook/Route 27 trailhead.

Maine Huts & Trails operates four “huts”  — really more like backcountry lodges  — in western Maine which people can visit by foot, ski, bike, or snowshoe.  Poplar Hut opened in 2008, followed by Flagstaff Hut on Flagstaff Lake (2009), Grand Falls Hut on the Dead River (2010), and, in 2012, Stratton Brook Hut, located on a knoll with views of the Bigelow Range and Sugarloaf Mountain.  The non-profit organization eventually hopes to build a dozen huts stretching across Maine’s woods up to the Moosehead Lake area.  Theoretically, skiers, hikers, and bikers can travel from hut to hut, which some do, while others visit for a night or two.  In the winter, the huts also make a great lunch destination for a cross-country ski or snowshoeing day trip.

Previously, I had visited cozy Flagstaff Hut for lunch on a summer boat excursion with Jeff Hinman of Flagstaff Lake Scenic Boat Cruises. But I’d been under the mistaken impression that an overnight hut trip in winter was too much for kids to handle, and thus had put off a winter visit for several years.

When we finally set out on our cross-country skis, we traveled under near-perfect circumstances: two feet of snow had dropped on the Valley that week, making for soft if imperfectly groomed skiing trails (with post-dump grooming still in process). The temperature, by winter standards, was mild, around 30 degrees. The three-mile ski up to Poplar (gaining 500 feet of elevation) was definitely challenging, but we had all afternoon to get there, and the prospect of a bunk nap before dinner.

Dinner was a slow-cooked roast beef and assorted side dishes, along with a delicious roasted veggie-lentil loaf for vegan/vegetarians (Note: backcountry huts of all kinds always make amazing vegetarian meals; you can count on at least one crew member being a serious vegetarian cook). The  chef had piled the champagne cupcakes with way too much frosting and I ate every bit of it (knowing I would need the energy for the next day).

New Year's cheer at Stratton Brook Hut (I got so caught up in my puzzle-building that forgot to take pictures while staying at Poplar).

New Year’s cheer at Stratton Brook Hut (I got so caught up in my puzzle-building at Poplar that I forgot to take pictures there). Behind the fire place are several cozy chairs and a couch.

At Poplar Hut, as I talked to folks gathered around the tables, I was struck by the variety of guests there: the creaky and the lithe, the young, old, and middle-aged, and both novice and experienced backcountry travelers. Because the huts offer many choices and routes, they make backcountry experiences accessible to all kinds of people.  Yes, you do have to work a bit to get here, but most of the huts aren’t that far from roads, even though they feel remote. We skied into Poplar on the 3-mile Maine Hut Trail, but could have snowshoed the same route, or on a shorter, 1-mile(-ish) trail from another trailhead. Visitors do need to bring a sleeping bag, but you can have your gear shuttled from hut to hut, as we did on Day 2 and 3 of our visit.

On New Year’s Day, we enjoyed a breakfast of buckwheat pancakes, eggs, and bacon and good coffee before setting out for Stratton Brook Hut, about seven miles away. Because of  the heavy snow, we ended backtracking on the Maine Trail Hut to the Narrow Gauge Trail, where we eventually headed up another Maine Hut Trail to Stratton Brook Hut. Other trails follow different routes, but would have been difficult to navigate in 24 inches of unbroken snow.

We arrived at Stratton Brook Hut around 2 p.m. I was ready to move in.  Stratton Brook is built on a little piece of heaven situated between Sugarloaf Mountain and the Bigelow Range. Great views abound. (I definitely want to look into the volunteer caretaker program when I am retired).

Hut view

View of the Bigelow Range from inside Stratton Brook Hut.

That night, the crew cooked up a feast of balsamic chicken, plus the requisite dessert: a berry cobbler that tasted summer fresh.

Sunrise at Stratton Brook Hut.

Sunrise at Stratton Brook Hut.

At Stratton Brook, we had our own little bunk room and slept well, rising in time  to get out for views of the winter sunrise.

For breakfast, we enjoyed more pancakes and eggs and conversation with a group from New Brunswick, Canada.  The night before, we had embarked on another puzzle project and could not leave without finishing. But we were in no hurry — the sled took our gear, we enjoyed our coffee and puzzle-building, and then geared up for the ski downhill to the Airport Trailhead.

View of the Bigelow Range from the trail that leads to Stratton Brook Hut.

One last view of the Bigelow Range before skiing down the trail. Like many, I am not a confident cross-country skier on descents, but found the 1000-foot gradual descent manageable with my ski-pole-between-the-legs braking technique. If conditions were icy, we probably would have chosen snowshoes.

So, now I’m a member of Maine Huts, and already making my plans for next year. Or maybe sooner!

Sources and resources

For a family, staying at Maine Huts & Trails is a splurge, as the per-person price adds up. However, I consider the huts a good value: the $130 weekend/holiday rate per night includes three meals, with a 50% discount for kids ($65, including teens).  One day of ski tickets at nearby Sugarloaf Mountain, with no meals or lodging, would cost about the same for our family of three. I don’t mean to pit one experience against the other, just to show that the huts are reasonably priced for the experience they offer. Sunday-to-Thursday rates are about 30% less, and members get a 10% discount, plus a variety of other discounts, including some steep “flash-sale” discounts.

A September walk in the woods: Mount Cabot to Unknown Pond

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Mount Cabot or the Carters? As I drove up Pinkham Notch early on a lovely September Saturday, the many cars spilling from every parking lot cinched my decision: on to Mount Cabot.  I would escape the crowds on this gorgeous day, but also have some company on the lightly traveled Kilkenny Ridge–a good thing, as I was hiking solo.

As it turns out, while Mount Cabot is off the beaten path, it isn’t all that remote. Just outside of Berlin, New Hampshire, the York Pond-Bunnell Notch and Unknown Pond trails begin at the state fish hatchery on York Pond Road. When I arrived, I found about ten cars at the trailhead—enough hikers, but not too many.

Having come this far, I was aiming to complete the 11.5 mile loop up through Bunnell Notch to Mount Cabot and then over Kilkenny Ridge to Unknown Pond. However, feet problems have limited my hiking, so the 9.2 out-and-back to the Cabot peak was also an option.

My recommendation:  if you get yourself up to Mount Cabot, do the entire loop. The hiking is fairly easy, by White Mountains standards, beginning with the first mile of overgrown logging road and including lots of easy pine-needle walking on Kilkenny Ridge. The trek includes 3,00o feet of elevation gain, so it’s not a walk, but covering the miles with breaks at the Mount Cabot cabin, the Horn, and Unknown Pond makes for a great day in the woods.

First views come at Bunnell Rock, just off the Kilkenny Ridge trail. Skies were hazy, but I thought I could see Franconia Ridge in front of Mount Washington — an intriguing perspective that I hadn’t seen before (and later confirmed was correct).

The Mount Cabot cabin, about four miles in, was my first rest stop, where I enjoyed lunch on the porch. I had contemplated making this hike an overnight family trip, with a late start and sunset at the cabin, and had heard many opinions about the cabin, some declaring it a horrible, filthy hovel, and others finding it tolerable.

The old fire warden's cabin has sleeping platforms with 8 spots. It's definitely not fancy. The fire tower was dismantled in the mid-1960s, and it's a small miracle that the cabin still exists. Winter hikers take note: The Forest Service has removed the wood stove.

The old fire warden’s cabin has sleeping platforms with 8 spots. It’s definitely not fancy. The fire tower was dismantled in the mid-1960s, and it’s a small miracle that the cabin still exists. Winter hikers take note: The Forest Service has removed the wood stove.

My verdict: I would sleep in the cabin (although I wish the Boy Scout maintainers would rip up the padding on the sleeping platforms, as those pads tend to collect the mouse droppings for which the cabin is noted). However, I’m not sure that sleeping there would be noteworthy or interesting, unless doing so was part of a longer backpacking trip. The view is limited, through the trees, and  I’m glad I wasn’t hauling a full pack for 11.5 miles. I’ve read that a spring flows near the cabin, but didn’t look around for it; the cabin also has a rain barrel that contained a small puddle of water. (Bunnell Brook is also a potential water source if you can stock up before reaching the cabin).

Two gray jays at the clearing where the fire tower used to stand.

Gray jay in the fir trees just below the Mt. Cabot summit.

Finishing up lunch around 1 p.m., I decided to go for the entire loop. I was planning to power through the fire tower clearing after a short look at the hazy views, but I had to linger and visit with a couple of gray jays. They weren’t quite as bold as the jays on Mount Waumbek, who will eat out of your hand, but they were happy to steal a few bits of my granola bar.

And on to the summit, a half-mile from the cabin. The wooded Mount Cabot peak is peaceful but anticlimactic, and I pushed on. The trail descended, then climbed uphill, and before I knew it, I was at the junction for the side trail (.3 mile) to the Horn. I had already hiked over the Bulge without feeling the pain.

I scrambled up to the Horn and its 360-views. Confronting the large glacial erratic that caps off the Horn, at first I wondered if I could get up there. Exploring its perimeter, I found that the south-facing side works for a short person, and I pulled myself up via a large crack.

IMG_5542

The haze had cleared and I had great views from the Horn, including this south-facing view, with Mount Washington in the distance.

The friendly crack (from perspective above) that gave me leverage to pull myself up and scramble down the Horn.

The friendly crack (from perspective above) that gave me leverage to pull myself up and scramble down the Horn.

After my snack and rest on the Horn, I was off to Unknown Pond, where lots of vegetation restoration is underway. The Forest Service wants hikers to stay away from the shoreline (which of course is the best spot to hang out when visiting a pond). I rested briefly at a designated spot  to enjoy the view, and then checked out the campsites, just above the pond (a 2-minute walk). The campsites were empty on this full-moon Saturday (and I didn’t see a single person on the Unknown Pond trail, although I had met hikers on the Kilkenny Ridge).

View of the Horn from Unknown Pond (photo by John Compton of 1HappyHiker.com).

View of the Horn from Unknown Pond (photo by John Compton of 1HappyHiker.com).

I expected my last leg, a 3.3 mile walk on the Unknown Pond trail, to go quickly, but it was a trail, not a logging road, with lots of small rocks and a couple of stream crossings. Not difficult, just not a jogging path. But I made good time to the parking lot, where my lonely car was the only one waiting for its owner.

Although I’m happy that I finally checked Mount Cabot off my 4000-footer list, I’m even happier that I discovered this area north of the Notches. From the Horn, the Percy Peaks (featured image on header) called to me. Camping at Unknown Pond would be a great overnight on a northerly hike along the Cohos Trail. The deluxe shelter on Sugarloaf Arm sounds like a palace. Next September, when the Notch trails are packed with hikers, I’ll continue heading north.

Good-bye, Mount Cabot! I'll be back another time to explore on the Cohos Trail.

Good-bye, Mount Cabot! I’ll be back another time for more exploring on the Cohos Trail.

Notes and resources:

The York Pond-Bunnell Notch and Unknown Pond trailheads that complete the Mount Cabot loop are located at the end of York Pond Road off NH 110, just north of Berlin, NH. (Note that the northern end of the Unknown Pond Trail is located off Mill Brook Road , also off Route 110, in Stark, NH. You can’t do a loop hike from the northern end).

The gate closure sign at the New Hampshire State Fish Hatchery scares people off from doing the loop. I called the Fish Hatchery and learned that the gate is only pinned at 4 p.m., and not locked until 10 p.m. As it turns out, the gate wasn’t closed when I drove out around 5:45 p.m. However, to avoid an accidental car stranding, I recommend calling at 603-449-3412 to confirm that the policy remains the same.

If you want to explore far from the madding crowds, the Cohos Trail is a 165-mile trail that begins in the Crawford Notch area and ends at the Canadian border.

Read more of my 4000-footer posts here, including the trip to nearby Mount Waumbek.

Caps and castles on Mount Jefferson

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IMG_4775On Friday, prospects for a hike up Mount Jefferson looked gloomy. The higher summits forecast called for steady 50 mph winds, with hurricane force gusts, and winter temperatures in New Hampshire’s Presidential Range, as one weather system collided with another.

But by Monday, July 4, the winds had settled down, and no storms clouded the radar. A perfect day for climbing 5,716-foot Mount Jefferson.

The 2.5 mile Caps Ridge Trail promised a short but challenging hike to the summit, with hikers surmounting three rocky outcrops known as the Caps before continuing up the rocky slope to the Jefferson plateau. I knew the hike wouldn’t be a piece of cake, but we climbed up and over the three caps fairly quickly. Aside from the first cap, which begins with a tricky steep  slab of granite, the three caps were fun to climb and not as difficult as I expected.

First views of Mount Washington on the Caps Ridge Trail. Great views to the west as well, of Bondcliff and the tip of Mount Lafayette.

First views of Mount Washington on the Caps Ridge Trail. Great views to the west as well, of Bondcliff and its neighbors, and the tip of Mount Lafayette.

As we ate lunch atop the third cap, out of the summit wind but high enough to bask in the views of open alpine terrain and Mount Washington, we consulted the pages I’d copied from my guidebook, Smith and Dickerman’s The 4000-Footers of the White Mountains.

Climbing up the Caps looks scarier than it is. My son is a teen and now a stronger hiker than me, but younger hikers can do this route as long as parents are prepared to turn back if weather deteriorates. I hope it goes without saying that I wouldn't recommend the Caps as a first hike for younger kids. But once they get some experience....

Climbing up the Caps looks scarier than it is. My son is a teen and now a stronger hiker than me, but younger hikers can do this route as long as parents are prepared to turn back if weather deteriorates. I hope it goes without saying that I wouldn’t recommend the Caps as a first hike for younger kids. But once they get some experience….

We felt energized and the day was young. What else could we do?

In the distance, about a mile away as the crow flies, the rock heaps of Castellated Ridge, known as the Castles, intrigued us.  We consulted my Smith and Dickerman pages, which described a possible loop from the Jefferson summit down to the Castles, then across the lower mountain on the Link Trail back to the Caps Ridge Trail.

The language was slightly intimidating:  the Link Trail was “extremely rough and tiring, making for slow going.”  But we had the entire afternoon on a beautiful summer day. Hiking above treeline on the Castle Trail for a 1.5 miles down to the Castles would be amazing.  When again would we have this perfect combination of weather, time, and opportunity? And how hard could the hike be, really, given that the hike up the Caps had seemed fairly easy (at least by White Mountain standards)?

So after a snack at atop the tallest of the three peaklets at Jefferson’s summit, we began to pick our way down the Castle Trail. “Trail” is a bit of a misnomer, as it suggests a path, while the Castle Trail is mainly a cairn-marked route across a jumble of lichen-covered rocks.  But the lichen glistened green and the wide open skies made for a pleasant if nerve wracking traverse down the slope of Jefferson towards the Castles.

On the Castle Trail, and not another hiker in sight.

On the Castle Trail, and not another hiker in sight.

My teenage son scrambled ahead of us and I worried about a twisted ankle or full-on header (coming close to both myself), but I had to let go of those worries, assume all would be fine, and get online in the coming week to buy a New Hampshire HikeSafe family card. (Later, my son casually mentioned that he thought he had twisted ankle several times, but had shaken off the stumbles and continued).

On July 4, I expected crowds up high, but the mountains were open and empty, perhaps because of the weekend’s harsh weather. After we left the Jefferson summit, we didn’t see another hiker until we arrived back at the parking lot at Jefferson Notch Road. I suspect that the Castle Trail is not heavily used, because if it was, twisted knees, broken ankles, and hypothermia would keep New Hampshire’s search and rescue teams even busier than they already are. (Although, sadly, this past February, a search and rescue team had to carry out the body of a 54-year-old man who froze to death in Castle Ravine, just below the Castles).

Hiking down towards the Castles, I wondered if I had misread Smith and Dickerman’s language describing the 1.7 mile Link Trail that would take us back to the Caps Ridge Trail. Surely, “rough and tiring” combined with “slow going” had referred to the treacherous footing of Castle Trail, not the upcoming Link Trail.  Or maybe the writers had gotten it wrong?

The Link Trail crossed the mountain through the trees and couldn’t be that hard.  The thought of an easier trail ahead kept up my spirits as we continued to climb the Castles, shimmying down steep pitches and between rocks slabs (ironically, one reason we chose this trail was the opportunity to avoid hiking down the Caps).

Hiking down to the Castles, which look over the lightly-traveled Castle Ravine.

Hiking down to the Castles, which looks over the lightly traveled Castle Ravine.  The hike also  offers a continuous view of Mount Adams and the barren terrain around it.

After a half-mile, we came to the link with the Cornice Trail, another rough trail that leads back to the Caps. Still a mile to go to get to the Link Trail. Sigh.

In the distance, the three Caps looked like little bumps on the mountain.  Below us, the Castles seemed to rise from Tolkien’s Middle Earth.

A break atop the last section of the Castles.

A break atop one of the Castle ramparts, not far from the junction with the Link Trail.

Finally, we reached the Link Trail, which HAD to be easier than the descent from the peak to the Castles. But it wasn’t.

My perspective was likely distorted by fatigue and expectations, but the challenge continued, unabated. Up and over rocks, across streams, including one that plunged over granite at a nearly perpendicular angle off the mountain (but easily crossed at a level spot a few steps up the trail), we trudged up and down through the woods, on a mossy path that served as a thin carpet over Jefferson’s rocks.

Finally, after one last uphill, we returned to the Caps Ridge Trail, much later in the day than we had planned (so much for the leisurely swim in the river, followed by a relaxing dinner, and a daylight ride home). Ours wasn’t the last car to leave the parking lot – maybe the third to last – and plenty of daylight still remained, but we definitely felt like we had hiked a long, long day, even though the total distance covered was only 6.7 miles (yes, less than seven miles).

My husband, son and I were all exhausted, but being a glass-half-full kind of person, I was glad we’d explored the Castles, both for the beauty and isolation of the open alpine terrain and for the lessons learned.

Namely, just because trails connect and offer options other than out-and-back doesn’t mean they are necessarily viable “loop trails.”

Of course, the experience of a hike depends a lot on expectations. We expected the Caps Ridge Trail to be an arduous scramble up slippery rocks. It was easier than expected.  For the Castles, the reverse was true.

Hikers who want to experience the spectacular landscape of the Castles and undertake the hike expecting a long day of slow going will be rewarded great views in a lightly visited side of the Presidentials. I cursed myself many times on the Link Trail for pursuing this route, but I have no regrets–even though I won’t do it a second time.

Sources and resources

The Caps Ridge Trail begins at the height of the land on Jefferson Notch Road, the highest road in New Hampshire (closed in winter). The turn to the Notch Road is 3.5 miles down the Cog Railway Road, off Route 302 and near Bretton Woods Ski Resort.

A variety of other trails lead to the Castles from various other nearby locations, although if you study the map, you’ll see that all appear to be equally arduous. On NortheastHikes.com, Daren Worcester describes the Castle Trail hike to Jefferson’s summit from its origin on Route 2.

For more information on the February 2016 death of hiker Timothy Hallock, whose frozen body was found by other hikers, see accounts in the Manchester Union Leader and from WMUR TV.

Read more of my posts about 4K hikes at my Hiking page.

 

 

The loneliest road in southern Utah

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As the road changed from pavement into dirt, and the canyon walls pressed in on both sides, it seemed that we were heading deep into a wilderness where we might be stranded by a broken axle or punctured tire. We hadn’t seen another car, or person, for miles.  My son wondered aloud, nervously, if we should continue as we bumped along the packed dirt road in our rental SUV. What would we find at the end?

Our rental car looks pretty lonely on the Scenic Drive towards Capitol Gorge.

In mid-February, our rental car looks pretty lonely on the Scenic Drive at Capitol Reef National Park in Utah.

I pulled out the map, which showed, at the end of the road, a parking lot icon. “It’ll be fine,” I said. “Look, there’s even restrooms.”

The walls of Capitol Gorge close in, at times less than 20 feet apart.

The walls of Capitol Gorge close in, at times less than 20 feet apart.  Capitol Reef National Park is part of the “Waterpocket Fold,” a 100-mile long north-south wrinkle in the earth’s surface.  The rough  terrain of the Fold presented a barrier to 19th century pioneers, who eventually discovered Capitol Gorge (above), a crack in the fold through which people, animals and wagons could travel through more easily.  Just beyond the Gorge, a small group of families settled at Fruita, along the Fremont River, with the last resident leaving in 1968.

And indeed, when we reached the parking lot, we found signs that sometimes, this place is full of people: picnic benches, rustic restrooms, a well-trodden path to the Pioneer Register. But on this day, no people, not even a park ranger’s vehicle. On this late afternoon in February, we might be the only visitors in Capitol Reef National Park.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration.  In these 378 square miles, at least three other people were exploring. Earlier, at a Highway 12 pullover, we had met a father and two sons traveling in a rugged camper with monster wheels, heading towards Cathedral Valley, the remote section of the park that gets few visitors, even in the summer. Then, I envied them, for the solitude, but now, here we were, alone, feeling like pioneers.

The sun was setting as  we drove back to Torrey, where we were staying at the Sky Ridge Inn  bed and breakfast.  On the Scenic Road, not a single car or hiker.  But as we approached the campground next to Fruita, an abandoned Mormon pioneer settlement, I spied a single vehicle and a tent. A small campfire burned in the twilight, making the scene a little less lonely. Or maybe more so.

I’m guessing that in the summer months, when the park gets most of its 668,000 annual visitors, solitude at Capitol Reef feels hard to come by, even if it nowhere nearly as crowded as Zion National Park (which gets 2.9 million visitors).  Families pick peaches, cherries, apples and pears in the orchards planted by the Mormon settlers. Everyone stops to look at the Fremont petroglyphs carved on a rock wall, and almost everyone completes the 2-mile round trip hike to Hickman Bridge.

Exploring at Hickman Bridge.

Exploring at Hickman Bridge, a popular destination on a one-mile hike from the road.  On this morning hike, we did meet one small party on the trail but otherwise had the place to ourselves.

However, even in peak season, Capitol Reef offers plenty of lightly travelled backcountry nooks and crannies, canyons and trails.  I can’t wait to explore them when I come back.  Even though our visit to Capitol Reef was short, the park was my favorite of the three we visited in southern Utah.  The landscape here feels so vast and grand, that it almost makes me feel like I might become a grander person just by spending time here.

Another view of Hickman Bridge.

Another view of Hickman Bridge.

Lots of fun nooks, crannies, rock formations and otherworldly geology on the Hickman Bridge Trail.

Lots of fun nooks, crannies, rock formations and otherworldly geology on the Hickman Bridge Trail.

Good-bye, Capitol Reef, I'll be back some day as a vagabond retiree in a souped-up camping van.

Good-bye, Capitol Reef, I’ll be back some day as a vagabond retiree in a souped-up camping van.