Tag Archives: White Mountains

Round up: Five great family hikes in Maine

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The temperature has risen to a magical 60 degrees, the daffodils are blooming, and the forsythia are primed for an explosion of yellow.  The tulips won’t be far behind, and I’m ready to think about hiking adventures to come this spring, summer, and fall.

Hence, this round-up post on five of my favorite family hikes in Maine.  (I’ll do a separate one on New Hampshire, since there are so many great hikes to cover in both states).

We’ve been hiking as a family since my son was born, with him propelling himself on his own legs from about age three onward.  Unless you have a kid who is obsessed with hiking (not mine), I find it best to limit family hikes to five miles or less.  I also look for hikes with a good hook — boulders to conquer, fire towers to ascend, mysterious caves, and, of course, great views.

Please note that I call these “five of my favorite hikes”, and not “my five favorite hikes.”  This small distinction in syntax is necessary because there are countless wonderful hikes out there, and I can’t possibly narrow it down to just five “favorites.” You can access links to directions (and sometimes maps) by clicking the title of the hike.

1. Tumbledown Mountain in Weld, Maine

A view of Tumbledown Pond, and the mountain's summit, from the Parker Ridge Trail.

A view of Tumbledown Pond, and the mountain’s summit, from the Parker Ridge Trail, which departs from the Brook Trail not far from the road, and offers a slightly longer route to the pond, including some great rock scrambles.  Parker Ridge gets fewer hikers than other trails, but in the summer, expect lots of company at the pond, no matter what day of the week.

I’ve been hiking Tumbledown Mountain since my college days. I love this mountain and the beautiful pond nestled below the summit cone. Bring your bathing suit, or not, but this IS New England, so everyone else will be wearing suits.

The 1.9-mile Brook Trail (and 1,600 feet of elevation gain) is the most direct to the pond, from which hikers can scramble over granite and boulders on a well-marked route to the 3,090-foot summit.  The Brook Trail follows an old logging road along a brook before evolving into a fairly steep climb over rocks and roots.  We followed this trail as an out-and-back hike with a group of seven-year-olds a few years ago.

A couple of years later, we returned with a large pack of kids for the more challenging Loop Trail.  At the trailhead, someone had posted a tiny scrap of paper with a penciled note reading, “This trail is not for children.”  The note was about two square inches big, torn from a notebook, and not an official warning. I decided that the note must be aimed at parents of very young children.  Our group of 10 or so started climbing up a typical New England trail of roots and rocks, but nothing too hard.

Then, about one mile in, we arrived at The Mountain:  a nearly vertical climb up a  rocky mountain face.  (The climb wasn’t technical, just very very steep and rocky).  At one point, we lost the trail (which is easy to do) and ended up climbing around some rocks hanging over a steep slope. For this reason, the hike is recalled as  “The Death Hike.”

After finding the main trail again, we had to squeeze through a cave-like rock formation known as “Fat Man’s Misery,” a feat that involved shoving day packs through a hole and then squeezing through the narrow opening.  Then more steep climbing.  I could feel steam rising from the adults and floating towards me.

We eventually emerged onto a plateau, where an official warning sign greeted us with a warning about the Loop Trail for anyone considering hiking down.  The kids exulted in their achievement. The clouds of steam dissipated. We finished with a scamper up to the summit, a swim in the pond, and a much easier hike down the Brook Trail to the cars.

Every kid needs a legendary death-defying hike in their repertoire. They still talk about it.

2. Mount Agamenticus in York, Maine

View of the cliffs and pine trees that greets hikers as they emerge from the Witch Hazel Trail onto the summit of Mount A.

View of the cliff and pine trees that greets hikers as they emerge from the Witch Hazel Trail onto the summit of Mount A.

With its 692-feet of altitude, Mount Agamenticus is a little mountain with a big personality, with trails and slopes that sprawl out across thousands of acres of conserved forest.

During World War II, a radar tower–the first of its kind in the United States–was installed on the summit. The forest was cut to make room for barracks to house 25 soldiers of the 551st Signal Battalion. For ten years in the 1960s and 1970s, a ski area drew locals to the mountain each winter.

Today, the former ski slopes shrink a bit more each season as trees and brush take over. On weekends, hikers and casual visitors wander the summit’s open meadow, bikers careen down the rocky trails, and the mountain can feel like a busy place. But even with the people there, the blue ocean shimmers to the east. To the west, the spine of Mount Washington rises above the Ossipee Hills, a spectacular sight any day but especially on a clear spring afternoon, when the sloping ridge of Washington remains covered in snow.

A variety of trails (as well as a road) lead to the summit, and more trails lace the conservation land surrounding the mountain.  Mount A is ideal for younger children (but fun for hikers of all ages), because parents can tailor the length of a hike to the interest and abilities of their kids.

From the parking area at the base of the mountain, hikers can begin on the Ring Trail, and then hike in a loop up one of four side trails to the top, and down another to the bottom.  I like to climb up the rock slabs of the Sweet Fern Trail, where the old ski lift rusts in the woods, and then hike down the Blueberry Ridge Trail to the Ring Trail.

Variations include the Sea-to-Summit hike that I’ve written about before, and hikes out to Second Hill or Third Hill.  If attempting Third Hill with kids, I recommend driving to summit and starting there, as the hike could become a long slog through the woods.  Hikers need a map to get to Third Hill (see link above), as the route is convoluted. It is easy to get lost if not familiar with the area.

3. Dorr Mountain, via the Homans Path, in Acadia National Park

The Homans Path (about a third of a mile) offers granite steps, passages between giant boulders and other interesting features. Hikers wishing to continue up to Dorr Mountain can pick up the Schiff Trail, featuring ladeders that climb a cliff. Many choices for longer and shorter loop hikes in this area.

The Homans Path (about three-quarters of a mile) offers granite steps, passages between giant boulders and other interesting features. Hikers wishing to continue up to 1,270-foot Dorr Mountain can pick up the Schiff Path, which features ladders climb up a short cliff.  Estimated RT on our hike: about 4 miles.  However, hikes can choose from many longer and shorter loop hikes in this area. Be sure to hike with a map, as there are multiple trails and trail junctions.

Okay, so selecting one family hike at Acadia National Park is just about impossible. Acadia is packed with countless great hikes ranging from under a mile to four-to-six miles loops (and longer, of course, but probably too long for most kids).  Boulders, ladders, caves, and views abound.  I’ve hiked all over this park, my favorite in the National Park System because of its combination of wildness, human history, and long-standing traditions such as popovers at Jordan Pond House.

Here I’ll focus on the Homans Path route towards quiet Dorr Mountain, the second highest peak in the park (People climb Cadillac, the highest peak, while Dorr is happily neglected).

The stone steps of the Homans Path were meticulously crafted around 1916, but the trail stopped appearing on maps in the 1940s. Its granite steps disappeared beneath thick layers of moss beds.  Local trail enthusiasts rediscovered the trail in the 1990s, and the Park Service began restoring the path, which officially opened again in 2003.

The Homans Path can be picked up near the Wild Gardens of Acadia, at the Sieur de Monts parking area. (I couldn’t find a good link to an online map).

It’s hard to get truly lost in Acadia, but you can certainly end up a very long distance from your car, a situation that is not fun when hiking with kids.  I recommend obtaining a recent edition of  Tom St. Germain’s Acadia trail guide, A Walk in the Park, which will lead you to many other fabulous family hikes. Gorham Mountain, The Beehive, and Beech Mountain with its fire tower also are among my favorite Acadia hikes.

4. Mount Aziscohos, Lincoln Plantation, Maine

The view from Mount Azisochos.

The view from  3,192-foot Mount Azisc0hos.

Mount Aziscohos, which I’ve mentioned in a post about summer days in Rangeley, is an undiscovered gem.  A 1.75-mile hike brings hikers to an open granite summit with views of more than 25 lakes and countless mountains.  I first took my son here when he was about six and have returned several times.  I’ve never encountered another hiker on the summit with its 360-degree views.

In August, expect a feast of blueberries.  Many years ago, a large forest fire burned on the mountaintop, creating ideal conditions for the berries to flourish.

Down the road in Oquossoc, crowds flock up the muddy trail to Bald Mountain, but few venture north on Route 16 to discover Aziscohos.  I probably shouldn’t even be writing about the mountain, but I guess the 17.7 mile drive from Oquossoc Village discourages the hordes from finding it.

Aziscohos once was a popular hike for 19th and early 20th century summer visitors staying at the Aziscoos House in Wilson Mills, although “popular” is a relative term.  An information sign near at the summit tells hikers that in one summer, a total of 116 hikers signed the log book.  (The Azicoos House ceased operation many years ago, but I believe that the 1830 inn-like structure still stands, as a private residence, in the Magolloway River Valley).

A fire tower on the summit was manned until the late 1960s.  Eventually it toppled over in a hurricane and was removed from the mountain via helicopter by the Maine Forest Service in 2004.

5.  Blueberry Mountain via Stone House Trail, Evans Notch, Maine

I can't find my Blueberry Mountain photos, so I'll end with a photo of a happy hiker pasted on a rock on Mount Aziscohos.

I can’t find my Blueberry Mountain photos, so I’ll end with a photo of a happy hiker vertically pasted on the granite of Mount Aziscohos.

As with Acadia, Evans Notch, which straddles the border of Maine and New Hampshire, is packed with terrific family hikes as well as the  “challenge” hike of the Baldface Circle Trail. Here, I’ll focus on 1,781-foot Blueberry Mountain, as it offers great views, good ridge hiking over barren rocks, the possibility of a dip in Rattlesnake Pool, and an exciting descent down (or climb up) ledges (caution needed).  The hike is about 4.5 miles long.

After parking at Fire Road 16, we took the Stone House Trail to the summit and followed the Blueberry Ridge Trail to the Overlook Loop, and then followed the White Cairn Trail down steep ledges and back to FR 16.

We hiked on a cool fall day, so we didn’t stop at Rattlesnake Pool, but when I do this hike again, I plan to hike up the White Cairn Trail and finish up at the pool for a cooling dip.

The Stone House (a private residence) sits up against the mountain just past the trailhead. It’s an interesting structure, more than 200 years old, and looks out over a flat grassy meadow that once was farmed, but more recently was used as a landing area for small planes, during World War II.

The house (privately owned) dates to the first half of the 19th century, when Abel Andrews built it for his bride, Lucinda Brickett, the daughter of John Brickett, who was one of the earliest permanent settlers in the area. Around 1812, John built the brick farmhouse known as the  “Brickett House,” located a couple of miles up Route 113.

I’ve also written about the nearby Basin Trail, which is undiscovered and beautiful, like Evans Notch in general.

Happy hiking!

Additional resources:

Nature Hikes in the White Mountains, by Robert N. Buchsbaum, is an excellent guide to family hikes throughout the White Mountains of Maine and New Hampshire.

Hikes in and around Maine’s Lake Region, by Marita Wiser, is good resource for hikes in southwestern Maine (Bridgton/Fryeburg/Lovell area).

As mentioned above, Tom St. Germain’s Acadia trail guide, A Walk in the Park, is a great resource for all kinds of hikes in the park.

Crisis on Mount Washington: The Empty Sugar Barrel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marty looks out over Wildcat Mountain.

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

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

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

 

The world’s worst weather: Bring it on!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources and resources

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three blogs for hitting the trails

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The Arctic Vortex last week offered a good opportunity to hunker down and work on one of my New Year’s projects, which is to improve this blog. To that end, I am participating in the Word Press “Zero to Hero” challenge of daily “here’s how to enhance your blog” lessons. Today’s lesson included commenting on three blogs (done) and then taking the exercise a step further by writing about three blogs. Hence, I present a trio of hiking blogs: Girls on the Way, 1 Happy Hiker, and Live Free and Hike: A NH Day Hiker’s Blog.  All three include links to other good hiking blogs, but I always tell my students that three examples are enough for illustrating a point or idea, and I’ll stick with that advice here.

Girls on the Way is the blog of Patricia Ellis Herr and her two daughters, Alex and Sage.  Trish Ellis Herr first started writing the blog when Alex was five, and Alex decided that she UP A Mother and Daughter's Peakbagging Adventurewanted to hike all of New Hampshire’s 48 four-thousand footers.   These efforts eventually became a neat little book titled Up: A Mother and Daughter’s Peak-Bagging Adventures. I loved the book, both for the descriptions of approximately 15 hikes and for the way the author took each chapter and turned it into a lesson, e.g. “Some Things Will Always Be Beyond Your Control”.

I don’t want to give away too much, but I will say that while reading the book, the chapter titled “Mistakes Can Have Serious Consequences” took me back to 1982 when, as a college sophomore, I followed the news about two teenagers who had lost their way while doing a winter climb of Mount Washington.  They encountered whiteout conditions on the way down and lost their way. Both survived, but one boy lost both of his legs. Another young man on the Search and Rescue team was killed in an avalanche during the search. Today that teenager who survived a terrible ordeal is Trish’s husband and a world-renowned scientist.  It was eerie to read about him telling his story to daughter  as a cautionary tale–and to recollect my vague memories of the event, and of fellow students who had undertaken similar adventures but had better luck.

Some readers may wonder if Ellis-Herr pushes her daughter to do these hikes, a point she addresses in the book.  As she observes, a parent can’t force a kid who doesn’t want to hike do the arduous hikes that Alex undertakes; doing so is just about impossible (unless you are willing to carry said child up the mountain).  Children have boundless energy and the question of physical stamina isn’t a problem for most; instead, kids often lack the mental stamina needed for lengthy hikes. Alex definitely had (and has) that mental stamina, and her sister Sage follows in her footsteps.  (For the record, even though my son is a good hiker, I would never attempt to conquer the 48 4,000 footers with him unless a helicopter or water slide was involved).  Maybe someday my son will surprise me and announce that he wants to conquer the 48 summits, but until then, I will hike most 4,000 footers on my own.

Since the publication of Up, Trish and her daughters have had many other adventures, including several months in Spain hiking  the 500-mile El Camino de Santiago long-distance pilgrimage.  This summer, they hope to hike the John Muir Trail, and I hope they get to go, because hiking the JMT is also on my hiking bucket list.

Another hiking blog I like is 1 HappyHiker.  The Happy Hiker’s blog is very simple in appearance and he doesn’t share much information about himself, but he is a good writer and has archived many posts about adventures in New England and beyond (not to mention that his blog has a great title, a little corny, but who isn’t  happy when standing on a mountaintop?).  Lots of solid well-researched information and ideas for hikes in the region.    This blog often comes up on Google searches related to hiking in New Hampshire.

Finally, I’ll give a short shout-out to Live Free and Hike: A NH Day Hiker’s Blog  by Seacoast resident Karl Searle, who writes about hiking and outdoor adventures, including many that are family-oriented.   The blog has a great title and good content about adventures within striking distance of the Seacoast region.

Readers, if you have any ideas for a revised blog title, please send them my way!  “Random History and Offbeat Trivia” is okay, and reflects the fact that sometimes you just need to put the fingers on the keyboard and start typing. But I am trying to devise a title that more effectively captures the essence of this multi-faceted blog: hiking, adventures, travel, history.

White elephant in a green valley

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The trail map at Evergreen Valley.

The trail map at Evergreen Valley.

Here at Evergreen Valley, the outside temperature is 12 degrees, but a full 28 degrees warmer, at 40, inside our “villa.”  We lost power yesterday (2/17), late in the afternoon after a day of wild snowless winds. Now, this morning, we sit wrapped in blankets in this electrically-heated 1970s condo.   Somehow the outage seems fitting, what should be, one more challenge to overcome in Evergreen Valley’s long struggle to become a destination.

The ski lodge remains a functional building. A little TLC and it could be open for something....

The ski lodge remains a functional building. A little TLC and it could be open for something….

I first discovered Evergreen Valley, in Stoneham, Maine, about 10 years ago, as my husband and I spent a summer afternoon exploring the area while staying at another spot on nearby Kezar Lake.  Intrigued by a sign on Route 5, we turned off and followed the road for a winding 3.5 miles as it went far back into the woods and then opened up, improbably, onto a scruffy but still-functioning golf course.  Further back, a lodge-style inn was tucked into the woods.  The road climbed another couple of hundred yards up a steep hill and ended in a small parking lot bordered by a dozen lonely condos backed up against the edge of the White Mountain National Forest.   Down the hill and around the corner from the Inn, a massive ski lodge loomed at the base of an abandoned ski area.  A memory clicked into place for my husband as he recalled having attended a rock concert here back in the 1970s.

Evergreen Valley was once a place of big dreams and big schemes, and a tale of how easily local and state officials are wooed and won on the hopes of a little economic development in an unlikely spot.  Developers wanted to build a mega-ski resort here, one of the largest in New England, with a golf course, bubble-topped tennis courts, a marina on Kezar Lake, and hundreds and hundreds of housing units.  At first, the idea for the resort was a grass roots effort, but as the project expanded from a small ski mountain to a mega-resort, other locals –especially the well-off part-year residents who populate these parts during the summer months – organized against the project, citing the scale of the resort as incompatible with the surrounding area.  But really, environmental activism was the least of the challenges faced by Evergreen Valley.  The sad fact is that skiers don’t flock by the thousands to an off-the-beaten path mountain with a 1,000 vertical feet – a hill really – in an industry that already was beginning the process of consolidation that would see many of New England’s small ski areas close in the 1980s.

The Olympic-sized pool was intended for year-round operation.

The Olympic-sized pool was intended for year-round operation.

For the dreamers who envisioned Evergreen Valley, no expense, it seemed, was spared.  Timbers for the massive lodge were trucked in from Oregon.  An Olympic-sized outdoor pool – intended for both summer and winter use – was dug next to the lodge.  Tennis courts protected by a bubble dome were built, along with a riding stable with stalls for with 30 horses. Three chair lifts were installed on Adams Mountain.  When the Evergreen Valley ski area finally opened for business in 1972 (after many delays), it was a state-of-the-art recreational facility, the most ambitious opening debut in New England ski history. At the time, some other resorts had more trails and lifts, but these ski areas had typically started small, with a rope tow and a T-bar, and gradually developed over time.  At Evergreen Valley, skiers would not strain to balance on T-bars or flail around on a rope tow.

A half-finished condo unit greets visitors as they drive up the lonely road into Evergreen Valley. The inside was never finished. Today, several holes punctuate the roof.

A half-finished condo unit greets visitors as they drive up the lonely road into Evergreen Valley. The inside was never finished. Today, several holes punctuate the roof.

But the mountain struggled to attract skiers.  By the mid-seventies, it was bankrupt and closed,  although it did open again later for a few more seasons. At one point, the state of Maine purchased the resort at public auction for $500,000, and later sold it to another hopeful developer (for full details, see the link to the article below at the New England Ski History website). Today, the lodge sits empty, and the swimming pool is an empty hole.  But the valley offers great snowmobiling, with access to miles and miles of trails, and has become a destination for snowmobilers from around the Northeast, many of whom stay at the Evergreen Valley Inn.  Maybe the snowmobilers stay at the condos too, but we don’t know, because on most nights, our car is the only one in the parking lot. The resort would be a great setting for a Stephen King novel. I’m surprised it hasn’t showed up in one yet, given that King spends a lot of time in the area, at his home on Kezar Lake.

So why are we here at Evergreen Valley? (Not only are we here, but this is our second week-long stay). We’ve come partly because I like places that feel remote and apart from the hustle-bustle.  Also, Evergreen Valley is located in convenient proximity to Bethel and the mega-resort of Sunday River (a slope with a few trails when Evergreen Valley opened), and to Shawnee Peak, a family ski area in Bridgton.   When I saw that this particular condo at Evergreen Valley came equipped with its own hot tub, I was sold.  Also, I guess I like giving a little business to the underdog, keeping hope alive. Back-door access to snowshoeing, along the old ski trails of Mount Adams or to the ledges of Speckled Mountain, is another bonus.

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Hikers can follow the abandoned ski trails to the summit of Adams Mountain.

On my first attempt to snowshoe up Adams Mountain, I took long steps through the woods as high winds with 60 mph gusts howled. Birch trees bent and flailed and snow swirled up from the ground.  I knew that the supple birches were not likely to snap in the wind, but older oak trees stood deeper in the woods.  Every time I heard a crack, I looked about to see if a tree had snapped, although I knew logically that plotting an escape from a tree falling in my direction would be a fruitless exercise.  I felt a bit like Thoreau on his final ascent of Mount Katahdin, feeling awestruck and terrified at the same time. Although I could clearly see the trail, I wasn’t sure what I would see if I reached the summit, so I decided to turn back to the condo.

The following day, remnants of the wind storm still ruffled the trees, but the howling had ended.  With the sun softening the snow and cloudless blue skies that promised great views, I was determined to make it to the 1,650-foot summit of Mount Adams, about an 800-foot elevation gain from the condos.  I snowshoed across the brook behind the condos, and bushwhacked through the trees, following yesterday’s tracks to one of the ski trails.  This time I pushed further through the woods and began to hike uphill on a wider ski trail, now filled by a glade of birches.

Views of Kezar Lake. I took this photo on a third hike, as the day was drawing to a close. Skies weren't as clear, but the view was still great.

Views of Kezar Lake. I took this photo on a third hike, as the day was drawing to a close. Skies weren’t as clear, but the view was still great.

Stomping uphill through the snow, I came upon a snowmobile trail, which provided a path up a steeper section. (Snowmobiles aren’t allowed on Adams Mountain, and I’m not sure if this trail was legal, but it provided a good reference for bushwhacking).  After a final bushwhack through the trees, I arrived at a southwest-facing ledge with views of Kezar Lake.  Further south, I could see the ski trails of Shawnee Peak, and to the west, mountains folding upon mountains, although the wind had kicked up just enough moisture to conceal Mount Washington’s summit.

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The summit is topped by a flat open area. It’s a great snowshoe hike, and a good family hike in warmer months. In the distance, the trails at Shawnee Peak are faintly visible.

I hiked up along the ledge until arriving at a flat area, forested with a grove of white pines.  The snow mobile trail ended here, and then circled around and back down the mountain.  I could see footsteps where the renegade snowmobilers had stepped out to admire the view, but on this day, I was absolutely alone on the summit.    And even though I love downhill skiing, I was happy that I had this beautiful snow-capped rocky ledge to myself on a February afternoon.

Evergreen Valley, yeah, it’s definitely grown on me. The entire valley is for sale, for a reported $2.9 million dollars. Maybe someday another visionary with deep pockets and more realistic expectations will buy the resort and do more to bring in the snowmobilers, add a destination restaurant to the Inn, or at least a cozy bar.  Maybe a millionaire yoga lover will transform the Inn into a yoga and meditation retreat that offers exquisite healthy meals and a New Age summer camp.  Maybe, like the developers and their consultants, I’m a dreamer too, because I believe that potential exists to do more here in Evergreen Valley.

I wouldn’t want to see much more than what’s here now, just enough to add some  economic development to the region, to keep the country stores open in Stoneham and Center Lovell, to add some kids to the school systems, to sustain the sense of community in this beautiful but hard-to-make-a-living corner of Maine.

I’m not interested in buying the condo next door (on the market at a 1980-ish price of $50,000), but I’ll return again to Evergreen Valley. Maybe on the next visit, I’ll hike up to the ledges on Speckled Mountain.  I’ll definitely sit in the hot tub and gaze up at the stars in the inky sky.

P.S.  The power was restored mid-morning, but we hardly suffered.  The Inn provided us with hot coffee and an invitation to hang out in front of the fire in their great room.  After breakfasting at not-too-far-away Melby’s, we returned to the warmth of a sunlight-filled living room.  Not too long afterwards, the lights blazed and the hot tub began its steady hum.

References and further reading

Evergreen Valley History – New England Ski History

Evergreen Valley, Stoneham, Maine – New England Lost Ski Areas Project

 View from Adams Mountain, Stoneham, c,. 1960

 

Exploring Caves and Climbing Ladders in the New Hampshire Lakes Region

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

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

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

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

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

Climbing ladders on Mount Morgan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Squam Lake View

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

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

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

Details and resources

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

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