Category Archives: Mountains

Closing the door on Angel’s Landing

Posted on by
1

This time, when I gave up on trying to climb to Angel’s Landing in Utah’s Zion National Park, I knew I wouldn’t be trying again. The third time won’t be a charm; I won’t cross the hike off my bucket list.

A view of the knife-edge abutment known as Angel's Landing (late-morning light). Yes, it is as skinny as it looks, at least in a few tricky spots.

A view of the knife-edge sandstone ridge known as Angel’s Landing (late-morning light). Yes, it is as skinny as it looks, at least in a few tricky spots.

Yes, I was disappointed as I descended the steep chained-covered sandstone to the line of hikers waiting to climb up. I knew that the view from  Angel’s Landing wasn’t 100% more magnificent than any other in the park.  But I had been primed to claim the hike as my own, after chickening out on a visit to Zion eight years earlier. And if I couldn’t do it now, eight years deeper into middle age, I never would.

The hike to Angel’s Landing is the most popular in Zion, despite being named by Outside magazine as one of the world’s most dangerous. The trail is a 1/2-mile long offshoot of the West Rim Trail (with a total distance of  2.5 miles from the bottom of Zion Canyon).

Climbing that last half-mile to the Landing requires scrambling up a steep sandstone face, using a set of chain ropes for support while navigating a constant stream of hikers coming and going. Once hikers surmount that first pitch, they move on to other challenges, including spots where the ridge narrows to a width of five feet, with 1,000-feet drop-offs on both sides.  Near the Landing, hikers step up a narrow stone staircase, where a chain railing offers the illusion of safety.

Eight years earlier, I’d known the risks and calculated them small – yes, five people (now six) had fallen to their deaths since 2004, but thousands made the trek each year. I had hiked steep trails all over the world. Piece of cake.

Looking down at the switchbacks known as Walter's Wiggles, first crafted by the Civilian Conservation Core in the 1930s. A bit of an incline, but pretty easy for seasoned hikers.

Looking down at the switchbacks known as Walter’s Wiggles, first crafted by the National Park Service in the 1920s.  A bit of an incline, but pretty easy for seasoned hikers.

On that end-of-March 2008 visit, the park was bustling with visitors eager to explore the canyon on the weekend before the road closed to cars for the season (from April to October, shuttle buses moves visitors in and out of Zion Canyon). My friends and I hiked towards Walter’s Wiggles in a stream of humanity, including several parents pushing strollers.

At Scouts Landing, where the Angel’s Landing trail shoots off from the West Rim Trail, my friend Natasha said she knew her limits; she was happy to relax on the rock slabs while three of us continued on.

Following behind my two friends, I began to scrabble up the sandstone slope, placing my feet in toeholds carved by thousands of hikers and grabbing the chains for support. About halfway up, I froze. This felt dangerous. If I slipped, I might tumble to my death, or severe injury. Yes, thousands had done it, and only a handful had died, but I was a mother. I had a young son waiting for me back at home. I couldn’t afford to die. I turned back.

Now, on this second attempt, the young son was a young man. Our family of three made it up the first pitch, but the climb was nerve-wracking and not much fun. When my husband announced, “I don’t need to do this,” my son agreed. After five seconds of thought, I concurred.

Carefully, we picked our way down the slope back to Scouts Landing, where a volunteer ranger was doing a talk on California Condors, whose numbers had once dwindled to fewer than 25. An active breeding-in-captivity program has resurrected the population, but these massive birds with a ten-foot wing span, the largest in North America, continue to die off, mostly due to lead poisoning from ingesting lead bullets. About 71 condors fly around Arizona and southern Utah, according to the U.S. Forest Service.

South of Zion, at the Vermillion Cliffs National Monument in Arizona,  condors are released into the wild every year and monitored for movement, with attempts made later in the season to recapture the birds to test for lead poisoning. If wildlife biologists are able to catch lead poisoning early, they can treat it. But sadly, every season, they find too many magnificent dead birds.

After listening to the talk for a few minutes, my husband suggested continuing on the West Rim Trail. From Scout’s Landing, we hike for ten minutes or so to an overlook with a good view of Angel’s Landing. Instead of the crowds congregating below us, we were alone, although eventually an older couple joined us. The man had a pair of serious binoculars. With the binoculars, we could make out figures standing at the far edge of Angel’s Landing. We could see other scrambling up another steep pitch that looked very perpendicular.

“Now that how did that hiker get on that pinnacle?” the mans asked, pointing to a narrow pinnacle jutting up from the canyon floor.  “He must have needed ropes and gear to get up that.”

Squinting, I could see something – a figure perched on the pinnacle’s edge, possibly a hiker sitting and dangling his legs. My husband asked for the binoculars.

“That’s not a person,” he said. “That’s a bird.”

California Condor in flight, with tracking tags. Photo via Wikipedia and Creative Commons.

California Condor in flight, with tracking tags. Photo via Wikipedia and Creative Commons.

And then, liftoff: a massive California Condor spread its wings and dove into the shadow created by Angel’s Landing, then began to soar upwards in slow circles.

As its circles became wider, the condor drew closer to our view-point. When its wings tipped at an angle, the condor almost looked like a drone coming in for a landing. And then the condor swooped low to the ground, preparing to land, about 20 feet in front of us.

At the last second, the bird picked up a thermal and soared upwards. We watched its ballet for several minutes, until the condor soared downriver through Zion Canyon.

On Angel’s Landing, the hikers were intent on the sandstone slope, clutching the chains, making sure to plant three points of the body on the ground at all times.  They had to focus; they couldn’t afford to let their eyes and minds wander. That’s what I love about hiking–how it demands my full presence in the moment. But at Angel’s Landing, I couldn’t have the hike and the condor.  Something to remember the next time I have to give up or turn back. Where will I see my next condor?

Twlight view of The Watchman, a warm-up hike we did upon arriving at Zion, with the trailhead right behind the Visitor's Center. On this February visit, we saw one other party here at the party -- the advantage of visiting Zion off-season. However, being President's Day weekend, the park was busy, and on Sunday, we were "gated out" of Zion Canyon because the canyon had reached its car capacity (we did get in later that afternoon).

Twilight view of The Watchman, a warm-up hike we did upon arriving at Zion; the trailhead begins behind the Visitor’s Center. On this February visit, we saw one other party on this late-afternoon hike — the advantage of visiting Zion off-season. However, this being President’s Day weekend, the park was busy, and on Sunday, we were “gated out” of Zion Canyon because the canyon had reached its car capacity (we did get in later that afternoon).

 

IMG_1833

After being turned away from the Zion Canyon gate, we drove through the Zion Tunnel to the East Entrance and explored a bit of that side of the park, including the Canyon Overlook  hike (at the East Entrance gate). Although this scene suggests solitude, this short trail was busy with hikers, including many families and young children.

One advantage of a Zion lock-out is that it required us to explore other areas on the eastern side of the Zion Tunnel. Not an official trail here, just a fun spot for climbing around. We did try to get to Observation Point trail from Zion Mountain Ranch, but the dirt road you to take to get to the trailhead was muddy and rutted and/or snow-covered and too much for our rental.

Not an official trail here, just a fun spot for climbing around on the eastern side of the park. We attempted to get to the East Mesa Trail, the easy route to Observation Point which starts out as a dirt road at Zion Mountain Ranch, but the road was muddy, rutted, and/or snow-covered and too much for our rental SUV. The hike to Observation Point, whether from the canyon floor, or via the back route we scouted, is a great alternative to Angel’s Landing.

Sources and resources

“Frequently Asked Questions” for Zion National Park. National Park Service.  Note that more people have died at the bucolic Emerald Pool (typically from slipping and falling) than at Angel’s Landing. Also, a map of Zion hiking trails (most useful as an overview and NOT a trail map).

Outside Magazine‘s list of the world’s 20 most dangerous hikes. Note that New Hampshire’s Mount Washington is on the list along with Angel’s Landing.

 

Rediscovering the beautiful silence on Coppermine Trail

Posted on by
Reply
IMG_2757

Snowshoeing on the Coppermine Trail in Franconia, NH, on the western side of Cannon Mountain.

The car thermometer read two degrees as we pulled on gloves, strapped on snowshoes, and set out on the Coppermine Trail to Bridal Veil Falls.

The trail began flat and easy on a road transformed into tunnel of trees and snow, and then began to climb uphill at a gentle grade.

Although the cold was deep and unrelenting, the sun provided an illusion of warmth, unlike the day before, when bitter winds had sliced through the sky. I expected a crowd of cars and a well-packed trail and was surprised to see only one vehicle in the trailhead lot on this President’s Day Monday. Winter hiking has become so popular in the White Mountains that I assumed the Coppermine Trail would be busy with enthusiasts, but perhaps the relatively easy nature of the hike keeps the hard-core away, as they hike 4,000 footers and climb walls of ice. Or maybe it was just too cold.

But I know that “easy” in summer, when thousands walk on the Coppermine Trail,  can be deadly in winter. I hadn’t hiked in real winter conditions in many years. Although we were adequately supplied for this short hike, with plenty of layers, food, and drink, we weren’t equipped with full winter gear, including ideal footwear, sleeping bags, and hot drinks. Although I didn’t know it then, the previous night a woman had died not far away on Mount Adams, where the high winds had generated extreme cold and whiteout conditions.

For many years, parenthood had kept me off northern trails in the winter.  As a family, winter has meant skiing. Hiking in the backcountry seemed too risky, because I know that kids have trouble regulating their needs or even understanding them until the need has become a harsh scream – “I have to go to the bathroom NOW.” I couldn’t take a kid out in the backcountry who might become immediately hypothermic because he hadn’t understood that he was cold until he was freezing.

But now the kid was a teenager, and taller than I. So up the trail we went, walking in the footsteps of a snowshoer from a day or two earlier, and at times breaking trail. Someone also had skied in, and we tried to avoid the tracks.

Along the way, I looked for the plaque on a boulder that pays tribute, so the story goes, to Arthur Farnsworth, the Vermont guide who became the husband of movie star Bette Davis.  Back in 1939, legend has it, Davis strayed from a group hiking on Coppermine Brook because she knew that Farnsworth would set out to retrieve her.

This unlikely pair married in 1940, and lived together happily in Hollywood, with an occasional visit to the White Mountains. But three years later, in 1943, Farnsworth died from injuries sustained in a fall at their Sugar Hill home. Sometime around 1961, after Davis sold her New Hampshire home, the memorial plaque to Farnsworth, “the Keeper of the Stray Ladies,” appeared on a boulder near the brook.

As we climbed, I could see the outline of Coppermine Brook, silent as it passed through the forest under the deep blanket of ice and snow.  I spied one boulder on the side of the trail – the only recognizable boulder on the trail– but no plaque. That discovery will have to wait another day. (The boulder, I’ve since read, is on the bank of the brook about a quarter mile in from the junction of the trailhead with Coppermine Road).

The trail remained flat and easy. Now I remembered what I had forgotten: the pleasure of walking without having to consider rocks and roots. About a mile in, a young woman in trail shoes came running down: the driver of the other car. Maybe a little crazy, out here running, with no gear except the clothes on her back. A quick hello, and then we were again alone on the trial.

IMG_2758

I knew we were getting close to the shelter and the falls when we arrived at this bridge. Below us, holes of water gurgled.

My son pushed on, looking a little grim, probably wondering when it would all end. I enticed him by telling him we could rest at the Coppermine Shelter, although I knew it wouldn’t warm there, just a dry place to sit and eat some cookies.

I plunged ahead of the team, hoping to keep up spirits with an announcement that we had arrived. And then we came upon the shelter, a small sign of humanity in a white wilderness world.

After resting for a few moments in the bitter cold, we pushed on to the falls, 100 yards or so further up the trail. Here, the “trail”— probably slippery slabs of granite in summer — climbed steeply up to a level spot, probably a frozen pool of water

IMG_2770

At Bridal Veil Falls, granite and water merged into one snowy panorama.

IMG_2810

The falls were a dramatic wall of ice, more like a thick jagged curtain than a veil. A sublime site, in the sense presented by 18th century philosopher Edmund Burke as he attempted to describe those experiences, especially in nature, that inspire feelings of astonishment co-mingled with awe and terror.

IMG_2801

Now, very cold, we headed back to the shelter to warm up – not in the shelter, but in an expertly constructed ice cave we had discovered nearby. At about 32 degrees, the cave was not warm, but definitely much warmer than outside, and large enough to comfortably sleep four to six people.

IMG_2808

After snacking inside the cave, we crawled out, strapped on our snow shoes, and headed down the trail at a good clip since we didn’t need to worry about roots and rocks.  The silence was deep and beautiful.

About 45 minutes later, we arrived back at our car and set off on the trail towards hot chocolate.  Already, I was studying the map, looking for another opportunity to return to this silent winter world.

Sources and resources

The Coppermine Trail departs from Coppermine Road, off NH 116, in the Franconia area.  The hike to Bridal Veil Falls is about 2.5 miles one way, including a portion on a dirt road. For hard-core adventures, a couple of  unmarked backcountry trails off the main trail head towards Mittersill Mountain and (in the other direction) towards Kinsman Ridge.

For more details about the Coppermine Trail and its landmarks, see Robert Buchsbuam’s Nature Hikes in the White Mountains (AMC, 2000), a great source for many wonderful family hikes.

Although I don’t wish to sensationalize a young woman’s death by drawing attention to it, Nestor Ramos’s Boston Globe article about the search for Kate Matrovosa, “The Young Woman and the Mountain,” (February 22, 2015) offers important lessons about winter preparedness and the limits of technology.

Wandering in the wilderness of Mount Paugus

Posted on by
Reply

In New Hampshire’s heavily visited White Mountains, solitude often seems like a lost dream on beautiful autumn weekends, when throngs of people climb popular peaks. But not far from the beaten path, in the Sandwich Range Wilderness, intriguing Mount Paugus awaits exploration far from the madding crowd.

A year ago, the ledges of 3198-foot Mount Paugus had beckoned to me from a rest stop on the west side of nearby Mount Chocorua. Now, I set off with two friends on the Cabin Trail to complete an 8-mile loop that would take us over the ledges of Mount Paugus, down to Whitin Brook and the Big Rock Cave, and then over Mount Mexico.

The mist lent an air of mystery to the hemlock forest on the Cabin Trail.

The mist lent an air of mystery to the hemlock forest on the Cabin Trail.

At the trailhead, on Route 113A in Wonalancet, our vehicle sat alone. Although the day had dawned wet, the forecast called for clearing—a good day that would draw swarms to the mountains. But on our hike to Mount Paugus, we met only one other party, two slightly lost hikers and their dog.

Mount Paugus is part of the Sandwich Range Wilderness, designated as such by the government in 1984. This “wilderness” has a long history of human use, for logging and for recreation. But on this walk, I definitely felt like I was wandering in wilderness, one replete with mysterious forests, vast cliffs and ledges, and dramatic glacial erratics.

As the last remnants of rain dripped off the beech trees, the Cabin Trail climbed upward on an old logging road. At one point the forest abruptly shifted from beech to hemlock, almost as if someone had planted a dividing line between the deciduous and the evergreen. About two miles in, the trail climbs alongside a rough sidehill with a steep forested slope.  After this patch, (and 2.7 miles in) the trail descends a bit to reach the junction of the Lawrence Trail, which climbs upward and then crosses over the ledges of Mount Paugus.

The summit of Mount Paugus is buried in trees and we didn’t attempt a bushwhack. Instead, we hiked on the Lawrence Trail until it crosses an open but tree-shrouded patch of ledge. There, with a small detour, we found west-facing views.

When we reached the flat ledges near the summit of Mount Paugus, we scrabbled a bit off to the southwest to eat a windy lunch on this dramatic west-facing ledge.

When we reached the flat ledges near the summit of Mount Paugus, we scrabbled a bit off to the southwest to eat a windy lunch on this dramatic west-facing ledge with cloudy views of Mount Tripyramid.

Although the other hikers we’d encountered had trouble navigating the network of trails around Mount Paugus, we had a map and it wasn’t hard to follow the Lawrence Trail as it descended past the Beeline Trail (which take hikers over to Mount Chocorua) to the Old Paugus Trail.  The descent is rough in spots and the wet rocks added more  challenge, but nothing that couldn’t be solved with a combination of careful steps and butt shimmies.  The Old Paugus Trail offers views of Mount Chocorua through the trees (see photo above the headline).

Deep in this wilderness, with its many turns and unsigned junctions, we frequently consulted the map. People tend to forget that maps are useful not only for showing the trail, but for identifying features in the land that help orient the user, like brooks, or the topo lines that announced the approach of steep ledges on the Old Paugus Trail. I’ve yet to become a confident compass user, but have found that carefully studying a map is almost as good.

An amazing ledge on the Old Paugus Trail -- and quite obvious on the map, from the contour lines.

An immense ledge on the Old Paugus Trail. The topo lines of the map really don’t do it justice.

We dipped low to Whitin Brook, an inviting swimming hole in August, and then picked up the Big Rock Cave trail towards 2020-foot Mount Mexico.  After six or miles of meandering, I groaned a little at the thought of climbing another mountain, but the dramatic glacial erratics at Big Rock Cave soon provided a spirit-boosting reward.

This set of huge glacial erratics, including a pair that creates roomy cave, and several other intriguing nooks, crannies and crevices. I'm not sure I'd want to sleep there, given that bears probably live in this wild area, but it looks like people use it for campouts on a fairly regular basis.

This set of huge glacial erratics  creates a roomy cave, and several other intriguing nooks, crannies and crevices. I’m not sure I’d want to sleep here, given that bears must prowl in this wild area, but it looks like people use the cave for campouts on a regular basis. A hike into the cave, on the Big Rock Cave Trail, would be an exciting day’s work for the youngest hikers.

Just below Mount Mexico, the forest grows on top of a glacial erratic pushed here by the ice 11,000 years ago.

Just below Mount Mexico, the forest grows on top of a glacial erratic pushed here by the ice 11,000 years ago.

After the caves, we ascended to the flat top of Mount Mexico, home to a beautiful open hemlock forest. Then we were on the home stretch, about two miles downhill to the trailhead.

The hike took more time than we had planned, but we enjoyed the meandering, the conversation, and the solitude. If wilderness is a place in which we can lose ourselves in wonder, then the Sandwich Range qualifies, even given its extensive and sometimes destructive human history. Lucky us!

Sources and resources

To recap, our loop hike to Mount Paugus consisted of the Cabin Trail to the Lawrence Trail to the Old Paugus Trail to the Big Rock Cave Trail.  The Sandwich Range Wilderness and adjacent public and private lands feature a network of interconnecting trails with endless opportunities for exploration, including 4,019-foot Mount Whiteface (the latter well-travelled by 4,000-foot peak baggers). A bonus: this southern range of the White Mountains is only an hour and 20 minutes from the Seacoast region of New Hampshire and Maine.

To read more about hiking on nearby Mount Chocorua, see my post, Intersecting Slopes on Mount Chocorua.

Gray jays, great day: A fall hike on Mount Waumbek

Posted on by
3

Hiking on the Starr King Trail to 4,006-foot Mount Waumbek, it’s hard to believe that this off-the-beaten-path peak once was part of a proposal for a mega-ski resort stretching across several mountains.

On the beautiful Columbus Day weekend when we hiked to Mount Waumbek, cars spilled from every parking lot in Franconia Notch, where thousands of hikers and visitors had converged for the holiday weekend. But just 20 minutes further north, in Jefferson, New Hampshire, Mount Waumbek was lightly travelled by a few parties of a hikers and several resourceful gray jays.

Setting off on the Starr King Trail to Mount Waumbek, for a hike totaling 7.2 miles and about 2,650 vertical feet.

Setting off on the Starr King Trail to Mount Waumbek, for a hike totaling 7.2 miles and about 2,650 vertical feet. I like it when I arrive at parking lot on a holiday weekend and find plenty of empty spaces.

Back in 1962, the Lancaster Development Corporation proposed a massive 5,000-acre  resort, capped by a hotel on Mount Starr King, famous today among hikers for its chimney, the remnants of a small shelter that once stood on its summit.  The plan called for six lifts, including a tram, with northwest-facing slopes in the Willard basin on the north side of the Kilkenny Ridge, all accessed via a 2.5 mile road near Lancaster, NH.

1964 rendering of the hotel and tramway proposed for the summit of New Hampshire's Mount Starr King.

1964 rendering of the hotel and tramway proposed for the summit of New Hampshire’s Mount Starr King, which hikers cross en route to Mount Waumbek. Compare this image to the photo below, which shows the remnants of “development” on Starr King. The summit includes a nice flat granite slab  for picnicking, but  would feel crowded if more than a dozen hikers gathered there (Image from New England Ski History)

Looking around the ledgy summit of Mount Starr King, it’s hard to envision where or how a hotel would fit here. It just doesn’t seem that big. Today, the summit of Starr King (2.6 miles from the trailhead) offers wonderful views of the northern side of the Presidentials, including dramatic King Ravine on the back sides of Mounts Madison and Adams.

On Mount Starr King today, everyone take a photo of the chimney, the remnants of a shelter built in the 1940s and dismantled in the 1980s.

On Mount Starr King today, everyone takes a photo of the chimney, the remnants of a shelter built in the 1940s and dismantled in the 1980s.

From Mount Starr King, we continued on the Kilkenny Ridge trail to Mount Waumbek, which is often described as having no views. This assertion is technically correct, but not really true. Minutes from the summit, hikers can take in great views of the Presidentials at an open area caused by blowdowns just off the Kilkenny Ridge Trail. We ate lunch at this spot with two other parties, including a family of four whose two young kids already had hiked all 48 4,000 footers. Just 10 of us, sharing experiences and breathing in the mountains. Ah, Mount Waumbek. An added bonus: the friendly gray jay who eyed us from the spruce trees.

I was also enjoying the relatively ease of hiking to Mount Waumbek, especially after hiking the strenuous Baldface Circle Trail a couple of weeks earlier.  Don’t get me wrong — the hike is not a walk, but offers a nice steady climb upwards without steeps or significant up-and-downs. Mount Waumbek also offers opportunities for backpacking on the Kilkenny Ridge trail.  We were doing the out-and-back hike, so after lunch we headed back to Mount Starr King.

There, we took a break for more photos and noticed the gray jays again. Soon, they were eating out of our hands and off the tops of our heads, swooping in for landings from a variety of angles.

Gray jays are quite at ease with stealing food from humans. As part of their winter survival strategy, they will use sticky saliva to stick food to tree branches that sit above the snowpack line.

Gray jays are quite at ease with stealing food from humans. As part of their winter survival strategy, they will use sticky saliva to stick food to tree branches that sit above the snowpack line.

Jay grays need about 50 calories a day to survive, and will eat just about anything. Our bird buddy must have been stealing and storing, because he definitely grabbed more than 50 calories of granola bar.

Jay grays need about 50 calories a day to survive, and will eat just about anything. Our bird buddy must have been stealing and storing, because he definitely grabbed more than 50 calories of granola bar.

Gray jays are hardy birds that hikers often see throughout the winter. Where would they be, I wonder, if the Willard Basin ski resort had come to pass?

The peaceful Starr King trail in mid-October. Because of the warm fall, the foliage remained vibrant; usually, I'd expect fewer leaves on the maples trees in northern New Hampshire in mid-October.

The peaceful Starr King trail in mid-October. Because of the warm fall, the foliage remained vibrant; usually, I’d expect fewer leaves  in northern New Hampshire by mid-October.

Sources and resources

Information about gray jays comes from the Cornell Lab of Orthnothology.

Thornton, T.D. “Big ideas that never quite peaked.” Boston Globe, December 23, 2010.  Includes information about Willard Basin and the Borderline Ski Resort, which I wrote about in my Baldface Circle Trail post.

“Willard Basin.” New England cancelled ski areas. New England Ski History. More details about Willard Basin and other “cancelled” ski areas. One of the lodge renderings at this site reminds me of the lodge that was built at the now-defunct Evergreen Valley Ski Resort, another big dream New England ski resort that was built in the 1970s and lasted only a few years. See my post, White Elephant in a Green Valley.

 

Hiking the Baldface Circle Trail, plus twenty

Posted on by
3

The guidebook describes the Baldface Circle Trail as “a strenuous trip not to be underestimated,” but I didn’t remember it as so.

I first hiked this 9.8 mile loop with my husband back in 1997 in early November. Then, I had great fun pulling myself up the steep rock ledges. The 1.2-mile walk from the summit of 3570-foot South Baldface over the open ridge to 3610-foot North Baldface was exhilarating.  On the final leg, we walked a couple of miles through a tunnel of golden beech trees.

At the day’s end, I must have been tired. But I was in my mid-30s, and “exhausted” doesn’t stand out in my mind as an adjective to describe that day.

The trail up to South Baldface looks Presidential, minus the weekend crowds.

The trail up to South Baldface, in the Evans Notch border area of Maine and New Hampshire,  looks Presidential, minus the weekend crowds.  In total, the 9.8-mile Baldface Circle Trail features about four miles of wide-open walking.

Fast-forward almost 20 years. I’d had my eye on a return to Baldfaces, this time to introduce my son to the trail. Over the next few years, I want to show him the “greatest hits of New England” hiking before he is off to college.  And he’s more or less game, as long as the hiking happens in moderation.

For several years now, we have made an annual pilgrimage to a small cabin  at Cold River Camps, just across the street from the Baldface trailhead, and have thoroughly explored Evans Notch, on the Maine-New Hampshire border. I love this valley because it lies within striking distance for a day trip, but feels remote and off the beaten bath. When hordes flock to Franconia and Pinkham Notches on gorgeous fall weekends, Evans Notch remains quiet. We see hikers on the trail, but rarely more than a few parties.

This year, when a September Sunday promised a perfect day for hiking, we rose early and headed north. When we arrived at the Baldface parking area on Route 113 around 9:30 a.m., plenty of spaces remained available.

The Baldface Circle hike begins with a 2.5 mile steady uphill walk on an old logging road to the base of the ledges, which begin just past the Baldface Shelter, a popular destination for an easy overnight. We met many hikers coming down the trail, including a family with young kids, most of whom had spent the night at the shelter or the tent platforms. By the time we reached the shelter, however, it had emptied out, and we enjoyed a snack there before taking on the ledges.

The ledges were much as I recalled them – straight up. We gained about 1,000 feet of elevation in just over a half-mile, pulling ourselves up and over rocks and boulders, and walking on granite slabs at what feel like a 60% grade (but was probably was more like 20%).

An interesting cairn -- more sculpture than trail marker -- pointed us to up the trail to South Baldface, and to the peak of North Baldface, in the distance.

An interesting cairn — more sculpture than trail marker — pointed us to up the trail to South Baldface, and to the peak of North Baldface, in the distance.

As I did years ago, I felt exhilarated to reach  South Baldface. But I also felt totally wasted, and was grateful for the sunny warmth that allowed me to stretch out on the rocks and recover.  I could hear my husband talking to another party of hikers.  After a few minutes he asked if I was okay.

“I will be,” I told him. “I just need a few minutes.”

IMG_3902

Back in 1936, South Baldface and the other mountains along the Maine-New Hampshire border were eyed for development as a ski resort. The Borderline Resort proposed by the U.S. Forest Service and the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) called for the creation of hike-up/ski-down trails on South Baldface and other mountains, including Mount Meader, and West Royce, East Royce, and Speckled Mountains, with a phase 2 to include, on the opposite side of the Notch, Caribou, Elizabeth, Haystack, Peabody, and Pickett Henry Mountains. AMC proposed that its seasonal Cold River Camps could serve as the base area for a mega-resort that eventually would encompass all of the mountains in the Notch.

It’s almost unfathomable to imagine this wild valley (much of it now designated as federal wilderness) as home to a sprawling resort.  Today, in the winter, one off-season cabin at Cold River Camps is the only place to stay for many miles.

The Borderline Resort plan never gained momentum, probably in part due to extensive damage in the forest caused by Great New England Hurricane of 1938. Also, maybe somebody realized that promoting skiing on the icy ledges of South Baldface wasn’t the greatest idea.

Thank goodness – I enjoy skiing, but I’m glad that this scenic valley isn’t so different from when a handful of hardy families settled here in the early 1800s.  Yes, a road exists now (built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s), and electricity runs to the few homes along the road, but as in bygone days, I’m guessing that the few year-round residents hunker down during winter storms, when the valley feels truly remote.  (The upper end of Route 113 closes to automobiles in winter and becomes part of a popular snowmobile route).

IMG_3906

Instead of ski lifts and slopes, we had great views of North Baldface and the other peaks in Evans Notch. To the northwest (but not pictured) we had views of Mount Washington, and, to the northeast, the long blue stretch of Kezar Lake.

After a long rest on South Baldface, we continued hiking on the open ridge towards North Baldface. The mountains stretched all around us.

When we reached the junction for the Bicknell Ridge Trail, which reduces the hike by a third of a mile, I was more than game for the shortcut. Besides, as we picked our way down the granite and the rocks, we found that Bicknell Ridge also offers plenty of great views.

IMG_3908

Views of the big Whites from the open ridge near North Baldface. I love the maroon ground cover.

Eventually, we dropped down to a green tunnel of beech trees. The last two miles felt like a trudge, and I wondered if I would hike the Baldface Circle Trail again. Perhaps twice in a lifetime is enough.

I had plenty of time to think as I pounded down the trail. Did I still have it in me to hike the Appalachian Trail?  How long will my hiking career last?  What will take its place when hiking is no longer an option? Oh sure, I have many years left, but some day….

Thinking about these questions might seem depressing, but I’m a glass half-full kind of person.  If this was my final trip to Baldface, I wanted to soak it in and appreciate the green forest, even if I couldn’t wait to get back to the car. At the very least, I had to come back for  a dip in the Emerald  Pool, a swimming hole tucked off the trail about a half-mile from the road.

They say that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I’m not sure if that’s true for me on the Baldface Circle Trail.  But by mid-week, when my collapse on South Baldface was fading to a distant memory, I was looking at the weather and planning my next hike, to 4000-footer Mount Waumbek.

Sources and resources

“Borderline.” Maine Cancelled Ski Areas. New England Ski History. Updated November 26, 2012.

Trail distances, elevation and other information from the White Mountain Guide, 28th edition (2007), published by the Appalachian Mountain Club.  A newer edition now available, and recommended.

For more on hikes in Evans Notch:

My post, “Five great family hikes in Maine,” includes a short review of the wonderful Blueberry Mountain hike in Evans Notch.

The Basin Trail is another great trail at the northern end of the notch, in the Wild River Valley; see “In the Wild River Valley, a November blizzard, deep snow, and a man who preservers to save his cat.”

And for another tale about a nearby Maine ski area, big dreams and failed schemes, see “White Elephant in a Green Valley.”

Finally, if you want to read more about the hike on Mount Waumbek, see my post, “Gray jays, great day: A fall hike on Mount Waumbek.”

Island living, Adirondack style

Posted on by
2
Heading through wild rice towards the locks connecting Middle Saranac Lake to the Saranac River.

Heading through wild rice towards the locks connecting Middle Saranac Lake to the Saranac River. The rice was planted years ago to create better duck habitat for hunters but now has become a nuisance invasive species.

In July, an opportunity arose to camp with a friend for several nights on a quarter-acre island on Middle Saranac Lake in New York’s Adirondack Park.

My friend warned me that she didn’t do a lot on the island. We could kayak, cook, swim, read, nap, and stay up late by the campfire. If the wind whipped up, as it often does on Middle Saranac, kayaking was probably off the list, along with the campfire. If it rained, reading would be confined to various contorted positions in my tent.

Island living might be cozy and relaxing – or claustrophobic and boring. Was a quarter acre island big enough for a maniacal traveler?

After a day spent driving and packing up my kayak, I paddled across the lake, reaching the island at dusk. That first night, swimming in the dark beneath the Milky Way, the island hardly seemed claustrophobic. Here was an entire universe!

Island 72 and its neighbor

Island 72 and its neighbor, both part of the Saranac Lake Islands Campground.

It took me a day or so to adjust to the idea that I had no place to go and nothing to do. The weather helped reinforce this nothing-ness, as the wind had picked up during the night. Tall white pines thrashed above the clearing where we had set up camp. Throughout the day, gray clouds threatened rain. On the western end of the lake, we could see gray sheets of rain falling, but in the end, only a few sprinkles blew over the island.

I covered the list of activities: cook, read, swim, nap. In the early evening, when the wind died down, I kayaked over to Hungry Bay, passing a few remote campsites and waving at a couple of people on shore.  The exercise and the solitude felt good.

We built a fire and stayed up until midnight, on this island with nothing to do.

The next day, the lake was glassy, the wind almost non-existent.   After breakfast, we pushed off in our kayaks and paddled west and then north towards Weller Pond, which is connected to Middle Saranac Lake by a narrow passage.  En route, we passed a couple of  occupied campsites, but mostly had the lake to ourselves, especially once we entered Weller Pond.

Back in 1931, writer Martha Eben came to Weller Pond to camp and stayed from late spring through the fall. Martha was an invalid, suffering from tuberculosis, when her Adirondack guide Fred Rice transported her to the campsite in a bed he’d fashioned inside his canoe. When they arrived at Fred’s camp, he installed her in a comfy bed set up beneath the pines.

Then in her early 20s, Martha had been suffering from tuberculosis since she was a child. Her family had sent her to Saranac Lake Village for rest and treatment at Edward Trudeau’s Adirondack Cottage Sanitarium. In this era before antibiotics, tuberculosis was progressive and deadly, but in the 19th century, physicians in Europe had learned that rest, isolation, and good nutrition could slow the progress of the disease and sometimes even cure it.

Fred Rice and Martha Rice, from an undated photo in the Adironack Register (Historic Saranac Lake).

Fred Rice and Martha Rice, from an undated photo in the Adirondack Register (Historic Saranac Lake).

Martha had endured several surgeries (probably procedures aimed at collapsing a lung so that lesions and cavities could heal) as well as stays in other facilities. She finally decided that she’d had enough, and hired Fred Rice to take her to Weller Pond and take care of her in the wilderness. Her adventure was an extreme take on the idea of the sanitarium: that rest, fresh air, and wholesome food would bolster the body’s immune system to fight the infection.

At her campsite, Martha rested, read, and sat with Fred by the campfire. They weathered rainstorms, chilly nights and Fred’s generally bad cooking. Fred took her out in his canoe on fishing and animal-spotting expeditions. Martha learned to peel potatoes and gradually was able to take on some of the cooking.

By the time late fall arrived, Martha’s health was restored. Enamored with her simple existence at Weller Pond, Martha returned to the woods with Fred for six seasons (and eventually ended up spending winters in Saranac Lake Village with Fred and his wife). Ten years into her adventures, Martha learned that she was free of tuberculosis (although she died what we now consider the young age of 58 from congestive heart failure, a condition likely exacerbated by her damaged lungs).

In the 1952, Martha published The Healing Woods, the first of three books about her Adirondack experiences. What strikes me in reading Martha’s book is that she focuses on her adventures and not on her condition, which hangs in the background, sometimes limiting her activity but never her enthusiasm.

Lily pads in what Fred Rice called the "slough", a swampy area in the passage to Weller Pond. We took a lovely detour up into Little Weller Pond as well and encountered many lily pads and sunning turtles, just as Martha had.

Lily pads in what Fred Rice called the “slough”, a swampy area in the passage to Weller Pond. We took a lovely detour up into Little Weller Pond as well and encountered many lily pads and sunning turtles, just as Martha had.

I’m sure Martha had her days when she felt tired and was tired of camping –- sitting out days of rain in which everything gets wet is tedious no matter how much you love the outdoors. But she omitted complaints and frustrations from her narrative, instead choosing to write about her discoveries and her wonder as she learns about life in the woods. She deliberately chooses to focus on the positive even if she sometimes felt negative.

The experience of the woods that Martha conveys is much the same as ours today. Weller Pond still feels remote and wild, removed from the hum of cars along Route 3 as it passes by Middle Saranac Lake. We see one other paddler, an ambitious guy intent on exploring every nook and cranny of the shore. Paddling through the lilies in the slough, we spy turtles lazing on rotting logs and hear redwing blackbirds singing.

On my third morning on the island, I woke up to a glassy lake. I had to go home, but could have stayed longer. Instead of doing nothing, I’d enjoyed three days of being more fully present in my experience.  That’s island living, Adirondack style.

My friend Michelle kayaking back to the island after a visit to the locks connecting the lake to the Saranac River. Ambersand Mountain rises in the background.

My friend Michelle kayaking back to the island after a visit to the locks connecting the lake to the Saranac River. Ampersand Mountain rises in the background.

 

Sources and resources

The Healing Woods, by Martha Reben. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company, 1952.

Saranac Lake Islands Campground, operated by the New York State Department of Environmental Protection, offers 72 boat-access campsites scattered on the islands and show of the Saranac Lakes.

For more on Martha Reben, see “Martha Reben” on Historic Saranac Lake.

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

Posted on by
1

I have long held Presidential aspirations — that is, to complete the Presidential traverse hike across the highest peaks of New England including Mount Washington, Jefferson,  Adams, and Madison.

Moon over Mount Adams, with Madison Hut in the foreground.

Moon over Mount Adams, with Madison Spring Hut in the foreground.

I love the high open alpine terrain of these summits, and the sense of being on top of the world.

But the weather is predictably unpredictable in the mountains, especially on 6,288-foot Mount Washington, which is known for creating its own weather. In any given June, only 10 days of the month are sunny or partly sunny.

But even a hike through the clouds would be awesome. Stretching my Presidential hike over three days, with two nights in alpine huts operated by the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) increased the odds of hiking at least one day under sunny clear skies.

My son, aka the Seal, was up for the challenge — his first big overnight hike – even if he didn’t know exactly what he was getting into. His friend, wearing thin sneakers and carrying an oversized school backpack, was also game.

Spoiler: we didn’t get to complete our Presidential hike. But our three days in the mountains reminded me of these truths about hiking.

Your kids will eventually hike faster than you can, but only if you don’t torture them when they are young.

Summer 2015 005

Tama Fall, on the Fallsway parallel to the lower part of the Valley Way trail, was running full thanks to recent rainfall.

We began our hike under partly cloudy skies, with rain in the forecast, so I decided to start out on the Valley Way trail, the most protected route to Madison Spring Hut. The boys quickly raced ahead on the trail, waiting for me to catch up at each junction.

If the weather held off, I planned to cross over, via the Scar Trail, to the Air Line Trail so we could take in the drama of King Ravine.  My pack felt heavier than a couple of weeks earlier, when I had carried a full load into the Desolation Wilderness. The terrain was steeper, but I think I mostly felt slow, creaky, and weighted down in contrast to the 14-year-olds.

My son is definitely not a hard-core outdoorsy kid, but I have spent years choosing shorter easier hikes with interesting features to make hiking palatable and (hopefully) interesting and fun. Now comes the payoff for not torturing him when he was young:  torture for me!

It had rained hard enough for us to put on our rain gear, but the rain let up by the time we got to the sign. People die in these mountains every year, including a woman hiker who perished not far from Madison Hut during the past winter while trying to climb Mount Adams.

It had rained hard enough for us to put on our rain gear, but the rain let up by the time we got to the sign. People die in these mountains every year, including a young woman who perished this past February not far from Madison Hut.

When it rains, you get wet.

Having good rain gear and stay-dry clothing helps in weathering the storm, but the rain eventually leaks into the jacket, the boots get waterlogged from sloshing through too many puddles, and invariably some item gets waterlogged because you forgot to wrap it in plastic.

At first, clouds filled the depths of King Ravine.

Then the clouds lifted, revealing the depths of the Ravine.

A warm and dry bunk in an alpine hut is better than a suite at a luxury hotel, especially when said bunk (multiplied by three or four people) costs as much or more.

Ah, Madison Spring Hut! This historic hut, on the site of mountain hospitality since 1889, was rebuilt in 2011.  I love the new layout and little luxuries: a dining room that doesn’t feel as crowded, individual bunk lights that energy-efficient lights, and best of all, the third-level bunk private-ish suites. The boys quickly climbed up the ladder to these bunks, designed to be impossible to fall from, with a wall on one side of each bunk, and a heavy wooden platform screen connecting two bunks (with four bunks total stretching across the rafters).  They promptly took possession of their suite, laid themselves out to dry, and passed out like two-year-olds taking a long-delayed afternoon nap.

Being on a mountain at sunset is awesome.

One of the greatest benefits of staying in an alpine huts experiencing the last rays of the day from a mountain top. The 5,367-foot summit of Mount Madison rises a half-mile above the hut, making for an easy (albeit strenuous) climb.

 

Reaching the summit of Mount Madison after dinner, with plenty of time to get back to the hut before dark.

Hanging out on  the summit of Mount Madison after dinner, with plenty of time, in June,  to get back to the hut before dark.

The sky glowed above Mount Washington as we climbed back down to the hut.

At twilight, the clouds cleared and the sky glowed above Mount Washington.

New England weather is fickle, especially in the mountains.

Yes, yes, everyone knows this, but why does this truism always have to be true?? For days, I had been checking the long-range forecast, thinking that I might reorganize the trip by a day if the weather looked bad. (Although not well publicized, AMC, known for their ironclad no-refund policies, will let you make a one-time switch to your itinerary on a space-available basis). On Saturday, the weather looked great! But by the time we hit the trail, the forecast had evolved from great to gray to grim: high winds, severe thunderstorms, heavy rain, and flash floods.

I held out hope that the weather front might pass through early, or hold off until later, but on Tuesday morning, after providing the weather forecast, the hut “croo” at Madison strongly discouraged anyone from walking across the six-mile exposed Gulfside Trail towards Mount Washington and the hut at Lake of the Clouds, our destination for Tuesday night.

More than 140 people have died in these mountains over the past 150 or so years, in all four seasons. I knew that we had to abandon our plans. I switched our reservation to Highland Center down in Crawford Notch and debated options for the next day, when the weather would clear.

The thought of putting on wet socks and then lacing on waterlogged boots is worse than the reality of doing so.

We hiked out the Valley Way trail in the pouring rain. My pricey Marmot jacket quickly became a wet skin. At one point, I had to take off my glasses so that I could sort of see the trail. The rain eventually let up, and we reached the Appalachia parking lot, where a kiosk provided shelter from the rain when it started up again. I was so grateful when The AMC shuttle arrived ahead of schedule.

After a hard hike, the cheapest glass of wine tastes great.

Mondavi Chardonnay, with dinner at the Highland Center, preceded by afternoon coffee at The Met in North Conway while the boys filled up on “penny” candy at Zeb’s General Store.  We even managed a visit to White Birch Books.

The view of Crawford Notch from the Highland Center patio. Down in the Notch, the rain had stopped, but I knew that it could be storming wildly up on the higher summits.

The view of Crawford Notch from the Highland Center. Down in the Notch, the rain had stopped, but I knew that it could be storming wildly up on the higher summits.

Sometimes driving a car up a mountain is better than walking.

I briefly contemplated a day hike up Mount Washington for our third day. Strong winds were slamming the summit, but hikers coming up the southeastern side of the mountain wouldn’t feel the full force of the northwest winds until reaching the summit cone. But then I looked at my wet boots, and remembered my rule about not torturing children.

It’s not much fun to hike for any length of time when the wind is blowing hard.  But strong winds make a great day for driving the Mount Washington Auto Road.

The wind was blowing hard and steady, and we leaned into it.

The wind was blowing hard and steady. We leaned into it, and loved it.

When we arrived at the summit, the wind was blowing a steady 40-45 mph, with gusts in the 60 mph range. That doesn’t sound so bad – and it isn’t, if you aren’t try to move forward on your feet. In fact, it’s great fun to lean in to the wind, and then let it chase you around.

Inside the State Park building, we milled around with senior citizens and tourists who had come up on the Cog Railway and visited the new “Extreme Mount Washington” exhibit that features a compelling account of the April 1934 record-setting wind, when observers clocked the wind speed at 231 mph.

But we couldn’t experience Mount Washington without a hike, so after lunch,  we began the steep descent towards Tuckerman’s Ravine to do a two-mile loop hike down to and through the Alpine Garden trail, an alpine plateau that blooms with rare wildflowers in June.

View of Tuckerman's Ravine as we turned onto the Lion's Head Trail and then onto the Alpine Garden trail.

View of Tuckerman’s Ravine as we turned on to the Lion’s Head Trail and then the Alpine Garden trail, which cuts across a plateau towards Huntington Ravine.

Heading downhill, we soon left the wind behind as we encountered a steady stream of hikers on their final leg up the mountain. The walk down was slow going for me, but the boys continued their mountain goat act. The trail through the Gardens was easy and open, although I expected to see more flowers for this time of year. Either I just missed them, or they hadn’t yet come out in full bloom, or “garden” is a relative term in Mount Washington’s harsh environment.

As we climbed uphill again, towards Ball Crag and the summit, we again felt the wind’s full force. By the time we reached the car, I was feeling pretty beat up, but strong enough to move the car in the empty parking lot to take advantage of perfect westerly views towards Franconia Ridge.

An imperfect trip to the mountains is always better always better than going to the office (or doing housework, running errands, going to doctor appointments).

I had hoped to climb Mount Jefferson on this trip, and touch upon Mount Monroe, two 5,000 footers on my to-climb list. But as a glass half-full type, I see this year’s loss as next year’s opportunity.  I’ll be back—along with at least one other hiker who already is strategizing on how to get some additional teenagers on the trail.

We'll try again next year -- or maybe in the fall.

We’ll try again next year — or maybe in the fall.

Sources and resources

For information on hut stays, visit the Appalachian Mountain Club website.  The AMC also offers a shuttle service at key trailheads and lodges so that hikers can do point-to-point hikes across the mountains.  Hikers can also use a shuttle service to or from Mount Washington — see the Auto Road website for details.

The Mount Washington Weather Observatory Higher Summits forecast provides detailed information on weather for both the region and the higher summits in the Presidential Range.

For more reading about Mount Washington, see some of my posts from my week-long stay on the summit in January, 2014:

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beautiful desolation at Lake Aloha

Posted on by
4

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.“~John Muir, Our National Parks (1901)

Many wildflowers bloomed on the trail, including the phlox familiar to most New England gardeners/

Many wildflowers bloomed on the trail, including the phlox familiar to most New England gardeners.

Could I still carry a fully loaded backpack and not be crushed by its weight and the forces of middle age?

Well, I knew I could do it. The real question was, could I carry a full backpack and enjoy myself?

The occasion was my friend Natasha’s 50th birthday. The destination, Lake Aloha in the California’s Desolation Wilderness, near Lake Tahoe.

I made my checklist – tent, pots, Bearikade container filled with three days worth of food  — and scrutinized each item for its weight. Over the past couple of years, I’ve replaced various pieces of old gear with ultralight equipment – like my 15 oz Z-Pack sleeping bag – but still couldn’t quite commit myself to the raw food/no stove ultra ultralight approach. For me, drinking cup of hot coffee or tea at a remote campsite is part of the wilderness experience. But could I do without a book, a journal? I couldn’t.  I threw both in and strapped on the pack for the trip to the airport.

When I arrived in San Francisco, heavy rain was falling –a totally unanticipated event in this drought-ridden state. On-and-off heavy downpours continued as we drove to Echo Lake, where we planned to take the water taxi to its upper end.  On our drive, we debated options: stay in a cabin or lodge for the night? Head out in the rain?

At the Echo Lake store, we learned that the cabins across the way were not yet open, but a water taxi was loading up.  We rapidly re-organized our stuff, pulled on rain gear, and jumped in boat.

When we set off from the trailhead at the upper end of Echo Lake, my pack didn’t feel terrible. By then, the rain had stopped, and the leftover dampness tamped down the dusty trail that I remember from previous hikes here. The air felt fresh and the usually dusty sage brush smelled sagey. Orange paintbrush and pink phlox bloomed beside the trail. As we walked among the ponderosa at Haypress Meadows, the grass glowed vibrant green.

We hiked in about three miles from Upper Echo Lake to arrive at Lake of the Woods just as the gray sky was starting to clear.

We hiked in about three miles from Upper Echo Lake to Lake of the Woods just as the gray sky was clearing.  There, we found the perfect campsite, tucked in the trees 100 feet back from the lake (per the permit requirements), but just steps away from a granite peninsula that made for a fine lakeside kitchen and lounging platform. Mid-week in June we were the only campers here for two nights, although we encountered many heading up the trail from Echo Lake on Friday.

I was glad I remembered to bring a couple of dimes so that we could open the Bearikade bear-proof food canister, especially after I realized I had locked the swiss army knife in with the food. The meal was a delicious dehydrated Thai curry from Good-to-Go, a little start-up food company at the end of my street in Kittery.  Real vegetables — green beans, hunks of cauliflower — sprung to after soaking in boiling hot water for 20 minutes. As we ate dinner, a mother duckling and her five ducklings paddled by.

I left Kittery at 3:30 a.m. by sunset was enjoying a late sunset dinner at Lake of the Woods. I'm glad I remember to bring a couple of dimes so that we could open the Bearikade food canister, especially after we realized we had locked the swiss army knife in with the food.

I left Kittery, Maine at 3:30 a.m. and by sunset was enjoying a late Pacific Time dinner at Lake of the Woods.

A bottle of champagne only weights a couple of pounds.

A bottle of champagne only weighs about 1.5 pounds, so we threw it into the pack. Happy Birthday, Natasha!

As the sun set, my friend and I toasted with the champagne we’d brought (along with our books) and continued our non-stop conversation about our families, jobs, mutual friends, politics, books, Morocco (where we both served as Peace Corps Volunteers), and a hundred other topics.

I was definitely enjoying the moment, but confessed that I wasn’t fully immersed in it, because in my head, I already was planning another backpack.  “I know what you mean,” Natasha said. “I’m feeling greedy for more of this.”

Our first view of Lake Aloha, which stretches out for 3.5 miles in the Desolation Wilderness. The lake is actually a low-tech reservoir formed by a series of five small dams constructed over the years to assure a consistent pool of water in the summer months. But these are small stone and earth dams.

Our first view of Lake Aloha, which stretches out for 3.5 miles in the Desolation Wilderness. The lake is actually a group of small lakes and puddles stitched together by five dams into a shallow reservoir. As visible in this photo, the water was quite low for this time of year when it is typically filled with Sierra snowpack runoff.  The Lake is a popular destination for backpackers, but also makes a fine destination for a day hike, about 10 miles RT from upper Echo Lake .

That first night, more rain fell, but we were warm and dry in my tent. The next morning, after our backcountry coffee , we set out on the trail for Lake Aloha.

The 64,000-acre Desolation Wilderness, one of the nation’s most popular, is well-travelled. Gold miners once prospected here, without much luck, and cattle grazed in Haypress Meadows, before receiving official wilderness status in 1969 (although the area had been less restrictively protected for many years as part of the El Dorado National Forest).

In general, the Forest Service struggles with the idea of wilderness. Can an area threaded with hiking trails truly be called a wilderness?  Purists want to abolish trails and all man-made structures (like dams or shelters) in federal wilderness areas. However, a wilderness with no trails or trail signs and which is travelled by thousands of hikers is one in which many people will get lost.  Thus, all major trail junctions have signposts with arrows, but the trails are not marked with blazes or cairns.

Without blazes and cairns, it is fairly easy to lose the trail in the Desolation, but not hard to navigate back to where you thought you were, as long as you have a good map. We learned this truth early, when we missed the junction for Lake Aloha, and found ourselves confronting a large granite wall at the far end of Lake of the Woods. A couple of rocky slides looked like they might be climbable without the risk of death, but, having children back at home, we opted not to scramble up steep rock cliffs.  A short backtrack, along with our map, led us to the trail that threads up and through a meadow before descending to Lake Aloha.

Lake Aloha features many granite outcroppings and small granite islands -- lots of nooks and crannies. We found a private spot and jumped in, briefly, to the icy cold but refreshing water. Swimmers flock here in the summer, when the lake is shallower and warmer.

Lake Aloha features many granite outcroppings and small granite islands — lots of nooks and crannies. We found a private spot and waded in to the icy water for about 2 minutes. Swimmers flock here in the summer, when the lake is shallower and warmer.

In sharp contrast to its landscape, Lake Aloha conjures up hibiscus and jasmine and other lush tropical flowers. By mid-summer, the straggly stands of paintbrush and other wildflowers will have wilted, and this will be a landscape of granite, dust and scraggly Sierra pines.  But in early June, the walking along and above the lake was easy.  We set aim for Heather Lake, just beyond, and had lunch there before turning back to our base camp.

Again, we lost the trail. Instead of climbing to the meadow, we found ourselves looking out at the granite landscape of the Desolation Valley, with Pyramid Peak in the distance. We knew that Lake of the Woods was below this ridge and not far, but didn’t want to take our chances on bushwhacking to the head of a steep rock wall.  A short backtrack led us to the trail junction and we were on our way.

Another view of Lake Aloha as we turned back towards Lake of the Woods.

Another view of Lake Aloha as we turned back towards Lake of the Woods.

A very assertive Sierra marmot tried to steal our lunch at Heather Lake, just past the far end of Lake Aloha.

A very assertive Sierra marmot tried to steal our lunch at Heather Lake, just past the far end of Lake Aloha.

Back at the campsite, we finished off the champagne and stuffed ourselves with a chipotle three-bean chili before retiring to the tent.

Towards dawn, I woke up to the chorus of coyotes howling and yipping up on the ridge. Tucked in my sleeping bag, inside the thin walls of a nylon tent, I was exactly where I wanted to be. Although I had carried in more gear than I needed, I felt lighter than I had in years.

While exploring the Desolation Valley, we found this horse sculpture with a view of Pyramid Peak.

Before packing out, we explored the territory behind Lake of the Woods and found this sculpture looking to Pyramid Peak

Frata Lake, a sweet spot tucked behind Lake of the Woods in the aptly-named Desolation Valley. A helicopter buzzed above us in a zig-zag pattern and we wondered for whom or what it was searching. As we explored, we realized that the Desolation Valley gradually flows down to the far end of Lake of the Woods. Maps are great!

Frata Lake, a sweet spot tucked behind Lake of the Woods in the aptly-named Desolation Valley. A helicopter buzzed above us in a zig-zag pattern and we wondered for whom or what it was searching. As we explored, we realized that the Desolation Valley gradually flows down from Lake Aloha to the far end of Lake of the Woods. Maps are great!

Sources and resources

The Desolation Wilderness is laced with over 150 miles of trails, and offers many great options for both day hikes and backpacks.  On an earlier trip, we enjoyed a dusty and hot family hike to Tamarack Lake (from Upper Echo Lake).  Swimming at Susie Lake is a great reward after a three mile-ish hike in.

Visit the Desolation Wilderness website for information on trails  and permits.

Although the 19th century writing reads slow, anyone who hikes in the Sierra needs to spend a summer slowly savoring John Muir’s My First Summer in the Sierra.

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

Posted on by
6
The last stretch over and up to Piper Mountain featured beautiful open terrain.

The Belknap Range in New Hampshire’s Lake Region offers interesting and varied hiking terrain, like this stretch of trail over and up to Piper Mountain.

Would we find the plane crash? That was the motivating question as I hit the road early one morning in late June with three middle-school boys.

More than 40 years ago, on June 18, 1972, a small plane bound for Boston vanished in New Hampshire’s Lakes Region after taking off from Laconia Airport.  A search was launched, but the plane had evaporated.  A year later — or maybe two years later — in June 0f 1973 or 1974, the wreckage was found, just a few hundred yards below the summit of well-travelled Mount Belknap.

At least that’s the story, according to a few internet sites. More complete information — such as the pilot’s name and age, the type of plane, the source of the internet information — remains elusive.  A search of Boston Globe archives turns up several other small plane crashes in New England in the early 1970s, but not a word about the plane that slammed into Mount Belknap.

Setting out, all we knew for sure was that we might find the wreckage on the side of Mount Belknap.  Or we might not. In seeking out the crash site, I didn’t wish to make sport of a tragedy.  The wreckage, like the mountain range that holds it, is a mystery that pulls us onto the trail  — especially three teens who might otherwise be satisfied by the glow of a screen.

Also, the prospect of climbing the Mount Belknap fire tower and then lounging in stone chairs on Piper Mountain add up to a day of hiking that even the most hardened video gamer finds hard to resist.

So, armed with plenty of bug spray against black flies, we set off for the Belknap Range in Gilford, New Hampshire to climb Belknap and Piper Mountains,  with plans to also hit the  Gunstock Mountain summit, just to say we did it.

We started our hike at the parking lot at the end of the Belknap Mountain Carriage Road (see directions and details at bottom of post).  Various approaches exist to all three mountains; the Carriage Road parking lot offers access to a variety of easy loop hikes on the west side of the range.

We began with a short hike up the Blue Trail (which leads to the summit of Belknap Mountain) to the Belknap-Gunstock col, where we turned left on the Saddle Trail to get a summer view from Gunstock’s 2250-foot summit, where we have often enjoyed ski-lift vistas of Lake Winnipesaukee in the winter.

The whizz of the Gunstock’s zip line sliced through the air.  Not an offensive sound, just noteworthy.  Passing the zipline platform, we backtracked to the Blue Trail and hiked through the forest towards the summit of Belknap Mountain.

The plane wreckage is not visible from the trail, but I’d read that the turn-off to the site was marked with a small bit of surveying tape, just below the Belknap summit.  As we hiked along, we kept an eye out for that bit of tape.  Just as we were about to give up, I spied the orange tape, hanging on a branch, about 2/10ths of a mile below the summit, and could see the faint outline of a “herd path” on the left (down the steep slope).

Hiking down to the crash site required careful footing over a rough rock fall.  Although it seems impossible that a plane could vanish in this well-travelled region, once in the sun-dappled forest, I could see how easily that might happen, especially after the leaves have burst forth on the trees.

About a one-tenth of a steep pitch off the trail, we found the wreckage. The boys were excited to find the plane crash, and I reminded them to be respectful — that this was not a playground, but a place where someone had died.  I won’t deny that there’s a certain voyeuristic element to looking for a plane crash. But searching for such sites is also a way of honoring the memory of those who died.  The hunt for the wreckage, I think, cultivates the same spirit that led the pilot to take up flying. Bad things happen, but that doesn’t mean we should give up on adventure, or on exploring and pushing boundaries.

Who doesn't love a fire tower, especially when it offers a breezy refuge from June blackflies? We ate our lunch here on top of Belknap Mountain.

Who doesn’t love a fire tower, especially when it offers a breezy refuge from June blackflies? We ate our lunch here on top of Belknap Mountain.

After we had looked over the crash site, we clambered back up to the main trail, and quickly reached the summit of 2382-foot Belknap Mountain, where a well-maintained fire tower offers 360 degree views of the Lakes Region.

After the tower,  we set off for the grand finale — the last leg on the ridge, on the White Trail to the junction of the Old Piper Trail (Orange Trail), for the ascent to Piper Mountain (2,044 feet), and its odd collection of stone sculptures and thrones.

Piper Mountain lived up to its billing as one of the most intriguing mountain destinations in New Hampshire — an open, barren summit, with plenty of room to run around and jump from rock to rock — or to stretch out on a throne of granite.

Relaxing in one of the many stone thrones atop Piper Mountain.

Relaxing in one of the many stone thrones atop Piper Mountain.

We finished our loop by taking the Piper Mountain Trail (Red) down the mountain, exiting onto Carriage Road just below the parking lot.  All told, we had hiked about five miles and were ready for ice cream.

Another hiker was waiting at the parking lot family members to arrive so they could get in a quick hike before the Carriage Road gate closed at 6 p.m.  We struck up a conversation, and he told me that he had found the crash and the remains of the pilot (a skeleton) back in 1974.

“I was hiking and I just happened to look down, saw something yellow, and there it was,” he said.

The wreckage, he said, remained undiscovered for two years, not one (as is often reported), and that one person — the pilot — was in the plane, not two (again, often reported).

I didn’t grill him for further details, but was struck by how internet has created its own facts about the crash (not for the first time, to be sure).  I did ask him for ice cream recommendations. We set off for Sawyer’s Dairy Bar in Gilford, and our friend proved to be a highly trustworthy source on ice cream.

Although the plane crash cut one man’s life way too short, I’m glad we found it, because the search led me to the mysteries of the Belknap Range.  Now, the map invites me to hike to Round Pond, the ledges of Whiteface Mountain, and many other off-the-beaten path destinations just over an hour from home. I’ll be back to do more exploring.

My son warned me that this photo is not the most flattering, but I loved my throne on Piper Mountain, so I'm posting it anyway.

My son warned me that this photo is not the most flattering, but I loved my throne on Piper Mountain, so I’m posting it anyway.

Additional resources and information

Directions to Belknap Carriage Road parking lot (access point for various trails):
At Gilford Village, leave Route 11A and follow Belknap Mountain Road south, bearing left at .8 miles and right at 1.4 miles. At 2.4 miles, the Belknap Carriage Road forks left.  Follow it 1.5 miles to the parking lot.  The road is gated, near the lot, and the gate closes at 6 p.m.  Signs point to various trails next to or near the parking lot, and you may have to look around, but it’s not hard to find whatever particular trail you are looking for.

Belknap Range Trails provides detailed descriptions of hikes in the region, and includes a link to a printable map (definitely recommended). AMC’s Southern New Hampshire Trail Guide also provides detailed information on the various trail options, although it is hard to follow the descriptions without a map.

We found the geocache box at the plane crash site with no specific instructions, just by looking around.  I am more a low-tech letterbox-type myself, and have since learned that several letterboxes (see list here) are tucked beneath stumps and rocks on Belknap, Piper and other mountains in the area.

Mount Major is the most popular family hike in the Lakes Region, but further to the north and east, I also recommend the Morgan-Percival loop for its fun caves and ladders.

Further afield, the 5-mile-ish Welch-Dickey Loop, near Waterville Valley, is another great family hike.

King Pine, the Little Mountain That Could

Posted on by
Reply
King Pine is known for the stately white pines that crown its summit.

King Pine is known for the stately white pines that crown its summit.

Here we are in the depths of January, and more than six weeks have passed since a major snowfall.  Up north, snowmakers and groomers bust their tails trying to work their magic, but variable weather makes it difficult to write a truly upbeat ski report.  The language of ski reports* is always optimistic, but I know what those words mean.

“Frozen granular” = “Hard-packed snow with a glazing of ice pebbles concealing some large patches of ice.”

“The surface yesterday was still firm, but definitely on the mend, fun, and not difficult to lay an edge into” = “The slopes are like concrete but if you can carve into the ice, you’ll get down the mountain.”

“Once again some squeeky corduroy, very nice for carving and even some skidding” =  “Skiing on groomed terrain isn’t impossible, but you will need to lean hard into the ice or feel your skis skid sideways down the mountain.”

These flamingos, below the Black Bear Triple Chair, are a well-known harbinger of winter at King Pine.

These flamingos, below the Black Bear Triple Chair, are a well-known harbinger of winter at King Pine.

What these reports tell me is that now is the time for a visit to King Pine, the Little Mountain That Could, especially for skiers with  younger children.  King Pine doesn’t offer much in the way of vertical (350 feet), and has only 17 trails, but during a lengthy patch of variable weather, when every other area is stiff and scratchy, conditions at King Pine are always consistently good, with plentiful snowmaking and expert groomers who know how to spread their snow around this small friendly mountain.

With its reliable snow and family vibe, King Pine is sort of a miniature version of Bretton Woods.  Also, like Bretton Woods, King Pine, located in a protected valley, seldom feels the impact of a bitter wind. A bonus for me is that King Pine is just an hour and 20 minutes from my house, so I can enjoy a leisurely Sunday morning at home and then head north to take advantage of the $26 Sunday afternoon ticket (about $10 less for kids).

I love hopping off the lift and into this grove of pine trees on the summit of King Pine.

I love hopping off the lift and into this grove of pine trees on the summit of King Pine.

King Pine’s ski school is another plus.  Years ago, I visited Smugglers Notch in Vermont based on its reputation for children’s programs.  But the lessons turned out to be one big cattle call, with hundreds of nervous kids herded into their 20-student groups.

Kids love the sense of independence available to King Pine skiers.

Kids love the sense of independence available to King Pine skiers.

At King Pine, the instructors are generally not transient seasonal employees, but locals of varied ages and backgrounds who have been teaching for years. They know kids and skiing.  The classes are small. The Seal took intermediate-level lessons here for two seasons and he typically had two or three other students in his class. The short runs are easy for kids to manage and help build their confidence.

 

Expert skiers may get bored with King Pine’s short runs, unless they are parents of young children.  Then those parents will gladly enjoy their workouts on King Pine’s two double-black slopes while the kids gain confidence during their lessons.  Maybe those parents will enjoy a beer in the laid-back Trails End lounge and watch their school-age kids race around the mountain. King Pine has that 1970s vibe in which kids can be independent masters of their own universe.  And if they fall and are struggling to get up, a ski patroller or other adult is always going to stop and help them get back on their feet.

A view of Purity Spring Lake from the top of Pitch Pine, one of the mountains steepest trails.

A view of Purity Spring Lake from the top of Pitch Pine, one of the mountain’s steepest trails.

King Pine may be old school, but has definitely kept up with the times. High-speed triple and quad chairs keep skiers moving. I’ve been to King Pine more times than I can count, and I can’t ever recall waiting more than a few minutes to get back on the lift (the one exception is during the February school vacation week, when King Pine is crowded with vacationing families and young skiers participating in its annual noncompetitive Ski Camp).

King Pine is part of the family-owned Purity Spring Resort, which offers a plethora of activities for non-skiiers, including snow tubing, ice skating, sleigh rides, snowshoeing, and cross-country skiing (admittedly, the cross-country skiing isn’t all that exciting, but the main loop provides a solid hour-long-ish workout).

Purity Spring offers inn-type lodging, a solid restaurant, and a health club with a swimming pool (plus the other activities).  Although we usually visit King Pine as a day trip, I have spent a couple of weekends there for extended family gatherings. The lodging is “New England charming” rather than upscale condo (think creaking floorboards and rooms of various shapes, sizes and furnishings).  I like that sort of thing, but if you must have your flat-screen TVs and shiny modern rooms, then you’re probably better off staying in North Conway, about 30 minutes away.

King Pine is definitely not Taos, with all of its vertical feet, bowls, and legendary powder glory. I went to Taos last year and felt very much at home, thanks to a lack of snow that left the slopes icy and hard.

Back in Freedom, New Hampshire, at the Little Mountain that Could, those high-speed lifts chugged along. Probably a  few kids experienced a surge of glory as they jumped off the rails in the terrain park. Otherwise, not much glamour–just lots of happy skiers gliding and turning down the slopes.

*All quotes about ski conditions pulled from various ski area websites that may wish to remain anonymous until a major storm dumps a foot of fresh snow in the mountains.

Additional Resources

For information on more deals, like the Moonlight Family Four-Pack, see King Pine’s Specials page.

I’ve always wanted to visit the Inn at Crystal Lake and its Palmer House Pub, just a few miles down Route 153 in Eaton, New Hampshire.