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• 1998 outing diary
• 2000 outing diary
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• 2002 outing diary
• 2003 outing diary
• 2004 outing diary
• 2005 outing diary

Poke-O-Moonshine
Wednesday, December 22, 1999

Le Tour de Foliage III
Saturday and Sunday, October 10-11, 1999

Unfortunately, John was unable to make it this year, thanks to Hurricane Floyd, which did a number on his property. A bunch of others were interested in coming couldn't make it either, so Jon and I had camp all to ourselves. We arrived in Raquette in the late morning, and didn't waste too much time before hitting the trails. We parked at the Raquette Lake school, just like last year, and headed up the Sagamore Road. We stopped a few times on the way down the dirt road so Jon could stretch, but otherwise kept moving. As we were getting near the end, we passed a parked car. I didn't pay much attention to it, until suddenly I heard someone call "BJ!" out of nowhere! It was my Uncle Dennis and Aunt Lynn. They'd been napping in the back of the car before doing a little hunting. My dad had told me they were at camp and were heading home in the morning--I was so surprised to see them! I introduced them to Jon and we chatted for a few minutes before continuing on.

The weather was wonderful for the third year in a row--it's hard to believe how lucky we've been. We passed Sagamore, ducked under a gate and headed down the road towards Mohegan Lake. We veered off into the woods near the end of the road, and just as in years past, we made a stop to take in the beauty of the lake. We went to the same spot as usual, and it was wonderful as always. Before long we continued down the road, and turned right onto the Old Uncas Road (a trail, essentially) and were having a good time jockeying our way along when I had a sudden case of déjà vu. A small twig got caught in my spokes and on its way around it pulled the derailleur into the spokes along with it, bending the small part of the frame to which the derailleur attaches. I was not nearly as furious as when it happened the previous year, but completely awestruck that the same exact bizzare thing had happened again! (For the record, I must admit that I never did get my bike looked at after last year. However, I don't think that had anything to do with the recurrence.)

Thankfully, I'd grabbed some of my housemate's tools in the morning before we left. We tried using some plyers to bend back the frame, much like last year, but it was to no avail. After starting to think I was most certainly going to have to walk out this time, we made one final effort. We took off my rear tire, rested the frame on a solid rock, and banged away at it with another big rock. After some hammering and keeping our fingers crossed, it appeared to have bent back somewhat. We were worried about it breaking off, so didn't hammer any longer. Putting the tire back on, we could see that the derailleur was still riding closer to the spokes than it should have been, but it looked like it might be tolerable. I gave it a bit of a test and it seemed to behave OK, so we continued on. I was being extremely cautious and just couldn't believe that it had worked at all. Amazingly, though, the fix held out for the rest of the day!

From there on out the ride towards Route 28 went pretty well. We had plenty of fun hopping downed trees (or at least attempting it) and other hazards along the way. Finally we got to 28, and headed down the road a ways to the spot where the canoe carry between Eighth Lake and Brown Tract Inlet comes close to the road. (Last year we attempted to go around the lake and ended up hiking through the woods with our bikes which was an absolutely horrible experience.) We rode down the canoe carry for a pitstop at Eighth Lake, where we rested and watched as several canoes came in to shore. We chatted with a guy who was with the group and I think he said they were a girl scout troop. Before long we headed back down the canoe carry and took the little side trail to the wooden dock-like structure that extends out into Brown Tract Inlet. After that we headed back, took a right, and cut over to the Brown Tract Road.

We crossed the road and headed down the trail between Lower and Upper Ponds. It was a nice ride, and we were enjoying ourselves, maneuvering past the occasional obstacle. We caught up to a family at one point which was going quite slowly (and one of them was riding a 10-speed!) but then I had problems and they passed us again. I looked down and to my chagrin, a link in my chain was mangled! I can't even remember how it happened (or if I even knew how it happened), but thank goodness for my housemate's tools once again. We figured out how to use the chain tool and removed the offending link. I pedalled on, very wary that my bike could just collapse into a million pieces at any point, considering what had happened already.

We caught up to and passed the family again, and they took our picture for us. I think we took their picture for them before that, too. I answered some questions for them about where the trail led, and then we took off, never to see them again. We cruised along, passing the junction which would take us back over to the Brown Tract Road. It was getting late--past 4:30--thanks to my bike problems, but we decided to head over to the shore of Raquette Lake anyway. We stopped there and I played on the wobbly old dock for a bit. As we were both sitting down resting, a boat came cruising in with some serious-faced guys in it. This is right about when the fun began.

As they were docking, one of the men asked us in an urgent tone of voice if we'd seen a young boy hiking alone in the woods. We said no and began to realize they'd lost someone. There were two men and two younger boys. One of the men explained to us that they were a Boy Scout troop from Clinton, New York, and they'd hiked up West Mountain that day. On arriving back at their lean-to on a different part of the lake, they realized they were missing one member. They asked if we would mind helping, and at first we hesitated. But, realizing the urgency of the situation (it was going to be dark soon!) we said yes. The two boys took off quickly, without making a plan. They were soon to be yelled at for that mistake. Jon and I talked to them and decided that we'd head towards West Mountain, since we could go much faster on our bikes. The others would check out shorter side trails in the area in the meantime. They told us the boys name (I think it was Rick), and we headed off.

Every now and then Jon and I would stop and yell at the top of our lungs, but we had no luck. We split up at one point and I went quite far down the trail--past the turnoff for West Mountain--but still didn't find any signs of him. I headed back and met up with Jon again, and we returned to where I had just been, intending to go further down the trail and check possible side trails. Before I knew it, right in front of us was a small boy, maybe 13 years, trudging towards us. We asked if he was Rick, and he nodded. We were quite relieved, and I was a bit confused since I'd just been in this very spot. Jon headed back to notify the others, and I got off my bike and walked with Rick.

He was feeling glum, and with good reason, but I joked a bit and that seemed to make him cheer up a bit. He complained that his feet were really sore and tired, but that he was otherwise just fine. Soon one of the Scout masters came down the trail and met up with us. Jon was with him, and the four of us headed back towards their boat. After a short time, Jon let Rick take his bike in order to give his feet a rest, and the two of us rode down the trail. The bike was way too big, and down a few hills Rick looked pretty wobbly. It made me nervous and I thought for sure he was going to wipe out, but he did alright. We made it back and the others had built a fire at one of the trail intersections near the shore. We waited a minute for Jon and the other gentleman to return.

Once all of us were together in the same spot, the members of the search party began thanking us profusely and offering us dinner at their lean-to. We were tempted, but it was not really convenient since we had our bikes and they'd have to bring us back to shore in the dark afterward. So we declined, and in lieu of that one of them gave us $20. I felt uncomfortable taking it, but it clearly made them feel better to have compensated us, so I did. They asked for our names and mailing addresses so that they could send a thank-you letter later on, and then we parted ways. Wow, what an experience that was ....

Jon and I headed back down the trail and took a left down the narrow, difficult-to-ride final stretch over to Brown Tract Road. It was getting dark and we were getting pretty exhausted. We made it out of the woods just as it was getting hard to see. I put on my headlamp and we headed down the road, through Raquette Lake, and back to Jon's car, another storied ride behind us.

Back at camp we chatted with Uncle Dennis and Lynn a bit more before they took off. Then we headed to the Screamen Eagle in Inlet for a taco pizza, which turned out to be absolutely massive. We brought most of it home to eat later. We kicked back in front of the tube for a bit before getting some sleep.

The next morning we made some pancakes and decided to go for a paddle in Utowana Lake, despite rain and fog. Thank goodness we did the Tour yesterday! We dropped in and headed east to the next lake over. In the narrow segment between the two lakes, we spent a lot of time pondering and discussing the pattern of logs that ran along the shore underwater. There were hundreds of uniformly spaced logs sticking out at 90 degrees from the shore, which attached pieces perpendicular to the ends of those running parallel to the shore about five feet out. It was curious, and we wondered if they'd had a really long dock running along the edge in the old days, but who knows why? The trip was nice and mostly uneventful. We passed a group of a few canoes on our way back. It seemed to be a bunch of younger guys from the city just getting away from it all. They said they were on a several-day trip.

Once back at camp we cleaned and packed up quickly and headed for home. Les Tours de Foliage are now three-for-three.

Moosilauke (Finally!)
Saturday, October 2, 1999

After four years at Dartmouth and one unsuccessful attempt, I finally made it to the top of Moosilauke. This was my 35th of the 48 New Hampshire 4000-footers. Scot Drysdale organized the trip as the CS department's annual hike up the mountain. There were seven of us--Clint, Anna, Jason, Jason's friend Tinglei, Catherine (a chemistry grad), Scot and I, as well as Sunshine's dog Celine, whom I was taking care of for the weekend. Embarrassingly, I forgot my water bottles at home, but Scot lent me one of his. We stopped by the Ravine Lodge on our way in, and then headed up the Gorge Brook Trail. It was looking like a beautiful day with clear blue skies. I chatted with Scot quite a lot and he filled me in on a lot of the history of the mountain. We passed one nice viewpoint along the way, but it seemed that in no time we were at the top. The last stretch afforded great views all the way, as there were only small trees around us up in the alpine zone.

We spent a while at the top, though it was very chilly and breezy. There were several others up there as well. We ate lunch and noted as many of the surrounding mountains as we could with the help of Scot's 360-degree profile diagram. Then we continued on towards the Snapper Trail. Before heading down, though, we took a quick detour to the much more peaceful south peak. We spent some more time taking in views, including the colorful red and yellow leaves down below.

Once we took off again, we backtracked to the old carriage road trail that would take us to the Snapper Trail. It was tough on the knees, but not too long. The Snapper Trail was very nice--cool and shaded, and not to hard on the feet. We followed it all the way back to the junction just before the lodge. Once back at the lodge we took a short break in the sunny field out in front of it before heading to the cars and driving back to Hanover.

Haystack, Basin, Saddleback, and Big Slide
Friday - Sunday, September 24-26, 1999

Finally, we reached the summit and Becky bagged her first high peak. We also found out that this was the 45th high peak for the woman we were chatting with! We ate lunch and got a good rest while taking in the views and chatting with these folks. He pointed out many of the mountains, and at one point, the topic of the Trap Dike came up. I told him about the adventure that Kevin and I went on earlier this summer, and he quickly pointed out a serious warning in his book about this part of the Trap Dike. He was quite amazed that we'd gone that way!

After lunch we headed back down and Becky began to get her second wind. For a moment, the sun actually came out but it was all downhill from there, weatherwise. As we made our way toward Basin, heavy fog rolled in and visibility was minimal. We passed a few people along the way, and eventually made our way over Basin. There was nothing to see from there, so we kept right on going.

After descending quite a ways, we finally starting going up again towards Saddleback. Just before coming out of the trees, we passed a middle-aged couple who looked like casual hikers. They were the only folks we'd seen going in our direction since Haystack. A moment later, we reached the bottom of the final steep rocky climb to the top of Saddleback. It was much more challenging than I'd remembered from hikes past, but I was excited about it. We paused for a moment to psych ourselves up, and the two folks behind us caught up. They were shocked at how difficult it looked and clearly intimidated.

I volunteered to go first up the first hard part, and I gave Becky and the other woman a hand on the way up. At the next part there was a short horizontal traverse over a steep slab with nothing to really hold on to. This time I helped all three of the others across. Our two new friends were clearly nervous, particularly the gentleman, who asked what my name was and thanked my several times. The next spot was a climb up a crack which wasn't so bad except for the exposure. Becky made it up while I was helping the other two at the previous spot, and this time I went up last. No one really had any problems, but they took it slowly.

The next spot was the toughest--it required the extensive use of handholds, and at one point went up a short slope where there wasn't much to grab onto. Becky made it up herself, and I went halfway up and sort of coached the other two along. They made it by themselves, basically, and the woman was getting pretty comfortable with it but the gentleman still was clearly very nervous. After one final squeeze through a narrow crack, we were at the summit. They thanked me profusely and we were on our way.

I was glad to help, and given my previous hiking and scrambling experience, I had no trouble and was not at all worried on this last stretch--it was a lot of fun. I still wonder what would've happened if I hadn't come along ... there was hardly anyone else on the trail and it was getting somewhat late .... It was near 5pm when we got to the summit of Saddleback.

Though it was still cloudy, the fog had begun to clear out a bit and we could see some of the neighboring mountains. In one spot in the distance, we could see some buildings and a ray of sunlight shining through on them--it was quite surreal given the cold, dark, cloudiness in our immediate vicinity. We took a bit of a rest at the summit before heading back down the Ore Bed Trail towards Johns Brook Lodge. We hoped to make it by darkness.

I was impressed with Becky's energy level at this point, and we really zipped on down the mountain. It was quite steep at first, and we had a bunch of slips and a few falls, but none serious. Becky did do a split on some wet moss at one point, tweaking a muscle that would irritate her a bit for the rest of the trip. We caught up to and passed the couple from earlier, and made it back to my tent just after sundown. It was very cold, and we huddled together around the stove as we cooked dinner. I'd forgotten my extra light for Becky, so we had just my one headlamp. After satisfying our hunger, we bear-bagged our food (thank goodness there was a bear-bagging setup already in place in the camping area!) and crawled in to our sleeping bags. We both slept well after this 13-mile day.

The next morning we packed up and went over to Johns Brook Lodge for breakfast. There was frost and ice on the ground--I had no idea it was so cold! We ate our remaining oatmeal at a picnic table before heading for the Slide Mt. Brook Trail. We saw nary a soul as we headed up this trail with full packs. We crossed a brook back and forth several times early on, and I helped Becky across each time as she was still getting accustomed to balancing with a full pack on. Shortly after the intersection with the Big Slide Trail, we dropped our packs in the woods since we'd be coming back this way. The final ascent was steep, but not too long and we were soon at the top. The weather was beautiful and sunny today, completely different than yesterday. We rested at the top for quite some time, chatting with a friendly British gentleman who was hiking alone. We also got to listen to an obnoxious cell phone call made by a woman who was oblivious to backwoods etiquette.

After taking in the views of the Great Range for quite some time, we started back down. We picked up our packs and made our way towards the Three Brothers on the Big Slide Trail. There were no views for quite some time, and a fair amount of blowdown, but eventually we reached the brothers and more spectacular views. A little beyond the halfway point, we bumped into Josh Carlsen, who neither of us had seen since PHS. Josh and I had hiked this very trail together with the PHS Hiking Club way back when. It was cool to see him, and we chatted a while before heading our separate ways.

When we reached the first brother, I remembered why I liked this trail so much the first time back in high school. It was completely exposed and rocky, and the views were nearly as good as those from the top. We passed several folks on our way across them, and finally reentered the woods. It was a little ways further, but finally we reached the Garden and finished off the trip. We'd done over 20 miles and four high peaks, much more than I'd expected when I was planning the trip. I was impressed with Becky's stamina! We said our goodbyes and parted ways after deciding we'd like to do this again sometime.

Abraham and Ellen
Friday - Sunday, September 17-19, 1999

The next morning we took our time getting up, and several folks passed the shelter on their way up the trail. We had some oatmeal and then got going ourselves. The weather had made dramatic improvements, and we had excellent views as we made our way along the ridge. First stop was Mount Abraham, which was very windy and cold. We hung out there for a while anyway, snapping a couple of pictures and having a snack before continuing on.

The entire hike along the ridge was pretty reasonable--no really big ascents or descents. Our next stop was at an observation deck somewhere along the way where we ate our lunches. The deck was at the top of a ski area, of which there were many along the way. We saw plenty of chairlifts. There also continued to be a pretty good amount of blowdown from the hurricane, some of which was fairly challenging (and annoying) to get around. But none of it was impassable. As we moved along the ridge, we passed and were passed by several folks. We leapfrogged parts of one large family group several times. They were doing the northern half of the Long Trail, and were a nice bunch. Perhaps a bit eccentric, though. [An interesting old sign along the way.]

With so many people on the trail, we decided to skip staying at the Glen Ellen Lodge or the Theron Dean Shelter, and instead pitched our tents on a Mad River Glen ski trail near the Stark's Nest warming hut. We ate a delicious dinner of udon noodles as we watched the sun set. We then got our food together, bagged it up in a tree (not safe from bears, but perhaps safe from small animals) and went to sleep.

In the morning, we got a relatively early start after taking in the views of the foggy valleys over breakfast. It was only a couple miles out, though fairly steep at times. The weather was again beautiful for the home stretch, and we made it to the car by 11am. After swinging back down to pick up Simone's car in Lincoln Gap, we headed home.

Monroe and Washington
Sunday, September 12, 1999

Kayaking on Thirteenth Lake
Sunday, September 5, 1999

After our long hike the previous day, Sean and I had crashed in my tent by the shore of Thirteenth Lake, which is near North Creek, NY. The designated campsites were full so we just camped in the grass away from everyone else.

We slept in a bit, cooked some oatmeal on the sandy shore of the lake, and then grabbed his kayaks from his car and put them in. He took the white water kayak, I took the touring kayak. He showed me how to get in, where to put my feet, how to attach the skirt, and how to paddle. It was all pretty simple really, and we were off. We paddled at a moderate pace for the far end of the narrow lake, about 2.5 or 3 miles away. I was really enjoying it--it was pretty easy, and you moved much faster than in a canoe! It was a little tricky for me to keep perfectly straight all of the time, but I got better as we went on.

When we reached the other end of the lake, we paddled over to some fairly shallow (5 or so feet) water with some rocks nearby. I practiced leaning and balance, pushing my limits until I tipped over, at which point I practiced getting out. It was a bit scary at first, because Sean had told me the skirt would pop right off if I just put my knee into it. But I just tried to swim out and it wouldn't come undone--I forgot to pop it with my knee. So I thrashed around a bit and it finally came off. A bit unnerving, but not so bad. I went over to the rocks and climbed back in.

After practicing bailing out a couple more times (and scraping myself on the rocks a bit, and drifting away in the wind, and forgetting to hold onto my paddle ...) we decided to have lunch. We went over to a campsite on a point that stuck out into the lake, got out our food, and ate at a picnic table. It was beautiful, and no one was around. We'd wished we'd gone to this place last night ....

After eating, we got back in and I asked Sean to teach me how to roll. This time I got into the white water kayak, which was a bit scary because it was a really tight squeeze. But I got used to it and it wasn't so bad. We went over to a conveniently placed rock just offshore, and while I watched, Sean, showed me a little drill to practice hip snaps, which are the key behind a successful roll. He put his hand on the rock, slowly tipped over and upside-down (toward the rock), and then popped back up by snapping his body at the hip. His hand remained on the rock the whole time and served as a point to push off of when starting the snap. The goal is to be able to do it without using your hand at all, eventually. The paddle in the water will take the place one's hand on the rock.

Soon it was my turn, and it was a bit tough at first, but within 15 minutes I was doing hip snaps pretty well, without using my hand too much. After a short break, it was time to try a real roll. It took me some time to get up the guts, but finally I took the plunge. It was a little scary. I found that moving the paddle underwater was difficult, and when I finally got it in place and tried the hip snap, I was pathetic. I didn't come anywhere near making it around, and I was gasping for air. I popped out and swam to the rock. I got back in and tried this a couple more times, without too much more luck. I was getting very tired, and figured I'd had a pretty good introduction to kayaking and rolling, so we called it a day and started back.

Along the way back, we encountered a couple in a canoe. The guy was fascinated with this log that was sticking out of the water. He kept swearing that it was moving. I couldn't tell, but figured it was probably just an illusion. Sean went to check it out, but no conclusive results came of it. We soon reached shore, got out, and packed up our stuff. We headed back to Sean's house, where I chatted with his parents for a while before hitting the road for home. It was an exciting day for me, and I hope I get to try kayaking again before too long.

Lower Wolf Jaw, Upper Wolf Jaw, Armstrong, Gothics, and Sawteeth
Saturday, September 4, 1999

Blue
Saturday and Sunday, August 28 and 29, 1999

LT: Jonesville to Mansfield
Thursday - Sunday, August 12-15, 1999

On the way up the last subpeak before Bolton, it starting misting and raining lightly. It was a tiring climb up, and as we thought we were nearing the top, we passed a single hiker--the only guy we'd see all day save for the two in the shelter this morning--who told us we were close. I don't know what he was thinking, because it was quite a ways further. It was around this time that I started hiking alone ahead of the others, as I still felt pretty good and wanted to keep a good pace for myself. Finally, we went over the peak (which I can hardly remember) and began the last downhill stretch to the Puffer Shelter. It was steep, and with the wet rocks, quite slippery. I got there before the others and was happy to find a trickle of water so we could fill up. When they finally arrived, the rest of them looked like they were about as exhausted as I was at the end of Day 1 of The Hike of Death. I was happy to do a little work while others rested--I filled water bottles and ran a line to hang clothes on. We had an awesome taco dinner that John had packed in--probably the best trail meal I've ever had.

That night it was to bed real early, and though the others seemed to have no problem sleeping, I did. For some reason I was extremely aware of every little sound outside and kept waking up having dreamt that someone else showed up and wanted to stay in the shelter. In the end, though, I slept OK.

We got a lot of sleep--close to 12 hours I think--before we got going in the morning. It looked like there was a nice view through the trees from the shelter, and when the sun came up it was a cool site through the thick fog that surrounded us. The fog never cleared enough for us to get any real views, though, and that was the last we'd see of the sun for a long time. We headed down the trail, and it was a long, slow downhill with the slippery rocks. I stayed in the middle of the pack, and it rained on and off most of the day. There were some pretty cool sections of trail along the way, with the lush green forests glistening in the mist. We passed over the smaller peak of Mount Mayo and then continued to descend. Shortly before the next lodge, there was a cool marshy area, laden with fog. It looked like the perfect place to see a moose, but despite close inspection, I couldn't see any.

When we finally arrived at the next lodge, we didn't actually eat lunch on the premises as planned, since it seemed to be overrun with some 40 or 50 Canadians, all part of the same trip. This really irked me, since groups of more than 10 are frowned upon, but 50??? Come on. It totally ruins the feeling of being out in the wilderness. Thankfully, they weren't going our way, and after we finished our lunch just down the trail from the lodge, we continued. We decided we'd go past the Twin Brooks Campsite, where I'd stayed on my first trip to Mansfield this summer. (This was my third time here in three months--the second time was with Travis.) Past Twin Brooks and up near the Forehead of Mansfield was the Butler Lodge. Getting there would give us a shorter day tomorrow, and we wouldn't have to bother with setting up tents.

Sean and I went ahead at this point, but we all reassembled again at a brook near Twin Brooks Campsite to fill up and have a snack. As we were thinking about getting going again, a group of Canadians appeared down the trail. I immediately threw on my pack to hit the trail--I wanted to stay ahead of them and get to the lodge first to make sure we got spots to sleep. As I was deciding whether or not it was a good idea to head off alone, Graham looked at me and said, "Go, ranger!" and without a word I took off.

I pushed myself really hard, to make sure to stay ahead of the Canadians and just because I wanted to see what I had in me. I was getting really close to the Forehead and hadn't found the lodge yet and was starting to worry that I'd missed it. The sky was clearing, and at some point the sun actually peeked through, which really raised my spirits. At the last possible moment before the Forehead, I found the trail to Butler Lodge, and hustled down to it. It was completely empty, not a soul was around. I hung out some of my clothes and enjoyed the improving weather. It was around 5 o'clock or so.

The others finally arrived quite a while later--maybe an hour. We were all excited to have the lodge all to ourselves. It was really nice inside, and we claimed our bunks. I prepared the beans and rice I'd brought for dinner and we had a delicious meal which everyone seemed to like. Eventually, two other hikers arrived and introduced themselves as Wild Bill and Mike. We were hanging out, playing a little cribbage and just chillin', when the caretaker arrived. Her name was Susan and she was a friendly and talkative person. We chatted with her, Bill, and Mike before we all eventually called it a night.

I slept well, and got up when my watch alarm went off at 6:20. This was the time that Somu had asked me to set it for--he had a lot of travelling ahead of him and wanted to get a real early start. We were pretty slow in the morning, and didn't get going as fast as hoped, but still got a fairly early start. We said goodbye to the others and headed up the Forehead Trail.

It was just a steep as I remembered from when Sunshine and I came down it after dark, and even more treacherous--probably because I could see! We worked hard getting up some tough spots early on, often taking our packs off. Once past those, though, it was just steady climbing the rest of the way without any hard spots. We ate some blueberries along the way, and some of the thick fog that surrounded us parted to afford us with some nice views here and there. After a while, we reached the top of the Forehead. Graham had hoped we'd have some time to check out some of the side trails along the ridge ahead, but with Somu having to leave earlier than we realized, we decided to scrap that idea as a group. However, since I was hiking so much faster than the others, I decided to go ahead and loop back, without my pack, along the Canyon Trail and the Canyon North Trail. Sean and Somu thought about coming with me, but decided to pass in the end.

I zoomed ahead across the mostly flat ridge and dropped my pack at the beginning of the Canyon North Trail. I headed quickly down the trail in the opposite direction of the Long Trail that I'd just come down. It was a neat trail, but nothing too exciting. It was really exposed, and probably would've been much, much better had the fog been blocking all views. I continued along at a quick pace, and reached one spot where I had to squeeze through a narrow crack in the rocks forming the side of the mountain. It was pretty cool, but it didn't get much more interesting than that before I got to the end of Canyon North and I was a bit disappointed. At the junction for the Canyon Trail, I picked up an old, broken piece of a trail sign as a souvenir. I debated briefly whether or not to bother going down the Canyon Trail, but in the end I went. It turned out to be the right choice.

This trail was much like the Canyon North Trail I'd just come down, until I finally arrived at the "canyons" that the trail was certainly named after. They were big angled cracks, sometimes going deep into the mountain, which the trail passed right through. I was excited to check them out. It was a very, very tight squeeze through some places--no way a full pack could make it without disassembling it. At one point I stepped up out of a crack and looked around for where to go next, but it seemed like a dead end. I looked back at the last trail blaze behind me, then bent down and looked under a small overhang that I'd just stepped up onto--the trail squeezed underneath it! A rush of excitement went through me as I went back down and started to crawl through it. I rubbed the damp rocks and was getting pretty wet, but there was no way around it. Halfway through this little cave, I noticed a crack that proceeded straight down below me. It was no telling how deep it went--I could see about 15 feet but after that it was too dark. It looked pretty scary and I was careful not to slip and fall into it.

As I passed it, though, I noticed that there were old red paint marks going down into it ... could this be the way that the trail once went? Wow! There was no way I was going down that way. I continued forward past it, hoping maybe to see where it came out on the other side and check it out from the other direction. Sure enough, after I shimmied down a slippery slab of rock to a ladder which took me another ten feet down, I saw marks indicating that the trail split. I turned back in the direction that I'd come from, except now I was about twenty feet lower and walking into a very dark cave-like crack.

A little ways in I got to the spot I'd been looking down from before. I saw the red marks on the rock and decided to try to climb up. I was extremely careful, as a slip here could mean trouble. It was a little tricky, but I made it up, giddy as a child with the playground that I'd found. I retraced my steps from my first time through, to the ladder again and down. This time I turned the other way at the junction and continued on the trail as it entered a much larger crack. Water was dripping from far above as I walked under a huge rock overhang. It was a surreal experience--something from an Indiana Jones-type adventure movie. I explored around in this area a bit more before it finally ended and I was back and "normal" terrain. I hustled along the trail back up to the ridge again.

Once on the ridge I wasted no time retracing my steps to where I'd left my backpack. When I got to it, there a few stones placed around it by the others to indicate that they'd reached this point. (I'd suggested that they do that.) I put on the pack and continued hurriedly on down the trail--I didn't want to hold them up. Along the way I passed a woman who looked to be in her 70's. She was very friendly and I chatted with her for a couple of minutes. I thought it was great that she still hiked at her age. Not too much further, at the base of the very last short climb up to the summit, I caught up with the others. We took out or food, dropped our packs, and headed up. At the top, the cloud seemed to open up for us and we got some nice views of the valley below as we ate our lunch. Several others, mostly tourists, were on top as well. Three peregrine falcons flew overhead--apparently an uncommon view so high up.

After eating, we turned around to head for the Sunset Ridge Trail which would take us down to Underhill State Park. Sean and I decided to go ahead and call Mike (Fragano) to have home come early to pick us up, since we were finishing up sooner than planned and Somu needed to get going. It clouded up again and so we missed out on what surely would have been great views along the open, rocky ridge. It was a fun, but tricky climb down on the sometimes slippery open rock, and seemed to go on forever. Finally we reached the park at the bottom, but we were told by the camp worker that there was no phone except in town down the road a ways. I expressed disappointment at having to hike even farther, and a nearby camper offered to give us a ride, so we took it, leaving our packs at the trailhead.

He was a total throwback from the 60s, with long hair and the "freedom" attitude, colorful mushroom stickers and other psychedelic paraphernalia lying around. But he was a nice guy, and dropped us off some five or more miles down the road--it would've been a long walk. Sean and I called Mike and waited for a while on the lawn of the Underhill Town Hall. We were worried he might not find us as we were kind of on a side road, but eventually he did. We went back up to the trailhead where the others had arrived and were waiting, and headed on out.

Despite the poor weather we had much of the time, this was one of my favorite trips of the summer. It was the longest trip I've ever done and though it wasn't always easy, it was fairly leisurely. (Though I'm not sure the others would all agree.) Thanks for organizing this, guys!

Colden via the Trap Dike (or, The Craziest Thing I've Ever Done in My Life)
Friday and Saturday, August 6-7, 1999

We headed in from the Adirondak Loj on Friday night, past the Marcy Dam and a little further to a shelter called Avalanche Camp 2, which is right on a major junction. We thought we might have the shelter to ourselves, though later on three Canadians came in and joined us for the evening. The were nice folks, and we didn't mind their company. It was quite wet outside from recent rain, but after cooking ourselves some dinner on the stove we helped build a fire in the fire pit. It was tough keeping it going, and eventually we let it die out before going to bed.

I slept well, and the next morning we were ready and raring to go. To our dismay, chipmunks had chewed their way into our food bag, despite the fact that it was hanging way up in a tree. We'd thought that bears might be a problem, as we'd apparently just missed seeing two of them on the way in. This was actually the very first time I'd ever bear-bagged, despite my many trips in the last couple of years.

The chipmunks didn't get too much of our food, though, and after some oatmeal we hit the trail. We hiked up towards Avalanche Lake, passing through some cool landforms along the way, including some very lush jungle-like rock walls hidden in the thick forest. Avalanche Lake, at the base of Mount Colden, was amazing. I'd never seen it before (that I can remember), and was trying to figure out how I could have missed it after so many hikes in the Adirondacks. It was long and skinny, sandwiched between two mountains, Colden and Algonquin. On either side were tall, majestic cliffs. The lake was so tightly squeezed in that there was barely room for the trail to get around it. In fact, in a couple of spots, there wasn't room and bridges had to be built and bolted to the side of the cliff in order for hikers to make it through without getting wet. The trail followed the Algonquin side; on the other side, a bridge would have to have been 100 feet long to span the water, which came right to the base of the cliff for nearly half the length of the lake.

Kevin and I made our way along the shore, looking across the lake at the challenge that lay before us. In the middle was the Trap Dike--some 50 or more feet wide at the base and narrowing as it receded into the cliff. To the left of it was the most magnificent of the faces--it was at least a couple hundred feet high and very smooth with few inconsistencies. To the right was another face, not as sheer as the other, but much larger as it gradually sloped away from 90 degrees and continued up the entire face of the mountain to the summit. This would be our route up the rest of the mountain once we climbed up and out of the Trap Dike itself. The sun was just peeking up over Mount Colden, and we were hoping it would dry out the few streaks of wetness that we could see running down the slab. There were also colorful orange streaks flashing across it which turned out to be moss and lichen. We hoped to avoid these spots as well, since they would make traction more difficult.

After making these initial observations, we hiked to the end of the lake and then around to the other side, along the base of the first cliff and to the opening of the Trap Dike. We had one backpack between us, which I let Kevin carry since he's the better rock climber and was probably more used to the balance issues involved. In the pack was our only climbing equipment: a pair of rock climbing shoes for me and a 30-foot length of climbing rope. We took one last look up and then headed on into the fissure.

The climbing started out pretty easy--hands weren't really required at all--and gradually got more difficult. We were ascending a series of steps--big chunky squarish rocks--which went right up along the northern wall of the crack. A trickle of water ran along the ground under our feet, headed for the lake. This route up the mountain is not a maintained trail, but a popular way to go for more adventurous hikers such as ourselves. In fact, there were two backpackers who would be coming up behind us soon--we'd bumped into them earlier in the morning and learned that they were coming this way as well. We seemed to be the first ones in the Trap Dike today, though. Not a soul was in front of us to lead the way.

As the fissure narrowed, the climb got steeper and the rocks got bigger. I put on the rock climbing shoes that I'd rented, just as a precaution. Getting up them required a little bit more care and precision, and use of hands was almost a must. Supposedly, this was a Class 3 route, meaning something like "difficult hiking, hands likely to be required." There were a couple of places where it was pretty much rock climbing, and I had to be very careful getting myself past these spots. They were just small sections, though, not much more than 10 feet high at most. I was a little nervous nonetheless, but had no troubles.

Just after these tough spots, we found ourselves very close to the surface of the steeply sloping slab bordering the south side of the Trap Dike. Kevin's climbing book suggested that one get up on the slab "as soon as practical." We assumed this meant that staying inside the Trap Dike itself too long would lead us to some very difficult spots, and we both wanted to avoid that. We saw a place off to our right where we could easily climb up and onto the slab. It was clear that others had gone this way--there were plenty of crampon scrapes up the rocky surface. There was no question in our minds that this must be the way to go.

We hopped up onto the slab--it was steep indeed, although at this particular point there was a small dip and the slope was not quite as sharp, but not much shy of 45 degrees nonetheless. I was a little gun-shy at first, but there were those crampon marks in front of us, clearly indicating that this was the way to go. There was a nice little crack going up the rock a ways, so we followed it as far as we could. The climbing was pretty easy, but the exposure was just incredible, making the situation a bit scarier than if we'd been in an enclosed room, say. If the climbing got much more difficult I was really going to worry.

The crack we were following ended. Looking around, we saw that the slab, though very rough, ripply and grippy on a small scale, had very few inconsistencies on a larger scale. It's uniformity made it pleasing to the eye, but not to the hands and feet. I looked back at the 30 or 40 feet we'd just scrambled up. Beyond our entry point onto the face the slope continued to steepen as it went down, eventually dropping out of sight as it reached vertical. Beyond the cliff was the lake, beautiful but now so far below us. If this turned out to be the wrong route, it would be difficult if not impossible for me to get back down what we'd just come up. Down is always harder than up ... a lot harder.

The slope in front of us steepened again--we'd reached the end of the slight concavity we'd started in. Just as I was thinking that I didn't care to attempt anything more difficult or dangerous than what we'd just done, that's exactly what I was faced with. There were no cracks, no handholds of any kind. Just small ripples in the rock from years of exposure to the elements. We stared at the terrain in front of us, looking for the best possible way up. We spent several minutes examining every detail of the rock, from the deepest of the tiny ripples right in front of us, which would serve as the best footholds, to the properties of the face 20 feet ahead of us, where we might next be able to stop for a rest, to the macroscopic view of the slab as a whole, where we needed to look in order to plan our safest overall route up the mountain. We were patient and careful, and we needed to be.

Up ahead it actually looked as if it were a bit easier, and we thought that if we could just get beyond this one spot, we'd have it made. Finally, our careful assessment of the situation paid off as we spotted a way to skirt around to the left, ascending more gradually than over the bulge right in front of us. As we skittered around this way, we came very near to the edge of the fissure, which now dropped a good distance down to the floor below. We heard the two guys who were behind us with full packs. They caught up and continued in the Trap Dike well past where we climbed out. We chatted to them from up above and they said the going was still pretty easy down there. We began to wonder who might have to backtrack--us or them.

We made it up to the next good stopping point, avoiding a potentially precarious situation. But all was not good. What had looked like easier climbing from below didn't look that way from our new vantage point. We stood on a small crack, looking at a 20 foot traverse up a roughly 60-degree angle to the next feasible resting point. Fear had been slowly creeping into me since we got up on the slab, but by now it was a steady stream. We'd now gone through a one-way door--there was no going back. Kevin and I both agreed that we could probably clamber up this next section with no trouble. The problem was, being wrong in this situation, however small the chances, would have costly consequences. We discussed what to do should we actually start slipping: friction, of course, was the key. If slippage occurred, laying one's body flat out should have been more than enough friction to stop the slide on this rough surface. But all we were able to do was hypothesize. If only we could have known for sure.

Kevin, by now, was wishing he'd had his climbing shoes, too. He was wearing mountaineering shoes, which are a sneaker-like hiking/climbing hybrid, so they weren't all bad. The pack was starting to encumber us more than we liked, too. But we remained calm. Kevin is an experienced rock climber and I know he has a good feel for what he can and cannot do. I trusted his judgment and experience. I knew that what was in front of us, though daunting, was within our capability if we were smart about it. After spending several minutes examining and reexamining our situation, we decided that the best option was to go straight up, one at a time, with the rope as our safety net. Kevin showed me how to securely fasten the rope so that it would not slip under pressure--a crash course in rope-tying if there ever was one. He took off the pack and tied the rope to his waist. The other end was tied to the pack. Kevin had little trouble scurrying up this section of rock, as expected. I figured I wouldn't either, but believe me, I was not looking forward to that first step.

Kevin dragged his pack up, and then tossed the rope back down to me. It seemed to take forever for me to tie it--I wanted it to be perfect so I untied and retied it several times. Finally, it was secure. I took a deep breath and told Kevin I was ready. I looked carefully at exactly where I would place my hands and feet for the first several feet. I noticed where the ripples were deepest and where the potentially slippery pieces of moss were. Then, without building it up too much or concentrating too hard, I went. I just went. Hand over foot, up, up, up. Kevin belayed the rope for me and I watched to make sure that I did not get my legs tangled in it. I reached Kevin in no time, with no problems whatsoever.

Yet again, we surveyed our situation and considered our options. Up and to the left it appeared that the there were more inconsistencies in the slab to make climbing easier. There were even a few trees. Straight ahead it looked to be just like what we'd come up, repeated several times over. To the right a bit it was similar, but with seemingly fewer inconsistencies yet, except for occasional oases of bushes and trees. For our immediate next move, however, there seemed only one choice--straight ahead to a small shelf a short distance up.

This time I went first, I believe, and Kevin followed me up. We'd kept the rope tied between us, if I recall, and this time Kevin left the backpack on. That first climb with the rope had given us a good feel for what we could and couldn't do, which was vital information at this point. I felt a bit more at ease this time, but was far, far, far from comfortable. We both stood at a small shelf, two or three feet high, which began the next segment in front of us. We'd been lucky so far that the cracks we were using to hold onto were never farther apart than our rope was long. This next section, though, did not look good to us for many reasons, and we spent quite a long time deciding if it was the best way to proceed.

Directly to our left, if we were to shimmy along the shelf, were the trees and seemingly more climber-friendly terrain which we'd seen from our previous perch. Getting to that spot was almost easy, there was only one problem. Right in front of us was about a four foot wide trickle of water oozing down the slab. In the shade of the small shelf, there was thick, damp moss. I carefully reached over with my hand and felt around the wetness, trying to convince myself that there was enough traction to safely cross to the dry rock on the other side. Both of us very much wanted to get over there. But this time the risk was just way too high. One slip and not only would we be sliding, but we'd be sliding on wet rock. We couldn't take the risk, and in the end, decided to push straight ahead.

Kevin went first again. There next place to stop at had nothing good to stand on, but there was another shelf with a piece of rock jutting out that one could easily grab onto. Kevin even hoped that it would suffice as a tool to belay me with. He planned out his first few steps, then hopped up the shelf and made his way toward the next shelf. As he went, I crouched low and grabbed onto the small crack under my feet with both hands as hard as I could. If Kevin lost traction, I had to make sure I could hold on and stop him from sliding. Thankfully, it didn't come to that. Kevin reached the shelf and grabbed the rock that was sticking out. Unfortunately, it would not work as a belaying device, the crack wasn't deep enough. It was now my turn.

I tried to find something--anything--that I could really grab onto to help pull myself up the shelf. There was nothing. I had to settle for a little bowl-shaped ripple that was maybe an inch deep, if that. I knew I could make it up the slope, it was this shelf at the beginning that worried me. I knew that I'd be hoisting my center of gravity up three feet to clear it, and if I didn't build up just the right amount of momentum, I wouldn't quite break that invisible plane of balance and I'd begin to tip backwards. Just standing there, I was totally fine. It was a beautiful day, the views above and below us were breathtaking, and I was feeling physically strong and able. It was the simple fact that I couldn't stay in this very spot forever that troubled me. I had to move, eventually.

So I did. I hopped up the shelf, and there was a brief moment of uncertainty in which I felt as if fate was deciding what to do with me. Before I had a chance to plead my case, I was up and I never looked back. I scrambled quickly but carefully up to Kevin and held on to the rock. We were one step further.

From there, we eased our way along the shelf, remaining tied together, as it angled up the slope. There wasn't much on the shelf to hold onto, but at the very bottom of it, down by our feet, there was actually a space between the shelf and the main slab, much like the toe space underneath the front of one's kitchen cabinets. We hunched over, stuck our hands into this space, and grabbed the underside of the shelf. Our hands were literally just a few inches a way from our feet as we crept our way up. I remember being pretty uncomfortable in this spot--it wasn't long, but it was damp and a bit mossy under my feet, and crossing hand over hand was a bit awkward. But soon the shelf ended and we stopped in another spot to examine our options.

What we saw ahead was not to our liking. It was no steeper than anything we'd already come up, but there was nothing to grab onto and no good place to stop for at least fifty feet straight ahead. Up and to the right a bit, there was a small crack and a couple of bushes which were only about 30 or 40 feet away. Having to traverse to the left or right on the open, seamless rock was something we hadn't yet tried, though, and we expected it to be more difficult than climbing straight up. Our biggest concern, however, was that whatever we did next, the rope wouldn't be long enough. Until now, one of us had always been stationary, holding onto something, while the other was moving. It looked like at this point we would no longer have that luxury.

We decided to go up and over to the bushes. They would be a safe place to stop, and despite being at an angle from our current position, they were the closest thing. We had little choice but to leave ourselves tied together and climb at the same time. Neither one of us would be belaying the other. We discussed what to do if either of us started slipping: hit the deck and try to slow them down with friction. Better yet was my idea: don't slip. This was it. This was for all the marbles: do or die, or so it seemed. Funny thing is, I don't remember being too scared, or at least not as scared as I think I should have been. I think by now I knew that I could do this, and it was just a matter of getting it over with. I told Kevin I was ready.

He began up the slope and slowed down a little about 15 or 20 feet up, to give me a chance to start moving. I did, and did nothing but focus completely on the details of the rock in front of me. I made sure to step right in the middle of any tiny depressions I could find, and I avoided every little piece of moss like the plague. I almost forgot that I needed to pay attention to the rope as well. I noticed that the extra slack was bouncing around my leg and I had to be careful that it didn't trip me up. It was another complication that I didn't need, but I managed to keep it safely away from me. Kevin had continued scrambling over to the right and reached the bushes. I didn't like the thought of turning sharply to the right, so I continued upward, angling myself only slightly to the right. I eventually reached the crack, a little ways above Kevin. I had wanted so badly to get to the next spot that I moved fast--I had almost caught up to Kevin along the way. I just wanted to keep my momentum, stay in stride.

We both breathed a huge sigh of relief. We'd just successfully completed the riskiest segment on the slab that we'd faced so far, and not far in front of us were several clusters of trees and bushes for us to grab onto. I believe it was at this point of the climb at which Kevin turned to me and said something to the effect of, "This is not something I'd ever do again, not without equipment. I can't believe you're doing this." I couldn't believe it either. In fact, I had been in disbelief since about the time that we first got the rope out. But denying that this was happening really wasn't an option for me. My response was blunt but couldn't have been more accurate: "Right now I don't have a choice." I think I even laughed when I said it. Fear had never been so close to me, but panic was never so far away.

Now, what happened next was a bit out of character for me. We made our way up the rest of the small crack to the first patch of trees. Normally, I'd have been careful not to stomp on plants or damage tree branches as I walked through them. Not now. I clawed and grabbed, stomped, pushed and shoved my way on through--whatever needed to be done to avoid going back out onto the rock. We hopped from patch to patch, crossing only small sections of rock in between. Here and there were slightly longer rocky traverses, but the steepness was starting to decrease (yes, back down to 45 degrees) and it was nothing like what we'd been up earlier. We moved quickly, and I led the way for a while through the trees, though eventually we switched places. We stopped often to rest, as all of this quick scrambling was major work on one's calves. I must say, though, that I found myself wishing Kevin wasn't stopping so often--I just wanted to get the heck out of there! But while he was hiking just on two feet at this point, I was still scrambling on all fours, which took a lot of stress off of my calves.

Finally, we stopped needing the patches of trees and were just huffing it straight up the face. We saw the guys with full packs quite a ways ahead of us and decided to catch up to them. I felt completely full of energy now that the stress of the difficult climbing below was behind us, and we zipped right on up and past the others. We stopped to chat briefly, and they said that the way they came posed no problems for them, even with their full packs. By now we'd figured out that the Kevin's guidebook was a bit ambiguous: "as soon as practical" meant "as soon as the slope of the face is not too steep," not "as soon as it's possible to get up on the face." If only we'd known, I suppose this diary entry would have been a whole lot less interesting.

The final climb, though difficult in its own right, was a piece of cake. It went straight up to the summit, and as soon as we reached the top of the face we plopped down in that very spot and stared back at what we'd just done. We munched on some food and I kept trying to flip that switch in my brain to indicate to myself that yes, this really did just happen. The other two guys joined us shortly and we chatted with them for a while in between taking in the surrounding views on this gorgeous day. The folks that shared our shelter also arrived shortly thereafter and joined us.

We walked around on top for a bit, lay on the ground for a little rest, and got annoyed as the chipmunks got into our food again. Before long, we headed on down, this time via a plain old boring hiking trail. [Kevin breathes a sigh of relief] [BJ shows how glad he is to be back on solid ground] Back at the shelter we had some food, napped, and tried to scare the chipmunks away, but they only tried to eat the rocks we tossed at them. Finally we headed back out to the car.

Since this trip I've been trying to think of something--anything--that I've done in my life that was scarier.
If I ever come up with anything I'll let you know.

[Almost two months later, I found a different description of the route up the Trap Dike. This one probably would've been a lot more useful to us.]

Willey, Field, Tom, and Carrigain
Monday - Wednesday, August 2-4, 1999

Wachipauka Pond
Saturday, July 24, 1999

Mountain Biking at Bolton Valley
Saturday, July 10, 1999

Mansfield
Monday, July 5, 1999

We started from the Stowe side on the Long Trail. It's a pretty short, fairly easy climb up from there, and took us a mere 90 minutes to get to the top. The trail was a bit wet, but otherwise the hiking was good on the way up. It wasn't a perfect day, but we did get nice views from the top. To make it worth my while, we decided to check out a trail that I'd wanted to do the last time I was here but couldn't because we had a dog with us. So we headed towards the Cliff Trail, one of many fun little side trails that run parallel to the ridge.

It was quite steep, and even though the rocks seemed bone dry, they were very slippery in many places. Trav, who only had sneakers, had to be extremely careful. The trail went down towards the gondola before levelling out. It passed one neat little boulder cave that we took a moment to check out. In just the 10 feet of distance between the outside of the cave and just inside it, the temperature seemed to drop about 20 degrees! At the junction to the gondola, there was a sign indicating that the trail we were about to continue along was extremely difficult--this got us both very excited to continue!

We climbed along more slippery rocks and soon entered a huge crack in the side of the mountain. The trail ran through it, and was indeed very difficult, but it was most excellent! We emerged on the other side of the crack and continued along the slippery trail for quite some time. It became very annoying after a while! Finally, we started going back up, and the trail became more fun again. There was a really cool mini-cave which we had to remove our packs just to squeeze through! And then there were a couple of ladders and some cables to help us past another treacherously steep spot. It was fun, but by the time we finally got back up on the ridge, we realized that we'd never have time to get Travis back to the Burlington ferry dock in time for the last crossing. So, we didn't worry too much about it and hiked back across the ridge to the summit again, taking in the wonderful views once again as well as taking a short side trip on the Subway trail to check out the boulder caves. From the summit we headed back on down the way we came. We stopped at the Taft Lodge so Trav could take a quick look at it. (Or maybe that was on the way up?) [BJ takes in the view from Taft Lodge.] At one point on the way down, Trav slipped and my water bottle came flying out of his hand and started sliding down the steep terrain into the woods. It soon stopped, though, and I ventured down to pick it up while Trav brushed himself off.

We got back down and drove into town to call home and tell Mom and Dad that Trav would be coming in on the Grande Isle ferry instead, but they'd already left so we just left a message with Kevin. Then we headed down the road to take a quick dip in a river before I gave Trav a ride back up to the ferry. Although it was a bit hurried, it was a fun trip, all in all. Travis said that for a follow-up hike, he plans to make it to the summit of the highest point in Florida, provided he can figure out where that is.

Rock Climbing in Willsboro
Saturday, July 3, 1999

Throughout the rest of the day, Kevin showed us some different strategies and we took turns climbing up the same route on the cliff. It was a beginner's difficulty, but plenty hard enough for Travis and I! Kevin, on the other hand, just zipped right on up it. Scary to think he could probably climb that easily even without ropes! I learned a lot and was really enjoying myself, gaining confidence every moment. There were one time when I was losing strength, my hands were slipping, and I was sure I was going to fall. To my amazement, though, my one last burst of effort got me to a new hand hold and I kept going! I only went up twice, and though I didn't make it all the way up on the first try, I did on the second, kissing the carabiner at the top before Kevin lowered me back down. Travis also took two tries, and though he didn't quite make the top either time, he was just as happy as I was to have gotten the chance to go. We all had fun, and even took a quick dip in the lake. Although I wasn't too enthusiastic about it after my first time rock climbing with Andy back in 1997, this time I'm totally pumped up about doing it again. I can't wait!

The Presidential Range (A Baker's Dozen: Part 2)
Saturday, June 26, 1999

... continued from the previous day.

We got up at 5am, all wishing there was more time to sleep but not complaining since we knew there was not a moment of daylight to waste. Kevin, Matt, John, Lucy and I, running on 4 or 5 hours of sleep and a ton of Adrenalin, made the short drive from the Dolly Copp Campground to the base of the Pine Link Trail at the north end of the Presidential Range. We hoisted our minimalist day packs onto our backs and prepared to embark upon one of the longest days of hiking any of us had ever experienced. We hit the trail just before six o'clock.

The ascent up towards the northernmost of the mountains in the Presidential Range, Mount Madison, began gradually. We passed two tenters early, but saw not another soul until we reached this first peak. Along the way there were some beautiful stretches of trail through varying types of forest--as always, the pines are my favorite. We hit one big rock outcropping along the way where we quickly cooled down in the breeze while taking in views of the summit in the distance. Kevin and Matt zipped on down the trail in front of Jon and I, making us look like the "old" folks that we are! I guess Jon and I did have the excuse of having done a very long hike the day before with little rest in between, but by the time the day was over I was more than willing to admit that Kevin and Matt are much beastlier hikers than I. We went up and down across a couple of dips in the terrain, and then the trail steepened as we made the final approach to the summit. We reached the tree line, something we'd stay above for many of the next several hours. The summit seemed close, but each time I thought I was just about to reach it, it turned out to be just a bit farther away, hidden by a closer pile of rocks. Finally, though, after hiking up, over, or around some pretty nice boulder fields, we summited. It was 8:15.

At the peak we met a bunch of folks, many of whom were making the short trip up from the Madison Hut, which lies just a few tenths of a mile away between the peaks of Madison and Adams. There was one group of five guys that we met, however, which we were surprised to find were also making the same trip that we were! In fact, this was their third time doing the entire range in one day. Later I would begin to wonder about their sanity as I questioned my own for having attempted this feat even once. We took in the great views on this mostly sunny, mostly clear day, before continuing on. We knew we didn't have much time to waste.

We made a stop at the Madison Hut (which is hardly a hut), and filled up our water bottles inside. There were tons of hikers hanging around the hut. There was one very large group of young women who apparently came together. We talked to some of them briefly, but I can't remember what organization they were a part of. Though I've been by Madison Hut twice before, this was the first time I've ever been inside. Each of the previous two visits came during the winter when it was closed. [Adams trip '99] [Madison trip '98]

We moved on towards the next summit, Mount Adams. We skirted around on the trail that goes up on the southeast side. This is one of the trails I tried taking up on my failed attempt to climb Adams this past winter, and the difference between the terrain now and then was almost unbelievable. The slope that it climbed seemed so much steeper now, and there were quite a few trees which must've been completely buried by the snow last time, because I'm certain that they weren't there! I don't think we made the smartest choice of trails to take, because it seemed to skirt on past the summit and then turn back. Eventually it got there, though, and we bumped into many more folks, including the five guys from Madison. We'd see them a lot as the day went on. The time now was 9:30.

The rocky terrain in the Presidentials can be quite difficult, or at least annoying, to navigate. I say this because each time I'm hiking in this area, the mountains seem to me to be nothing more than huge piles of large rocks of all shapes. The rocks are usually big enough that trail crews can't easily move them around to help make it easier to move across them. You find yourself "rock-hopping" much of the way, balancing on rocks which rest at all different angles, avoiding the spaces between them that are just waiting to twist an ankle. One good thing about them is that they are very rough--getting traction on the rocks is very easy. Not only are they rough, however, they are also sharp on a small scale. I found myself using my hands quite often to help keep my balance, and it started to scratch me up pretty good. So, why so much detail about the rocks? For those of us wearing boots, handling these conditions was no big deal. But Lucy, as you might have guessed, was not wearing boots.

We noticed at some point on the way up Adams that Lucy's feet had begun to bleed. Upon closer inspection, it seemed that the rough, sharp rocks had worn down her nails much farther than normal. Apparently, there's a vein that runs quite far into one of the nails from its base, and it was this vein which was the source of the bleeding. Lucy seemed to be in no pain, but we still had a long, long way to go and I was quite seriously worried that this problem was going to jeopardize the success of our trip. As we began down Adams, the bleeding was getting worse, and we decided something had to be done. So we got out some medical tape, and John and Kevin did a little work on Lucy's feet in hopes that it would help protect her from injury and prevent further bleeding. After the medics finished up, we continued on.

We'd stopped long enough so that our "competition" (the five other guys going the distance) got ahead of us. But we quickly caught up and they let us pass. They were steady hikers, but a good 10-15 years older than us and we really didn't want to be shown up by them. They're presence helped motivate us to keep up a quick pace. Of course, we didn't actually make them out to be bad guys--we actually spent a good deal of time chatting with them along the way and sharing stories. At some point, we learned of and eventually met two other people who were also going the whole way. Actually, we'd met them, a man and a woman, the night before when we were spotting John's car at the southern end of our route. They had started much earlier than we did, but were having a pretty slow go of it. We all wondered silently whether they could make it the whole way at this pace.

Lucy's bandage seemed to be doing the trick, which made me feel much better. Having to bail out of this trip at this point would be a major disappointment. The trail between Adams and the next peak, Mount Jefferson, seemed pretty tame to me. Perhaps it's because I just don't remember it very well. About all I remember is that I was beginning to lag behind the others. Despite all of the hiking I'd been doing this summer to keep in shape, I was falling behind. Nothing to worry about, though. I was perhaps holding them up a bit, but not much. To look at it another way, I just got shorter rests when I caught up. We arrived at the summit, which I recognized from my previous trip here with Kevin, at about 10:50. It was so much nicer to be at the summit when not surrounded by fog, as I was the last time. We made a short stay of it, took some pictures at the giant cairn which rests near the peak, and continued on.

At this point, the next peak in the range was Mount Clay. Clay is too close to Jefferson to count as an official, separate, 4,000-foot peak among the 48 in New Hampshire. We began to discuss whether or not we should bother to go over it. We bounced back and forth, trying to figure out what the goals of this trip were. Were we doing it because we wanted to fill in all of the official high peaks that we could? Or was it because we wanted to do the entire Presidential Range from start to finish? Were we forgetting the basic reason that got us here in the first place: our love for the outdoors? Finally, we decided that we started at the very beginning of the range, and that we were probably never going to do this again, so we might as well do it right. We headed for the summit of Clay.

Kevin and I had already done Clay, and so the climb was familiar to us. It wasn't very long, either, and we soon reached the peak, snapped a picture, and moved on. It was 11:50. We found it hard to believe that after six hours of hiking it was still morning.

It was back near the summit of Madison that we got our first views of Mount Washington. Though the clouds were well above us so far, it seemed that the views from Washington might be a little different. It was obscured by a big cloud which seemed to be stuck right on top. As we began descending Clay, we kept a close eye on Washington and its various features. We could hear the distant sound of hotrod engines roaring--there was a Road Rally up the mountain this weekend. Upon closer inspection one could see the cars--tiny specks--inching their way up the windy road. Heading off in the other direction down the mountain was the cog railway, its locomotive slowly chugging up the mountain puffing out huge, disgusting clouds of black smoke. A sad sight to the outdoorsman and environmentalist alike. (We were later told that it takes one full ton of coal to get the train up and down the mountain just one time. I can't confirm that this is true, but the thought makes me shudder.) And of course, we couldn't help but stare at that big white cloud that seemed stuck on top.

We soon reached the low point between the two mountains and began to ascend again. As the trail neared the railway, there was what appeared to be chunks of coal all over the place along the ground. I don't quite understand how they got there--do they form from all of the black smoke somehow? Did they spill some of it? If so, how did it manage to get several hundred feet away from the railway itself? Eventually I gave up trying to figure it out. The trail soon crossed the tracks and we began climbing the final stretch to the summit. I again lagged behind, but only by a couple of minutes. The ascent didn't last too long, and only the final few hundred feet found me getting really exhausted. The cloudiness was beginning to break and I was optimistic that we'd have some views. I wound my way through the tourists, avoiding other people's photographs, and touched the summit marker. I met the others and indeed the cloud had moved on, leaving us excellent views of the surrounding White Mountains. We took a walk inside the visitor center to break for lunch.

I don't, of course, need to mention that having crowds of noisy tourists around is not one of my favorite things to see at the top of a mountain. But I wasn't quite as perturbed as the last time that I was here in the summer, when I refused to even go near any of the man-made structures. I guess when John and I were here in the winter, it was pretty nice to have the cement wall shielding us from the high winds and that softened me up a bit. We went downstairs to the hiker's hangout area and got out our lunch. John snuck in the back way with Lucy, who technically wasn't supposed to be there although no one seemed to care. We took a nice long rest--about 45 minutes--and ate heartily of the food we'd brought along. Some of us even napped a bit in the comfortable chairs that were in the room. (Though I can't think of any chair that wouldn't have been comfortable at this point.) We were all quite exhausted. We'd arrived here at the summit at around one o'clock. Not too far behind us was the other group of five guys, and they joined us for lunch and some conversation. I don't think there's any doubt that at this point in the trip, all of us were ready to crash. Then we realized that we were (gulp) only halfway there. We headed back outside at about 1:45, wandered around just a bit to take in some more views, get a picture, and check out the structures at the top, and then continued on.

It wasn't long at all before we reached the Lakes of the Clouds Hut, which lies at the low point between Washington and Mount Monroe, the next peak in the range. The Lakes of the Clouds are the two highest lakes in the White Mountains. They aren't very big, but are a sight to see in such an unlikely location. We stopped at the hut (which--like Madison before it, I think is more accurately described as a lodge) and got water. Before we returned to the trail, our friends caught up with us yet again. [As you head up Washington from the hut, you see this sign.]

Lucy's feet seemed to be doing pretty well. They still bled now and again, but she still hadn't shown any indication of discomfort and seemed to be in good shape. After Washington, the rocks seemed to become much more forgiving on the feet--not so sharp, and not so randomly shaped and oriented. As we worked our way up Monroe, I though about how glad I was that it did not become a problem for us.

From Washington, of course, Monroe seemed like a little hill. From the Lakes of the Clouds Hut, on the other hand, it looked like more work. It actually wasn't so bad at all, as I recall, and we reached the summit in good time. The sky was still mostly clear with only scattered clouds, and the views went out for miles in all directions. It was now 2:45.

We made our way along the ridge, heading next for Mount Franklin. Franklin is another one like Clay--it's too close to another mountain to count as an official 4,000-footer itself. It was around this time--as we approached Franklin--that the hiking began to get a bit tedious. I suppose it was mostly mental--I kept seeing little humps sticking up that I thought must be Franklin, but as we reached them I was disappointed to realize that I was wrong. There were many little humps along the way, and it seemed like we just kept going and going without ever getting closer to the next summit. We passed over Franklin eventually, of course, though it wasn't a big to-do. I really shouldn't complain too much, because I really was enjoying the fact that the trails were much easier to walk along, and we weren't doing a whole lot of uphill or downhill hiking at this point. The top of Franklin was reached at about 3:25. (And you know, to be perfectly honest, I'm not even sure this was actually Franklin. It might have been some other bump along the way, it was hard to be sure ....)

Shortly after Franklin is Mount Eisenhower. It has a very rounded, but completely exposed, summit. After our arrival at shortly after four o'clock, we rested around the rock pile at the top for a little while and had a snack. Once again, our fellow range-hikers caught up with us. One of them walked over and said "three more!" and Kevin and I immediately whipped our heads around--it had sounded so much like "Premore" that we were both surprised for a moment before we figured out what he'd actually said. I was amazed to find out that the batteries in the camera were just about dead at this point. They ran out fast! But hey, I can't complain--the digital camera is very sweet, and holds 122 pictures. I felt very privileged just to have it with me. So I changed the batteries with some spares I had, and after some doubt that they'd actually work, the camera was once again ready for use. As we left the summit of Eisenhower, we said goodbye to the other group for what would turn out to be the final time. They never caught up to us again.

Along the way down from Eisenhower, we began to encounter something we hadn't seen much of in quite a long time: trees. The trail passed through several patches of them as we worked our way towards Official Peak #7: Mount Clinton/Mount Pierce. Along the way we debated about the name of the mountain, and why it had two names. About all we concluded for certain was that it has nothing to do with Bill Clinton. We also began debating about another mountain: Mount Webster. Webster is the final peak in the range and lies on the edge of the cliffs which border Crawford Notch. Should we bother doing it? At this point it was so easy to say "no." But we were again torn between exhaustion and completeness. We decided to put off the decision until later.

We reached the summit of Clinton/Pierce at around 5:00. To say that I remember much about it would be a lie--things began to get quite blurry through this section of the trip. The terrain remained very consistent--there wasn't much to distinguish different parts of it and make it memorable--and I just wasn't quite as mentally aware as I suppose I am when I haven't been hiking for eleven hours straight. Suffice it to say that, indeed, the views were still superb.

We quickly dove into trees as we went down off of Clinton/Pierce--we were back down into the forest and for the first time in ages, had no views. We made our way along the trail to the Mizpah Springs Hut [sic], which was perhaps a lodge or maybe even a hotel. On the one hand it's really cool to have such nice accommodations way out in the woods, but on the other hand it drags in crowds of people who otherwise wouldn't be there and don't always know how to treat the land, and others, respectfully. I go to the woods to get away from this kind of crowd, I guess. We checked out the hotel, filled up on water, and kept moving.

Our next, and possibly final, summit was that of Mount Jackson. We spent a while hiking through the forest to get there, and in the meantime the others got a little ways ahead of me. As I approached the final few steps up the rock outcropping that formed the summit, I began to get excited inside. I took the final strides past the others to the hole left by the now missing survey marked, tapped it with my hand and let out a howl! It was 6:15. In just over twelve hours, I'd made it to the summit of not one mountain, not even two or three. In fact, it wasn't four, five, or six, either. Nope, not seven. This was our eighth high peak of the day. And that's not counting Clay and Franklin. The most I'd ever done before in one day was five, and that was, um, yesterday. The others didn't seem so excited--I guess because we still had a ways to go before the trip was complete. We also had a decision to make--Webster or not? After considerable debate, the arguably non-unanimous decision was made to go all the way. We started at the beginning, we're going to finish at the end. 'Nuff said.

The trail over to Webster seemed much the same as the trail leading up to Jackson, I must say. Don't necessarily believe me, though, as at the time I was feeling quite a bit like I was losing my grasp on reality. Well, not that exactly. My mind was still there, but it didn't always feel like I was in my body. I suppose that isn't all bad, since my body probably hurt quite a bit. My feet just kept moving, mechanically sometimes, slowly chugging toward their goal.

All of the sudden, without much advanced notice, there was an intersection and a sign indicating that the summit of Webster was just one tenth of a mile away. The others dropped their packs, but I kept mine and we headed over. In just a few moments, the great cliffs of Crawford Notch were before us. It was magnificent--if there had been debate about whether or not we'd made the right decision to hike to Mount Webster, it was completely forgotten now. We sat atop the cliffs on our side of the notch, rested, and just stared at what lay before us. It was seven o'clock, the sun was getting low in the sky, and the scene was blissful.

We rested, absorbing the beauty in front of us, for a while before deciding that we'd better continue on. We were hoping to make it out before dark. Next came the part I'd been dreading: the knee and toe torture. The trail was steep and unforgiving, and I tried my best not to think about it and just wait for it to end. Kevin and Matt scooted off ahead of John and I as we cringed our way along. After a while, we heard some hooting and shrieking off in the distance. I was a bit worried that this was caused by a fall or injury of some kind, but suspected that it was something else. We'd read something about a stream crossing and some falls along the way. I'd guessed that perhaps Kevin and Matt had found the stream and were cooling off in its chilly waters.

My hypothesis was soon proven true, as John and I reached the stream, complete with waterfall and swimming hole. It was perfect, except that it was very, very cold! Kevin and Matt had been swimming around--I only dared to take of my shoes and socks and dip my feet, but boy did it feel good. John did the same, and it was just the kind of refreshment that we needed to break up this brutal trip down to the notch. It was now about 7:45, and we were psyched and ready to finish off the trip.

The rest of the way down wasn't much different--steep and tedious. Knees were aching and toes were getting jammed into the front of boots, but we kept going, and going, and going. I can hardly remember a thing except that I wanted to get out. I've never wanted to see a car so badly in my entire life. The trail started to flatten out and I was getting excited. More light began to shine through the trees and I could hear cars in the distance. Before long, the road appeared before me. It was 8:45. The parking area was just a few tenths of a mile away, it would not be long now. But the final walk down the road seemed to take forever, and was almost worse than the steep descent. I trudged along, cursing the fact that we weren't allowed to park any closer to the trail. Finally, we reached the parking area. My strides got bigger and my whole body relaxed. I turned to Kevin and Matt, then to John, and we all high-fived. We couldn't hide our smiles, knowing what we'd just completed, and you could almost have wrung the emotion out of the air it was so thick. John found his keys and opened the car. It was 9pm. We had conquered the Presidential Range and finally--finally--we could relax.

Notes: Total mileage: 23.6 miles; Total time: 15 hours; Overall rate: 1.6 mph; Total official 4000-foot peaks: 8; Total peaks: 11; Totals for John and BJ for the 36-hour period between 9am Friday and 9pm Saturday: Total mileage: 40.0 miles; Total official 4000-foot peaks: 13; Total peaks: 18-22 (depending on what you want to consider a separate peak)

Carter Ridge (A Baker's Dozen: Part 1)
Friday, June 25, 1999

Passing through a tunnel under Route 16 and then crossing the Ellis River, we began our way along the trail. It was rather steep, and we gained elevation quickly. Lucy had her dogpack on with a two-liter water bottle in each side, but to our surprise had few troubles getting up some very steep places along the way. Several times she leapt up big rocks when we thought she wouldn't be able to do it. There were a couple of nice views across to the Presidential Range along the way. We also passed by some large boulders in the woods, some of them containing huge cracks which could be walked right through. It was like walking down a very damp, slimy, narrow hallway. Most of them were dead ends, but one of them had just enough room to squeeze out the other side, if you could climb up through one tiny space underneath another chunk of rock that was wedged into the crack. After spending a minute or two trying to figure out how I could do it, I did indeed managed to clamber my body through the space. I couldn't avoid getting my clothing quite dirty in the process, however.

We made our way quickly up the first of the the five (yes, five) peaks of Wildcat. At some point, I got sick of sweat dripping on my glasses (I rarely hike with them, but my contacts were in bad shape) and I tied my new bandanna around my head. It was the first time I'd ever used one, and I'm sure glad I did--it worked fantastically. The first peak, called Wildcat E, was also our first 4000-footer of the day. This peak now bears the unique distinction of having been the first 4000-footer that I hiked without even knowing it at the time. We crossed over the summit at about 10:30 or so, without stopping or even realizing that we'd crossed a peak. Because of that, it was also the only (official) 4000-footer over the entire weekend on top of which I didn't take a picture. (It wasn't until Sunday, while sitting at the picnic table at Site 57 in Dolly Copp Campground, that I realized it was one of the 48. Kevin asked, "What's Wildcat E?" as he was perusing Appendix A of my AMC White Mountain Guide, and that's when I figured it out.)

Very shortly after Wildcat E is the top of a lift at the top of the Wildcat Ski Area. It was running, but there were only a few tourists that we could see. We passed a couple of observation decks before reentering the woods. The rest of the way was up and down, up and down, over peaks D, C, B, and finally up to A. I suspect there were even a couple more minor peaks in between those--it was getting awfully repetitive. We passed one group of folks along the way who'd wimped out and taken the lift up and were hiking from there. We reached the wooded summit at 11:40, and there was one good lookout over Carter Notch and some of the mountains to the north and east, but not much more. We knew we had a long day still to go, so we didn't stop for long.

The descent was steep, but very quick. The trail had clearly had extensive work done on it, and so many large rocks had been carefully positioned that it was much like a stairwell a good deal of the way. We reached Carter Lake, at the base of the notch, in good time, and refilled our water bottles from one of the lake's tiny tributaries. Across the lake was a great view of the massive rock wall forming the south side of the notch. We continued a bit further to the junction with the Carter-Moriah Trail, and never did quite get to the AMC's Carter Notch Hut, though we could see it through the trees.

As quickly as we'd descended into the notch, we were on our way back out of it again. The climb was steep and steady, but we kept a good pace and soon the trail levelled out. Somewhere on the way up, John found a red bandanna, which he soon employed much in the same way that I employed mine. The summit of Carter Dome was pretty disappointing. For some reason I thought it was going to afford much better views--in fact, despite its height of over 4800 feet, it was still below tree line and views were scant. Not only that, but the skies were getting a bit clouded up. It had been partly cloudy all day, with possible thunderstorms predicted, but they were getting a little thicker. All we could do was hope the weather would hold out for us.

After a 15-minute rest including a pseudo-lunch of squished roast beef sandwiches, we started on our way again. Not a minute later, we met two AT hikers, who introduced themselves and shook our hands. The first, a gentleman who claimed (possibly seriously, we weren't sure) to dislike all dogs. He told Lucy to stay away, but as she moved closely in a friendly manner he did hold out his hand. He told us his real name, which I don't remember, and then his "trail name," which was Christian. A found this a bit odd, but hey why not. A moment later his hiking partner came out of the woods, trail name Pilgrim. We chatted with them both for a few minutes, and about all I can remember is how little they seemed like hikers. The seemed like they were city slickers, not terribly interested in hiking for the outdoors. They actually complained about how the AT went over so many 4000-foot mountains! I couldn't quite figure out what their motivation was, and was more than happy to get going on down the trail.

We descended a ways, then came to an junction which gave us the choice of avoiding Mount Hight, a high peak but not a "keeper," as we peak-baggers would say. We decided to stay right on the ridge and go over it, which wasn't a bad choice since it actually afforded the best views on the whole ridge. There were nothing but small, stunted trees and so we could see the surrounding mountains in all directions, though the dark skies dampened the scenery.

At this point we were starting to get quite tired, especially John who, unlike myself, hadn't been hiking at all this year. I was mentally counting the miles, and though we'd been on the trail for nearly five hours, we'd only gone seven miles, thanks to all of the mountains along the way. We were about to enter Zeta Pass, and not too excited about the prospect of descending all the way down to yet again climb back up again on the other side.

As it turned out, though, the pass wasn't so deep, and in fact it didn't seem to me that we'd been climbing for very long at all after hitting the bottom of the pass before the sign for the summit of South Carter appeared out of nowhere before me! I was pretty psyched to see it--it's such a rarity to arrive at a peak without realizing you were so close to it, and yet this was essentially the second time today it happened (remember Wildcat E)! The skies were still overcast, however, and the trees thick so views were minimal and we continued on. It was a ways across the ridge to Middle Carter, and by the time we got there I'd already lost my enthusiasm from having snuck up on South Carter so quickly. [BJ at a high point shortly before Middle Carter.] [Washington with a cloud stuck on it as seen from Carter Ridge.] It was around this time, or shortly thereafter, that it did in fact begin to rain. It was only a drizzle, though, and thankfully never turned into anything more than that. Actually, it felt good.

Just a bit further down the path we crossed the summit of Mount Lethe, which, like Middle Carter, ain't a keeper. From there we dropped down again and then back up to our fifth 48er of the day, North Carter. It was again a rather uninteresting summit, mostly wooded and views not enhanced by the darkening sky. We'd hardly caught our breath and we we moving once again.

The trail dropped elevation somewhat rapidly before flattening out on the way towards Imp Mountain. The flat part was actually very soggy, which seemed particularly unusual considering that we were still at a reasonably high elevation (over 3500 feet). There were boards lining the trail much of the way, and John and I began to wonder out loud how they got so many of them in there. We concluded that the must drop them in with a helicopter before laying them out by hand. By this point in time, we'd also begun to discuss the option of hitting Mount Moriah--the only other 48er along the ridge. It would be out of our way--we'd have to backtrack once we peaked it--and it was getting late, considering that we still had to do a lot of preparation for tomorrow's trip. We debated it back and forth as we passed over Imp, then past the Imp Shelter, and finally to the junction with Stony Brook Trail. Along the way we passed through still more very wet, almost boggy areas, though some of them quite lush and beautiful.

At this point, we'd done some calculating: it was about 4:40 now, and would be a 2.8 mile round trip to bag Moriah. We were very tired, and though we could have dropped our packs, it still would have probably added an hour and a half or more to the trip, which probably would put us back at the car at almost 8 o'clock. And then an hour or more to drop the car off for tomorrow, and then make make and eat dinner, and then pack for tomorrow .... We decided to bag it. All along, the only real motivation for doing it was my selfish peak-bagging desires; leaving it would mean I'd probably have to devote an entire day trip just for this one mountain, due to it's lack of proximity to anything else interesting. Oh well. Preparing for tomorrow is far more important.

The hike out on Stony Brook Trail, though it was 3.8 miles, was a breeze. It was very gentle, and the trail was practically rock- and root-free. We zipped on out in good time, crossing one very pretty, mossy brook, two backpackers (our only human contact since Carter Dome), and a beautiful swimming hole in Stony Brook, where we both stopped for a bit to splash some of the cool water on our faces.

After that last stop, it was no time before we were back at John's car, finishing up somewhere around 6pm. John seemed pretty worn out, though we were both in pretty good shape for having just completed a 16.4 mile hike. Lucy seemed just fine, too.

Though our hike was over, our work wasn't done. We spent the next ninety minutes setting up cars for tomorrow, realizing along the way that I'd left tomorrow's lunch in my refrigerator in Wilder, Vermont. So we did a bit of shopping in the town of Glen, too. Finally we got to have some dinner and prepare for the Presi's. After that I tried to sleep as I waited for Kevin and Matt to arrive--I was just starting to get nervous when they showed at about 12:30 or so. Finally, we were all able to get a little bit of sleep.

To be continued ...

North Kinsman, South Kinsman, and Cannon
Friday and Saturday, June 18 and 19, 1999

We saw a few tourists at the very beginning, but no one thereafter for the rest of the night. The trail ascended gradually, right alongside the Cascade Brook the whole time. There were some very breathtaking sections of the brook where the water danced over the oft-mossy rocks in a series of miniature falls. It was particularly spectacular with the fading sunlight just barely squeezing through the trees to highlight portions of it. The trail itself was no walk in the park (except that we were in a state park); it was covered with an unbelievable number of slippery roots, was wet almost everywhere, and contained pretty deep mud pits here and there, as Felipe and I both unwittingly discovered. Soon the trail merged into the Cascade Brook Trail, which continued following the water. At 8:30 or so, we reached the junction with the Kinsman Pond Trail. We decided it was about time we found a place to pitch our tent.

Although there were nice places here and there along the brook, it's against the rules to camp so close to water and to the trail, so we headed off into the very dense, moist woods with our fingers crossed. The ground was very lumpy, and things weren't looking good, but soon we found a spot that would fit my little tent and was mostly flat, so it seemed. We set up camp just as darkness was setting in, and then headed over to the brook to sit on the rocks and cook our dinner. We fired up the stove and had some noodles using Felipe's new cookware, and had some cheese and kielbasa as well. After filling up, we headed back for the tent. It was much darker, and a bit of a challenge finding our way through the woods.

As we settled in for the night, we both noticed that the ground contained some interesting curves and bumps that we hoped wouldn't bother us too much as we tried to sleep. It turns out they were a bit of a nuisance, and each of us woke up many times during the night. In the end, though, we got a pretty good amount of sleep and felt refreshed. We got up around 8am.

After packing everything up we headed over to the junction and started along the Kinsman Pond Trail. It was never steep, but ascended steadily and often coincided with small brooks, making footing precarious as we stepped on many wet and sometimes slimy rocks. The trail didn't appear as if it got much use, which was just fine with me. The vegetation was generally quite dense and incredibly lush, with a thick layer of moss covering nearly all exposed rock at times. It was absolutely gorgeous, I was really loving it. Felipe is still working on getting accustomed to rock-hopping, and it appeared to take more out of him than of me. Nonetheless, we were making pretty good time.

As the trail began to level off a bit, I noticed that it seemed to open up a bit off in front of us. I looked more closely, and lo and behold there was a sizable pond off through the trees! I was excited and amazed--I hadn't read the trail description, and somehow overlooked the tiny spot of blue on the map, so I had no idea it was there. Apparently I didn't pay much attention to the name of the trail we were on either (it was the Kinsman Pond Trail, you'll recall). We were at a pretty high altitude to be seeing a pond (over 3500 feet), which is why I was so fascinated with it. Felipe and I went over and gazed at it for a while, then continued along the trail, which followed its shoreline. We passed a trail worker (whom we assumed was the caretaker of the nearby Kinsman Pond Campsite) who was trimming branches to widen the narrow trail a bit. Just a bit further along, we found the campsite. There was a shelter and at least three tent platforms. We'd considered trying to hike in to the campsite last night, but would have had to do it in the dark with no guarantees of getting a spot. (As it turns out, some folks we spoke to said that it was not full; however, we'd have missed the beauty of hiking along the Kinsman Pond Trail in daylight.)

We checked out the campsite a bit before heading on. The junction with the Kinsman Ridge Trail is just past the campsite, and we turned left to head to the peak of North Kinsman. I suggested leaving our packs behind and picking them up on the way down, but Felipe was feeling gung ho and decided we should keep them on for exercise and practice. I don't think it was too much further up the trail that he began to change his mind. It wasn't terribly steep, but steeper than anything we'd seen so far. I was rather surprised at the number of fallen trees that had been cleared from the path--there must've been some harsh weather here during the winter.

We made it up in good time, and it was probably about 11:15 when we reached the summit. It's not a treeless peak, but there's a nice rock outcropping on the east side which affords magnificent views of the Franconia Range just across the notch. We gawked at it as we joined a rather large group of folks who'd apparently gotten to the top not long before us. We snacked on some trail mix and rested a while before the next segment of our trip.

This time we decided to leave our packs behind, and we made the quick jaunt over to South Kinsman with only water and a camera. There were equally stunning views to the east from that peak, and the top was more open, affording views to the west as well. It was about as clear as it gets save for a bit of haze, and we could see for many miles. We didn't stay long at all on the south peak and soon hopped back over to where we'd left our packs.

I was starting to realize that in order to keep our planned schedule for the day, we were really going to have to pick up the pace. (We wanted to do Cannon Mountain, too, and I also wanted to get home in time for Game Six of the Stanley Cup Finals at 8pm.) We got our stuff together while chatting with a friendly older gentleman at the viewpoint on the North Peak, and soon headed back down the Kinsman Ridge Trail again. Just as we were leaving we passed two women, one of whom Felipe knew to be a Dartmouth grad student. They chatted very briefly and we continued on down. Soon we were back by the campsite, and this time we continued along the Kinsman Ridge Trail heading north.

It was a somewhat quiet trail, and although we passed a few people, I felt a great sense of solitude most of the while. We crossed over a few smaller high points along the ridge know as the Cannonballs. It was a nice trail, but not nearly as attractive as the Kinsman Pond Trail. It seemed to be taking us quite a long time to cross the ridge, and we were constantly going up and down, up and down. Both of us were getting pretty anxious to get to final ascent up Cannon. Finally, we reached a very steep descent which culminated in a junction with the Lonesome Lake Trail. There was a small group of high-school aged hikers there whom we passed. Just a few steps down the trail, we snuck off into the woods a bit and stashed our packs, grabbing only water and the camera to take with us as we hustled up Cannon.

We caught up to the high-schoolers again, as they'd passed us when we were stopped. They graciously let us pass, and I set a pretty fast pace up what turned out to be a very steep, rocky ascent. I really enjoyed the challenge, and Felipe was zipping right up behind me. Soon, though, the trail flattened right out in a way very atypical of most of the high peaks I've climbed in the northeast. We were both glad for it, and were able to pace ourselves as we gradually ascended the last stretch toward the summit.

Cannon is a ski mountain, and has a tramway that runs to the summit. Being such a beautiful day, there were naturally quite a few tourists wandering around the top. It was by no means overcrowded, though, and we made our to the lookout tower that rests at the very peak. Ascending the structure, we were struck with awe at the incredible views--we seemed to be so much closer to the Franconia Range than before. I was truly amazed with the amount of detail that could be seen in the sides of Lafayette, Lincoln, and Little Haystack across the way. We hung out for a short while, but then headed right back down to where we'd left our packs.

Going down the steep grade--I'd estimate that it was near 60 degrees over some stretches--was quite a challenge. But we again made haste and were back to our packs in no time. We tossed them back on and headed to the nearby junction and on down the Lonesome Lake Trail.

It was rather plain along this way, and a bit rocky, but we were making good time on the gradual descent. Soon we could see the lake off through the trees. Our water was just about gone, so we stopped at a small brook to replenish shortly before the lake. As we neared the body of water, we could hear the sound of children yelling in the distance. We went around the south side of the lake to avoid passing the Lonesome Lake Hut, which was no doubt overrun with screaming kids. We stopped along the shore to have some food, since we'd been snacking all day and never really eaten a real meal. After getting some food in us, we continued on down the Lonesome Lake Trail all the way down to the Lafayette Campground. From the lake on down, the trail was a bit steeper and our legs and feet were really starting to get sore. The trail was very well-beaten from the hundreds of families that no doubt had trodden on it on their way in to the hut.

The campground was jam-packed, and we followed the trail right through it to its junction with the Pemigewasset Trail. We turned onto the Pemi and followed it, right along the Pemigewasset River, back south toward the Basin. The trail was almost perfectly flat with very little to hinder our quick pace. We zipped along, stopping only once near the end to dip our feet in the icy cold water. I slipped and fell twice on a deceptively slimy rock, but bruised only my ego. We reached the Basin much faster than I expected, and were back at Felipe's car just before 7pm.

We high-fived after completing what turned out to be a much more grueling trip than we'd expected. Our bodies were complaining, but for all of the wonderful sights that we saw, it was well worth it.

(And we made it back just in time to see one of the most incredible games in Stanley Cup history.)

Mountain Biking in Stowe
Sunday, June 13, 1999

Sol and Chris came over at 8am to meet Jon and I. We put two bikes on top of Jon's car and the other two on a rack on the back, hopped in, and took off for Stowe. We decided to try a loop just southwest of Stowe, near a reservoir and close to the little town of Moscow. Unlike on our previous trip, we found the trailhead immediately. We hopped out, got our gear together, and were ready to hit the trails on this beautifully sunny day.

We rode off on a little dirt double-track around a farmer's field before hitting some single-track through a pine forest. It was beautiful country, and so far things were looking good. The trail was easy-going at first, but we soon hit a couple of dips with challenging climbs up loose, rocky slopes on their far sides. A moment later, the trail joined back up with a dirt road, and we weren't sure where to go. We followed the road a bit, but it soon ended in a parking lot by a marshy river at the east end of the reservoir. We turned back, and found the single track that we'd passed by on the road. It started out a bit technical, with tight squeezes between trees, and lots of roots and little mud holes. But this was not the kind of trail we'd be seeing the rest of the day.

The trail soon opened up, and the land was incredibly hilly. We climbed hard, then flew down a steep descent, then climbed hard and zipped down again. It was mostly hard-packed dirt here, and so high speeds were much safer than on some of the looser rock which we'd see later in the day. The steep climbs were tiring, and we stopped now and again to catch our breath and complain about being out of shape. The trail met up with the dirt road several times, each time only to dive right back into the woods. Finally we reached a utility shed which was marked on Jon's map, and indicated the beginning of the 9-mile loop that we'd planned. We veered off to the right, to follow a jeep road on a slow but steady incline.

We climbed and climbed and climbed, with only an occasional flat spot. It was a good workout, and I was glad that the surrounding trees provided us with shade from the hot sun most of the way. Along the way we saw some moose tracks which followed the road for quite a while, and at one point Jon was briefly chased by an angry falcon which apparently thought he was a threat.

After climbing for quite some time, we began to keep our eyes open for two streams that we would be crossing. They would be an approximate indication of the halfway point of the loop, and, if we were lucky, a good place to take a rest and cool off. We crossed a couple of small bridges over tiny streams, and it looked like we wouldn't get to take a dip. But then we reached yet another bridge, and the stream that it crossed had a couple of slighter bigger pools in it, as well as a nice open rock, shaded by the trees, where we could sit down. So we left our bikes on the side of the road and headed on down to the stream.

We took off some of our sweaty clothes and stepped into the water, which turned out to be icy cold. Chris didn't seem to mind it, but my feet were feeling quite painful just standing in it for thirty seconds. It was never more than two feet deep, but that was enough to dunk our heads and splash water on ourselves to cool down. We took some photos, had a bite to eat, and just relaxed. Chris and I also filled up our bottles with stream water. (I brought my filter which came in handy.) After a nice break, we headed back on our way.

Just a short distance up the road, the trees opened up in front of us and there was a very nice view of a nearby mountain. We stopped for a quick photo before moving on. The trees soon opened up and the vegetation changed quite a bit. The road was much sandier, and there were some open fields along the side. We began to go downhill, finally. After cruising at high speeds for quite a while, we reached the point where our trail diverged from the road. We were a bit confused, since Jon's map indicated that the road ended at this point, when in fact it seemed to continue on in front of us. Fortunately, the bike trail was well-marked and so we turned into the woods again.

No sooner had we turned of the road than we began to drop in elevation fast. The single-track trail contained a fair amount of loose rocks, and had some extremely sharp turns, right in the middle of steep descents, no less. We zipped on down through, and the occasional yelp could be heard as one of us would come close to sliding of the trail around a turn. It was quite a rush, and more than once I was scared out of my wits after briefly losing control while at high speeds. But we all made it OK, and continued, down down down. It was more of the same for quite a while, and man was it a thrill! Finally, we reached a bridge over a small river. We stopped and thought about taking another dip, be we weren't quite ready for that again yet. We checked out a few random trails that headed off of the main one, but all of them fizzled out pretty quick. One of them had a couple of trees lying across it, and we all stopped to watch as Sol made an attempt to bike across them. He was working at it patiently when suddenly he tipped and disappeared into some bushes down a small incline. Only one of his tires could be seen sticking up out of the vegetation--we paused to make sure he was OK and then burst out laughing when we realized he was fine.

From there we did a little more climbing and found our way back out to the utility shed at end of the the loop. We cruised back down through the hilly section that we'd come in on, but none of us were able to make it all the way without putting our feet down. Before we knew it, we got back through that section and were back at the car. It was almost two o'clock, and we decided it was definitely time for a dip if we could find a good spot.

Just down the road we found a small park, and sure enough there was a great little swimming hole. We jumped in and swam around--the water wasn't nearly as cold as in the stream earlier. We relaxed for quite a while before finally hopping out and drying off. We were pretty hungry, and so headed to town to look for a place to eat. We found a place called Charlie B's, and the food was quite good. After eating it was on the road again and back home.

This trip left us raving about the great trails with the exciting descents, and left us feeling like the trip was an unqualified success.

Smarts
Friday and Saturday, June 11-12, 1999

Once we began ascending again, it was a very steady but not-too-steep climb all the way to the summit. We pushed pretty hard, and really tired ourselves out, but didn't kill ourselves. We made it to the top in just under two hours. We got there just before sunset, and found where the DOC tent platform used to be, though it had been dismantled. No one was there, so we put down our packs to claim the area. As we headed over to the fire tower, we spotted several more probably unofficial tent areas off in the woods. There were a few older gentlemen at the base of the tower, though they weren't very talkative and barely even said "hi." We made our way up the tower and into the enclosed room at the top. We snapped some photos of each other and of the sunset while taking in the lush greenness that spanned endlessly around us. Looking straight down below us was also a treat; the tips of every branch on all of the pine trees were sprouting new needles, which were a much brighter green than the older needles from years past. This made for some beautiful patterns in the otherwise uniformly colored forest.

We were hungry, so after a short stay in the tower we began to head back down. We passed another older gent on the stairs, and he appeared as if he might be an AT hiker. We talked with him briefly, and he said that he'd be sleeping up in the tower tonight. That bothered me a bit, since others who wanted to come up during the night to look at stars, or early in the morning to catch sunrise, would find someone sleeping in their way. Oh well.

We headed back to our site and pitched the tent in a good spot. It was getting dark now, and Felipe decided to build a fire in the stone pit that was there for that purpose. He did so as I began heating up water for dinner. The fire came along nicely, and we ate noodles as we stood around it, staying warm. It was the first real campfire I've sat around on a backpacking trip in a long time. As it got darker, we stared up at the stars in the clear night sky. Before long, though, we went to bed, since we had planned a very early exit the next morning.

I was hoping to make it back in time for rollerhockey at 9am, so I set my alarm for 5:45. We got up shortly after it went off, and the sun was already very bright. [the morning view] I cooked some oatmeal and we ate breakfast before packing it up. Each of us wandered over to the privy at some point in the morning as well, and it had some interesting automotive features attached to it: a steering while dangling from a rope, a window crank nailed to the wall, and a seat belt buckle next to the seat. Ah, those wacky Dartmouth students!

We hit the trail at about 6:40, and made fantastic time on the way out. We went down the Ranger Trail, which skips around the little ridge and is a faster way out. The trip was pretty uneventful, except for a baby bird--we believe it was a turkey--which was hiding along the side of the trail at one point. We scared it, and it started making this shrill squeak as it ran away from us. It wasn't too bright, and it kept running ahead of us right along the side of the trail. So we'd catch back up to it and it would start shrieking again and run further. This happened a bunch of times before it finally turned away from the trail and. We continued past, wondering what on Earth was going through the creature's mind.

We reached the car at 8:10, with a short but very fun and relaxing camping trip behind us. It's nice to be able to do little trips like this so close to home.

Mansfield
Saturday and Sunday, June 5-6, 1999

We kept a leisurely pace, and combined with the fact that the Hell Brook Trail is very steep for the most part, it took us quite a while just to get up that first part of the climb. I was very impressed with Celine's ability to get up some very steep sections. Finally, nearly two hours after we started, I began to recognize parts of the trail where Kevin, Ethan and I had briefly ventured when looking for the Lake of the Clouds back in '97. Sure enough, a few minutes later we'd reached the four-way intersection with the Adam's Apple to the left and the Lake of the Clouds to the right. We headed over to the lake along the highly overgrown trail, and squeezed our way through the trees down to the shoreline, where some photos were snapped as the sun was getting low in the sky. We dropped our packs and headed a little bit further up the trail as it passes the lake and goes over a bit of a high point. We found amazing views of the lake from there, and took a couple more photos before turning back.

We grabbed our packs and headed up the Adam's Apple. Along the way, we turned back to look at the lake and took yet a couple more pictures. In a few minutes, we'd ascended the Adam's Apple, and took in some of the gorgeous views, as the shadow of the mountain stretched out in front of us. We still had a long way to go, though, so we moved on towards the Chin, which is the summit. We'd decided that we'd head all the way across the ridge and continue south until we reached the Twin Brook Tent Platforms, since there really wasn't any place flat where we could legally pitch a tent anywhere before that.

We ascended the steep trail to the peak, and though there were a few tricky spots, Celine again did very well. The trail was wide open and the views continued to be wonderful as the sun went down. At the summit, we met a Canadian couple and chatted with them briefly before they headed off down the trail. We had a snack, and another Canadian couple came up the trail. They had apparently been told that they would find good places to pitch a tent up here, which was of course completely wrong. They seemed quite desperate and worried about the possibility of having to hike back down as it got dark. Sunshine and I remembered a perfect little flat spot we'd seen not far from the lake, so we directed them toward that. I got out my pen and marked the spot on my printed map, which was now superfluous because of the map we'd bought, and gave it to them. Sunshine walked to the far west side of the summit, from which you could see the lake, and pointed it out to them. They seemed very relieved to have our help. Granted, it was illegal to camp where we were sending them, but at this point it didn't look like they had a lot of choice. They had no map, and I was wondering what they had for lights. I hope they found the spot OK.

Helping them out cost us quite a bit more time, so as soon as they were on their way we got back on the trail ourselves. We headed straight across the ridge, continuing to admire the views along the way while it was still light out. We passed the summit house, and reached the Nose, which as I recalled, had been closed when Kevin and Ethan and I were here. To my surprise, we got to the branch for the Nose trail and it was still close, blockaded heavily with broken trees, with warning signs about how the FCC deemed it unsafe because of radio equipment that was up there. We decided that it was probably continued exposure to such radio waves that was dangerous, and that a brief trip up was probably just fine. There was no one around since it was already well after 8pm, so we dropped our packs, found a way around the blockade, and hurried on up the Nose. It was only a tenth of a mile or two, and we were there in no time. Just as we reached the peak, some electrical equipment abruptly began making a very loud "SHHH" sound, which made us both jump. We took in the views very briefly, then hustled back down.

Grabbing our packs, we continued past the Nose and on to the Forehead. It was starting to get dark, and as we were getting to the far side of the Forehead, the trail began getting quite steep. Celine began to have to find creative ways through the trees to get around steep rock descents, and a few times we had to help her find such ways. It was showing no signs of getting any easier, and sure enough, we finally reached what seemed to be an impassable spot in the trail. It was a ladder--perhaps ten to fifteen feet high, from one boulder to the next along the side of a very steep incline. Celine started getting close, looking for a way to get down, and ended up getting herself stuck in a little indentation between to boulders. She could've gotten back out, but was too frightened by the steepness right in front of her. Finally, I managed to grab her legs and show her that she could get out and back over by the top of the ladder.

Having done that, we decided that there was only one option left aside from turning around. I went to the bottom of the ladder, emptied my pack, and brought it back up to the top. Once before, apparently, Sunshine had carried Celine up a ladder in a backpack, so this is what we were going to try. It was very dark now, and we had our headlamps on as we backed Celine into the pack. I thought there was no way she'd fit, but amazingly, she squeezed in nicely and only her head, shoulders, and paws were sticking out of the top. We pulled the strings tight to hold her in. To my amazement, she was completely cooperative and didn't complain at all, nor did she even seem uncomfortable. Go Celine! Sunshine put on my pack, with all of Celine's seventy pounds inside, and carefully backed down the ladder. I went first down the ladder, guiding her feet to each rung. It was a slow process, but Celine made it down without any problems. While she was still in the pack, I ran ahead down the trail to see if there were any further obstacles that would require the same trick. I found a couple of tough spots just around the corner, but nothing as bad as what we'd just done.

I ran back to tell Sunshine, and Celine was beginning to get restless, so we let her out of the pack. As Sunshine got her stuff back together, I went ahead with Celine to see about those tricky spots. The first was a four-foot ladder, which she couldn't easily climb, so I lifted her up it. It's not as easy as it sounds, but again she didn't complain and I got her up OK. Immediately after the ladder was very steep drop. She had some trouble, but I helped her down and she made it without much ado. We waited there for Sunshine to catch up, and when she arrived, I headed back to pick up my pack and put everything back in it. I did so, caught back up to Sunshine, and we were on our way again.

That was about the last of the major steepness, and the trail levelled out somewhat. We were still steadily descending, but it was easy going. We kept an eye out for possible places to pitch a tent, just in case the tent platforms were all taken. We passed a few junctions along the way, including the end of the Forehead Bypass Trail, which we decided was definitely the way to go on the way back. Through the trees to to west we could see the bright lights of Burlington and perhaps even Plattsburgh. Finally, at nearly 11 o'clock, we reached the tent site. Two platforms were taken, but that was it. We found an open one, pitched my tent, and started making dinner. We were starved.

Moths continually dove into the noodles we were making, and we continually scooped them out. There was a light breeze that occasionally picked up, blowing out the flame on the stove, but the air temperature was very warm and it was comfortable being outside. We ate heartily, and after cleaning up the stove, we headed right to bed as we were both exhausted. Celine slept outside, and apparently something got her attention during the night, as she began barking at one point. But she soon stopped and we resumed sleeping.

At some point early in the morning, some folks at a neighboring platform got up--it was around 6:30 I believe--and again invoked Celine's loud bark. I opened the tent, called her in, and she slept inside for a couple of hours before we all got up. I'd forgotten to bring oatmeal, so we ate random snacks--cheese and crackers, I think--for our pseudo-breakfast. We were slouches, and didn't get our act together until almost 10:30, at which time we finally got back on the trail. We'd filled up our water bottles at a nearby brook, and were on our way back towards the Forehead. The trail was very unfamiliar, though we'd just hiked on it the night before, due to the fact that it was so dark our last time through. We reached the junction with the trail that bypassed the Forehead, and we took it. It appeared to be a scantly used trail, but very pretty, with views out through the trees to the east. It was not at all dense, with many small pines and taller deciduous trees without any low branches. The trail was worn through the thin layer of sod to the bedrock below, and was almost like a sidewalk in many places.

We took our time, and eventually decided to sit down in the sun and eat, since we hadn't had much at breakfast. We munched on cheese and crackers again, and remarked about how little food we had left. Surprising, since both of us have a history of bringing too much food on our excursions into the woods. I didn't feel much like eating though, and didn't have much. We soon continued up the trail, and as we were nearing the end of the Forehead bypass, we bumped into an older man and woman taking a rest. They were very friendly, and we chatted with them for quite a while before moving on.

Soon we reached the building by the Nose once again, where we sat down and chatted with a guy and a girl who were working there. We asked them about the Cliff Trail, a trail parallel to the Long Trail which ran along the summer. We thought it might be an interesting alternative on the way back, but weren't sure that it was suitable for Celine. They told us that there were ladders, so we decided against it. We headed off, back across the ridge the way we'd come. Before long, we reached the intersection with the Subway, a cool trail that also runs parallel to the Long Trail, but only for a very short distance. I remembered having gone on it last time I was here, and wanted to show Sunshine some cool boulder caves that it ran through. We made our way down, and Celine waited for us as we walked down into the huge crevice between the boulders. It was markedly colder than the warm air above, and we descended a latter to the lowest part. Walking under the ladder, we checked out a little cave-like passage which I'd explored with Kevin last time. It still had snow and ice in it! We checked it out, with headlamps on, and saw a point of light peeking through the very darkest part, just like I remembered. Then we headed out of the crevice on the other side and climbed back up and around to where Celine was anxiously waiting.

We headed back up to the ridge trail after this short diversion, and continued back toward the Chin. Before getting there, though, we reached an intersection with the Profanity Trail, a steep path down the east side of the Chin ending up at the Taft Lodge. The folks back at the summit house had recommended this as a challenging descent that Celine could probably handle. It was challenging, though the vegetation was very sparse and I found the surroundings somehow dreary. I stopped along the way and finished off our food, as I was very hungry. We made it down almost to the Lodge, where we bumped into a talkative caretaker. He chatted with us for a bit and took us to the Lodge. We left Celine outside, as there were a couple of feisty dogs inside. We checked out the bunkhouse, which had a very tiny front door, along with a table and several bunks inside. Nothing too fancy, really. We didn't spend much time there, and headed for the Hell Brook Cutoff which would take us back over to the Hell Brook Trail.

As we made our way along the little-used Hell Brook Cutoff, skirting along the steep face of the Adam's Apple, we passed over, through, and under several interesting arrangements of boulders. The sky was starting to cloud up and a breeze was picking up. It felt like rain. It was an unforgiving trail, with lots of roots, rocks, and zig-zags so that you always had to watch your step. It was rather unglorious, but it felt good to me to be in such a seemingly remote place and rarely traversed place. At one point, the trees opened up and we had a nice view of the notch down below. We stopped for some final pictures before heading on.

We began to hear a rumble in the distance and wondered if it was thunder. Finally, we reached the end of the Cutoff and rejoined the Hell Brook Trail. The rumble was getting louder and along with the darkening sky and the wind getting slightly stronger still, we were pretty sure there was a thunderstorm heading our way. The Hell Brook Trail was quite a bit steeper than I remembered it, and my poor tent, attached to the lower part of my pack, was taking quite a beating as I hopped down one drop after another. The rumble got louder and it was definitely thunder. Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash of lightning with a loud clap just a fraction of a second behind it. We were getting close to the end, but it looked like the rain might beat us.

Sure enough, as the sounds of the cars on the road below were getting louder and louder, it began to rain. It wasn't too heavy at first, and to our surprise, we passed a gentleman in a t-shirt with a day pack who was just heading in. I don't know what he planned to do, but he did mention that he'd probably stop and take shelter under some of the big rock overhangs along the way. Sunshine put on her rain gear, while I had none. I'd heard that the forecast called for rain later in the day, but thought we'd have been out long before then. It was about four o'clock now. At about 4:10, it began to pour, really hard. I got drenched, but continued on and reached the car only ten minutes later. We changed into some dry clothes and hopped in the car.

Excepting the final ten minutes, it was a fantastic trip, full of interesting encounters and a challenge or two to overcome. It took a lot longer than I expected, but we really did take our time and were carrying heavy packs along some pretty tough trails. We figured it was about five or six miles in each direction.

We headed into town and grabbed some burgers at Gracie's, as well as a couple of dog treats for Celine, before getting back on the road for Hanover with another fun trip behind us.

Mountain Biking along the Mad River
Sunday, May 30, 1999

It was pretty frustrating that we never found the route that we were looking for, but we did find some interesting places, got a great workout, and really enjoyed our dip in the Mad River. We expect to make up for this trip with a better one sometime in the near future.

Camel's Hump
Saturday and Sunday, May 29-30, 1999

I slept fairly well, and we got up bright and early, not realizing the time. We thought it was probably 9 when we got up, but it was actually before 7! We packed things up and hit the trail again at 7:30. It was a pretty quick hike out, and we were back at the car shortly after 8. We then hit the road, getting some breakfast and killing some time at a flea market in Waterbury before heading meeting Jon in Waitsfield for a mountain bike ride.

Mountain Biking in Stowe
Sunday, May 9, 1999

After that, we searched out some real paths out in the woods. We had no luck for a while, but finally a guy at a bike shop pointed us toward some cross-country ski trails just off the Mountain Road. We found them easily, and discovered quite a labyrinth of well-marked trails of varying difficulty in the woods, part of which were in the Mount Mansfield State Forest. It was great! We went straight in for quite a ways, mostly uphill and through some fairly difficult spots. Finally, the trail turned and began to head back in the opposite direction. It was nearly all downhill, and we cruised! It was awesome; we stopped for a moment here and there, but it basically felt like a solid 10-15 minute ride downhill ride, with no sharp turns or major obstacles. It wasn't too technical, but the speed was great and man it was fun!

After returning from the trails, we stopped at Gracie's in town for lunch, then made a quick stop at a cider mill to watch them make cider. After that, we headed back home. Jon and I decided that we'd have to head back to Stowe again sometime to check out more of the trails we'd discovered.

Snowboarding at Sunday River
Saturday, May 1, 1999

White Water Rafting on the Hudson (Big Water, Baby!)
Saturday, April 10, 1999

There were twenty-three people (yes, count 'em, twenty-three!) that ventured to North Creek, New York, for this highly-touted "Villani Adventures" event. It was only the second week of the rafting season, and there would be big water on the Hudson in the very near future for all of us! I arrived at the Northwind Lodge on Friday night at about 9pm; several others I knew arrived a little later on. Here's the unofficial roster: me, cousin John, Aunt Loretta, Nancy, Joe, Paul, Dan, Renée, Lisa (with whom John and I hiked Breakneck Ridge last summer), Colin (my roommate for the weekend), Hilary, Ollie, Big Ollie, Gary and a friend, Tom and his son (Eric?), Tim and Danny, and Lou and three of his friends. (Can't say as I really know any of those folks from Gary on through the end of the list ....)

Got up at 7:40 Saturday morning and most of us headed out for breakfast before heading to the Wild Waters outfitters. We ate with great haste at the White Pine Diner, as we were running a bit late. Most of us avoided liquids with our meal after John's warning about how the opportunities to relieve oneself along the way would be few and far between (not to mention a pain in the neck with a wetsuit on). Paul, though, didn't care and in fact took it upon himself to order enough food for a small army. I'm not really sure if he finished it before we bolted.

We finally all made it to Wild Waters, where, before hurriedly getting dressed, we all signed a form saying that if we die it's our own darn fault. With wetsuits on, paddles in hand, and brain buckets distributed to one and all, we boarded two old school buses which would drop us off near our put-in location. Once there, we had a short hike down the road, at which team we were able to make a rough estimate of the outside air temperature, by virtue of the fact that a few flakes of snow were beginning to fall. I ventured a guess that the water temperature wasn't much higher!

Once we got to the rafts, which were waiting not far from the riverbank, we sorted ourselves into three groups and found our respective guides. My raft consisted of me, John, Aunt Loretta, Nancy, Hilary, Lisa, Paul, Joe, and our guide, Darn-I-Can't-Remember-His-Name. I was also given the privilege of being our raft captain, appointed by none other than the Villani Adventures CEO himself, John Villani. Basically, I was in charge of keeping our group organized. So, Darn-I-Can't-Remember-His-Name told us to pick up the raft and we made our way down to the river. We paddled around a bit, practicing the commands and getting told we were too slow to lean in and that we'd surely get thrown overboard. It wasn't long before we were headed out into the current and down the Hudson.

We cruised along, navigating some small rapids at the beginning, and getting used to the feel of sitting in a raft. Most importantly, we were all mentally planning our course of action should we suddenly feel like we were about to go overboard. ("Let's see, I can jam my foot under this tube, there's a rope over there, I can grab the person sitting in front of me ....") Before to long, we were into the thick of it and Darn-I-Can't-Remember-His-Name was calling out the commands fast and furious. The water was definitely high and the power of the river was something to behold. But we held our own, and paddled smoothly through every section of white water that came our way. Aunt Loretta, sitting in front of me, was taking no chances, making sure she had a good grip on the safety rope any time things started to get hairy. But who can blame her--if anyone knew just how cold the water was, it was her, thanks to that little swim she took during last year's excursion!

The white water eased up for a bit, and we made a switch to balance out the paddling strength on each side of the raft. But before long we were back into it, dodging rocks, slipping through rapids and avoiding eddies. In between, Darn-I-Can't-Remember-His-Name taught us how to recognize different features on the river, like dangerous upcoming rapids. Despite enjoying the rapids through this first section, I was starting to really worry--I'd gotten ice cold water in my booties at the very beginning of the trip, and my feet had essentially remained in an icy puddle at the bottom of our raft ever since. They were really, really cold, and it was starting to get quite painful. I constantly moved them around, whenever it was possible, and even lifted them up into the sun the few times that it peeked out during calmer waters. Finally, they warmed back up, but then we hit more rapids and they started to get cold again, fast.

Fortunately, it was just about time to stop for lunch. We pulled the rafts up to shore and hopped out for a bite. I sat down on a log and pulled off my booties, breaking a zipper on one of the pant legs of my wet suit in the process. My feet did warm up, though, despite the cold air outside. We had some soup, sandwiches, and--as always--Little Debbie Snacks, as provided by Wild Waters. Not much time was wasted, though, and before I knew it I had to throw my booties back on as we were getting ready to head back out.

The second part of the trip featured much of the same excitement as the first, with one major exception: The Narrows. The name says it all--the river narrows a little bit, squeezing a very large volume of water through a smaller width of the riverbed. This means that as the water piles on over the rocks, it's pushed high above the normal water level, then comes crashing back down. Put together a series of rapids like this and you've got yourself The Narrows. We were briefed about The Narrows by Darn-I-Can't-Remember-His-Name as we approached it, about how it was really gonna toss us around, how the distance from trough to crest was probably eight feet, and about how we had to keep paddling no matter what. It looked like just one big wave, and before I had a chance to think too much about it we were there. We dropped over an initial rock and then shot up into the air on top of the massive swell. Man, it felt like we were flying for a moment, and I was paddling nothing but air. We came crashing down on the far side, and all of the sudden I lost my breath--in front of me was something that couldn't have be seen from our previous points of view. The second wave, as big or bigger than the first, had been hidden by the first one, and I can't describe it any more accurately than to say that it was simply a wall of water in front of us. Water and sky--for a moment, that's all that could be seen. Without even a chance to ponder our situation, the raft was tossed like a rag doll right up the grey mass of water. We shouted and whooped it up, thrilled when perhaps we should've been scared, as we ascended the monster. It's called white water rafting, but these waves were solid grey. It didn't matter--no splashing whiteness was necessary to make The Narrows a worthwhile ride. The sheer size of the waves, with the current speeding neatly up one side and down the other, precluded the need for the foam. We rolled down the back side of the second swell like a roller coaster ride, and ascended yet a third before we finally had a chance to stop and think.

Wow. That's all any of us could really say--this was big water, indeed. Bigger than any of us had ever rafted on before. We navigated through a few more sets of smaller rapids, but it was all anticlimactic after The Narrows. Hours after we'd set out, we finally reached the end point of our trip. We carried our raft back out of the water, rejoined friends from the other rafts, and hopped back on the buses for the ride back to the outfitters.

Once there, we changed into dry clothes and headed inside the Glen House to warm up in front of the fire, have some drinks, and chat about the amazing trip we'd just taken part in. The Wild Waters crew fixed us a hearty dinner, and after chowing down we all headed back to the Lodge to shower, nap and relax.

After partaking in an fun evening at the Northwind Lodge's bar/restaurant involving friends, games, food, drink, another cozy fireplace and plenty of stories, we all hit the hay for what certainly was some well-deserved rest.

We all got together one last time for breakfast the next morning in the lodge's restaurant, and shared a few more stories before it was time to head our separate ways. It was a fantastic trip, and we all owe our gratitude to John, without whose tremendous effort this incredible trip never could've been pulled off. Thanks, John!

Adams (D'oh!)
Saturday, March 27, 1999

Jon, Heather, Felipe and I headed out from Dartmouth's Billings Lodge, just one half-mile from the trailhead. We took the Air Line, and made quick progress on the neatly worn path through the snow. [Felipe on the path.] The gradient was gradual for a while, but then began to ascend steadily as the trail climbed up onto a ridge. There were two guys with full packs coming up behind us, but otherwise we saw no one for quite a while. Once up on the ridge, the trees gave way to sunlight and we had fantastic views all around. It was a beautiful, clear day, and stayed that way the whole time. We stopped to have a bite to eat and Jon became the first of us to posthole next to a small, buried pine.

Soon we continued along the ridge, and the snow became more and more hard-packed and slippery, having been melted and refrozen by the recent sunny weather. I'd brought two pairs of crampons, thinking we probably wouldn't need them at all, especially after I didn't need them last year when I climbed Madison from this direction. Jon and Felipe took the crampons, and had no trouble moving along. Heather and I were beginning to struggle a bit, but I still had no doubts that we'd make it. [BJ by a cliff along the ridge.] [Felipe in front of the same cliff.]

We got to the end of the ridge where it meets the main part of the mountain, and we could see the summit just a few tenths of a mile off to the southwest. As I stopped to help Jon adjust the crampons he was wearing, one of my water bottles got loose and began to slide down the toward a sharp incline into the valley next to the ridge. I made a quick jump for it and missed, and then concentrated more on stopping myself than worrying about the bottle. I grabbed a rock and caught myself, but I began to realize that the iciness was going to be harder to deal with than I thought. My bottle kept sliding, and as it looked like it was about to go careening off into oblivion, it hit a rock and bounced straight back a few feet before resuming its slide yet again. It went straight back down and hit the same rock, and this time came to a rest against it. A gentleman who was hiking alone, who we'd just passed, walked over to it with his crampons and retrieved it for me. I was quite thankful, and certainly wouldn't have dared to go where he did without having crampons. Of course, Jon or Felipe probably could've gotten it for me.

We were about to continue toward the summit along a trail which skirted the edge of a very steep (like 70 degrees or more) incline. But the gentleman had mentioned that there was another, safer route to the summit around the back side of the mountain, and with my new insight about the iciness, we opted to try that way instead. So, we headed through the col between Adams and Madison, past the Madison Hut. It was very slippery, but not precarious. I walked by slamming my heels into the hard-pack, but that was barely working. I did, of course, take the time to slide on my butt once or twice. [Felipe in front of Mount Quincy Adams, a smaller peak adjoining Mount Adams.] [Heather stays near the small trees for traction; Felipe has no such worries.]

As we were heading around to the "safer" trail, we passed a few other hikers who were preparing to go the same way. They thought we were crazy to go without crampons, and lent Heather and I each a pair of instep crampons. We assembled them and put them on as they headed off toward the summit. We followed behind them a few minutes later. After passing over what looked like a shallow, frozen lake which made us feel like we were on some strange, desolate alien planet, we began to ascend again and caught up to the others. We walked alongside a large rock formation around which huge snow drifts--probably seven feet high or more, had built up. Between the drifts and the rocks, though, there was a nice little corridor that we walked right through. From there, the trail traversed a seemingly gentle incline. The folks in front of us broke the trail, and we followed in their footsteps, keeping our distance. At one point, we heard one of them say something like "I can't believe they're going this way without ice axes!" I didn't think it was really so bad, and reassured myself that if we did slide off the trail, it was not a terribly steep incline and it flattened out after a couple hundred feet. The climb back up might be tricky, but certainly doable. Wanting to make sure everyone else felt comfortable with what we were doing, I turned to ask. Everyone was OK, so I turned to continue. I took one step and suddenly my foot slipped. I caught myself and immediately sat down to increase friction and prevent more slippage. The icy surface had gotten much harder in that one step, and suddenly I wasn't so comfortable. My heartbeat was picking up quickly as I sat there trying to decide what to do. That incline in front of me looked a little more scary all of the sudden.

After some debate, we decided that it just wasn't worth the risk. I also felt that, since I was sort of the trip leader and since the others had little or no previous winter hiking experience, that I was responsible for their well-being. So, I very cautiously and nervously got myself up and turned around, and we headed back from whence we came. After some debate, we headed back towards the first trail which we'd decided not to take. We found a way to cut across and skip the more precarious section, and decided to give it a whirl. Heather and I were finding out that the instep crampons were almost useless. The tiny spikes barely grabbed, and mine kept sliding around to the sides of my boots anyway. We carefully inched our way across another slightly angled sheet of snow/ice, and began a steep climb. There were several rocks sticking out of the snow, used to mark the sides of the trail, which Heather and I used to climb up. Without them it would've been absolutely impossible, no doubts whatsoever. A bunch of other hikers passed us as we struggled up, and I was embarrassed to have assumed that we wouldn't need crampons. As we neared the top of this steep section, the rocks got fewer and farther between. With a little help from Jon and Felipe, we did make it up, though. In front of us was yet another traverse across a sheet of hard-packed snow and ice [that's the summit in the distance]. This time, the sheet was angled only a couple degrees, but it dumped right into the biggest, nastiest drop-off of all. I was nervous just standing near it, and as I slid my way along it a few feet for a photo, I became very nervous as I realized just how helpless I was without real crampons or an ice axe.

We again decided to turn back, though in hindsight it might not have been a bad idea to let Felipe and Jon go ahead to the summit which was oh so close. Going back down the steep incline was nerve-wracking, and several times I asked Jon to get in front of me in case I slid. Felipe also helped Heather down. It seemed to take forever, but we finally got down to the big flat, slightly angled sheet that we'd shimmied across earlier. It angled at probably 5 degrees or less, and eventually flattened out into a field of pygmy pines peeking through the snow. It looked very inviting for someone like myself to do a little glissading. So, I announced that I was going to attempt to run across the ice sheet as far as I could, and when I finally lost traction, I'd hit the deck and slide down to the trees. Jon walked out in front of me with his camera ready. I took off on what was to be one of my most memorable hiking moments of all time.

I managed to get maybe 20 feet at most across the huge ice sheet before gravity started pulling me downhill. So I complacently hit the deck and then flipped over to slide on my stomach. I avoided a few small rocks and trees that poked out just as I was starting, and then it was nothing but pure white acceleration in front of me. I flipped onto my back and began to pick up speed fast. Too fast. Not three seconds had passed before I began to realize just how seriously I had underestimated the coefficient of friction on this surface. Not another second had passed and I saw that I was headed for something other than small treetops. Apparently, I hadn't looked too carefully before I took off, because there was a huge boulder off to the left and I was heading straight for it! I guess I thought I'd end up down the middle of the sheet and not so far off to the side. My heart began to pound furiously as I scrambled to dig my pathetic little spikes into the ice. A lot of things went through my head--broken bones, smashed skull, death--but I never panicked as I prepared to deal with the fast-approaching wall of rock. Suddenly I realized that I was beginning to drift to the right; there was slight tilt to the ice and it was moving me back towards where I originally thought I would end up. I continued to careen helplessly down the hill, trying to slow down, but very relieved as I realized my fate would not include that boulder, only trees. As I quickly approached them at, I'd say, somewhere around 25 miles per hour, I angled my body to minimize injury. The trees were good to me, and it was amazing how fast they stopped me. My body spun around as I hit them, but the only pain I felt was a slight aggravation to a previously existing injury in my left shoulder. I stood up, breathed a sigh of relief, and yelled back up the hill, "Don't do it!" with a bit of intended irony in my voice.

After shaking off the event and pondering how careless my actions were, I headed over to inspect the boulder that I so recently seemed doomed to get very personal with. It was actually angled somewhat, so that I probably would have ramped up it rather than splatting against it. However, had I slid right over it, it would've sent me into yet another angled boulder which pointed back up the hill. I'm not sure exactly what would've happened had I met the rock at 20+ miles per hour, but I'm sure glad that I didn't find out.

The other three made their way down to meet me, and Heather and Felipe clearly had shared the fear that I felt. Jon, on the other hand, claimed that was laughing the whole time. You did see that boulder, didn't you Jon? We briefly admired some funky wind-blown snow formations on other nearby rocks, and then headed back past the hut to where we borrowed the instep crampons. We'd left our packs near where the other group had left theirs, and we picked those up as well. Heather and I took off our crampons and put them with the other folks' bags. As were getting ready to go, they were just returning from the summit. We chatted with them, and they commended us for deciding to turn around rather than attempting to be macho.

We headed on down the Valley Way trail, which had some tricky spots near the top. The trail was narrow and ran alongside a short drop-off (20 feet, maybe). The snow, though not as hard-packed as in other places, was very slippery and gave Heather and I some trouble. Once we made it past that, it was easy going the rest of the way. Heather did manage to posthole at one point, just like Jon did, but otherwise the trip out was pretty uneventful. We headed back to Billings Lodge at about 5pm, where we had a nice dinner and hung out with Ron, Susie, Senthil, Clint, and Lea.

Despite not making it to the summit, we all had a great time, enjoying the fabulous views and gorgeous weather, and we all enjoyed the challenges of getting around in the icy conditions. I, for one, realized that my intuition for judging icy surfaces is not quite what I thought. Although it was certainly dangerous at the time, I do think that "the glissading incident" has given me a much better ability to judge such conditions in the future, and I'm glad to have that experience.

Washington (the return)
Saturday, February 27, 1999

We didn't want to take any chances this time. John and I got to bed as early as we could, and rose at 3:00am. We hit the road--no blizzard this time--at 3:45 and got to the Pinkham Notch Visitor Center in exactly two hours. We were on the trail by 6:15, and though the sun wasn't yet up, it was plenty light out with a clear sky and nearly full moon. We lamented not having left even earlier so that we could've enjoyed the moonlit trail under the starry skies. A few hikers had left before us, to our surprise, but we hardly saw a soul as we made haste up the Tuckerman Ravine Trail. As the sun came up it became clear that this day would be bring us far, far better weather than last time. Visibility was near perfect, and we could see most of what lie ahead of us.

Recent warm weather and a lack of snowfall made it much easier hiking through the snow, which was hard-packed. Though the snow provided little in the way of resistance, it was very slippery in places, and as we made our way along the Winter Lion's Head Trail, crampons were essential. This time John had his own new pair, and I was much more skilled with my own pair (borrowed from Katya), and we had no such crampon troubles as we did in January. Before we knew it we were just below tree line, and we decided to stop for a bite and adjust our dress.

While we were eating, a solo hiker caught up to us and introduced himself. His name was Martin, and he joined us for the rest of the trip up. [BJ nearing the top of the Lion's Head, with Martin in the background] Seems he had planned to go ice climbing today, but his partner never showed so he made alternative plans. We chatted with him quite a bit as we continued up over Lion's Head. Winds picked up, but nowhere near what they were last time--perhaps 30-40 steady at most, with gusts of 50 or 60, tops. The weather was unbelievable. Aside from the wind, it was a perfect day. Before we even reached the top of the Lion's Head, we turned and looked back and behold, at the horizon there appeared a thin glimmering strip beyond all of the mountains: the Atlantic Ocean.

We pushed through the wind past the Alpine Garden and began the long trek up the last part of the barren mountain. I was remembering how this stretch seemed to take forever on my first trip up Washington, and knew that we still had quite a long way to go. That's what I'd thought, anyway, until I saw some of the radio towers begin to peak out over the rocks in front of me. I figured that it was just an illusion, though, and although they looked close they must still be far off. I was wrong. Before I knew it, we'd reached the parking lot (closed for the season, of course) and were only a couple of minutes from the peak.

This time there were no tourists to push through, no black smoke from the cog train or exhaust from the cars. We marched over to the summit and Martin took our picture for us. It was only 9:50--I was in a state of disbelief that we were already at the top.

The winds at the summit were much stronger than earlier, and we took cover next to one of the buildings. Martin wanted to get back down so he headed off a few minutes later. But John and I wanted to savor our time up there, since we knew that it wasn't just every day that getting up top was so easy as it seemed today. We had lunch, and to our surprise, someone came out of the building we were next to. We chatted briefly with him, and learned that the peak gust of the day was 92mph. A few moments later, a Snow Cat came out of nowhere and people started hopping out. It was one of the educational trips sponsored by the Mount Washington Observatory. After we finished eating, we left our packs to go for a walk around. The winds were torturous, though--60 or 70mph steady in some places, I'd guess--and we didn't stay out in the open for long. We did manage to snap a few photos, though, and take in some of the views from on top of the observation deck. As we crossed the platform toward the northwest corner of the deck, the winds were nearly killing us and at the very end we dove behind the small wall that surrounded the area. We couldn't have been there 90 seconds before we ran back for shelter.

But despite the heavy winds, we still were able to take in the expansive views, and trekked around some of the other buildings on the peak before heading back down. We wasted no time on the way down, and as we were going back past the Alpine Garden there was a wide patch of unobstructed snow. Without hesitation we both plopped down on our our butts and glissaded down a hundred feet or so. What a rush! When the trail levelled out again, we began to pass several hikers on their way up. Some of them were carrying skis, headed for the Alpine Garden. Others were backpacking, and would be pitching tents somewhere on the Presidential Range tonight--that seems like it would be a great adventure ... perhaps someday. We chatted with a few here and there, and as we continued down over the Lion's Head, there were more and more people. Just above tree line, in fact, we past a line of probably fifty people--students from UNH on an organized outing.

I guess I would've preferred to see fewer people--I like to hike to get away from the crowds--but I can't blame anyone for choosing a day like today to climb the most ornery mountain in the East. As we moved on down through the trees, we often found ourselves sliding on our rear ends, grabbing trees to whip ourselves around turns and occasionally frightening other hikers who thought we were going to bowl them over. But with crampons on, it was a piece of cake to come to a dead stop in a flash. The last stretch out below the trees was uneventful, and we found that we were still in disbelief when we arrived back at the lodge. It wasn't even 2 o'clock and we had bagged Mount Washington, in the winter.

I have to admit that after our first attempt in January fell flat on its face, I really wasn't very psyched about trying again. But I couldn't have been more happy that I did. I thought I had a pretty good understanding of how varied conditions can be up in the mountains from one day to the next, but after this trip, my appreciation for the power of nature has been catapulted to a new level.

Cube
Saturday, January 30, 1999

We met a gentleman at the trailhead as we were getting set to go. He was a big guy, and carrying a huge pack, and he decided to let us go first. He was a friendly gent, and I chatted with him several times as we bumped into each other along the trail. The snow was very light and dry, and really didn't slow us at all. The packed base underneath, though, was somewhat slippery and I soon put on my crampons, which helped out nicely. Claudia put on her snowshoes as well, though Felipe opted to continue without either. We made our way up the zig-zagging trail, and several times it became somewhat tricky to tell exactly which way to go. I could just barely make out the very slight indentation left from those who'd been up the mountain previously, but I was also keeping a very careful eye out for trail markers just to be sure. There were several small stream crossings along the way, and one larger one which appeared somewhat precarious, but the ice across it held our weight just fine. We spent quite a long time in deciduous forest, and could see the top well before we got there thanks to the trees' barren branches. Finally, though, we entered an evergreen zone--always one of my favorite places to be.

The pines hold so much snow on their sturdy branches that they really turn the forest into a white winter wonderland. Several times the trail squeezed along through a narrow corridor bordered by the snow-laden conifers, and we paused a few times to capture the moments on film. We were getting pretty close to the peak, and all was going well. It was quite a workout, and we took plenty of breathers to adjust our clothing and temperature, catch our breath, and get a snack or drink. So far, Matisse seemed to be doing a great job. She had plenty of energy, though occasionally she whined when we stopped, making us wonder if she was cold. Personally, though, I think she was just bored with us slowpokes, and anxious to keep moving!

Finally we hit a trail intersection right near the top, and headed over to the higher of the two peaks. The trees opened up somewhat, but there weren't really any views. The trail seemed to continue along, but didn't appear to be going to anyplace higher in elevation that might afford better views. We trudged around an open area where the trail just seemed to end, disappointed at the lack of scenery. Nothing further was to be found, though, so we turned back and returned to a good place to sit down and eat at the first open area we'd hit. The sun was out and it was a very clear, calm day, though it was crisp and our hands cooled down fast if we left them out too long. After eating (and trying to get Matisse to eat--she kept dropping her treats on the ground, as if she was expecting something tastier ... perhaps she was holding out for some of our food?), I read the description of the views from the trail guide. It said that there was an exceptional view of Moosilauke, which we definitely had not seen. So, I took one more shot at finding the lookout.

I looked carefully as I followed my footsteps down the path, and sure enough, I spotted the turn in the trail which we'd inadvertently walked right past. I ran down it, and it opened right up, with great views to the north and east. I ran back and delivered the good news, and we all went back to check it out. We took several photos, and tried to get Matisse to pose for some as well--an incredibly difficult task. [Moosilauke] [all three of us] [Felipe & I] It was getting late, though--around 3:00--and so we decided we'd better hit the road. Felipe finally put on some crampons, and we really flew down the mountain, with Claudia setting a quick pace. We were out in half the time it took to get in, getting back to the car well before 5 o'clock. Though there were signs of others having been on the trail, we never did see another soul after we parted with the one gentleman less than halfway up. Today we had the mountain all to ourselves!

Washington (Mother Nature 1, pitiful humans 0)
Saturday, January 9, 1999

So finally we were back on our way. What we'd heard was absolutely true: this trail was unbelievably steep, and we were indeed grabbing roots the whole way up. It was really tough going, and even when the trail did level out from time to time, the snow was so deep that each step took a great effort. The trees were getting much smaller and more sparse, and the wind began to blow through them. The guy who went on in front of us helped by breaking trail for a while, but once we reached tree line, it was blowing so hard that his tracks had been completely filled in, and in fact you could hardly even see them any more. We bundled up and struck out into the wintery wasteland.

I need new goggles. It wasn't 10 seconds that we were out of the trees before I had to take them off--I couldn't see anything with them on. I realized later that the main reason for this was that the foam on the top, which was supposed to allow air in but not anything else, was worn out. So the blowing snow (I don't think it was actually snowing much at this point, just blowing off of the surface) was coming right on into my goggles and filling them up. I could barely see the person 5 steps in front of me with them on. I had to flip them up in order to see, but so that my face wouldn't get stung by the whipping wind and pieces of blowing ice and snow, I could only look straight down. So, I still couldn't really see the person in front of me. This was very discomforting to me--it was bad enough to be here in such terrible weather--but being handicapped by not being able to see really was taking the fun out of it. I managed by taking quick glances up now and then at the person in front of me.

The strong winds only got stronger as we progressed towards the top of the Lion's Head. Kevin and Ethan powered their way through the snow, which was almost always at least knee-deep, breaking the trail for us. They did an incredible job of it, and thankfully so--I'm not so sure John and I were in the right shape to have put forth the extra trail-breaking effort. I guess having younger legs doesn't hurt, either! At one point, the snow drifts were so deep that we couldn't walk through them. They were up to our waists, and there was just too much resistance to take steps. I literally flopped on my stomach and wriggled my way through that spot--thank goodness it wasn't too long. Finally, we were just about to the big boulders at the top of the Head.

We stopped along the boulders of them to make a few adjustments and take a short break. Two hikers caught up to us and passed us--it's a peculiar thing to interact with others in these conditions. You can't see any part of their bodies, except through their goggles, and you can barely hear them over the wind, if you can at all. It was like being in a sci-fi movie or something, gesturing to peculiar-looking aliens. We got back up a second later and followed the other two hikers. But before we'd even gotten around the the boulders, they had turned and were heading back, or so it appeared. The wind they were walking through was indescribably horrendous--at first I thought they must be looking for and alternate route on the leeward side of the mountain. Later I was told that one of the guys' goggles blew off his head and into the oblivion, and that's why they went back. Somehow I ended up in front as we were stepping past the last few boulders and into the wide open area of the Lion's Head. What happened next totally blew me away.

Literally. It didn't occur to me just how much windier it could be away from the protection of the rocks. I took about two steps along the trail and the wind began pushing on me, hard. Had I been prepared, I'm sure I could've kept myself stabilized. But I was not, and I began to stumble. I was unable to recover, as the wind remorselessly shoved me over onto the rocky ground. I got up and continued down the trail. This was totally insane ... though at the same time it brought me some mysterious pleasure. Perhaps it was the feeling of experiencing something so new and different--the wind was like a beast I'd never seen before, strong enough to hold me up when I leaned into it. But it was tiring! Perhaps 20 steps down the trail, I decided it was too much and we bailed out behind a cairn. John soon joined me. Wow! I think we were laughing, yet amazed and frightened all at the same time. We couldn't get over it. All of us had taken our turn and braving the open wind, but it wasn't two minutes before we ran back and huddled together behind some rocks. As I joined the group, my right crampon caught my left pant leg and, with the wind at my back, I had no chance: I tumbled to the ground yet again, and heard Kevin laugh--about the only sound I ever heard over the wind on this day.

As we sat there, we tried to take some pictures, which was unbelievably difficult. We looked at each other and all knew that, although none of us wanted to give up, there was no way we were going back into the wind. Shortly, out of the blowing snow, came the guy who had passed us earlier on. I remember noticing an incredibly huge chunk of ice that had built up on his wool hat. He said he'd gone just a bit further up the trail, to the next junction, and the winds only got worse. He was going back. And as we got up and began heading back ourselves, we saw quite a few others who had followed our tracks up. One by one we passed them, and wished them luck. I don't believe any of them made it any further than we did on this day.

The trip down was fairly uneventful. The snow was much easier to walk through now that several others had helped knock it down. We had reached the top of the Lion's Head at about noon, and ate lunch just after descending below tree line again. It was snowing big, heavy, wet flakes, and all of our stuff was getting soaked on the outside. Even our waterproof clothing was getting heavier just from the amount of liquid that stuck to the outer layers of the fabric. We trudged down through the deep snow, sliding here and there as the trail got steeper. The really steep parts turned out to be quite a blast going down--a little bit scary even, at times. I began to slide several times, heading straight for very steep drops (on the trail), with stiff roots sticking out all over the place. I became really worried about getting mangled a couple of times, but managed each time to stick my crampons into something--usually one of the roots--to stop myself. We laughed and enjoyed the slide down, and soon reached the main trail again. We debated heading off to look for the Harvard Hut, but finally decided against it. We were drenched and uncomfortable, and decided just to get back and change into dry clothes. We marched out the rest of the way as the snow turned to rain and the trail became sticky and slushy. The weather today was certainly disappointing.

Finally, we made it out at about 2 o'clock. We got changed and packed our things back up, all of us a bit bummed about how things turned out. Checking on the weather report, we found that the steady winds we'd experienced were in the 70 - 80 mph range. Ouch! We headed up the road and met at a little restaurant where we had some food and talked about the day's events. Though the outing seemed like a failure, we couldn't deny that the conditions we saw were undoubtedly the worst we'd ever experienced. I, personally, was still in awe over the sheer power of the elements we'd seen, and felt that simply having faced them as we did was an accomplishment in itself. I expect, however, that this story's not over yet. I daresay we're going to have to give it another try ....

Snowboarding at Sunday River (part 2)
Friday, January 1, 1999

[Read part 1 first!]

A map of Sunday River.

The six of us--Jon, Claudia, Jim, Dan, Sybille and I--got up and got ourselves moving at 8am or so. We made a huge pile of oatmeal which we promptly left 90% uneaten. Dan used his finely-tuned negotiation skills to finagle some free ski passes from the hotel as compensation for the disappointingly cool temperatures of the hot tub and heated pool. Unfortunately, there was some miscommunication, and the tickets were good for today only. The problem was that we had all already gotten our lift tickets for today. Dan, however, was undaunted by this misfortune, and emerged victorious yet a second time from his encounters with the less-than-accommodating Grand Jordan management. This time he got tickets good for tomorrow.

We got back out on the slopes at around 10am or so, and temperatures remained as they'd been yesterday at about 10 below. I skied the beginner's Lollapalooza slope on the Jordan Bowl for a while, and was doing really well with my turns, hardly falling down at all any more. I worked my way up to the intermediate Excalibur trail, also on the Jordan Bowl. It began to snow, at times very hard, and seeing the white in the air was beautiful. My goggles, however, had gaps in them and were utterly useless. Jim, Dan and Sybille also skied on the Bowl for quite a while, while I believe Jon and Claudia soon headed off for more challenging runs. I was OK boarding without my goggles, though my face did get cold and icy coming down. My new face mask did make a big difference in helping keep me warm, not to mention that snowboarding cold is much easier than snowboarding blind, so I coped. Others weren't so lucky as I, and had goggle troubles which needed to be fixed. Sybille and Claudia both had to take some time out during the day for such improvements.

After building up my confidence for quite a while, I decided to try the other intermediate run on the Jordan Bowl--Rogue Angel. I figured I'd do just fine, considering how well I was doing on Excalibur. I was wrong. I think Rogue Angel must have been mislabelled, because it was the nastiest intermediate run I've ever seen. It was just one huge mogul field, and though I did learn a lot about how to navigate them on a snowboard, I was cursing the mountain the whole way down, fall after fall after fall. It was very humbling, but I did get going through the moguls pretty good a few times, and that was fun. Needless to say, though, this was my last run of the day on Rogue Angel.

Soon after, I headed over to board on the next few mountains. I spent a while by myself, cruising the trails on Aurora and Spruce Peaks before meeting the gang at the North Peak Lodge for a 1 o'clock lunch break. Along the way I chatted with very a friendly snowboarder while riding a lift. He was a younger guy, and we found that we had a shared enthusiasm for all kinds of outdoor winter activities. He also assured me that every beginning snowboarder goes through the pain that I'd been putting myself through recently, which was nice to hear. When I finally did make it to the lodge at 1:00, there was no one to be found for quite some time. I was beginning to think I'd missed them when finally they all showed up. We warmed ourselves up and had a bite to eat before heading back out for the last couple hours of the day. I mostly skied with Jim, and we checked out the intermediate trails on Locke Mountain. They were decent for the most part, but near the bottom there was snow-making on one and the other was quite hard and icy in spots, unfortunately. But we stuck with them for a while, and Jim, who'd been wanting to try out a black diamond trail, finally did so, although it was somewhat inadvertent. He didn't even realize he'd done it until after the fact. It was getting near 4pm, so we decided to see if we could make it back over to the Jordan Grand. Little did we know the adventure we were about to embark upon.

We made our way back over to North Peak Lodge and were going to take a trail called Paradigm to a connecting lift which would bring us right to our hotel. It was about 3:55, and although it had appeared to be open earlier in the day, Paradigm was now closed. We asked a Ski Patroller about getting to our lift, and he said he could take us down a closed beginner trail that would get us there. He thought the lift would still be running when we got there. We got to the beginning of a trail called Sensation, and he lifted the rope for us to go under. He wasn't coming with us, though, which surprised me a bit. So we headed on down this trail, which turned out to be very flat. I don't need to remind you what I think about flat trails. But I'd learned from experience and wasted little time in popping out of my bindings and going down the trail on foot. The wind was also starting to really pick up, and even when there was a slight downhill slope, it pushed against me and slowed me to a halt. We lost a little time, but apparently it was too much. We got to the bottom and our lift was closed. We were so close to our hotel, but yet so far. The other lift at this location--which went to the top of Aurora Peak, was still open. The lift operators sent us up this very long ride and told us to ski back across the mountains away from our hotel and toward the South Ridge Base Area, where we could again catch a shuttle.

Normally I'd have been happy to get one more run in, but the temperature was dropping even further, the wind was continuing to pick up, and the sky was growing dark. There was nary a sole on the slopes any more, save for an occasional Ski Patroller. I couldn't take my thoughts away from the possibility that they'd forget about us and turn off the lift, leaving us stranded in the bitter cold and forced to either choose between freezing to death or jumping off the lift, breaking every bone in our bodies, and then freezing to death. Morbid thoughts, I know, but I've heard it's happened. After what seemed like an eternity on the lift, we finally reached the top, where the wind was really whipping. There was no one there--even the lift operator had gone home. We went over and looked at a map, and I began to shiver for the first time all day. It looked like we could just cruise down part of Northern Lights and then catch Cyclone to take us right to our hotel after all. As we were about to get ready to do that, two Ski Patrol guys hopped off the lift and came over to us. One was the guy who'd gotten us into this mess in the first place; he apologized for being wrong about the lift still being open. We told him our plans, but for some reason he didn't want us to go right down to the Jordan Grand--it sounded like he was concerned about us being in the dark or something. I didn't understand what made his suggestion any better, though. He pointed out that we should start out on Northern Lights, but then pick up Lights Out and continue to cut all the way back across three mountains to catch a shuttle. We figured he knew best, and began our long descent.

It was so cold and windy that I decided to leave my goggles on. Unfortunately, this completely decimated any ability I had to make out the contours of the slope, and I wiped out several times before we'd gone 200 feet. The guy skied down to me and I assured him I'd be alright if I just took off my snowy goggles. So I did, and I again proved that it's much easier to snowboard when you can see. We started down the trail again and soon were out of the wind, much to my relief. I was finally beginning to feel a bit less worried as we cruised on down the gently sloping trail. I was a bit concerned that I really had no idea to get where we were going, and there were several trail intersections along the way which made it very confusing. But we were told to continue straight all of the way, so that's what we tried to do. We did see an occasional member of the Ski Patrol, which was comforting. Some of them pointed us in the right direction, while others looked at us confusedly. But in general, the slopes were completely desolate and it seemed to be taking us forever to get down. I couldn't think of anything except how nice it would be to get to the bottom.

I knew that we had to be the last ones on the mountain when we reached an intersection and a Snow Cat came rumbling out of the trees and headed right towards us. Jim and I scurried over to the side to let the big guy on by, while I wondered what would've happened if I'd fallen and started sliding right down in front of it. It was a somewhat unnerving encounter, and if you thought I wanted to get down before, now I wanted it more than ever. Finally, the trails started opening up really wide and I could see lights down below. Interestingly, I looked back behind me and I could see lights there as well--four Snow Cats all in a line and coming down the slopes behind me. Fortunately they were a ways in the distance, but I was already on edge and it didn't help any. I followed Jim down the final stretch of what was easily my longest run of the day--nearly 30 minutes long, and we were not wasting time. The greyish blurry slope zipped on underneath my board and I nearly wiped out because I couldn't see what the heck I was sliding over. I didn't, though, and had never been so happy to reach the end of a run. It was 4:45 when we finally popped out of our bindings.

The fun wasn't quite over yet for me, however. I'd been so distracted by thoughts of getting lost on the mountain that there was one little thing I'd not even noticed the whole time. As Jim and I stood around waiting for our shuttle, I realized my toes were extremely cold--that is, the ones that I could still actually feel. I went inside to warm up while Jim waited, and with every passing moment I began to worry more about them. I found a fireplace and took off my boots and socks and sat there with my toes in front of the flames for several minutes. The pain was excruciating as I thawed them out, but what worried me more was the possibility that I'd gotten frostbite. Finally, though, I regained feeling in all of them and the pain subsided. And just in time, as I looked out and saw Jim waving me out to our shuttle.

Back at the hotel, we grabbed our suits and went down to find the others in the sauna. It was getting near 5:30 and they were beginning to wonder what had happened to us. But all was well now, and even the hot water problem had been fixed. We all ventured out into the hot tub again, and it felt great. Tonight, though, the wind was really blowing, and it was freezing our hair very, very quickly. Dan and Sybille came up with a great idea to combat the problem, though--they brought out a towel, dunked it in the hot water, and draped it over their heads to shield themselves from the wind. Soon all of us were doing it, and it worked fantastically. Slowly everyone made their way back inside and dried off. Having arrived late, though, I was in no hurry to get out. Claudia also stayed in the water and we relaxed and talked for quite a long time, enjoying the soothing warmth of the water, before finally heading inside to rejoin the group.

Having packed up most of our stuff in the morning, we needed only get our skis and remaining clothes into the vehicles before we headed out. This was no easy job with bitter cold weather, but we managed to get our acts together and finally hit the road. Our goal was to find some food, and we stopped at a little pizza joint a ways down the road. I was utterly exhausted, having picked up some kind of bug in the past couple of days. I didn't feel sick yet, but I'd snowboarded all day with a slight cough and slight sore throat, and knew I'd pay later. The pizza tasted great, and while we ate, Dan, Sybille and Jim were trying to find a place to stay for the night; they'd decided to stick around for one more day and use those free lift tickets. Finally, the two groups parted ways and headed for home. I drove with Claudia again, and this time she really did sleep a little on the way back. It was late when we finally got home--about 11:30--but it was so nice to finally be able to sleep.

What a fantastic trip this was--I had so much fun learning to snowboard and spending time with new friends. I really appreciate the efforts of those who organized the trip, and I sure hope that we can all do something like this again soon!

(And oh, by the way, Petting Zoo was the name of a band.)

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