Category Archives: Mountains

When the cold fails, try the warmth

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Five things to do instead of skiing during New Mexico’s worst drought ever

I am probably the only person in the United States who was disappointed by snowfall totals this winter.  Specifically in New Mexico, where we made plans for a sunny ski trip in February (see here for more) .  When we arrived, the snowfall total from January to mid-February at Taos Ski Valley was a skimpy (by mountain standards) 39 inches. By contrast, average annual snowfall at TSV is 305 inches.  So we did a quick turnaround in our minds, from ski trip to road trip.  Here’s a sampler of the fun.

1. Visit Taos Pueblo

Although in a constant state of rebuilding, the pueblo at Taos Pueblo has been inhabited for more than 1000 years. Now that's history!

Although in a constant state of rebuilding, the mud brick pueblo at Taos Pueblo has been inhabited for more than 1000 years.  The Pueblo is considered the oldest continuously inhabited community in the U.S. Now that’s history!

Taos Pueblo, home of the Taos Pueblo people,  is one of the few UNESCO World Heritage historic/cultural sites that is also a living, breathing community, although the winter population drops in the Pueblo drops to about 100 people.  (Many more dwell in modern homes on the surrounding tribal land).

Although residents no longer enter and exit their homes through holes in the roofs (doors have been added), the Pueblo has neither electricity or running water. Water is hauled from the stream that runs through the Pueblo.

Residents no longer enter and exit their homes through holes in the roofs (doors have been added), but the Pueblo lacks both electricity or running water. Water is hauled from the stream that runs through the Pueblo. Living here is not for the faint of heart.

 

The church in the Pueblo was built in xxx, after the Spanish-built church was destroyed in XX.

The San Geronimo Church in the Pueblo was built in 1850, after U.S. Army destroyed the Spanish church that dated to 1706.  The Spanish built the first San Geronimo in 1619, but this original church was destroyed during the Pueblo Revolt of 1680.

Although the Pueblo welcomes visitors and everyone we met was friendly and hospitable, the Pueblo people guard their heritage. Visitors are welcome at rituals and ceremonies, but absolutely no photos are allowed during these events.  Brochures and other materials remind visitors not to interrupt ceremonies with questions or comments.

Today the Pueblo is striving for a balance between cultural tourism and community preservation, but for most of their history, what the Pueblo people most wanted was to be left alone. Although not warriors by tradition, they were definitely willing to fight for the right to self-government.

The Pueblo people were conquered by the Spanish around 1615, but revolted twice, in 1640, and then again during the 1680 Pueblo Revolt that spread through all of New Mexico’s pueblo communities. They held off the Spanish for 16 years before being defeated in 1696.  Later, in the 1770s, repeated attacks on the pueblo by the Comanche led the Pueblo people to seek Spanish protection.  The Comanches also scared the hell out of the Spanish and prevented expansion of their empire, but Spanish soldiers were able to protect Taos, a small island of Spain in a vast land ruled by the Comanche.  Lots of history happening out here in the West while the American Revolution was heating up in Boston.

The site of the 1706 San Geronimo Church. The church was destroyed during xxx by the U.S. Army during the second Pueblo revolt.

The site of the 1706 San Geronimo Church. In 1847, the U.S. Army destroyed the church, where women, children and elderly had taken shelter, in retaliation for the murder of New Mexico territorial Governor Charles Bent. Bent was killed by a group of townspeople and Native Americans during an attempted revolt against the U.S. government, which had just taken control of New Mexico during the Mexican-American War.

2. Check out the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge formerly known as New Mexico’s Bridge-to-Nowhere

View of the Gorge from the bridge.

View of the Rio Grande Gorge from the bridge, 650 feet above the river.

Just a few miles outside of Taos, the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge spans a narrow canyon carved by the river.  When the three-span steel continuous-deck-truss structure was completed in 1965, the feds ran out of funds to build a road, so until the 1970s, when U.S. Route 64 was rerouted through Taos, the bridge was called the Bridge to Nowhere.

The bridge definitely goes somewhere today–Route 64 ends at the Four Corners of New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona and Utah–but we didn’t follow that road.  We did take in the amazing views and hiked for a mile or so on the West Rim Trail that hugs the gorge for nine miles (18 miles RT).  It was great to be out hiking in the scrubland in mild temperatures.

After our visit to the Gorge Bridge, we traveled by car and foot to the bottom of the Gorge.

After our visit to the bridge, we traveled by car and foot to the bottom of the Gorge in search of hot springs.

3. Soak in natural hot springs

Not sure if I really want this photo of me in my bathing suit on the Internet, but the hot springs sure were nice. The springs are clothing-optional and most opt out, but teenagers and nude parents do not make a good match.

I’m not sure if I really want this photo of me in my bathing suit on the Internet, but Black Rock Hot Springs sure were nice. The springs are clothing-optional and most opt out, but teenagers and nude parents do not make a good match.

After our hike along the Gorge, we used a combination of local directions and iPhone GPS (never to be completely trusted in rural areas) to navigate our way on a rough dirt road to the John Dunn Bridge and the Black Rock Hot Springs.

Although not that far from the homes of Arroyo Hondo, the bottom of the Gorge felt very isolated and a little bit spooky.  I reminded myself that these hot springs are well-known to locals and likely to be populated by mellow bathers rather than Deliverance-style killers.

We did run into a few naked people, but they weren’t carrying spears, and were quite friendly and polite.  After they finished their soak (the pool was pretty full of people), we took our turn and enjoyed sitting in the 97 degree water while the Rio Grande flowed past us on its way to the Mexican-American border.  Eventually, a local mom and her four-year-old daughter joined us, thus quelling any lingering notions that a drug-addled maniac was about to burst forth from behind a rock.

Memories of Charles Manson mingled with those from the movie Easy Rider to fuel my paranoia.  The scene in which Dennis Hopper and Peter Hopper go skinny dipping with two girls from a hippie commune was filmed at nearby Stagecoach Springs Hot Springs (also called Manby Hot Springs).  Although nothing chilling occurs in that particular scene, the audience senses impending danger as the two men continue on their journey.  Fortunately, from our hot spring pool, we had a clear view of the trail to the parking spot and would at least spot the killers before they sprang upon us.

The commercial hot springs at Ojo Caliente also looked tempting and everyone recommended them, but we decided against more driving on a hot springs quest and opted for soaking in the hot tub at our rental.  Something to leave for the next visit.

4. Hike Devisadero Peak in the “off-season”

On the Deviserado Loop Trail (about five miles and fairly easy), we had great views of Wheeler Peak, New Mexico's highest at 13,159 feet. If we had been better prepared for hiking, we probably could have completed the trek up to Wheeler. Typically the mountain would be drenched in snow at this time of year.

On the Deviserado Loop Trail (about five miles and fairly easy), we had great views of Wheeler Peak, New Mexico’s highest at 13,159 feet. If we had been better prepared for hiking, we probably could have completed the trek up to Wheeler. Typically the mountain would be drenched in snow at this time of year.

Relaxing at the summit in a grove of pinon and juniper trees. Someone built these Adirondack chairs from rocks. The chairs were a bit chilly, but we didn't mind.

Relaxing at the summit in a grove of pinon and juniper trees. Someone built these Adirondack chairs from rocks. The chairs were a bit chilly, but we didn’t mind. Back in Maine, we call these temps “spring.”

“Devisadero” means “lookout point” or place. The Pueblo Indians once used the great views from the peak to stand guard against Apache raiders.

During the spring, summer, and fall, hikers and mountain bikers pack the trail, but only a few hardy hikers, bundled up in jackets, hats, and mittens, were out on the 40 degree-ish morning that we climbed the mountain. We had the 8,304-foot summit to ourselves.  It wasn’t really warm enough for shorts, but my son dons them whenever the temps top 40, hence his nickname, “The Seal.”

5. Find your way to Tent Rocks National Monument.

Some of the so-called "tent rocks." Millions of years ago, volcanic eruptions left a 1000-foot thick layer of pumice, ash and tuff deposits, which have gradually eroded to form these conical hoodoos and other formations.

Some of the so-called “tent rocks.” Millions of years ago, volcanic eruptions left a 1000-foot thick layer of pumice, ash and tuff deposits, which have gradually eroded to form these conical hoodoos and other intriguing formations.

On our last weekend in New Mexico, a late-arriving email tip sent me to the map to look for Tent Rocks National Monument.  I am soooo glad we found this surreal place, which had me looking for Hobbits and wondering if a dragon might slither around a corner.

Playing in the slot canyons of Tent Rocks. During a heavy rain, these canyons become raging streams.

Playing in the slot canyons of Tent Rocks. During a heavy rain, these canyons can become raging streams.

At Tent Rocks, we hiked along a sandy trail that led past hoodoos with rocks balanced on their points; slot canyons with walls that rose hundreds of feet; and an ancient cave where someone camped out hundreds of years ago.  Eventually we climbed to a high plateau for great views.

Tent Rocks is another “middle-of-nowhere” place, but only about 40 miles from Albuquerque, so it was quite busy with hikers of all stripes and ages when we visited.  Be sure to bring water on your trip (or fill up at the gas station/sub shop/store in the tiny town of Cochiti Lake), as no water is available at Tent Rocks.

 

Okay, my subtitle reads “five things to do,” but I need to highlight one more item for the list:  Relax.

Lounge around at the rental.  Watch sunsets.  Read books.  Surf on the internet and read more about the Southwest in Travels with The Blond Coyote, by New Mexico-based Mary Caperton Morton,who travels all over the United States living in a tiny TearDrop trailer.

Plan your next trip.  Forget the skis, remember the sunscreen.  Rinse, and repeat.

Pueblo cat, outside one of the small gift shops. Internet cats get lots of love, I've learned!

Pueblo cat, outside one of the small gift shops. Internet cats get lots of love, I’ve learned!

Sources and resources

Directions to natural hot springs in the Taos vicinity.

Trail maps for Deviserado Peak

More info on Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument (Take note: no dogs allowed).

Missing my (Wild)Cat: Skittering on New Mexico’s ski slopes

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Ready to skitter down the slope at Taos. Note blue skies, warm sun.

Ready to skitter down the slope at Taos. Note blue skies, warm sun. In the background, 12,481-foot Kachina Peak.

Here in New England, skiers are familiar with what I call the “skitter” – the combination of a clattering sound and a slipping movement a skier experiences when she is cruising down a slope and suddenly encounters a patch of hard-packed snow-ice.  The best skiers hardly notice the ice and continue flying straight down the hill.  Others dig their edges into the ice and carve a turn.

But on the skitter, I choke.  I try to ski uphill.  Or I slide sideways across the icy patch, and then try to slip down the slope inch by inch, all while praying that the slope angle levels out a bit.  Sometimes I stop dead in the middle of the ice and try not to cry.

I’ve been working on the “lean in and carve” technique, but I was really looking forward to skitter-free skiing in Taos, New Mexico, the fabled land of fluffy white powder.  Although I once spent New Year’s  skitter-skiing in the Lake Tahoe region (where conditions are often similar to New England’s), I had never skied in “real” Western ski country: the powdery mountains of Utah, Colorado, or Taos.  Taos Ski Valley has a reputation as an expert’s mountain, but the trail map showed plenty of blue and green trails.  We could also visit other nearby areas, like Red River and Angel  Fire.

I also wanted sun.  With 300 days of sunshine per year, Taos was sure to deliver.

We left Boston’s Logan Airport just in time to get out of the way of a snowstorm heading to New England–a storm that eventually dropped 15 inches of powder in the White Mountains.  Although the snow had been falling here in the Seacoast all winter, the storms were mostly coastal events.  Throughout January,  the mountains up north were pretty bare, with lots of skitter potential.  But the weather pattern changed in February.  The snow kept coming and coming.

Meanwhile, out in New Mexico, the land was and is bone dry.  The state is having its worst drought since record keeping began.  The mountains had some snow early in the winter, but it has barely rained or snowed in New Mexico all winter.   The result: The. Worst. Ski. Conditions. Ever.

I WAS ready to panic when I saw the double-black diamond trails in front of the main lodge.

I WAS ready to panic when I saw the double-black diamond trails in front of the main lodge.

The land surrounding Taos is rugged and beautiful, with mountains rising from scrubby plains.  But the conditions at Taos Ski Valley were abysmal.  Although the mountain does offer green and blue terrain, it definitely merits its reputation as a place for expert skiers. The experts like to hike up a steep ridge (after getting off a lift) so that they can  ski from 12,481-feet Kachina Peak down steep cliffs into a bowl full of soft powder.

This year, the bowl had only a thin lining of snow, but on our two visits to the mountain, plenty of hard-core skiers were hiking on the ridge to challenge themselves on the steep icy terrain.  Some even considered it fun.

I never intended to ski down from Kachina Peak, although my husband probably would have given it a go if the conditions were better.  But I was looking forward to cruising down blue trails under sunny skies.   We had the sun, but the blues were steeper than what I’m used to and very very icy.  Lots of skittering; one burst of crying and profanities.

The poor ski conditions couldn't take anything away from the charm of the Taos avalanche rescue dogs. The dogs continue their training, but haven't seen much action this year, which is probably a good thing.

The poor ski conditions couldn’t take anything away from the charm of the Taos avalanche rescue dogs. The dogs continue their training, but haven’t seen much action this year, which is probably a good thing.

The green trails mostly consisted of thin roadways linking various expert ledges and bowls, and were very very icy.  Although I felt confident negotiating these trails, the conditions were unnerving:  imagine sliding along ice on a flat narrow trail with steep double-black diamond drop-offs to one side.  As an intermediate skier, I felt like I had to be constantly vigilant, ready to dig in.  I couldn’t relax.  Oh well.  After the skiing, a hot tub awaited.

We stayed in a great little rental guesthouse in Arroyo Seco that once had been the three-car garage for actress Julia Roberts, before she sold the property to the current owners.   The views were wide and sweeping.  Just after dark, a million stars glowed in the sky.  Later at night, the moon rose and glowed above the mountains.

I loved watching the moonrise at sunset from the porch of our cozy rental in Arroyo Seco.

I loved watching the moonrise at sunset from the porch of our cozy rental in Arroyo Seco.

We did lots of other things during our stay in Taos (See my next blog post, Five things to do instead of skiing during New Mexico’s worst drought ever).

People who live in Taos can’t imagine living anywhere else.  As our host explained, after living for years in wide-open country with views of the mountains, she feels claustrophobic when she returns to the tree-shrouded East.

I too love those open views, the way the moonlight lights up the wide sky.  But after more than a week in New Mexico, I missed my woods, the coziness of being surrounded by hundreds of tree.  I missed my mountains, where the lifts take me to the summits for 360-degree views, and blue and green trails lead me to the bottom.

During our stay in New Mexico, the snow continued falling back East.  In Pinkham Notch, at Wildcat Mountain, the Polecat top-to-bottom trail was soft with new snow.  Skiers were sliding easily through the Wild Kitten tunnel.  The weather was probably bitterly cold and gray, and the visibility near zero, but it would feel like home.  The snow would make me brave enough to try the black diamonds.  If I skittered on upper Lynx, I could deal, because I know where the steep pitch levels out.

Lesson learned: If I am going to skitter-ski, I want to skitter on home territory–not only do I know the lay of the land, but the skittering is cheaper and more convenient.

Fortunately it hasn’t snowed since our return. The temperatures remain low, and the snow has been  hard-packed into concrete ice by all those skiers who enjoyed the February storms. I can hardly wait to get to the mountains.

P.S. As I was fine-tuning this post, we had a mid-March storm that dumped two feet of snow in the White Mountains.  Talk about crushing my soul!  How am I going to practice my carve and turn in these conditions?

No snow, no worries, not with sunny skies, great views, and a warm picnic table for lounging. Julia Roberts, who formerly owned this property, now owns a house at the end of ditch. No sitings during our stay in Arroyo Seco, but we weren't really looking for her.

No snow, no worries, not with sunny skies, great views, and a warm picnic table for lounging. Julia Roberts, who formerly owned this property, now owns a house at the end of ditch. No sitings during our stay in Arroyo Seco, but we weren’t really looking for her.

The wind howls, and we stir the pot

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As I write at the kitchen table, a pulled pork lunch for 17 simmers in the crockpot and the wind shrieks above the stove vents.  That wind has been howling for the past four days, hitting a peak gust of 121 mph on Sunday, when the temperature dropped to -25 and the wind chill was a crazy -76. And we summit volunteers are loving it!

Standing on the summit, with the Observatory Tower in the background. On the first couple of days, we saw many winter hikers at the summit, before the advent of the high winds that made hiking very unsafe.

Standing on the summit, with the Observatory Tower in the background. On the first couple of days, we saw many winter hikers at the summit, before the advent of the high winds that made hiking very unsafe.

The possibility of extreme weather is one of the main reasons why I signed on for the eight-day volunteer stint in January.  I knew that extreme weather meant we wouldn’t do any real hiking, but I was okay with that, as I’m rusty on my winter hiking skills. I had the warm layers I needed to safely push myself into 100 mph winds, plus a pair of sneakers for indoor laps around the rotunda to get some exercise in between short jaunts outdoors.

 

During my stay on the mountain, I’ve been reading about the winter of 1870-71, when State Geologist Charles Hitchcock and Assistant Geologist Joshua Huntington, along with three other men, and several visitors, spent the first winter on Mount Washington.

This scientific expedition set up shop in a small room carved out of the depot for the just-completed cog railway.  They spent the winter doing weather observations, using some of the same instruments that the observers use today.  They communicated to the outside world via daily telegraphs and were constantly heading out in extreme weather to repair the telegraph line.

Winter on Mount Washington

During their first full-on winter storm, some time in December, the group spent a frightening night huddled around the coal stove, as they listened to the roar of the wind and wondered if their quarters would hold fast.  The building, which was held down with chains, withstood the wind, and gave the group faith that they would weather future storms. Glass panes might shatter and they might have to stay up much of the night keeping the stoves going, but they could enjoy listening to howling winds rather than fearing them.

Hitchcock, Huntington and their companions each wrote different sections of Winter on Mount Washington, the 1871 book describing the expedition.  The prose is dense, written in the leisurely 19th century style that can be tedious for modern readers.  But what strikes me as I read about their days on the mountain is how little the winter experience has changed.  Although the men lacked today’s comforts, they were perfectly cozy in their small quarters. They got up early and piled on their gear to watch the sunrise.  They watched the clouds float up over Jefferson and Adams.  They marveled at the sunsets over the Franconia Ridge.

In Chapter 11, “Life on the Summit,” Joshua Huntington wrote,

“Most persons suppose that life on Mount Washington in winter must be gloomy, and gloomy enough it would be, at times, when the summit is enveloped in dense clouds for weeks, if it were not for the cheering click of the telegraph instrument.  They might suppose also that time would be extended indefinitely; that at night we should wish it was morning, and that in the morning we should long for night to come, and thus drag out a wear existence.  If the time of any persons in excellent health is wholly occupied in a pursuit that is congenial they are rarely gloomy, and are almost unconscious of the flight of time. But here, besides good health and time occupied, there is an excitement found nowhere else.”

“One gorgeous sunrise throwing a flood of light across a sea of clouds, one glorious sunset tingeing the clouds with crimson and gold, and the sun descends leaving the blush of day upon these snowy summits, or a storm unprecedented at lower elevations, infuse into our life enough that is grand and sublime to occupy the thoughts for weeks. With such surroundings, a person, on account of the intense excitement, may live too fast to have life extended to full three score years and ten; but there is a pleasure in it that would fully compensate for a few days cut off from the number to which life might be lengthened if passed in some quiet retreat, undisturbed by anything hat arouses the whole being, and carries the mind into ecstasies of delight. So days and weeks pass, and we are almost unconscious of the lapse of time.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

 

The Stage Building at sunset. This building, which serves as a depot for the Cog Railway, is a replica of the 1932 Observatory where the record wind was recorded. The current Observatory building opened in 1980.

The Stage Building at sunset. This building, which serves as a depot for the Cog Railway, is a replica of the 1932 Observatory where the record wind was recorded. The current Observatory building opened in 1980.

My post here is reprint from my January 28, 2014 post on the MWOB “Observer Comments” blog.  Below, more photos from winter on Mount Washington.

Crisis on Mount Washington: The Empty Sugar Barrel

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During the server maintenance, the observers had to take down pencil-and-paper recordings of the wind speed at ten-minute intervals.(check)

During the server maintenance, the observers had to take down pencil-and-paper recordings of the wind speed. One person times for a two-minute period while signaling every five seconds. The other person manually records the wind speed from this Hays chart during that five-second interval.

Saturday was a crazy day for the weather observers, as the information technology observer took down the computer servers for some infrastructure maintenance. As with most IT endeavors, the process took much longer than anticipated.  Usually the weather instruments are constantly feeding data into the computers, but while the servers were down, the observers had to take their wind and other measurements the old-fashioned way, by jotting down data from the weather instruments with pencil and paper (for a more detailed explanation, see this comment by observer Michael Kyle).  For most of Saturday, no information on current weather conditions on Mount Washington was available to the general public, or the National Weather Service.

Pumpkin bread, coconut macaroons and chocolate chip cookies. But how long would they last?

Pumpkin bread, coconut macaroons and chocolate chip cookies. But how long would they last?

Down in the kitchen, we had our own crisis.  I was whipping up a double batch of chocolate chip cookie dough in anticipation of three day trips scheduled for Sunday, Monday and Tuesday.  Each trip would bring about 11 visitors to the mountain for a mid-morning snack and lunch.

After emptying the counter-top sugar canister into my measuring cup, I began to look around the pantry for more sugar. Surely, I could find more sugar.  We’re cooking on a frigid mountaintop.  On their 12-hour shifts, the weather observers go outdoors in all sorts of weather to bring in the precipitation can, chip ice from the tower instruments and work the old-fashioned “sling” that provides information on temperature and humidity.  Sweet breads and desserts, in small quantities, are almost an essential food for the soul and the mind, sugar be damned.

In the pantry, I checked all the Kitchenmaid food storage containers.  Hot cocoa, peanuts, rice, spaghetti, par-boiled rice, coconut flakes, unsweetened chocolate.  But no sugar. I checked the small sugar bowl by the coffee maker. Not a scrap.  There HAD to be sugar.  Back into the pantry. Then I spied the ten-gallon trash barrel flour bin. Did a similar sugar bin exist? I pushed aside the flour bin and there it was — the sugar bin!  Now I could complete the chocolate chip recipe as instructed.  I pulled the bin towards me and pulled off the lid.

When I opened the mega-gallon barrel of sugar, I found this scoop and a few sprinkles.

When I opened the mega-gallon barrel of sugar, I found this scoop and a few sprinkles.

The bin was empty.  Completely, totally barren.  Today was Saturday, and we had 3-1/2 more days on the mountain, with three groups arriving and a hungry crew of observers. Which crisis was more grave – the server issues, and the fact that the weather station couldn’t get its observations out to the world? Or a potentially bare dessert plate? You be the judge.

I was only short about a half-cup of the white sugar I needed, so I finished off my cookies with a little bit more brown sugar than called for in the recipe.  The cookies came out fine. I set aside some dough for the next day, when the group was coming up on the SnoCat. With this huge batch of cookie dough, plus our existing stash of sweets, I figured we would sail through the sugar crisis.  It might even pass unnoticed.

We were sure we would be eating this beef stew for days, but the day trip visitors polished off most of it at lunch.

We were sure we would be eating this beef stew for days, but the day trip visitors polished off most of it at lunch.

But on Sunday, our first day group of 11 people arrived.  We had made a huge crock pot of beef stew with a five-pound package of defrosted stew meat. By the time the group left, the stew was decimated. The pumpkin bread finished.  The macaroons had evaporated.  And three dozen chocolate chip cookies were gone with the wind (although I still had plenty of dough).

By then, we had another crisis on our hands: the eggs. Two-and-a-half  dozen came up with other fresh groceries for the Wednesday shift change.  Although the Observatory wasn’t hosting any overnight trips, we knew that those eggs could quickly disappear if the observers ate eggs for breakfast.  That would mean no eggs for baking, or for a meal like a quiche for vegetarian visitors (or for the observers).

We debated on whether or not to hide the eggs, and tucked the larger package behind some other food in the pantry fridge. Not exactly hidden, but not in plain sight either. At first, the eggs seemed safe, but then when the two IT observers came up for a couple of nights, the eggs started to rapidly disappear.  These were men who liked their eggs; they even found the ones we had concealed.

Suddenly, we went from 2-1/2 dozen eggs to only six.  We took charge and hid the eggs.  But we felt bad about depriving the egg-centric staffers. They were working on the servers non-stop while they were here, stopping only to grab a bite to eat or get some sleep. When they are hungry, they want to eat what they want to eat. The observers definitely appreciate the volunteers cooking their evening meal, but if we weren’t here, they’d get by just fine.  The volunteers, however, are essential for cooking for the day and overnight trips. We need to take stock of what’s available and plan the regular evening meal as well as the visitor lunches and snacks.  If push comes to shove, we can get by too.  We can make something other than quiche.  We can cut back on the baking.  But we know that the group as a whole likes the baking and the quiche.

Once a big hunk of meat is defrosted, we have to figure out how we can use it all within a couple of days. The frozen broccoli is actually pretty good.

Once a big hunk of meat is defrosted, we have to figure out how we can use it all within a couple of days. The frozen broccoli is actually pretty good.

Fortunately, no one needed to fight over the English muffins.  Or the pork tenderloins (at least a half-dozen in the freezer).  Apples and bananas were dwindling fast, but even with the blueberry pie, we hadn’t made a dent in the frozen blueberries.  No blood would be shed over frozen broccoli, although we consumed several 32 ounce packages (it was pretty good).  And there was no need to hoard the piles of frozen green beans, peas, and asparagus, or the potatoes and onions. Just the eggs.

In addition to the items already mentioned, here is a sample of our menus thus far:

  • Turkey tetrazzini, made with a huge hunk of leftover turkey breast cooked by the previous volunteers;
  • Beans and rice with sausage, corn and peppers;
  • Pulled pork (which I made for the first time ever with this recipe I found online, and it came out great);
  • Spaghetti with meat sauce, made from part of a five-pound tube of defrosted ground beef;
  • Hamburgers melted from the same tube of beef;
  • Lentil soup;
  • Tofu with veggies and rice.

Today we are making tuna melts for the visitor lunch. For tonight’s meal, chicken breasts are defrosting in the freezer for a low-fat version of chicken broccoli alfredo. Before going to bed, I’ll put pork tenderloin in the crock pot to make a pulled pork lunch for tomorrow’s visitors.

The servers are up and running again. The weather instruments are feeding their data into the computer.  The world is getting the information it needs out of the Mount Washington weather station.  The IT guys have left. The eggs are safe.

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

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Marty on his Mount Washington throne (photo by Brian Clark, a former MWOB observer).

Marty on his Mount Washington throne (photo by Brian Clark, a former MWOB observer).

Marty, the Mount Washington summit cat, has been an elusive animal this week, slipping in and out of the Observatory staff quarters only to eat and use the litter box.  Apparently he has a friend who stays in the State Park employee quarters, and that person is working this week, so Marty is spending much of his time next door, playing with a new toy, or maybe hiding from new summit volunteers.

I did manage to snap his photo after he one of the weather observers captured him yesterday for a brief appearance in an educational videoconference with a group of pre-school children.

Marty, the observers tell me, is extremely territorial, and defends his mountaintop kingdom against all other animals, especially dogs, who tend to slink away when confronted with his stare down and hiss.  He even beat up a camel, back in 2009, when Josh the camel walked up the eight miles up the Auto Road with his handlers to stake a claim on being the first camel to climb Mount Washington.  Marty didn’t hurt the camel, but in the showdown between the two, the camel backed off when confronted with Marty’s hiss and arched back.

As the camel settles in for a rest, Marty strides over to show it which mammal rules the mountain. (MWOB photo by Cara Rudio, July 8, 2009).

As the camel settles in for a rest, Marty strides over to show it which mammal rules the mountain. (MWOB photo by Cara Rudio, July 8, 2009).

Marty is the latest in a series of legendary summit cats at the Mount Washington Weather Observatory, going back to 1932, when the staff first brought in a stray cat to control the mice population.  Marty, a Maine Coon, came to the mountain in 2008, from the North Conway Humane Society, after winning the first-ever Mount Washington Mascot Primary.

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Marty racing past the precipitation can, which is used to measure the hourly precipitation on the mountain (Brian Clark photo).

Winter is tough on Marty. His playground is reduced from anywhere he wants to explore to the building that houses the Observatory and the State Park facilities. For an indoor cat,  this space is cavernous, with endless nooks and crannies to explore. For a mountain cat used to living free, the space, I imagine, feels cramped and claustrophobic.  Marty gets anxious and irritates his fur and skin with excessive licking, so now, in the winter, he takes a mild steroid a few times a week to calm his cabin fever.

A great shot, also by Brian Clark, of Marty jumping upon a rail.

A great shot, by weather observer Steve Welsh, of Marty jumping upon a rail.

Former weather observer Brian Clark had a reputation of being the “cat whisperer” and took many wonderful photos of Marty during his time on the mountain; to see more of them, review his Accuweather blog entries, “All About Marty the Cat,” and “My Favorite Pictures Part 4 Summit Cats“.

Marty looks out over Wildcat Mountain.

Marty takes in the view of the Presidential Range (Brian Clark photo).

I hope to get a few more photos of my own of Marty, but I’m a realist. I’m just another one of the legions of Marty fans on the mountain and around the globe (see the MWOB Facebook page, and the number of “likes” any shot of Marty garners). Maine Coons are usually people lovers, but Marty doesn’t cozy up to just anyone.  This cat encounters a constantly changing set of visitors, both in his quarters and outdoors. Although the weather observers are a stable presence, they come and go in their one-week shifts, making it hard for a cat to bond with a best friend. But as I  have been writing this entry, Marty has come out of hiding. After some slinking around, he cautiously hopped onto the couch where I am sitting. Now he is dozing on the cushion next to me, about a foot away. This is day three on the summit; maybe, just maybe, by the week’s end, Marty will call me a friend.

P.S. Later that night, while I was sitting on the couch and watching a movie, Marty settled in a step closer.  I think I even heard him purring.

 

The world’s worst weather: Bring it on!

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This snow cat, Inga, lives at the Observatory. The summit cats mostly stay indoors during the winter.

This snow cat, Inga, once lived at the Observatory (Inga had a good run, but is no longer alive). The summit cats mostly stay indoors during the winter (MWOB photo).

Spending a week in January on a mountain billed as having the world’s worst weather isn’t everyone’s idea of a good time.  But, I say, why go to an all-inclusive resort in Cancun with everyone else in the world when I can have an all-inclusive experience at the Mount Washington Observatory for the cost of a warm hat and a new pair of heavy-duty mittens?

I’ll be leaving Kittery well before sunrise next Wednesday to catch an 8 a.m. Snow Cat ride up the Auto Road, a six-mile trip that can take up to four hours in the winter.  My all-inclusive deal includes work as a volunteer cook (along with a friend) for the Observatory crew and others who might be at the summit (sometimes up to 20 people in very close quarters). Drinks are strictly BYOB. If the stream of visitors (EduTrip guests, state park construction workers, and others) is non-stop, my friend and I could be working 18-hour shifts with only mini-breaks, but the schedule thus far suggests that we will have plenty of free time to enjoy winter views from the Rock Pile.

Nin, another legendary Mount Washington cat, pictured here enjoying a rare blue-sky afternoon. (Nin is also among the departed).

Nin, another legendary Mount Washington cat, pictured here enjoying a rare blue-sky afternoon. (Nin is also among the departed).

Of course, I hope to do some hiking around on the 6,288-foot summit during my week-long stay  But whether or not we get outdoors for more than a few minutes at a time depends on the weather. Winter brings bitterly cold temperatures to the mountain, but wind is the main factor in determining how often and how long we can stay outside.

Mount Washington, according to the Observatory, holds the record for the highest surface wind speed ever recorded by a person, at 231 mph, in a wild storm in April 1934.  Most mountain weather watchers, however, know that a higher speed of 253 mph was recorded  in April 1996 when Tropical Cyclone Olivia passed through Barrow Island, Australia.  A 2010 review by the World Meteorological Organization confirmed the Olivia wind speed as the world record, but the Observatory bases its claim on the fact that a human actually recorded the measurement during the wind event.

Today the temperature at the mountain is 12 degrees, with winds of about 12 mph and freezing fog (i.e. zero visibility). So far this month, temperatures at 6,288-foot mountain have ranged from -24 degrees F, with hurricane force wind gusts, to a record high of 40 F.  Hiking above treelike, I’ve encountered wind gusts of “only” 45-50 mph and those gusts will keep me standing even if I lean hard into the wind.  “Hurricane force” will be a new experience.

These photos from a March 1953 issue of Life magazine offer a good preview of what I can expect; my photos will be in color, but otherwise probably much the same.

Although I expect to be safe and snug in and near the Observatory, Backpacker magazine has billed Mount Washington as one of “America’s 10 Most Dangerous Hikes.” The mountain also regularly shows up on lists of the 10 most dangerous mountains in the world.  More than 130 people have died on the Mountain (although this list includes deaths on the mountain from natural causes and suicide).

Part of the danger stems from the fact that thousands of people climb the mountain each year, and many are not fully prepared for rapidly changing weather conditions that can occur on the mountain’s upper slopes. But while inexperience and ill-preparation contributes to the mountain’s foreboding reputation, the conditions on the mountain itself account for much of the danger: whiteouts and fog create scenarios in which a single misstep can send hikers hurtling over the edge of deep ravines or into crevasses, especially in Tuckerman’s Ravine.

Tuckerman's Ravine in the spring (M. Sheppard photo, Wikipedia Commons).

Tuckerman’s Ravine in the spring (M. Sheppard photo, Wikipedia Commons).

In the spring, hundreds of skiers make the trek up to the lip of Tuckerman’s Ravine, then strap on their skis and push themselves over The Headwall to ski down the steep slope into the bowl.  Watching these skiers drop over the ravine’s edge, it seems impossible that they won’t be killed, especially if one of them falls. Over the years, several have died from falls. In 1994, a skier was killed after completing her run when an ice boulder bounced into the bowl and struck her.  Several hikers also have died in falls or avalanches while hiking in or just above the ravine.  2012 was an especially bad year when on three different occasions, hikers  — all experienced and well-prepared — slipped on the edge of the Ravine and fell to their deaths. Just recently, two winter hikers above Tuckerman’s Ravine triggered an avalanche and slid 800 feet with the snow. Both were very lucky to survive with minor injuries. As winter hiking has become more popular, every winter brings reports of hikers slipping, falling or getting lost in the massive folds of the mountain.

I’ve double-checked the gear list: new mittens, borrowed micro-spikes and plenty of microlayers.  Thank goodness I still have my 1990s Michelin Man down jacket, completely unflattering, but it will keep me warm. I don’t own an apron, so will throw in an extra t-shirt to wear while cooking. I’ll pack sneakers, as my best shot at exercise may be walking laps inside the closed state park building.

Bitterly cold temperatures and hurricane force winds. Cabin fever.  The possibility of non-stop cooking in a tiny kitchen. The potential for a week of nothing but a constant view of gray fog from the observatory window.  Why go at all?

I can’t fully explain the pull of winter on top of Mount Washington.  It’s my way of experiencing Antarctica, I suppose, of pushing the boundaries of my life, but in my own way. I will never ski down Tuckerman’s Ravine.  I lack the expert skiing skills to make it safely down the ravine. Even if I possessed those skills, the thought of going over that headwall rim is way way too scary.

But I know I can size up a pantry and create some good meals with whatever I find.  I can bundle up and stay warm — at least for  a while — on a minus-30 degree day.  I can conquer cabin fever with books and writing and a few episodes of Lost.

So, Mount Washington — bring on your worst, or your best, or, ideally, a mixture of both.  I’ll be ready.

Sources and resources

I will try to post daily updates while on the mountain, provided the internet isn’t all clogged up.  In the meantime, enjoy this Mount Washington time-lapse photography video, by Weather Observer Mike Dorfman.

And if you are interested in experiencing the world’s worst weather — and dealing with the highs of crystal clear perfect days and the cabin fever of days on end when you can’t even leave the cramped quarters of the observatory — consider dusting off your cookbooks and becoming a member of the MWOB .

For additional information on those who have died on the mountain, see MWOB’s article, Surviving Mount Washington.

For more photos of Nin and Inga, see the MWOB Creatures of Comfort Photo Gallery.

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

The Mount Washington Avalanche Center provides daily updates on changing snow conditions on the mountain.

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

Bushwhacking on Mount Tecumseh

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Fog obscured big views on the day we hiked Mount Tecumseh, but the forest was lush and green. Note the well-beaten highly visible path (photo by K. Keyser).

Fog obscured big views on the day we hiked Mount Tecumseh, but the forest was lush and green. Note the well-beaten highly visible path (photo by K. Keyser).

Impossible as it may seem, within a few minutes of our hike up Mount Tecumseh in Waterville Valley, my friend and I have lost the trail, and now find ourselves bushwhacking through a wet humid forest.

Technically we are not lost, because we know where we are – hiking along or at least within hearing range of Tecumseh Brook. But I know that the trail travels for a solid mile along the brook, an easy distance to travel on a trail, but one which could take a couple of hours if we cover it by picking our way up the brook, or by hiking on its steep bank, slipping over, under and around blowdowns, and pushing through beech saplings and hobblebush.

After an hour of mauling our way through the forest, we are soaked, even though it is not raining. I suggest that we angle upwards, on the south side of the brook, until we reach the open space of the ski trail cut on the ridge above us. If we never find the trail, we can always hike up the ski slope which is part of the Waterville Valley ski resort.

After a few additional minutes of hiking uphill, we stumble out of the woods onto the trail, a well-beaten, well-travelled trail which shortly leads us to a rock slab with a view of the Valley.  Compared to bushwhacking in a humid forest, the rest of the hike is a breeze by White Mountain standards, as it flattens out on the ridge before climbing one last steep pitch to the summit cone.

Rock pile that officially establishes the summit at Mount Tecumseh. The camera didn't pick up the buzzing black flies (photo by K. Keyser).

Rock pile that officially establishes the summit at Mount Tecumseh. The camera didn’t pick up the buzzing black flies (photo by K. Keyser).

Mount Tecumseh is the shortest of the tallest mountains in New Hampshire, a 4,000-footer but just by three feet (4,003 feet).  However, what the mountain lacks in height, it makes up for in views, at least theoretically.  Although Tecumseh is mostly a wooded summit, from various vantage points on the summit and the ridge just below, hikers can see up to 36 other 4,000-footers.  On this muggy day, however, our view is limited to a carpet of soft green trees vaguely visible through a dense cloud of fog.  On this Sunday in late June, black flies still buzz. Slapping at flies between bites, we quickly eat our lunch.

Waterville Valley is one of a handful of mountain valleys in New England that could be in Switzerland, albeit with smaller less craggy peaks.  The Valley is set apart from the rest of the world, with the mountains forming a lofty wall around a ten-mile wide swath of valley floor. Although the seasonal Tripoli Road climbs up from the Valley over the mountains to Lincoln, the 13-mile drive on Route x along the Mad River from I-93 is the only road up into the Valley and the road ends where the mountains begin.

Even though Waterville Valley is a well-known ski destination, for me, finding a mini-village of hotels, shops and restaurants here always feels like discovering a secret self-contained world.  Town Square is more of a destination than a village, but the Valley does have a community of 247 year-round residents, including a K-8 elementary school with 40 or so kids.

This sense of being surrounded by mountains made Waterville Valley an early destination for mountain tourists.  The Valley was the first place in the White Mountains where hikers built trails, beginning in the 1850s, when the mountain tourist boom was first heating up. Later, in the 1930s, some of the first ski trails in New England were cut in these woods, including the Tecumseh Ski Trail, which became the site of a now-discontinued annual race.

However, although the Valley was revered by a devoted group of cottage owners, hikers, and hard-core skiiers, it remained an off-the-beaten path destination until the 1960s, when former Olympian Tom Corcoran bought up much of the 600 or so acres of private land in the Valley and began the still-continuing process of developing Waterville Valley as a full-service ski resort and vacation destination. (Mount Tecumseh itself, along with all of the surrounding mountains, is part of White Mountain National Forest). After Corcoran sold the resort in 1994, Waterville Valley cycled through several corporate owners, until it was purchased in 2010 by local investors, including John Sununu.

Mount Tecumseh is named for a Shawnee chief who achieved fame far from New Hampshire in the Ohio River Valley.  How the mountain retained Tecumseh’s name is a bit of a mystery.  A map of the White Mountains published in 1860 labeled it as Tecumseh.  Some sources attribute the name to E.J. Young, a Campton, N.H. photographer, who also may have named neighboring Mount Osceola (another 4,000-footer), for a Seminole chief who also never came within a thousand miles of New Hampshire.

From the summit of Tecumseh, hikers can continue on the Sosman Trail, which travels to White Peak at the top of the ski area, and then either descend down the grassy ski slopes, or backtrack.  The Tecumseh Trail itself traverses the ridge and ends at the height of land on Tripoli Road (an option with two cars but not as a loop).  Because of our earlier debacle in the woods – and given the lack of views — we elect to backtrack rather than crash down the unmarked but fairly obvious downhill ski trail.

Later, on the final leg of the hike, we can’t fathom how we lost the trail, given how well-marked it is, how obviously trail-ish.  The experience is a good reminder as to how easy it is to make mistakes in the woods, to miss turns, or get turned around, even on well-travelled trails, and why hikers should always carry a map and compass or GPS.

Although I was without the family on this adventure, Mount Tecumseh is a good family hike, not too long or too hard, with the added bonus of giving kids the psychological boost of summiting a 4,000-footer. Of course, they might get the wrong idea about 4,000-footers, i.e. that such hikes are fairly easy and not too long.  Hopefully they will forget about easy and short if the next hike is steep and long.  Hopefully I will too.

Resources

The Waterville Valley Athletic and Improvement Society, established in 1888, offers a wealth of information on hiking trails in WV, along with information on a variety of other activities, including croquet.

Sources

About Waterville Valley.  Town of Waterville Valley website. More on the history of Waterville Valley.

Goodrich, Nathaniel L. The Waterville Valley: A Story of a Resort in the White Mountains. Lunenburg, Vermont: The North Country Press, 1952.  Short book about the history of the valley, including information about the first settlers, the early tourism industry, the logging industry, and how the Valley ended up becoming part of the White Mountain National Forest.  I checked this book out of the Bowdoin College library (via our interload system) and I believe I am probably the first reader of this particular copy. It’s hard to fathom how much of the White Mountains was reduced to slash during the peak of the logging era in the early 20th century.

Smith, Steven D. and Mike Dickerman.  The 4,000-Footers of the White Mountains: A Guide and History. Littleton, NH: Bondcliff Books, 2001

Waterville Valley Resort. Waterville Valley, New Hampshire.  New England Ski History website.

If you enjoy this 4,000-footer trip report, check out some of my other posts:

The Agony and Ecstasy of Climbing Four Thousand Footers: Mounts Willey, Field, and Tom

Brutal Beauty on Beaver Brook: Mount Moosilauke

On My Own on the Osceolas with Captain Samuel Willard

Moriah, my Moriah: Why Did I Wait So Long to Climb Thee?

Brutal Beauty on Beaver Brook, Mount Moosilauke

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The ominous sign at the beginning of the Beaver Brook Trail.

The ominous sign at the beginning of the Beaver Brook Trail.

Be careful, to avoid tragic results. Great.

A punishing hike is exactly what I hoped to avoid when I set out on this day in mid-June to climb a 4,000-footer and decided to make my first ascent of New Hampshire’s 4,802-foot Mount Moosilauke, on the western side of the White Mountains.  But the road to the Benton Trail – a one-time bridle path that offers a gradual climb — remained closed due to damage wrought by Hurricane Irene.  So here I am, reading the sign at Beaver Brook Trail.

On this weekday morning, several cars are parked in the lot, and I know that Beaver Brook, as part of the Appalachian Trail, has to be a well-traveled trail. How bad can it be?  Answer: for experienced hikers accustomed to suffering in the White Mountains: not that bad (definitely easier than Kedron Flume Trail on Mount Willey).  For afternoon strollers and people with heart conditions:  heed the warning.  The trail climbs straight up to the ridge for most of  the first 1.4 mile stretch.

Cascades tumble down the rock face on Beaver Brook trail.

Cascades tumble down the rock face on Beaver Brook trail.

The climb is both beautiful and brutal.  Today, a few days after heavy rains, Beaver Brook pours over rock ledges in a series of cascading waterfalls.  On a rainy day, the rock slabs overlooking the brook could get slippery, and yes, the possibility of a “tragic result” exists, but probably only for small children or crazed tween boys running amok.  If hikers watch their footing, the trail is fine. As I told another pair of hikers, I read the accident reports in Appalachia and don’t recall ever reading of a fatal hiking accident on Moosilauke.

The mountain has claimed lives, but not from hiking.  On January 14, 1942, two airmen were killed after a B-18 bomber returning from an Atlantic patrol crashed in a snowstorm, not far from this trail, on the flank of neighboring Mount Waternomee. Five survivors were rescued by Lincoln and Woodstock locals who had heard the explosion and set off on snowshoes into the dark snowy woods to see what had happened.  (Today, from a trail off Route 18, you can hike to the plane crash site and memorial).

From the shelter, hikers have their first views of Mount Lafayette and Franconia Ridge.

From the shelter, hikers have their first views of Mount Lafayette and Franconia Ridge.

Up, up, up, I climb, placing one foot at a time on wooden slabs glued onto the rock (or so it seems). I take a drink, rest my calves, and continue. Glassy sheets of falling water splash down the rock face.   Taking a breath, I remind myself to appreciate its magnificence.  After an hour-and-a-half of climbing, I arrive at the Beaver Brook three-sided shelter. A great spot to rest, with views of Mount Lafayette and Franconia Ridge and many mountains rolling behind them.  Those AT hikers who spend the night here catch the sunrise over the mountains.

The final leg of the Benton Trail climbs up over the mountain's bald alpine summit.

The final leg of the Benton Trail climbs up over the mountain’s bald alpine summit.

Continuing to climb uphill, eventually I reach a ridge. Although the ridge has some ups and downs, the trail feels like a road walk after the brutal ascent up Beaver Brook.  To the southeast, Gorge Brook Ravine drops below me.  After 3.5 miles (and several hours) of hiking, I arrive at the junction of the Benton Trail, and step out of the mixed spruce and fir forest into an ancient druidic world of rock cairns and green alpine meadow.  From my vantage point below the summit, the foundation remnants of a once-thriving mountain-top hotel suggest Stonehenge.

The Benton Trail follows the route of the old Carriage Road that once led visitors to the summit in buckboard carts.

The Benton Trail follows the route of the old Carriage Road that once led visitors to the summit in buckboard carts.

A hotel was first established on the summit of Mount Moosilauke in 1860, reportedly opening on July 4, 1860 with a band that entertained a throng of 1000 visitors. A hundred years earlier, Mount Moosilauke and the surrounding area was a wilderness, partly because of the rugged terrain and partly because continuing warfare between the French and their Abenaki allies and the English had discouraged settlement, even on the rich floodplain of the upper Connecticut River Valley.

Several 19th century histories of the area relate that during the French and Indian War, one of Robert Rogers’ Rangers, Robert Pomeroy, perished on Mount Moosilauke, after the Rangers were retreating from their October attack on the Abenaki mission village at St. Francis, Quebec.  However, whether or not Pomeroy actually died on Mount Moosilauke is hard to determine, as many variations of his demise exist.

According to Rogers’ journals, the Major did split his starving party of retreating Rangers into several groups after the raid on St. Francis, with the hope that the smaller groups would be more successful in finding game.  The men were all supposed to meet up a couple of weeks later at the junction of the Wells and Wild Ammonoonsuc River.  One group, however, led by Sargent Benjamin Bradley, decided to strike out across the wilderness for Concord.  Of course they became hopelessly lost in the mountains.  Travel was never easy in the mountains. Now, with cold weather coming on hard and no provisions, they struggled through woods and mountainous terrain loaded up with loot from St. Francis, including a 10-pound silver medallion of the Madonna.

One historical account (see Loescher) recounts that the group of four men wandered in the mountains for many days until all but a man named Private Hoit were too weak to continue.  Bradley, Pomeroy, and a black private named Jacob “crawled under some rocks and perished in the delirium brought on by hunger and despair, blaspheming and hurling horrible imprecations at the silver image on which, in their insanity, they blamed all their sufferings.”  Although weak with hunger and exhaustion, one of the men reportedly “seized the statue, tottered to the edge of a precipice and, exerting all his remaining strength, dashed it down into the gulf below.”

Another source (Smith and Dickerman) states that Pomeroy perished on Moosilauke’s summit, while a companion was rescued by an old trapper in Gorge Brook Ravine.  However, a local history of Derryfield, N.H., Pomeroy’s hometown, says that Pomeroy perished in the vicinity of the headwaters of the Merrimack River, at a place where some artifacts belonging to him were found.

Was the silver Madonna from St. Francis hurled into Gorge Brook Ravine from the very ridge on which I walk?  We can never know for certain, and I guess it doesn’t matter, except that knowing the history of the mountain contributes to how I know the mountain, and adds to the value of my experience.  For modern treasure hunters seeking riches, the mystery continues to motivate them in searching for the silver Madonna, which has never been found.

A breezy day at the summit, but not the more typical heavy winds.

A breezy day at the summit, but not the more typical heavy winds.

At the summit, I rest in the lee of a crumbling foundation wall, eat my hummus sandwich, and take in the 360-degree views of the White Mountains and the Connecticut River Valley.  A bit of a cloudy day, but plenty of view.  Today a mild breeze ruffles the mountaintop, but typically, the summit is very windy. As the most western high peak in the Whites, Moosilauke catches winds from the west head on.  In the 19th century, guests at the summit hotel must have spent many nights listening to the howling winds and wondering if their shelter would hold fast.  In the end, the hotel and all of its variations withstood winds that can reach hurricane force, but fell victim to fire, in 1942.

About 100 acres of wide open alpine vegetation cover Moosilauke's summit

About 100 acres of wide open alpine vegetation cover Moosilauke’s summit

On the way down the mountain, I suffer less and notice more.  The trillium are just past their time, but the hobble-bushes still hold their flowers.  I hear a chickadee singing and spot the bird on the crown of a spruce tree, like a star on a Christmas tree.

I make good time on the ridge and down the first pitch of the mountain and rest up at the Beaver Brook Shelter.  Then I am ready to begin the steep walk downhill, one step at a time.   Today’s hike will cure me of the desire to climb 4,000-footers for at least a couple of weeks.  But I know I will relapse. The cure is never permanent — thank goodness.

Directions:  The trailhead for Beaver Brook Trail is located a few miles west of North Woodstock, NH, at the height-of-land on Route 112/Kinsman Notch.

Resources and Links:

Hike to Mount Waternomee Plane Crash Site: Detailed description of the hike to the plane crash and how to find the trailhead.

The Gorge Brook Trail, the most popular trail up Moosilauke, begins at the end of Ravine Lodge Road, just above the Moosilauke Ravine Lodge, which is open to the public for food and lodging.  The Lodge is owned by Dartmouth College, which also owns a variety of cabins in the area that can be rented by the public (see details at the link to the Lodge).

Sources:

Loescher, Burt Garfield. History of Rogers’ Rangers: The First Green Berets. San Mateo, California, 1969. Loescher’s history, available in online archives, provided the quote about the lost Rangers and the Madonna.  Where he derived is information is unclear, although it might be from the journal of the French Captain Pouchot, who is listed as a reference in Loescher’s appendices.

Smith, Steven D. and Mike Dickerman.  The 4,000-Footers of the White Mountains: A Guide and History. Littleton, NH: Bondcliff Books, 2001.

If you enjoy this 4,000-footer trip report, check out some of my other posts:

The Agony and Ecstasy of Climbing Four Thousand Footers: Mounts Willey, Field, and Tom

Bushwhacking on Mount Tecumseh

On My Own on the Osceolas with Captain Samuel Willard

Moriah, my Moriah: Why Did I Wait So Long to Climb Thee?

 

Exploring Caves and Climbing Ladders in the New Hampshire Lakes Region

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The boys take a break from the chill in the relative warmth of the cave’s interior.

Our only regret is that we have arrived at the cave too late.  This roomy cavern, formed by boulders and slabs of rock that fell from the mountain long ago, offers both space to spread out and shelter from the wind on this chilly afternoon in early November.  The cave would have made the perfect lunch spot, but we’ve already eaten.

The day is not exceptionally cold – just early November chilly.  Here on this ridge above Squam Lake, my son has refused to abandon his shorts, although he willingly dons his hat as the wind blows. His friend Tucker borrows my gloves.  From the 2220-foot summit of Mount Morgan, we watch snow falling on Franconia Ridge, to the north. But on the southern side of this ridge, a dull November sun lights up Squam Lake. The ridge, which forms the backbone of the Squam Range, creates a barrier between the harsher weather of the White Mountains and the milder conditions in the New Hampshire Lakes region – a perfect destination for a late fall hike.

Intrigued by reports of ladders on Mount Morgan and the cave on Mount Percival, I’ve been waiting a long time to hike this 4.7-mile loop.  These extras offer a great hook for enticing my son to the mountains. Rocks! Ladders! Caves!  Hiking doesn’t get any better for 11-year-olds, even for today’s computer-addicted boys.

We decide to hike the loop in a counter-clockwise direction, heading up the Percival trail for a short distance and then cutting over to the trail to Mount Morgan (the cut-off trail has a different name which escapes me, but it is the only cut-off and well-marked).  The trail up Mount Morgan climbs gradually – not steep at all — until eventually it reaches what seems like a sheer rock wall.  Correction: it is a sheer rock wall, hence, the ladders. (However, a few steps in the other direction takes hikers who don’t do ladders up an alternate route that offers more psychologically stable footing).

Climbing ladders on Mount Morgan

We behold the ladders – three of them, one stacked atop another, straight up the rock.  The final ladder requires some Spiderman-type footwork, in which a hiker has to reach a leg over the rock and then pull up with the hands to get onto the ladder (probably not suited to very young children, but the perfect challenge for two 11-year-old boys).

We climb the ladders. No one slips and dies.  After five more minutes of climbing on the rocks, we reach the summit of Mount Morgan, where we can feel the chill blowing down from the snowy north.  Hats and gloves come out and, after briefly admiring the view, we continue on the Crawford-Ridgepole Trail, aiming to descend by the Percival Trail.  The boys are starving by now, so we stop in the woods to eat our lunch out of the wind, and then continue on, arriving at the summit of Percival (2212 feet) within a few minutes.

Not too cold to pose for a summit shot on Mount Morgan.

After some photos and another quick view of the wintery scene to the north, we follow the arrows pointing straight down the rock face.  Up close, I see that we are not scrambling straight down a rock face, as the arrows suggest.  We pick our way down amidst boulders and rocks, all very safe and protected.

Finally, we arrive at the tight entrance to the cave.  One by one, the boys push their feet into the opening and drop themselves inside.  When my turn arrives, I pull off my daypack – I can’t fit through the opening while wearing it – and slither feet first into the cave.

Jeremy peers through the opening after squeezing his way into the cave.

I love this cave! Slabs of granite have crashed at crazy angles.  Light filters through the cracks. The ‘floor’ is layered with boulders and granite slabs.  Rain and snow probably do trickle inside, and sleeping on the uneven, angled floor wouldn’t be that comfortable, but still – what a perfect shelter.

“We should have had our lunch here,” Tucker says as Jeremy investigates campsite possibilities.

Next time, maybe we will start the loop in the opposite direction, so as to time our arrival at the cave with lunch.  On the other hand, if we take the trail directly to the cave, we will miss the ladders on Mount Morgan, because the ladders are designed for going up rather than going down (at least for most hikers).  My husband points out that we can always detour down from the ridge to the ladders and climb up again. It’s only a short downhill/uphill detour.  But then again, we could bring more snacks, climb the ladders first, and hold off on lunch.

Mount Percival also offers many interesting cracks and rock formations to play in.

These decisions can wait until another day, because we will be return. This hike is a winner, a gem, like many other “smaller” hikes I have discovered in northern New England these past ten years.  In my younger days, hiking meant climbing the biggest mountains.  The day usually started with a 6 a.m. departure to the mountains and a nine-, ten- or 12- mile slog up and down steep trails, followed by pizza and total exhaustion.

I didn’t want to give up hiking when I became a parent.  But I knew that I couldn’t take my son up big mountains and still enjoy the experience.  (Some children might enjoy the challenging of trudging up and down steep mountains for many miles, but mine is not one of them). Discovering these shorter hikes, many full of intriguing features like the rock cave, has been a fringe benefit of parenthood.  I’ve also learned that a great hike doesn’t have to be a 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. ordeal.

Squam Lake View

I might have forgotten to mention that the hike offers great views of Squam Lake.

We finish this hike by three p.m., leaving plenty of time to browse in the emporium that is The Old Country Store and Museum in Moultonborough, where locals and visitors have browsed the uneven wooden floors since the 1780s.  I love that we are ogling the penny candy in what may be the oldest store in the United States.  Alas, the store does not sell hot drinks for our cold hands.

I still like hiking big mountains.  As I’ve written before, I’m pecking away at my 4000-footer list.  Now that my son is getting older and has greater mental stamina and physical endurance, we’ll be trying some more challenging hikes. But the old equation of “big mountain” = “hike” has been permanently revised.  Now, I’ll hike any mountain — or even a hill with a view — and call it wonderful.

Details and resources

The Morgan-Percival Loop trailhead is located on Route 113 between Holderness and Center Sandwich, NH.

Hiking Trails in the Lakes Region offers information on a variety of hikes in the Lakes region, where almost all of the hiking is family-friendly for both young kids and teenagers and everything in between. The New Hampshire Lakes Region Tourism Association website also offers information on hikes in the area. 

Rock scrambling on Welch-Dickey Loop Trail

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After a mile of hiking at a moderate grade, we burst into sky as we reach the open ledges on the side of Welch Mountain.  My three 11-year-old hiking companions skip across the flat patches of granite to the ledge that drops down the side of the mountain.  I can hear their voices as I pull up behind them.

“Totally awesome.”

“I’ve never climbed a mountain this high!”

“Let’s find some rocks, and see what happens if we throw them down.”

Standing on this granite platform, with its wide-open vista of the Sandwich Range and Mount Tripyramid, the boys feels as if they are on top on the world.  But we haven’t traveled all that far—this ledge sits at about 1,600 feet, (about 700 feet of climbing) and it only took 45 minutes of steady hiking to get here. Unrelenting views will continue, more or less, for the next two miles, when we continue the hike up to the summit of Welch Mountain and over to Dickey.   Attaining these views for relatively small effort is the magic of the Welch-Dickey Loop, a 4.4-mile trail in Campton, NH, just off the road (Route 175) to Waterville Valley.

As I catch up to the boys, I rein in their dance along the edge of the mountain.  “Don’t go any further on that ledge.  Stay here. NO FURTHER!”

Three boys hold up the sky on the ledges on Welch Mountain.

The ledge isn’t exactly a cliff, but slopes in a gentle curve downward about 150 feet, to the trees below.  The grade probably isn’t as steep as it seems in my head, but eleven-year-old boys lack experience in judging steepness and angles, and how quickly a foot could slip, a body tumble.   A fall might not mean death, because the trees would grab the tumbling boy, but at minimum, it would mean rescue, a broken limb, possibly worse.  The boys – my son and his two friends – are my responsibility today and I intend to return them home without injury.

We sit by the edge of the ledge and eat our sandwiches.  Tanner announces that he is going over to find some rocks.  I tell him to stay with us and finish his sandwich.  “I want to enjoy my lunch,” I say. “It’s hard to relax if I think you might fall over the edge.”

These are good kids, and they comply.  After refueling, the boys search for rocks and take turns hurtling small missiles down the ledge and watching them skitter into the trees.  Then we continue on, climbing up higher on the sloped rocks.    The hiking is not easy. My calves burn as I climb up the rocks using both hands and feet.  But the scrambling is fun, the perfect hike for 11-year-old boys who might get bored trudging through the woods.

Getting ready to head for the summit of Welch Mountain.

Hiking with kids is alternatively wonderful, nerve-wracking and annoying, sometimes all at the same time.   I love bringing my son and any other takers to this world of rocks and views, and witnessing their awe.  But the ledges, along with rock jumping and bursts of trail running, are nerve-wracking.  Foot-dragging is annoying, although this group is pretty game.  At one point, I have to deal with the fact that one of the boys has stepped, with his sock-clad foot, into his own poop.

Hiking with these boys, I also feel time sliding down these granite slopes. Today, just after completing fifth grade, going on a hike with someone’s mom remains a fun adventure. Will that still be the case next summer?  At one point, they will pull away, and organize (I hope) their own hiking trips.

Except for the small aggravation of some black flies, this Friday in mid-June is the perfect day for hiking Welch-Dickey:  sunny skies are moderated by a light breeze, not a cloud in the sky.  We stop frequently to drink water. On a hotter day, I would definitely bring more. I warn the boys never to drink directly from a stream, even it looks crystal clear, explaining that most water sources in these mountains are contaminated with giardia or other bacteria.  “But you can drink it if you treat it with iodine tablets, or filter it,” I explain.

“Like they do in The Hunger Games,” my son Jeremy observes.

In need of more adventure, the boys scrambled up this rock formation, which might be a glacial erratic dropped on the mountain, or part of the mountain itself.

At one point, climbing up a short steep patch, my foot slips, and I slide down the rock slab a couple of feet.   Startled, the boys turns around. For a milli-second, they look scared. No one asks me if I’m all right – I’m not sure it would occur to them to ask – but I tell them I’m fine anyway.

““But this is why I am not kidding about respecting these ledges,” I say. “You can easily slip.”

They definitely get the message.  At the summit of 2,605-foot Welch Mountain, we stand on tops of the rocks, but well clear of the edge, and take in the wide-angle view of the mountains surrounding Waterville Valley. I point out the ski area buildings on top of Mount Tecumseh. Way below we can see the patch of granite where we ate lunch.  Above, a group of five ravens soar in the sky.  Across the little V-shaped valley that clefts Welch and Dickey Mountains, we can see an impressive ledge that drops straight down into the cleft.

Taking in the views on Welch Mountain.

“I want to hike the Appalachian Trail some day,” Howie announces.

Everyone groans when they realize that we need to head downhill and then hike uphill to

Heading down into the col between Welch and Dickey Mountains.

get to Dickey Mountain.  But the summit (2,734 feet) isn’t as far as the perspective suggests.  We make it in about 20 minutes, and are treated to views of Cannon Mountain and the Cannon Balls in Franconia Notch, and Mount Lafayette and Franconia Ridge.   Black flies on the summit chase us into the woods.

We pound downhill through the woods, crossing several open patches of granite before stepping out onto the steep ledge that we could see from the Welch summit.  On the ledge, I can see the darker area where thousands of footsteps have carved a path. I know that this ledge is the steepest on the trail.  With sensible adults, perfectly safe.  But nerve-wracking, with bouncing and skipping 11-year-olds.

“Stay away from the edge,” I remind them. “Stay to the right. When you guys are teenagers, you can come up here and do whatever you want.  You only read about one teenager falling to his death every year in the White Mountains, so you’ll probably be fine.”

After hurtling some stones into the ravine, we continue our descent, stepping over rocks and roots on the trail as its angle gradually decreases and flattens.  At about 5 p.m., we exit the trail to my car.  Although we have only encountered a couple of other parties today, I can tell this hike is popular, because the parking lot is huge.  Empty trails are part of the joy of mid-week spring/early summer hiking.  By the Fourth of July, this parking lot will be a mob scene.

Although this hike took half as much energy as the 4,000-footer hike I completed earlier in the week, I feel equally as ruined. Ice cream beckons, then the long drive home. Before immersing themselves in Nintendo DS, the boys agree that they want to do another hike.

“But not for a while,” Jeremy says.

“Definitely not,” I say.  “We need to forget how hard this hike was before we do another.”

I suppose in that way, hiking is bit like childbirth.   You want to experience that bliss again – the views, the openness, the feeling of being on top of the world. But kids and adults like need time to forget (or nearly forget) the sweat and aching legs. Then, we’ll be ready to hit the trail again.

Post-hike note:

Travelling to Campton from the Seacoast makes for a long day trip. In retrospect, I would have left earlier, and planned on swimming and wading in the Mad River after the hike, then getting ice cream or an early dinner afterwards before heading home.  At least two low-fee National Forest campgrounds are located off Route 175, and the area is a great destination for a weekend camping trip.

A good resource for family hikes is the AMC publication, Nature Hikes in the White Mountains, by Robert N. Buchsbaum, who offers a detailed description of this hike and many others of varying lengths and difficulty.

Directions:

I-93 to Campton/Waterville exit (just past Plymouth).  Take Route 49 towards Waterville Valley.  When 49 intersects with Route 175, continue another 4.5 miles and turn left on Mad River Road (crossing the river). Follow for .7 miles, then turn right on Orris Road.  The parking area is about a half-mile up Orris and hard to miss.