The challenge of the Brothers at Baxter State Park

Back in April, as we weathered the COVID pandemic at home, I scored a Labor Day weekend  campsite at Baxter State Park in northern Maine.  I had visited Baxter several times before, always for the same reason: to climb Maine’s tallest mountain, 5,267-feet Mount Katahdin. Now I was ready for something different: the 11.2-mile “Brothers loop,” to 4,151-foot North Brother(4,151 feet), South Brother (3,970 feet), and Mount Coe (3,795 feet).

lean-to at Abol Campground

After a comfortable night in our lean-to at the Abol Campground, we were ready to hit the trail early on Saturday morning.  We needed to be at at the trailhead by 7:30 a.m. to make sure we snagged a parking spot at the Brothers trailhead. Parking reservations are required for Katahdin day hikers, and those arriving without a reservation often are directed to the Brothers hike as an alternative.

The hike–a loop with side trails to North and South Brother–looked like a full day’s work, but do-able. We set on the Marston Trail, a fairly easy trail that climbs steadily uphill alongside a brook. The ranger had advised us to hike the loop counter-clockwise, so we were not hiking down the steep rock faces of Mount Coe.

From the junction with the Marston Trail, Mount Coe climbs 1,600 feet over 2 miles, with most of the elevation gain in the last half-mile. Although no technical gear is required, we had to be careful where we placed our feet and and hands, as wet sections of the rock were very slippery. A fall here would be nasty. This would not be a good hike for small children or for outings with sweetheart who is new to hiking.

View down the rock face, near the summit of Mount Coe. I couldn’t take any photos while I was in the thick of climbing up the steep rock face: I had to focus all my attention on the hike.

From Mount Coe, we enjoyed a full view of the trail-less area in Baxter known as the Klondike, a true wilderness within this wilderness park, although I’m guessing that the area was logged heavily in the 19th century. As we descended back into the moss-green forest, we hike for a mile or so on a ridge, heading to South Brother.

The ridge trail (officially the Mount Coe trail) from Coe towards South Brother was an amazing green mossy wonderland.  The trail had some ups and downs, but also lots of flat areas like this.

We arrived at the junction with the South Brother trail head sooner than anticipated, and easily ascended the .3 mile side trail to the summit.

South Brother summit, just shy of 4,000 feet.

This hike is notable for its views of Katahdin’s many features, from the Knife Edge. South Basin, and Baxter Peak to the glacial sculpted Northwest Basin of Katahdin.

Views of the Klondike, and Katahdin, including Knife Edge, in distant background.

Before the hike, I had never heard of Katahdin’s dramatic Northwest Basin, with its dramatic cliff wall and circe just below Hamlin Peak.

Distant view of the Northwest Basin, from  South Brother. Note the steep rock face of the glacier-carved valley.

After backtracking to the main trail, we continued another .6 miles to the junction of the Marston Trail, and began the almost-mile long hike to the summit of North Brother.

Views of South Brother and Mount Coe from the Marston Trail as it climbs North Brother.

 

Ascending North Brother, the Marston Trail climbs up out of the woods and into the alpine scrub.

The trail became a rock pile, similar to that on Katahdin, as we got closer to the North Brother summit.

 

North Brother summit, with the Northwest Basin in the background.

 

The Northwest Basin below Katahdin. Adventuresome campers can hike into remote Davis Pond (pictured) here, and then hike up one of the park’s less-traveled trails to Katahdin’s Hamlin Peak.

At the summit, we bundled up in fleece and windbreakers, and lounged around, taking in the view of the distant mountains, North Traveler and The Traveler–another grueling loop that is on my bucket list for next summer.

From the summit of North Brother, hikers enjoy a view of Traveler Mountain up in the northeast corner of the park.

The final 5.6 miles were a slog: backtrack to the Marston Trail, then down the other side of the loop to the car.  Along the way, we took a break at beautiful Teardrop Pond. But yes, I was exhausted when I arrived at car, and happy that we had cold beer in the cooler in the car.

What I loved the most about this hike was the variety. It was a long day, but we did it all: rushing brooks, steep rock faces, soft pine-needle covered narrow paths through green mossy woods, boulder and rock scrambling, mountain ponds–a feast of natural wonder. And even though I came intent upon exploring hikes other than Mount Katahdin, I also discovered new dimensions of the great mountain.

The day after the hike, we took it easy, exploring some fishing spots and the Daicey Pond area, where visitors can pick up a paddle and take a canoe out into the pond, for a paddle around, or to link up to a trail to other ponds (the park usually charges a canoe rental fee — a $1 an hour!! — but this year, there is no charge because of COVID, i.e. limiting contact). We paddled around the pond, pulled up into the woods, and did a short hike to Grassy Pond.

Checking out Rocky Pond

On our last day, we checked out Kidney Pond, and hiked up to Rocky Pond and Little Rocky Pond. We could have canoed from pond to pond if we had planned ahead (the canoes at the upper ponds are locked, and you need to sign in to get the keys from the ranger before heading out).

On the ride home, I already was planning next year’s visit, to explore Baxter’s northeast corner, where the Traveler mountains are located, along with several other shorter hikes. My husband says he’s done with grueling 11-mile hikes, but he has a year to forget about those last five miles.

Sources and resources

Baxter State Park campsite reservations open up on a four-month rolling reservation system starting January 16 each year, with new weeks opening up every two weeks. For example, reservations for July 4 weekend open up on March 4.

4K peak-baggers often settled for an out-and-back to North Brother (9.2 miles).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Playing in the wind on Mount Lafayette

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources and resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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.

 

Brutal Beauty on Beaver Brook, Mount Moosilauke

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?