Tag Archives: White Mountains

Mountain spring: hike to North Doublehead

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Mountains in spring, breath
clean oxygen. Listen:  in
the spruce, loving birds.

I’ve been working with my students on form poems, including haiku. Thus, I attempt to describe a recent hike with a combination of haiku, photos and text. Indulge me.

Taking a break on the trail up North Doublehead. The wide trail was built by the Saco Conservation Corps in 1934 as a backcountry ski trail, and makes for a great short hike in spring, summer and fall, about two miles to the summit.

Beckoning trails lead
to destinations but feel
like mystery paths.

The Ski Trail never gets very steep, and I’ve almost convinced myself that I could ski it next winter, in perfect conditions. But I’m sure it gets bumped up with ditches and mogul from avid backcountry skiers.

Long ago, young men
dripped sweat, hauling rocks and logs
to build a cabin.

The cabin on North Doublehead, popular with winter skiers and youth groups, is locked but can be reserved through the Forest Service. We discovered some lunch rocks with a great view of snow-covered Mount Washington.

The cabin was built by the CCC during the Depression and has been renovated several times, but still maintains many old features, like the stone foundation and chimney covered with a slab of rock. The cabin includes two small bunk rooms and a small community area with a wood stove.

On the ridge, young trees
erase old scars, wilding land
buzzing saws stripped bare.

Doublehead offers several looping options. At this junction, we had to decide whether to continue on for a longer hike to South Doublehead, and then double-back (or descend from South D. on another trail that exited about a half-mile from the car).  We opted to wait on South Doublehead for another day. This turned out to a good decision as the route down the Old Path was steep and icy, and required care and our full attention, even with micro spikes.

Mountains in spring: two
worlds, the barren forest plus
forgotten winter.

After stepping down the sometimes treacherous “Old Path” trail, we stepped into spring on the lower half of the mountain. The Old Path is fine for experienced hikers but I do not recommend taking children on this piece of the journey in spring. Out and back on the Ski Trail is the easiest route.

From the back porch, spring
sunsets on distant mountains
until trees unfurl.

At the day’s end, a view through the trees to the mountains and the sunset.

Note:

As of Friday, April 24, the White Mountain National Forest closed down many popular trailheads to try to spread out hikers prevent the spread of coronavirus, but many lesser-known trails remain open. I feel grateful that I’ve been able to do some hiking this spring.  The adventure described here met the guidelines for New Hampshire’s stay-at-home order.

Sources and resources
“Doublehead Mountain, CCC Ski Trails, New Hampshire.” NewEnglandSkiHistory.com

Giving up on Isolation

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When we set out from Kittery at 6 a.m., I knew we had a grueling day ahead of us: two+ hours to the trailhead, 11.5+ miles of hiking, 5,000+ feet of elevation gain. Mount Isolation is one of the “shortest” mountains on the list of the 48 New Hampshire “4,000 footers,” but, as its name suggestions, reaching its summit is not easy, as Isolation is located on a ridge south of Mount Washington, six to nine miles from the nearest road.

After more than 30 years of White Mountains hiking,  this climb to Isolation would be my final 4,000-footer.  I had planned for this day, opting to hike on July 1, when we are still enjoying the longest days of the year, so we didn’t have to worry about walking out in the dark. We brought plenty of food, as I knew we might be hiking well past the dinner hour. For days, the forecast showed clear skies and no storms.  I knew the hike was going to be challenging, with all of that elevation gain, mostly from going uphill, then downhill, then uphill again. But hiking is all about putting one foot in front of the other.  I could do that, with stops for rest, for hours and hours.

It took us longer than expected to get to Pinkham Notch, where we met my friend Louisa, used the bathrooms, and then left one car there before backtracking .7 miles south to the Glen Boulder trailhead. Optimistically, I thought that if we had the energy, we might complete the hike as a loop down Boott Spur, which would land us at Pinkham Notch.

I had read that the Glen Boulder trail was steep and tough, but I didn’t find it any worse than most White Mountain trails. However, as our teenaged companions Jen and Kiara hiked on ahead of us,  I noted that the trail seemed too flat for the steep uphill I was prepared for. Was this the Avalanche Brook Ski Trail mentioned in the guidebook?  After about a half-mile of walking on this flat stretch, I took out the pages photocopied from Steven Smith and Mike Dickerman’s book, The 4,000-Footers of the White Mountains, and confirmed that we had definitely taken a wrong turn onto the ski trail. As we backtracked to Glen Boulder, we ran into two young women who had made the same mistake, and, like us, had missed the glaringly obvious signs on the trail.  We were able to confirm by phone that our teenaged companions were on the right trail, and agreed to meet up at Glen Boulder.

Photo near Glen Boulder

My friend Louisa and I face the blustery winds just above the treeline. A downhill hiker warned us that the wind — forecast to blow at 20-40 mph with 60 mph gusts — could reduce us to crawling on our hands and knees, but the heaviest winds had diminished as we climbed towards Glen Boulder. All in all, a good reminder of how rapidly conditions change above treeline in the White Mountains.

High above us, we could see Jen and Kiara picking their way towards Glen Boulder, and we soon caught up, where we rested rested in the lee of the boulder and enjoy a  snack out of the wind.

Glen Boulder, dumped on the edge of a mountain by a glacier 10,000 or so years ago. Up close, the boulder seems like an ordinary huge boulder, but later, as we hiked down Boott Spur, the far-away boulder looked like it could topple at any moment off the mountain and into Pinkham Notch.

After our rest stop, we continued upward as an ominous gray cloud rolled in over Mount Washington.  By now, the wind had subsided — probably a front had blown through and brought the cloud — and the air had chilled, but the temperature remained comfortable. Still, we weren’t sure whether the cloud would just sit there hanging out or evolve into a thunderstorm. We reached the junction with the Davis Path around 2 p.m. and contemplated our options.  

Looking over the Gulf of Slides, where snow still lingered in July.  We could still feel the wind, and, more significantly, what the wind had delivered: a massive gray cloud.

The trail descending towards Isolation looked open and beautiful — but I knew we would also have to hike back up.

At the junction of Glen Boulder and the Davis Path, we take a selfie while weighing options. Note that everyone has pulled on their fleece on what began as a beautiful summer day down in the valley below.

I could tell that Jen and Kiara were tired. I WAS tired. It might thunder. I knew that we could do the hike and get out before darkness fell, but then we had the two+hour drive back to Kittery. Yes, it was too much.  Isolation would have to wait for another day.  But the Boott Spur cut-off trail was only another .4 mile up the Davis Path and the cloud wasn’t making any noise.  We headed uphill towards Mount Washington.

The Davis Path, heading towards Boott Spur and Mt. Washington. This historic path, which extends 9 miles south on the Montalban Ridge, was first built in 1844-1845  as a bridle path for tourists visiting Mt. Washington. It felt into disuse in the 1850s, and was rebuilt as a hiking trail in the early 20th century. Someday, I want to hike the entire path (much of it at a lower elevation, and in the woods).

We enjoyed a beautiful rugged hike above treeline, and then down the Boott Spur and into the woods.

Hiking along the Boott Spurr, we had terrific views of Turckerman’s Ravine, and could still see the tracks in the snow left by the skiers who flocked here in May and early June.

The downhill hike was relentlessly tough and included a steep ladder, but we reached Pinkham about 5:15 p.m., as predicted, where we cooled off with sweet drinks and recovered on a bench. Louisa dropped us off at my car and we headed into North Conway for pizza at Flatbread, where I fueled up for the ride home with Diet Coke.  Two hours later, filthy, sweaty, and smelly, we landed back in Kittery.

I didn’t complete the 4K list but we lived for another day of hiking in the White Mountains, the best and worst training grounds for other hikes. 

In hindsight, I think my brain and body understood that the climb to Isolation, plus the five hours of driving, was too much for me to do in one day.  I had felt anxious about the hike rather than excited about reaching my goal. I didn’t sleep well the night before, and began the day feeling tired.

But I have a plan for next time: instead of making the hike a one-day event, I will stay for a night or two at Lake of the Clouds hut below Mount Washington and hike to Isolation from there. The hike down and then back up to the hut will still be long and grueling. But the day will be all about the hike, rather than the travel. And if I stay at the hut, I just might have a small bottle of champagne — or a can of beer — waiting for me to crack open and celebrate my 4K quest.

Notes and resources

The two most-often used routes to Isolation include the long 7-mile (14 mile RT) trek on the Rocky Branch Trail, which follows an old railroad bed, then a couple of other trails to the summit, or the Glen Boulder route that we followed.  The Rocky Branch route is longer often muddy, and requires several river crossings (usually fine, except after a storm), and the other is shorter, steeper and more scenic. My sense is that I would find both equally challenging for different reasons. However, other hikers complete these routes in one day all the time.

Mountain Day on New Hampshire’s Mount Washington

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A summer waterfall cascading in Tuckerman Ravine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources and resources

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

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

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

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

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

The world’s worst weather: Bring it on!

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

Crisis on Mount Washington: The Empty Sugar Barrel

The wind howls, and we stir the pot

Rediscovering the beautiful silence on Coppermine Trail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources and resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources and resources

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

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

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

 

Hiking the Baldface Circle Trail, plus twenty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources and resources

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

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

For more on hikes in Evans Notch:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When it rains, you get wet.

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

At first, clouds filled the depths of King Ravine.

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

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

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

Being on a mountain at sunset is awesome.

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

 

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

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

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

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

New England weather is fickle, especially in the mountains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources and resources

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

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

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

The world’s worst weather: Bring it on!

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

Crisis on Mount Washington: The empty sugar barrel

The wind howls and we stir the pot

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bretton Woods: birches, beautiful snow, and bargains

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In this new year, I’m taking some time away from longer projects to write about New England ski areas. I’ve been skiing since junior high (back in the days when kids went to junior high) and over the years have visited most ski areas in New England, including quite a few that no longer exist (Mount Hogback anyone? Or Maple Valley?).

Bretton Woods, a ski area I once found hospitable but somewhat boring, has become one of my favorites in recent years, thanks to the development there of many intermediate-level glades around the mountain, along with its beautiful snow, and the great deals it offers throughout the winter and spring.  The view of Mount Washington is an added bonus.

First, the glades.  

Heading down the gentle and wide open glades of the Aggassiz Trail. Denser but still do-able glades await off many of the mountain's main trails.

Heading down the gentle and wide open glades of the Aggassiz Trail. Denser but still do-able glades await off many of the mountain’s main trails.

I’m terrified of plunging down a steep slope into groves of birch and spruce trees. For a long time, I didn’t understand why anyone would risk their life doing such a thing, or why ski areas would create such opportunities for head-on collisions and impalings, even given the “death waiver” you sign when purchasing the ticket.

But then I discovered the joy of hopping around in the forest in the sweet glades at Bretton Woods — forested areas of “green” or “blue” slopes that have been thinned out to create glades that almost anyone can ski.  The trees are beautiful, my pace is slow, and I enjoy the opportunity to tune up my turning skills.  I’ll even give some of the “black diamond” glades a go, but I’ll leave the double-blacks to the experts.

Onto the snow

Bretton Woods pays attention to snowmaking and grooming in a big way. Its snow guns and groomers work magic each night to create, from New England hardpack, wide carpets of smooth corduroy. On days when other areas are suffering from the effects of snow followed by rain followed by a deep freeze (i.e. concrete disguised by a fresh thin layer of man-made snow), the trails at Bretton Woods are soft and friendly.

Bretton Woods is known for its green and blue “cruiser” trails that offer less-confident skiers plenty of room to enjoy easygoing zigzags down the mountain.  On my first visit to BW about ten years ago, I enjoyed these runs, but got bored after a while.  Since that time, the mountain has expanded to three peaks, and exploring all the possibilities makes for a full day of skiing or riding.

On this visit in mid-December, we were treated to a layer of fresh powder, but the skiing would have been good even if it hadn't snowed, thanks to the great snowmaking and grooming at BW.

On this visit in mid-December,  (with my $19 tickets!) we were treated to a layer of fresh powder, but the skiing would have been good even if it hadn’t snowed, thanks to the great snowmaking and grooming at BW.

Finally, the deals

Lift tickets at Bretton Woods are a pricey $85 (full day weekend), but unlike Maine’s Sunday River, Bretton Woods offers plenty of deals, which makes me feel good about returning again and again.  I don’t mind paying full price once in a while when I know that I can buy $19 advance early season tickets, or use the $65 “anytime” tickets that I bought in November during the “full price” New England school vacation week.  I’ve already marked my calendar for Super Bowl Sunday ($49), St. Patrick’s Day ($17), and Beach Party Saturday ($25).  But I’ll miss the Patriot’s Day deal ($17.76 plus a voucher for the following season) because I’ll be at Vermont’s Jay Peak.  Bretton Woods also offers free lessons to beginners on certain pre-holiday December weekends.

Bretton Woods offers many other enticements, including a cozy and spacious lodge spread out over three floors, a summit restaurant AND a candy store–Chutters on the Mountain—and also has a reputation for great children’s programs (including an all-weather playground next the lodge and a climbing wall in the lodge).

Visitors can stay at the historic Mount Washington Hotel (great Sunday-Thursday deals), or at the more motel-ish Bretton Woods Lodge.  One small drawback is that all the hospitality is owned by the same corporation, Omni.  The restaurants can be packed and feel short on staff. A local restaurant or two would be nice, but you can’t always have it all, and North Conway, with many choices, is only a half-hour away.

However, the lodge cafeteria is way above average — in fact, I’ll so far as to call it great for a ski lodge cafeteria.  How many ski areas in the East offer a stir-fry bar with the opportunity to purchase a reasonably price big bowl of veggies, rice and tofu (or other protein)? I dispensed with my brown bag on visits last winter.

When I skied at Bretton Woods in early December, a hot dog/chili stand had replaced the stir-fry bar, but I haven’t given up hope that the stir-fry bar will return (the staff was uncertain).  If not, my despair will force me to flee up the mountain to Latitude 44, because a peppermint schnapps hot cocoa will surely take the edge off my disappointment, especially if the temperature is hovering around 10 degrees.

That’s Bretton Woods, where snow is sweet and the living is easy.  It almost sounds like a song.

Resources:

Okay, the fox wasn't at Bretton Woods, but I did see him on Route 302, just a few miles away, on my way to the mountain.

Okay, the fox wasn’t at Bretton Woods, but I did see him on Route 302, just a few miles away, on my way to the mountain last year on a below-zero St. Patrick’s Day.  The temps did warm up to 15 degrees, with no wind (BW is also well-sheltered from heavy winds), so the living was still easy.

Bretton Woods, including links to lodging in condos and at the Mount Washington Hotel, Bretton Arms Inn, and Bretton Woods Lodge.  The resort also offers cross-country skiing, and has amenities like swimming pools and spa services.

If you are curious about Mount Hogback and Maple Valley Ski Area, see the New England Lost Ski Areas Project (NELSAP).

#BrettonWoods #Skiing #NewEnglandskiing #mountains #WhiteMountains #skitheeast

Intersecting slopes on Mount Chocorua, New Hampshire

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Climbing the ledges to the summit of Chocorua in Albany, N.H.

As we hauled ourselves up the granite cone of New Hampshire’s 3,478-foot Mount Chocorua, a middle-aged woman picking her way down the granite ledges groaned as she stretched out her legs to ease herself down an especially large slab.

My son paused to let her pass.

“I bet this hike is a piece of cake for you, isn’t it?” she asked him.

“Yup,” he said, as he pulled himself up the rock.

I wasn’t sure that I had heard correctly. “Did my son just tell you this hike was a piece of cake?” I asked the woman as she passed me.

“Well, I asked him,” she said,  “and he agreed.”

Was this the same kid who had to be enticed up mountains with M & Ms, Pringles, and chocolate chip cookies?

In planning the climb up Chocorua,the most southerly of the “big mountains” in the White Mountains, I’d wondered if the hike would be one of those mental drag events for all concerned (“Come on, just enough another half-mile to the summit, eat some cookies, you can do it!”)  I knew that physically, The Seal was more than capable of completing a 7.5 mile hike. But today’s hike would be the longest he’d ever attempted.

We ate our Pringles and sandwiches at the Jim Liberty Cabin. I knew the cabin was on the side of the mountain, but imagined something a bit more ramshackle. The cabin was cleaner and cozier than I'd envisioned and I'm making plans to return for an overnight (first-come, first-serve).

We ate our Pringles and sandwiches at the Jim Liberty Cabin. I’d read that about the cabin and had imagined something a bit more dilapidated. The cabin was clean and cozy with sleeping space for about 8 people.  I’m making plans to return for an overnight (first-come, first-serve). Pringles, by the way, are my chip of choice on the trail because of the crush-proof can.

On this hike, everyone enjoyed the junk food—but as a treat and not a psychological necessity.  On the slope of Mount Chocorua, I  learned that that our personal slopes have intersected. My son’s has been steadily rising by micro-degrees.  Mine (and that of my husband) is slowly declining. We’re not plunging towards zero, but our lines aren’t moving upward.

The kid is beating the pants off of us.

He’s been hiking for years – sometimes with more enthusiasm than others, but the enthusiasm usually petered out after a few miles. So up until this perfect Columbus Day Sunday, I’d always selected hikes of  four, five or six miles tops.  Adding in a small pack of kids, if possible, helped to push the hiking drive.

View of the Sandwich Range from the ledges of the Liberty Trail.

View of the Sandwich Range from the ledges of the Liberty Trail.

I knew this day was coming. This summer, The Seal surpassed me in height.  This fall, he beat me in a 5K.  Next year, he’ll beat my husband.

From a ledge near the summit, looking out over Lake Chocorua and several others.

From a ledge near the summit, looking out over Lake Chocorua and several others.

The worst part of hiking, aside from the climb up, is the day after. I love hiking, but it kills me. I wake up stiff and creaky, wishing that a hot tub would magically appear in my backyard.

On the day after the Chocorua hike, the Seal bounced out of bed at 6 a.m. without a whimper. I asked him how he was feeling.

“Fine,” he said as he headed down the hall for a Minecraft session on the computer.

I crept to the kitchen to make coffee, feeling decrepit but thrilled about the intersecting slopes (besides, mine isn’t going downhill all that much). During years of Lyme Disease, it was frightening to watch my child head downhill with no explanation or diagnosis. Also, I’m happy to see The Seal, who never was interested in kicking soccer balls or shooting baskets, build confidence by climbing mountains.

Next year, Mount Katahdin. And after that, a hot tub?

Resources

We hiked a loop, up the Liberty Trail and down the Brook Trail (about 7.5 miles RT).  The Liberty Trail, a one-time carriage road, has fairly easy footing (by White Mountains standards) until you arrive at the ledges, while the Brook Trail has rougher footing and more rocks. This U.S. Forest Service  document provides basic trail descriptions and driving directions to each trailhead.

I’ve also hiked the Piper Trail, directly off Route 16, and probably the most popular route to the summit.  This is a busy mountain on fall weekends, so don’t expect solitude.

A good map is a must when hiking on Chocorua, due to the variety of trails and their many intersections.

Moriah, my Moriah: Why did I wait so long to climb thee?

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As I hike through a lacy hemlock forest, I wonder why I have waited so long to hike 4,049-foot Mount Moriah. The Carter-Moriah Trail climbs 3,400 feet from its base in Gorham, N.H., but the trail doesn’t feel as steep as that number suggests, maybe because the elevation gain is spread over 4.5 miles.  The footing is sweet, at least in this first stretch, free of the usual tangle of roots and rocks.

First views of the day, of Mounts Adam and Madison from the ledges of Mount Surprise.

First views of the day, of Mounts Adam and Madison from the ledges of Mount Surprise.

About two miles in, I am happily surprised by Presidential Range views from Mount Surprise. I can understand why this smaller peak was a popular destination for 19th century visitors to the White Mountains.  For the more hard-core, Gorham’s Alpine House rented ponies to guests who wanted to spend the night in a cabin on Moriah’s summit. From there, they could watch the sunset over Mount Washington and then wake up to see the sunrise over the smaller peaks of Evans Notch.

The Alpine House, Gorham, NH. In the 1850s, Alpine House guests could rent horses to climb Mount Moriah and spend the night at the summit in a log cabin. This stereopticon view makes me wonder what happened to my grandparents' viewer and collection, which was just every-day item in their house, like the TV or record player, even in the 1970s. The photos were taken by either Edward or Albert Bierstadt, of New Bedford, MA . Albert is the well-known landscape painter and his brother was an engraver/photographer. Robert N. Dennis Collection at the New York Public Library’s Digital Collections.

The Alpine House, Gorham, NH, circa 1859. This stereopticon view makes me wonder what happened to my grandparents’ viewer and collection, which was an every-day item in their house, like the TV or stereo, even in the 1970s. Th photos were taken by either Edward or Albert Bierstadt.  Albert is the well-known landscape painter and often worked in conjunction with his brother, an engraver and photographer. Robert N. Dennis Collection at the New York Public Library’s Digital Collections.

This June Monday is a great day for hiking, with overhead clouds keeping the temperature pleasant. Birdsong fills the forest.  All around me, I hear the calls of white-throated sparrows and maybe hermit thrushes. (I wish I knew my birds better).

It was fun to scramble up and across these ledges en route to Mount Moriah.

It was fun to scramble up and across these ledges en route to Mount Moriah.

I encounter another hiker descending from Moriah. He spent the night camped on Mount Hight and by 5:30 a.m. was on the trail, where he almost collided with a moose and her two calves. Except for the birds, wildlife stays hidden on these mountain trails, but I have heard of similar encounters (including meet-ups with black bear) from other hikers out at dawn. I wonder what animals are watching from the forest.

The trail continues uphill over granite slabs with good views and lots of blueberry bushes before returning to a tunnel of spruce and fir. As always, the last mile is the toughest, with many ups and downs. My trial guide warns me to expect several false summits, so the small white sign directing me to Mount Moriah takes me by surprise.

I'm at the summit already? I hadn't even begun to curse yet, as in "Where is that X*&% summit??"

I’m at the summit already? I hadn’t even begun to curse yet, as in “Where is that X*&% summit??”

A short path leads to a flat granite knob, a perfect spot for stretching out, with no major edges or bumps. I take advantage of this hard bed to rest up and enjoy the 360-degree views. Some of the mountains are obvious, like Mount Washington and its fellow Presidentials across the way, but I’m not sure about many others. I swear the Y-shaped slide to the south is the backside of Wildcat that I picked my way across a couple of years back.  But three other hikers who have gathered on the summit think it is probably Carter Mountain. To the east, the flat top of Bridgton’s Pleasant Mountain stands out, but it’s hard to make out the individual peaks in the jumble of Evans Notch.

A couple of bent rusted spikes are nailed into the summit knob. Could they be the remnants of the cabin—perhaps part of an anchoring system? Probably not—the cabin’s 13X16 footprint was larger than this knob, so it must have been located on a flat spot now covered with spruce trees.  Still, I’m sure those 19th century visitors enjoyed stepping onto this rock to take in the sunset.

Great view of Mount Washington and its fellow Presidentials. I could see the summit buildings where I had such a great time blowing around in the wind back in January.

Great view abound.  Is that mountain with the Y-shaped slide Wildcat or Carter?  To the west, I can see the Mount Washington summit buildings where I had such a great time blowing around in the wind back in January.

As a mother, Jerusalem’s Mount Moriah always struck me as a terrifying place.  According to the Bible’s Old Testament (Genesis), Mount Moriah is where Abraham prepared to burn his only son Isaac alive because God had demanded the sacrifice.   At the last minute, a ram magically appeared as a substitute, Isaac was spared, and Abraham passed this horrific test of obedience.

A thousand years later, King Solomon built the first temple — a “house of God” — on Mount Moriah.  The temple was destroyed and rebuilt a couple of times before Roman invaders sacked it. Today, the “Wailing Wall” (or “Western Wall”) is what remains of the “Temple Mount,” a holy site both revered and contested.

Back in the 1800s, people knew their Bible inside-out. Did the namers of Mount Moriah remember the story of Abraham?  Or were they thinking more along the lines of “House of God?” The grandeur of the views certainly merits that name.

Now, when I think of Mount Moriah, instead of recalling Isaac, or the 3,400-foot elevation gain, I’ll remember the 360-degree views, birdsong, and a most comfortable summit for napping.

Moriah, my Moriah, I may yet climb thee again.

A 19th-century view of Mount Moriah from Gorham, NH (Andrews engraving from Wheelock drawing, citation below).

A 19th-century view of Mount Moriah from Gorham, NH (Andrews engraving from Wheelock drawing, citation below).

A view of Mount Moriah, circa 1859, from Gorham (Andrews engraving from Wheelock drawing, see note below).

In The White Hills, Thomas Starr King was especially effusive about the view of the moonlight over the cabin on Mount Moriah, but in his book states this moonlight image is Mount Carter.  Close enough, I’d say. (Andrews engraving from Wheelock drawing). The cabin waned in popularity after the 1861 opening of the Mount Washington Carriage Road.

These bunchberry dogwood were blooming on the trail by the time I hiked down the mountain. I also saw lots of trillium at higher elevations.

These bunchberry dogwood were blooming on the trail by the time I hiked down the mountain. I also saw lots of trillium at higher elevations.

Sources and resources:

The 4000-Footers of the White Mountains: A Guide and History, by Steven D. Smith and Mike Dickerman. Littleton, NH: Bondcliff Books, 2001. Their “view guides” for each peak are an especially great resource to have tucked into your pocket.

The White Hills: Their Legends, Landscape, and Poetry, by Thomas Starr King.  With Sixty Illustrations engraved by Andrew, From Drawings by Wheelock.  Boston:  Crosby,  Nichols, and Company, 1860.

 

 

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

Bushwhacking on Mount Tecumseh

On My Own on the Osceolas with Captain Samuel Willard