Kevin, Sean, Joe, Somu and I headed from New Boston to the beginning of the Pumpelly trail and started hiking at about 10:30. I'd misread the guide book and the trail was longer than I thought--4.5 miles each way instead of only 3.0. We hiked along at a decent pace, though we were slowed by the snow and patchy ice on the trail. We used crampons on one very icy stretch, but otherwise just walked carefully in our boots. We met a few others along the way, including a couple of friendly guys who we chatted with for a short while. We reached some great, wide open views long before the summit, thanks to the sparseness of trees on the mountain. We were running out of daylight, so after a lot of debate we decided to stop about 0.7 miles from the top. We had some hot chocolate, which really helped warm us up in the icy cold weather, then headed back down. We navigated down the icy slopes pretty well, and Sean and I had some fun with my ice axe for a while in one section. We got back to the car around 17:00. Despite not reaching the summit, we got some great views and had encountered plenty of challenging winter terrain.

John, Nancy, and Lucy arrived late Friday night, and we got up at the crack of dawn the next morning to head for the wilderness. We started hiking from the Arlington-Stratton Road around 08:00 or so, going about a mile west down the road from where we parked before turning onto the Stratton Pond Trail. It was an excellent day, warm for November, and the hiking was nice and flat. We passed Stratton Pond, cut over to Bourne Pond, then up to the Douglas Shelter, getting there around 15:30. We had it all to ourselves, and found that there was abundant dry wood around, so we made a nice fire and cooked a tasty dinner. John and Nancy went to bed and I stayed up a bit later, enjoying the warmth of the fire and reading the cabin log entries. It seemed that not too many folks ever stayed it this cabin, but those who did made plenty of nice comments about the flowers, hummingbirds, and bees that populate the field out in front of it. There were none this time of year, though. I finally turned in at about 09:00.

I slept pretty well as backpacking sleep goes, and we rose around 07:30. After having some oatmeal, we hit the trail at maybe 08:30 or 08:45, heading briefly north, then catching the LT/AT south. We went past Stratton Pond again, then up Stratton Mountain. It was darn cold at the summit, and Nancy and I went up the fire tower, which had some ice buildup here and there. It was very windy, which was a little disconcerting in the tower. The views were nice, despite it being an overcast day. John never quite made it all the way up, because Lucy really didn't like being alone down at the bottom. We then sat on a makeshift bench made of stones and ate lunch. It was really cold, so we soon were back on the trail heading down the mountain. We reached our cars at about 15:30 or so, and Nancy successfully completed her first mountain wilderness backpacking trip! I think she may have even liked it!

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I decided to head out on my first solo backpacking trip, and at 14:50 I started down the trail from the very lonely Journey's End trailhead. I hadn't intended on getting such a late start, so I moved quickly along the trail. To my dismay, there were clear indications of ATV usage on the trail for the half-mile up to the Journey's End Camp. I peeked into the empty camp, which was cozy indeed, and found a sign indicating that the Shooting Star Shelter, which I figured I'd probably spend the night in, had collapsed. I decided to pick up the pace even more since I'd have to try to make it to the next shelter, which luckily was only a few miles further. I soon reached the northern terminus of the Long Trail and the Canadian Border. I encircled a marking post, presumably crossing briefly into Canada in the process, and took in some of the views of the surrounding area. I didn't want to waste time, though, so I was back on the trail again in no time.

I moved quickly along the trail, and soon reached Carleton Mountain. Shortly afterward, I heard a rustling as I was hiking and found a porcupine hiding behind a tree. I cautiously moved closer to take a peek at him, but only for a moment because I didn't want to scare him. I continued on, practically running on the downhill sections and doing my best to take in the wilderness around me, wishing I didn't have to rush quite so much. Soon I crossed route 105 and made my way to where the Shooting Star Shelter used to be. It was about 17:00, and there were two gentlemen there setting up tents. I chatted with them briefly, and they informed me that the next shelter, called Laura Woodward, had also collapsed. I was a little troubled to hear that, and as I continued along, picking up the pace even more, I considered my options. There are so many shelters on the Long Trail that I had decided not to bring a tent--especially so because it was after the peak season and it was mid-week. I did, however, bring a tarp just in case, and it was looking like I might need it. It was getting darker, mostly because I was in the woods, and before too long I caught up with a slow-moving older gentleman, whose presence caught me by surprise. We chatted a bit and he said it was too dark for him to go on. I offered to hike with him to the former location of the Laura Woodward Shelter, but he declined. He was looking for a place to camp on the side of a mountain, and it seemed pretty hopeless to me. I learned the next morning that he camped in a "wide spot on the trail".

I moved along, and to my dismay it was raining lightly. Luckily it didn't last long, and I soon reached the former shelter location. I found the water source and filled up, deciding that it was too late and I was too tired to continue to Jay Camp, another 3 miles over Jay Peak. I found two small tents set up in a clearing, and in the cover of some nearby pines, I found a perfect spot to set up camp. I tied the middle of one end of my tarp to a very low tree branch, and staked the rest of the corners down. Luckily, the pines had prevented the ground from getting too wet. I put my sleeping pad and bag under the tarp. As I started making dinner, I realized that I'd forgotten eating utensils. Luckily, between my pocket knife and a film canister, I did OK. I also learned that one of my noodle packets was infested with bugs (or had been--luckily they were now all dead). They floated to the surface when I poured the packet into my hot water. I buried the noodles and dead bugs and started over. I didn't rain again and my tarp worked out well. I got a good night's sleep, and though my sleeping bag did get damp, it wasn't too bad.

In the morning I chatted with the two gentlemen camping near me, but soon moved on, hiking at about 07:20. I knew I had a long day and decided to get going as soon as I could. I hiked fast, and going up Jay Peak was pretty exhausting. I was at the summit pretty early, and it was all mine, except for the ski resort summit house, of course. I took in the views and enjoyed the serenity, until it was broken by a couple of ATVs coming up a ski trail below me. I watched them a while, then got on my way. My knees suffered as I hurried downhill. Once at the bottom I stopped at the Atlas Valley Shelter for a snack, then crossed Route 242 and tried to get some water from a spring. However, my filter had stopped function properly, and after fiddling with it for a while, I gave up. A hiker named Stephen came along, but he only had iodine and didn't seem terribly anxious to befriend me. So, I got out my iodine, carefully scooped up some water from the meager source, and started purifying. That's when two others came along--Elaine and Dave, with their dog Gwen--and said hello. They were very friendly, and we chatted a bit before continuing up the trail. They were planning to head to Tillotson Camp, as was I, so we figured we'd meet again. I started hiking quickly and soon they were far behind. I caught up to Stephen before too long--after crossing Gilpin Mountain, I think--and he seemed much friendlier. We chatted a while and soon took a snack break together on Domey's Dome. Afterwards I continued on ahead of him.

I was moving along fast, but getting more and more exhausted with each successive peak, and there were a bunch. I was watching my progress continually with the Long Trail Guide, and wishing I didn't have so far to go. I crossed Buchanan Mountain and then Bruce Peak, and then it was a long way down to the spur trail to Hazen's Notch Camp. I didn't check out the camp--I was trying to save time and energy--but I did stop at the junction of the spur trail for a brief lunch. It was just about 13:00. I continued on, crossing Route 58 before too long, and then began the long, arduous battle up Haystack Mountain. My legs were really failing me, and I stopped very frequently to rest my weary body. I still made decent time up, I think, but I was as exhausted as I've been in a long time. Finally I reached the summit, but it was still a little ways to go before Tillotson Peak. Shortly after Tillotson, as I was stumbling down the trail, I finally crossed an excellent water source, just beyond which was Tillotson Camp.

It was a sight for sore eyes or, more aptly, sore legs. It was about 16:45. I was very happy to see that there was an excellent view right out the front door of the camp, which was at an elevation of 780 meters. I lay down on the rocks out front and tried to nap, but after a while I headed inside instead. My body was weak, and I didn't like it. I was stumbling around, and occassionally shivering quite a lot. I relaxed a while inside, thinking that maybe Elaine and Dave would show up, but they did not. Eventually I went and got some water and made some pasta. After eating, I made some hot chicken noodle soup, and that was probably the best thing I'd tasted in a long time. The warmth really fired me up. I'd drunk the broth from a water bottle, since I had no spoon. I didn't realize how difficult it would be to get all of the noodles out of the bottom, so I left them when I was done. I spent a bit of time reading the book that Dad had loaned me--North Country Tales, Truth, Trivia--before turning out the lights to sleep shortly before 20:00. Just a little while after I'd done so, I heard voices and got up to unlock the door, which was set up in such a way that you could lock people both in and out (though a twig would probably suffice to unlock the door from the opposite side). Sure enough, it was Elaine and Dave. Elaine asked when I arrived, and seemed very impressed at how fast I'd gotten there, calling me her "hiking hero". I didn't quite know what to say. I enjoyed chatting with them both for a while as they had dinner, and I made friends with Gwen, who looked a lot like Lucy. Finally, it was lights out.

I slept pretty well, and got up before the others, quietly making myself some oatmeal and started to get packed up. We chatted a while once they got up, but I still managed to get going at a decent hour, around 08:00. As I hiked along, it was clear that I was in moose country, and I crept as quietly as I could, hoping sincerely to see one. My bad luck with moose sightings continued, though, and there were none around. Nearby I noticed that some kind of small four-wheeled vehicle had thrashed it's way up to the trail, though it only overlapped with it briefly. I was befuddled as to why someone would have come in so far with such a vehicle. In any case, I soon picked up my pace as I had another long day ahead of me. I needed to get to Corliss Camp, about 24 kilometers. It was slightly longer than yesterday, but with considerably less elevation change along the way, thankfully. It turned out to make a huge difference.

There was only one significant climb during the day, and it was right at the beginning. I made my way up Belvidere Mountain in good time. The top had been ravaged by bad weather in recent years, with trees down everywhere. I stumbled across an unusual sight soon after the saddle near the two summits--there was a memorial off to the side of the trail. It was clearly recent, probably this summer, and took the form of a circle of rocks with some artificial roses of various colors, as well as paintings done by children and held down by stones. On a nearby tree was an etched stone plaque commemorating an outdoorsman who apparently passed away recently. It wasn't clear how he'd died, or if it had been at this very spot. In any case, it was an interesting diversion.

After making the long downhill from Belvidere, which was tough on my knees as always (especially on this trip, since my hiking poles were out of commission), I crossed Route 118 where there were several cars parked. As I was cruising along the very pleasant, mostly flat trail, I caught up with an old gentleman who chatted with me for a while. He said that all the cars were presumably from a group of 24 which he saw listed in the trail register. I became worried that I might not have a space in the camp to sleep tonight if I didn't get there fast, so I started hurrying quite a lot. Soon I met two northbound hikers, and found out that the group was just day-hiking, to my relief. I continued on, and stopped to take a snack break at a brook along the way. There I met a gentleman with a dog who I spent quite a long time--30-45 minutes--chatting with. He was hoping to meet up with Elaine, and had lots of interesting stories about riding the rail. He gave me some delicious sesame sticks from his wife's natural foods store. After parting, I made my way through Devil's Gulch, a fun section of the trail that I didn't even know was there. The trail passed through a narrow chasm-like space with rocky cliffs on each side. Huge slabs of rock lay piled all over, and the trail made it's way along underneath one of them. It was damp and mossy, and caution was required for safe traversal. After the gulch I passed the spur trail for Spruce Ledge Camp and continued on slowly uphill toward the summit of Bowen Mountain. All day the winds had been blowing heavily up in the trees. In fact, it had started that way during the previous night. To my surprise, though, no rain had come yet. Finally, it did start drizzling, coming down heaving in spurts from time to time. Inevitably, I got a little wet, but it wasn't too bad. In a controversial move, I'd decided not to bring my rain gear since I always get soaked with sweat anyway when I wear it. However, I wondered if warm sweat was better than cold rain.

I thought I'd reached the summit of Bowen and was making my way toward the next little peak, when suddenly I spotted the South Bowen Mountain summit sign. The summit I'd passed some time earlier was the northern one, and so I wasn't making as great time as I'd thought. However, I was enjoying the solitude and the wide variety of vegetation and terrain that I was passing through. I made my way to the summit of Butternut Mountain, the final ascent of the day, and soon was on my way down toward Corliss Camp. It was still early afternoon, and suspected that I might find the camp empty. Quite the opposite, the first thing I saw was a tent behind the camp, and lots of clothes hanging up on the porch. It was about 15:30. I worried again that there might not be space for me, but inside it was clear that there would be room. I met a bunch of French Canadian guys who had spread their stuff out over the eight bunk spaces. It turns out there were only four of them, and they didn't want to share the narrow two-person bunk spaces (or they didn't realize that they were meant for two people apiece, I'm not sure). I found out that there was a loft, though, and I put my stuff up there once I'd taken a peek at the huge space. After settling in and changing into some dry clothes, I went down and cooked some soup for myself at the picnic table while the others played cribbage next to me. I chatted with them occasionally, but none of them spoke English all that great. It drizzled on and off, and I found that my pack cover worked excellently for keeping me dry. I also met the gentleman that was staying in the tent--he was separate from the rest, but also French Canadian. His English was good, and we spoke for quite a while. I learned that there was an Appalachian Long Distance Hikers Association meeting coming up soon at Dartmouth, which apparently they have every two years there and I didn't even know about it.

Soon they started a fire in the fire pit and I joined them around it. I also toasted some of my kielbasa and munched on that. Elaine, Dave and Gwen finally showed up a few hours after me, and Elaine was a little ticked when the guys were not quick to make space for them in the bunks. They did, though, and one of them ended up moving up to the loft. I spent a lot of the evening reading more of my book, and didn't really chat with Elaine and Dave much, though I would've enjoyed sitting around the fire longer and doing that.

It rained heavily during the night, though I still slept well. The French guys got up early and made lots of noise. I got up and read a while, then came down and said good-bye to them as they headed out. It was still raining, and I took my time making breakfast and getting packed up. I was in no hurry to get soaked. The rain let up a little, though it still dripped from the trees quite heavily. Elaine and Dave got up, and I chatted with them a while as they made a fire in the stove inside the camp. I had lots of extra food, and I gave most of it to them. I filled up my water; I never did get the noodles out of the one bottle, and had since made Kool-Aid in it so that the noodles were floating around blood red! I said good-bye to my trail friends and moved along. I was wearing most of my dry clothes still, since it was my last day. I'd been having skin chafing problems from my pack around my waist, and hoped the dry stuff would help. However, as I made the slow ascent up Laraway Mountain, I quickly overheated and had to dress down. It was a trick to do so without touch the wet, muddy ground, but I succeeded. I summited the peak and began the steep descent. There were some incredible section of trail along the way, particularly a long section that followed under the overhang of a huge rock formation while a stream ran along next to it. It was while following along this beautiful terrain that I caught up to the tenting gentleman from last night, whose name I never got. We hiked slowly downhill together and chatted for a long time. He's a very accomplished backpacker, and I enjoyed hearing about his trips and learning of interesting places to check out. Eventually, though, he let me pass and I got on my way, knowing that I had to move quickly to meet Mom and Dad at Route 15 at 14:00, as planned.

Once the descent of Laraway was complete, it was pretty easy-going most of the rest of the way. I cruised along the lowlands, enjoying the peacefulness of being alone out there, crossing and following occasional backwoods dirt roads. I eventually reached the Roundtop Shelter at about noon, and there was an older man and woman there with their dog. The gentleman spent a while complaining about how difficult it was to navigate the dirt roads in the area, and he had plenty to say about a lot of other things as well. It was difficult to get a word in edgewise, and I didn't enjoy our conversation a whole lot. It wasn't bad, though. I ate lunch at the shelter, which had been recently rebuilt, and before long headed on down the trail yet again. It was the final stretch, and I was still hurrying to make it out on time. Earlier in the day, I'd passed a lookout on Laraway that provided nothing but the view of a uniform mass of white fogginess. To my surprise, as the day had gone on the clouds had broken and it was getting quite sunny. At about 13:45 as I was nearing the end, I was surprised to come across and beautiful outlook of the Lamoille River valley below--I hadn't realized that I was still up high enough for such a sight. The trail passed by a cliff from which I got my last scenic views of the trip. After just a moment, though, I figured I'd better keep moving so I headed down the trail, which got suddenly steep. Not a minute or two later, as I was quickly descending, I heard someone say my name out of nowhere! It was Mom and Dad! I was elated to see that they had hiked in quite a distance hoping to meet me on my way out, and after giving them big hugs I turned around and took them right back up to the scenic view, where we sat on some rocks and spent a while catching up.

Finally we decided we should get going, and we made our way the 20 minutes back to the trailhead on Hogback Road where they'd parked. I'd asked them to meet me at Route 15, not realizing that the trail overlapped with this side road for a while before getting to 15, at which point it then overlapped with 15 for almost a mile. It could've been a nightmare trying to meet up with them, but they'd done an excellent job of scoping out the territory and finding me! Meeting them on the trail brought a jubilant end to my exhausting journey, and we headed off to find a hot meal!

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Although we didn't start hiking until the morning of Sunday, July 1, in many ways this trip had begun well before then. Travis, Kevin and I had decided during the winter or spring that a week-long backpacking trip together was going to be each of our vacations this year. We'd done a lot of planning over e-mail and a little over the phone. I flew to Orlando on Thursday night, and Kevin on Friday. On Saturday morning we made the long drive from Orlando to North Carolina, which was made even longer by a tire gone bad on Trav's Bronco. We'd managed to dodge that bullet, though (just barely), and after driving the final stretch on an extremely windy (curves, not moving air) Route 28 in a rainy torrent, we were at the southern end of The Great Smoky Mountain National Park.

Jon and I started hiking from the trailhead just off the Kancamagus Highway at about 07:15. We high-tailed it on the very flat, easy section of trail that was a former railroad bed, passing a few people along the way. Some of those whom we passed were headed for Owl's Head as well. After about five miles, our pace slowed as the trail left the railroad bed and the footing became rougher. After crossing some rivers and brooks and keeping very careful track of our rough location, we found the cairns marking the beginning of the unofficial herd path up the slide toward the summit.

Hiking up the slide was a lot of fun, and I was happy to see that there were some very nice views of Franconia Ridge behind us and up the valley to the north, though there was still fog in the air. I'd been under the impression that there would be no views whatsoever on this trip, and the surprise was a refreshing one. We passed a tiny spring squeezing out of a crack in the rocks that I'd seen mentioned in the guide book. We also passed a few others on their way down. They must've started incredibly early in the morning! One pair of people were making a horrible racket as they slid down a particularly ugly section of scree. We made a mental note to avoid that section later on in the hike.

It wasn't too long before the trail re-entered the woods, and we kept a sharp eye out to ensure that we didn't lose the unofficial trail. There were a bunch of red flags tied to trees, and at least once we followed a side trail that they seemed to be marking, though we'd have been better off to have ignored them as they were somewhat misleading. After reaching the ridgeline it was a short, easy walk to the northern end and the summit. It was 10:50. Lucky for us, there was in fact a sign marking the summit--apparently Owl's Head signs are a hot commodity and often disappear. We sat on a log, swatted a few bugs, and ate our lunch in the absence of even the most stingy view. A couple we'd passed earlier joined us on the summit and we chatted a while. They took our picture, though it came out pretty blurry. We soon headed back down, taking our time on the precipitous slide. I fell on my butt at least once, and Jon had some close calls himself, hurting his ankles a bit. The sun had come out and the views on the slide were even better than before.

We'd seen a fantastic pool in one of the rivers on the way in, and were considering stopping for a dip. However, in our haste we missed it completely. Ah well, it would've been mighty chilly anyway. We made pretty quick time on the way out as well, though our legs and feet were aching pretty good by the final stretch. We passed an awful lot of tourist-types who were wandering down the path in hopes of viewing a pretty scene of some kind or another. We made it back to Jon's car at about 15:00, a pretty short day for an 18-mile hike. My new boots were now broken in for my big trip next week (though they hardly needed it, they were so flexible and comfortable), and my list of remaining 4,000-footers was reduced to only one item.

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I got up at 05:00 and was on the Hale Brook Trail at 07:25. I went quickly, but not too quickly, right up to the summit of Mount Hale, arriving there at about 08:40. There were few views along the way, though the open top did afford partial views in all directions, if you were able to see over the tops of the surrounding trees. I was alone at the top, and stayed for about 15 minutes to eat and rest. I was also using my pedometer today for the first time on a hike, and was very impressed with it's accuracy. Throughout the day it remained within a few tenths of a mile of the actual distances.

Just before 09:00 I headed out on the Lend-A-Hand Trail, which was very pleasant, I thought. The footing was pretty lousy, and I even fell quite awkwardly once while being careless, but the foliage was very pretty, the sun was shining down nicely, and there were little babbling streams following the trail in several places. I bumped into one couple on this trail, and chatted with them briefly. Until I reached the Zealand Hut, they were the only people I'd seen all day. Just before Zealand Hut I stopped to inspect the interesting mechanical pump that apparently kept the water supply constant inside the hut. There were a few people working at the hut, but I was apparently oblivious to them as I walked past them, not receiving a hello or even a look.

I continued down to the Zealand Trail, and made quick time on my way back to the road. I bumped into several folks on the way out, chatting briefly with a few of them. I reached the road and continued down it for one mile to my car, chatting with one fisherman along the way. I reached my car at 11:15, finishing the 11 kilometer hike in under four hours. It felt great to have done such a hike before noontime even rolled around. I headed straight for home, thinking about #47 and #48.

Ron, Susie, Nakita, Clint, Jon, Chris, Deb and I all made our way up to the Second College Grant for a weekend in the wilderness. Unfortunately, the weather didn't cooperate too well for most of the trip. Most of us arrived around 19:30 Friday night, and we were lucky enough to have a moose stroll up next to us as we were standing by the river in front of our cabin, the Hellgate Hilton. It was coming up for a drink, but unfortunately, Nakita scared it off, and we only got to see it up close for a moment. We hung out around the cabin for the rest of the evening, and Jon and Clint arrived around 01:00, shortly after we'd all gone to bed. They'd forgotten flashlights and had a bit of trouble getting from the parking area to the cabin.

Kev and I started up on the Rocky Branch Trail at around 08:45 and made good time toward our destination. The trail was dryer than I expected for this time of year, for the most part, though there was one section where a small stream as flowing exactly along the trail. We took a break at the shelter at the junction with Isolation Trail, before taking that trail north. There were some river crossings along the way, and the water was high so we had to choose places to cross carefully. No major problems, though. As we continued we began to see snow, and soon there were often large patches of it that we had to walk across. There was quite a bit of blowdown in spots, too. It became a little tricky to follow the trail in a couple of places, and though the snow was crusty, we broke through often enough to make it annoying. It was a half-meter deep in most places, though in many places the ground was already bare. We finally reached the junction with the Davis Path and headed south towards the summit. We were convinced by this time that we were almost certainly the first to hike this trail this year without snowshoes.

The patches of snow became more frequent and a lot deeper on this last section, often over a meter deep. The patches were often like miniature mountain ridges, and in sections of dense forest we had to walk along the thin ridges, being very carefully not to slide off down the side. Occasionally we did. We reached the top, and though it was foggy, it wasn't nearly as cold as we'd expected it to be. We hung out for a while and ate before heading back for the return trip. We took the same route back, though it was quite a bit easier this time. We had a lot of fun chatting and hanging out the whole way, both in and out. The last leg of the trip was tough for me, as I was pretty exhausted. All in all, though, for a 23+ kilometer hike, and my first in a while, and given the trail conditions, it didn't seem as difficult as I would've expected.

Mark, Laura and I met at the parking area for the Windsor Trail at 07:00. We strapped on snowshoes and headed across the crusty snow just a few minutes later. It was somewhat difficult to converse for the first while, as our snowshoes were very loud on the hard surface of the snow. We took breaks often as we headed along the constantly rising trail. We noticed the wet blobs of snow still stuck in the trees from the snowstorm a couple of days earlier. They were melting quickly as the sun beat down on them and constantly threatening to drop down on us from their perches. As the sun came out, the snow got wetter and softer, and sank deeper under our feet. Breaking trail got to be more and more difficult, and we plodded slowly uphill, taking turns in the lead. Before long, the snow was no longer wet but thick and powdery. Despite the difficulty, we were making reasonably good time, and before long we reached a trail junction. We spent some time trying to understand the maze of trails that seemed to be between us and the summit, and never did quite figure it out completely. Neither the Dartmouth Outing Guide nor the the trail signs made it terribly clear.

We decided to head towards a place called Blood Rock, one of the many alternatives which would bring us closer to the top. We reached yet another junction but continued straight toward Blood Rock. Before long we reached a dense pine forest, and momentarily had a bit of trouble finding the trail. We ducked under the beautiful snow-laden branches, which in the summertime would probably have been well over our heads. Soon we reached a short spur to Blood Rock and an excellent view of the valley below. The rock was buried well under the snow, and we sat down on my sleeping pad for a break and a snack. After resting, munching, and chatting for a while, we started to get cold and decided to continue. Just as we got back to the main trail, two other hikers came up the path we'd blazed. They thanked us sincerely for breaking trail all day, and quickly continued on ahead. Two more followed closely behind them, equally thankful, though they were moving more at our pace. We followed them for a little while, and the snowy trees around us were incredible. We passed another junction where the Windsor Trail rejoined our trail, and pushed on. Unfortunately, at this point Laura's leg was really feeling poorly--some kind of a muscular pain that she just couldn't shake. Since we'd had fantastic views already and were thoroughly enjoying the beauty all around us, we saw no reason to continue and so we started back.

When we reached the junction that we'd recently passed, we turned onto it, once again in the pristine, unbroken snow. Mark couldn't hold back the playful spirit within himself and went on galumphing (see Jabberwocky) ahead of us through the perfect snow. I did a bit of galumphing myself, but was a bit too tired to keep up with Mark. We stopped once to watch little balls of snow which we'd unearthed rolling down the side of a slope along which the trail followed. We reached yet another junction, and turned away from what we thought was a spur trail to a log cabin or shelter. Before long we were back on the trail we'd taken up, and we continued quickly on down, Mark galumphing as usual. I made an attempt or three at sledding with a plastic bag I'd brought, but the trail just wasn't steep enough. As we progressed back down towards the base of the mountain, my legs became progressively tired, and my toes quite wet. It seems that the sun had really warmed things up since we'd set out several hours earlier. The snow underfoot was much wetter and the blobs that were previously clinging to tree branches above us had all dive-bombed their way to the ground. In fact, we'd occasionally been hit by one while we were making our way along the trail.

Mark continued prancing on down the mountain, occasionally getting tripped up in the snow and taking fantastic flops into the snow. After some kidding about it, he even flopped intentionally into the malleable white material, leaving detailed impressions of his body, clothes, and even his face! By the time we reached the bottom it was not quite 13:00, and we were surprised at how much softer the snow was. We crossed the final leg of the trail, across the field to the cars, feeling quite exhausted and satisfied.

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This was to be my first winter backpacking trip, and Lucy's too. John has been on a couple before, so with his experience we set out to attempt to reach Mount Isolation, one of the four 4,000-foot peaks in New Hampshire that I have yet to climb. We started on the Davis Path from Route 302 at about 14:15, and the weather was poor. On the drive from Hanover to the trailhead, we saw rain, wet snow, sleet, and the roads were horrible. Just like on every other winter trip we've done. Some kind of semi-frozen pellets were still falling from the sky when we started out on the trail. We crossed a rickety, wobbly old suspension bridge (the Bemis Bridge) at the very beginning of the trail--it took a little convincing to get Lucy across, but she's brave--and passed someone's residence, then we were off into the woods. The trail had been broken since the snowstorm that dropped a half a meter or more of snow earlier in the week, and we were happy about that. It was flat for a short distance, and then the uphill began. It was relentless as we slowly made our way toward Mount Crawford. Lucy had on her fleece vest, since her natural coat is not terribly warm. She also had on booties to prevent snow from getting stuck in her paws, but they were removed 10 minutes into the trip when the first one fell off. She never seemed to have a problem anyway.

It was pretty incredible how consistently the trail climbed, and we rested often to catch our breath, have a drink, and dress down. The weather was still warm--above freezing--and the precipitation was diminishing. We quickly began to have limited views behind us. As we climbed, I found myself humming the tune of a Phish song that I didn't care for much. It was annoying me, so I made a conscious effort to think of a better song. I chose Sample in a Jar, and began repeating my favorite parts of it over and over in my head. Little did I know at the time that I wouldn't be able to get the song out of my head until well after our trip was over. ("I wheeled around because I ... didn't hear what you had said ...") After a while it became evident that there were tracks from just two snowshoers in front of us. The tracks appeared to be a day or two old, and were going the same direction that we were. Eventually, we made it up to open, snow-covered rock, nearing the summit. There were even more views of the surrounding area, though it was still overcast. The tracks we were following began to get a bit confusing in spots, splitting off, backtracking, and rejoining. Because of the lack of trees and cairns, the trail had become difficult to follow and apparently whoever made the tracks in front of us had trouble following it. We lost a bit of time trying to figure out which of their tracks were the correct ones, but not too much. Soon we passed a spur trail to the summit of the mountain, which didn't appear to have any tracks going up it. We continued on past, along the ridge.

With the deep snow making us a meter or so taller now than in the summer, branches were often in our way. The bungee straps on top of my pack occasionally got stuck on branches, and they were difficult to get off. It was pretty annoying. At one point, I became caught and it took me a while--perhaps a minute or more--to get myself unstuck. I was cursing at those cords. To my surprise, John was not behind me to help me get unknotted. I called his name loudly, but there was no response. So, I hurried quickly back down the trail, and found him fiddling with his snowshoe. For a moment I'd been nervous that he didn't respond, but soon realized that with our hats and hoods on, it could be difficult to hear each other even when we weren't far apart. John was pretty unhappy. It seems that he'd fallen into the snow a couple of times, and upon inspecting one of his snowshoes, he found that two rivets had come out. It looked very much like we might have to turn back. However, he got out some duct tape and did what he could to make the repair. Once finished, we decided to continue along, keeping an eye on it, and if it wasn't holding up we'd turn back. ("I saw you dancing with Elihu ...")

The duct tape seemed to be working well, and we progressed along the ridge. The snow was pretty, though the warm weather had melted most of it out of the trees, and they were bare. I was a bit disappointed by this, since I think that the sight of snow-covered trees is one of the most beautiful of all winter scenes. Nonetheless it was quiet, peaceful, and exciting to be there all at the same time. We continued for a while, the tracks in front of us still indicating some difficulty in following the trail. As it was starting to get dark, we decided that we'd continue hiking as long as we felt we had the energy, since we had not been moving terribly quickly in the snow. We were just getting our headlamps ready when out of the silence I heard voices up ahead. I was really surprised! However, as I began to think about it I realized that the tracks we were following weren't a day or two old after all. In fact, as we'd gotten to higher elevations they looked much fresher, though I hadn't thought about it much. The people we were following were right in front of us. We turned on our lights and made our way through a crowded corridor amongst dense trees and blowdown. As we reached the end of it, we saw lights and approached them. ("Up on Leroy's [sic] bed ...")

As surprised as we were to see them, they were even more surprised to see us. We greeted and introduced each other--their names were Philip and Bernard. They explained that they were having trouble finding where the trail went next--the trees had opened up a bit and it seemed to just disappear. We joined them in their search. After a few minutes we were all spread out a bit, searching. I decided to cut through a patch of small pine trees in hopes of intersecting the trail. I forgot the rules about walking too close to small pines sticking up through the snow, and a moment later I was chest-deep in it. It really caught me by surprise, and I couldn't believe how far I'd sunk. Still, I didn't expect to have much trouble getting out. As I tried to move, though, it felt as if one of my snowshoes was stuck under a branch. I began digging snow away in hopes of reaching the snowshoe and freeing it. However, it was very difficult for me to reach down that far from my position, and after digging for a while I had to rest. I pulled and pulled, wiggled and twisted my foot, but it would hardly budge. Lucy, who'd been following me, began to whimper. I'm sure she was cold, and maybe that's why she was crying, but it sure seemed like she was worried about me. I told her it was OK and resumed digging snow. After perhaps close to ten minutes of being stuck, I finally called out to the others, who were still nearby. I think it was Philip who was closest. He started coming over to help, and I was somewhat embarrassed, but just as he arrived I somehow managed to get enough snow dug out to free my snowshoe. I climbed on out on my own, humbled by how easily it seemed that one could become trapped. When all was said and done, I wasn't so sure that it was a branch that had my snowshoe trapped--it may have just been the weight of the snow!

After a bit more searching, we gave up and decided to pitch our tents for the night. John had his old three-season tent, which he assured me would be good enough to keep us warm, along with our sleeping bags of course. The temperature was apparently even a bit higher now, to my surprise--perhaps 5 degrees Celsius--so there were no real worries about staying warm. Being my first winter backpacking experience, the procedure of stomping down the snow before pitching the tent was introduced to me, though I think I could've probably guessed that one. After tromping around for a while to pack it down, we laid down the tarp and set up the tent. Philip and Bernard set theirs up right next to us. They were very friendly guys, and we chatted with them throughout the evening, as we set up our tents, cooked dinner, and prepared for bed. I nodded off fairly easily, and didn't sleep too bad, but had my usual amount of tossing and turning. During the night the wind really picked up and it rained. It was pretty damp inside the tent, and since we didn't guy down the tent, it was blowing around a bit--so much so that once in a while the side wall would smack me in the head. ("I was foggy, rather groggy ...")

Morning rolled around and I was wide awake pretty early, and the first one to get up. There was condensation all over the inside of the tent, and most everything was either wet or damp. It seemed to have also condensed on the tent floor--I wonder if it could've been from our warm bodies heating up and melting the snow underneath us. In any case, the rain had stopped and I headed out and poked around a bit, looking for the trail once again. Despite the daylight, I still was not having any luck. The others were up not too long after me, and suddenly Bernard called out and said he'd found the trail--apparently there was a blown down tree that made it tough to spot. After packing up our moderately damp items and putting on damp clothes, John and I were about ready to go. Bernard had headed down the trail a bit to make sure it was the right way, and on his way back John and I chatted with him for a while and said goodbye. He and Philip had decided that they were going to turn back--their stuff was pretty wet they said. I was a bit disappointed--I think they would've been good company along the way.

So, John and I set off (it was around 07:45), and a moment later we were breaking trail for the first time on the trip. It was nasty. The surface of the snow was quite crusty, but not nearly enough to hold our weight. Underneath it was light enough that we sank down far--easily 30 to 60 centimeters. We were in a very dense section of small pines, and there were downed trees and low branches all over, forcing us to duck and climb in addition to struggling in the deep snow. Each step was a great effort, and after just a few minutes I began to realize that we were not going to get very far. I wondered if it was worth it at all. But without thinking much about it I trudged on. We took turns going first, and Lucy followed behind. I thought she'd have trouble staying on top of the snow, but she was hardly sinking in at all. The overall depth of the snow was surely a meter to a meter and a half, and because we were sinking in so far, we could often hardly lift our feet high enough to clear the surface of the snow for the next step. We weren't stepping in it, we were busting through it. It was utterly exhausting.

We pushed on, and on. Yet we were getting nowhere fast. We were hoping to reach a shelter sometime soon--supposedly an old one had been rebuilt in the area and we weren't sure exactly what it was. At least it would be a milestone for us, some kind of a landmark to indicate that we'd made progress. After finally leaving the dense pines, we were on the side of the ridge, surrounded only by small trees--small enough so that we could easily take in the nice views off to the side. Step ... after step ... after step. We plodded along at a mere 0.5 kilometers per hour. If that wasn't enough, I made a very careless move while attempting to climb over some blowdown and smashed my right knee on the trunk of a downed tree. It could only be a bruise at worst, I told myself, but by gosh it sure seemed to be the most painful bruise I'd ever experienced. I worried that it might really slow me down if the pain got worse, but for now it didn't seem to be affecting me, except mentally. Finally--at around noon, I guess it was--we reached a junction. There was a spur trail down to a shelter (though we weren't sure it was still there due to the rumors that it was an old shelter that may have been disassembled--we never did see the supposed new one which was thought by Philip and Bernard to be in a new location). There was also a trail to the right headed for Mount Resolution, and a trail straight ahead going towards Stairs Mountain and eventually Mount Isolation, our original destination. By now, nearly all hope of reaching Isolation was lost--we weren't even halfway there and we were struggling badly. We took a short break, but the temperature was dropping swiftly, and soon we cooled off and decided to continue. We planned to head toward Stairs Mountain in hopes of at least reaching that summit as a consolation for giving up on Isolation. ("You helped me to my car ...")

Just a few minutes down the trail we made the official decision to abandon Isolation. With that in mind, there was no reason to carry full packs any more if we were just going to Stairs and back. So, we dropped them. We also decided to melt snow since our water supplies were getting low. Since we'd not washed our pot last night (such everyday matters of cleanliness become too much of an effort to worry about), we'd have to boil the water along with leftover bits of our cheddar broccoli noodle meal. We didn't care. It was still not worth the effort to clean it. Lucy was cold, and John put down her blanket but she still shivered as she waited for us. Finally we'd gotten most of our bottles full of murky broccoli-cheddar water and were ready to go. We headed downhill for a while, and the difference in the amount of effort it required was phenomenal. Even in the deep snow, gravity is just a fantastic aid--I worried about my knee, though, because it felt weakened from my earlier injury. It seemed as if it might not take much strain to reinjure it. Despite that, it didn't take long to reach the next junction at the col between Resolution and Stairs. We turned left and the easy part was over.

We climbed uphill, slowly at first, skirting around the west side of the mountain. It was as difficult and slow going as it had been all day. Though still a source of pain, my knee seemed to be holding up well, which gave me some relief. After traversing for a while, the terrain was becoming steeper and steeper. We reached a point at which it was unclear which way the trail continued. To our right were cliff-like rocks going up toward the summit. Straight ahead was a huge boulder which appeared to prevent any possible route in that direction. After a bit of searching, however, we discovered that there was just enough space along the edge of the boulder for the trail to squeeze along, with the steep mountainside dropping down quickly next to it. It was tricky but by no means treacherous. We passed by the boulder, and the trail began to get much steeper. The climbing was painfully difficult. Going up a slope of that angle made the already deep snow seem much, much deeper. It was difficult to get traction, as snow would slide out from under our snowshoes and downhill along the path we'd just cleared. This is when our ski poles came in the most handy, despite the fact that they often sunk completely under the snow when planted. We kicked, dug, grabbed, scrambled, and fought our way up that trail, switching back from time to time. Finally--much, much longer after we dropped our packs than I would've expected--we reached the spur trail to the summit.

To the left the Davis Path continued indifferently along the ridge toward Mount Davis and then Isolation. It was pristine and untouched and would remain so, perhaps for the entire remainder of the season. We turned right and made our way--easily, by comparison--along the final stretch to the cliffs atop Stairs Mountain. It had taken some ridiculous amount of time-like 1.5 or 2 hours--just to hike the past 1.1 kilometers (0.7 miles). The wind was blowing very hard, and we dared not get too close to the edge when we reached it. We looked out over the mountains, back in the direction from which we'd come. I won't say the views were beautiful--it was grey and overcast, and yesterday's unseasonably warm weather had melted all of the snow off of the trees--but it was a hard-earned reward for all of our work. We sat down in the snow and munched on the snacks we'd brought along with us. It wasn't long before the wind and cold began to get to us, though, and so we were up and back on the trail again. ("The binding belt enclosing me ...")

Going back down was amazingly easy. I was now quite confident in my knee again, and I practically hopped, skipped and jumped down much of the trail. Oh yeah, and I slid on my butt plenty of times, too. It seemed like no time at all before we were back to our packs, though the overall time for the jaunt over to Stairs was much longer than expected. In a moment we were back at the junction with the spur trail to the supposed shelter site, and we decided to head on down. I say "down" because it was a very steep downhill trail, and it was amusing to watch chunks of snow tumbling down along in front of me. I broke trail, and it was much more difficult than the other downhill we'd done on the way to Stairs--the snow was much deeper and the surface seemed much crustier--so much so that it was an effort to prevent oneself from tipping forward into the snow. My eyes were peeled for any type of structure, and when it finally appeared to me I rejoiced. I'm not sure why I was so happy, but I guess the thought of having a sturdy shelter around me in what was starting to become pretty windy weather was very comforting.

I could only see a small part of the shelter, as the side facing me was almost entirely buried in snow. I came down at a very steep angle towards it, and had to be careful about not getting wedged between the snow and the roof when sliding down toward the wider part of the entrance. Once I made it safely to the opening, I saw that there was a raised floor inside which would be perfect to keep us even more sheltered from the wind, in combination with the overhang of the entrance. Once inside, we sat on the edge of the platform and looked out the entrance. We were looking uphill, and had there been no snow, would not have been able to see much more than the side of the steep hill about 5 or so meters away. However, with the huge amounts of snow, which were drifting in particular around the entrance, we could see only about a meter or less and it was solid white. The wind was really beginning to whip now, but with such little space for air movement around the entrance, we felt well sheltered. It was 14:00, and we were already done hiking for the day--wow! We took our time in unpacking various items, and hung several things up to dry, including the tent and sleeping bags. We thought that later we'd probably even set up the tent inside--it looked like it would fit--to give us extra warmth in what we expected to be a cold night. Forecasts had indicated that a cold front was coming that would send temperatures well below freezing. Luckily, most of my damp clothes from the morning had dried out very nicely as I wore them during the day.

After sitting around for a while, just relaxing and enjoying our tiny little refuge out in this nasty, unforgiving winter world, I began to realize just how cold it was getting. My fingers and toes were becoming quite uncomfortable. We'd cooked and eaten a late lunch and just after finishing making hot chocolate, I was settling into a cozy position in hopes of warming up. But no sooner had I started getting comfortable than I was required to get back up. To our surprise (and dismay, to some degree), a pair of snowshoes appeared in the upper corner of the entranceway and a head peeked down in at us. It seemed that we would have some company for tonight after all.

There were five guys altogether, all somewhat older than John and I. Some of them were more friendly than others, and on the whole they were good company. We quickly made room for them, taking down all of the stuff we'd hung and moving it over to one side. The quiet evening of solitude that I was looking forward to was not to be. Furthermore, we wouldn't be able to set up the tent for that extra buffer against the increasingly chilly air. It turns out these guys were on an annual winter trip that they take together, and so they had every intention of making a good time out of it. We could also tell they weren't regular winter hikers--most of them didn't seem to appreciate just how much hard work John and I had done to break the trail (one of them did thank us), and one or two of them had actually hiked in without snowshoes! John and I found that mind-boggling. Most of them were pretty beat from the trip in, and I think it's pretty safe to say that without our trail-breaking, the chances that they would have made it to the shelter would have decreased dramatically. In any case, I chatted with some of them on and off as they settled in.

They tried desperately to start a fire, shoveling tons of snow out of the bank by the entryway. I was worried this would make way for the gusty winds to get to us more easily. The fire was short-lived--they'd gathered some dead branches but had a tough time keeping the flame going, so they gave up. They soon broke out their food, which was pretty extravagant. They passed around a bottle of rum for appetizer, then broke out sushi--yes, sushi--for appetizers to the main course, which was chili. They also had a bottle of champagne and tiny plastic cups, as well as sake to go with the sushi. For dessert they had peanut butter balls with coconut and other garnishes. They shared a little bit of each part of their meal with us, which was very nice of them. What I enjoyed most about their company, however, was some of their stories, particularly those of one guy who, as John put it, seemed to have been brought along for the sole purpose of story-telling. He seemed to describe himself as the slacker-type, at least during his childhood days, and he had lots of funny memories about the goofy and stupid things that other kids did when he was in high school. One in particular that I remember is about a guy who was smoking up in the crawlspace above the school gymnasium during an evening basketball game. In his altered state of mind he crawled over one of the ceiling pieces which were not made to support any weight, and fell through, all the way down to the gym floor. He supposedly broke something like an arm and a leg, and silenced the crowd at the basketball game.

After spending a while of listening and chatting, I settled in to bed (actually, I had been lying in my sleeping bag for quite some time now) and tried to sleep--it was about 19:00. John did the same, but I could see before long that it was going to be a tough night. I was worried about Lucy, who was bundled up but still shivering. I tossed and turned for a long time ("A sample in a jar ... sample in a jar ... sample in a jar ..."), attempting to help keep Lucy warm, and bugging John to help make sure, too. I was truly worried about her, because the temperature had dropped way down--we expected it to get -15C (0F) or less--a huge change from last night. In preparation for the cold, I'd put on just about every piece of clothing I had, save for my yellow winter jacket. John and I both put a water bottle or two in our bags to help prevent them from freezing up on us. Because I was wearing all of my clothes, I had none to spare to use as a pillow. I used the handiest thing I had--a water bottle. It wasn't terribly comfortable, but it wasn't uncomfortable enough to prevent me from falling asleep on it. I also had on my hat, which added a bit of cushion. Finally, after I'd been tossing and worrying about Lucy for quite a long time, John decided to open his bag and let her under. She was still shivering, but I knew she'd be much warmer and it put my mind at rest. Despite the freezing temperatures, I was mostly comfortable--save for my toes--and I fell asleep right away.

I didn't sleep too well, though, waking up often, tossing and turning, wishing desperately for morning to come so I could get up and start moving again, and generate some heat. It seemed to take forever. The music of Phish danced through my head every time I awakened. Finally, finally, finally ... morning came. John and I were the first ones up, a bit before 07:00, and it seemed to take way too long to get going. It was really stinking cold out. One of the other guys got up and said his thermometer read -5F. I realized I'd left my contact lenses in their solution in the pocket of my yellow jacket--I was sure they were frozen solid now, and probably ruined. I decided to worry about that later. I jumped up and down constantly as I packed my stuff up--I just jammed things into my pack any old way, I didn't care. I just wanted to start hiking and warm up!! John took a little while longer than I did to pack, and I just waited there, springing up and down, up and down, my toes numb--they seemed as if they were frozen solid, though it was hard to tell because I couldn't feel them. It was very worrisome. Finally at 07:30 we were ready to go. We said a brief goodbye to the others and started up the steep slope of the spur trail. It was a good way to start, and helped us generate heat fast. Still, my toes felt funny, like my socks were all bunched up. Later John would say that he had felt the same way. Apparently it's a side effect of frozen toes. We stopped at the junction at the top of the spur trail and John paid Mother Nature a visit that he couldn't put off any longer. In the meanwhile, I did jumping jacks to stay warm. Soon we were on our way again.

We were flying--or so it seemed, compared to yesterday. Sure enough, there were footprints from at least one person who had post-holed their way all the way in to the shelter. After a while it got really annoying, since the footprints mangled all of the snowshoe tracks, which had crusted over when the temperature had dropped yesterday. It made it very difficult to balance, especially on the downhill sections, and nearly brought us to cursing at those who'd not used snowshoes. We quickly zipped on through all of the sections which had taken us oh so long to break on the way in. It was as if the once wild, untamed trail was now a paved highway for anyone to use--it was kind of depressing in a way. But, we were glad to be able to move more quickly now, and didn't waste any time on the way back to the car. It did take a while, and the long downhill from Mount Crawford saw us each fall multiple times into the deep snow along the side of the path. But we were warmed up by this point, and could feel our toes again, which was comforting. Along the sections of open rock, I decided to put on my goggles because the wind was still blowing quite strongly. However, at one point I slid them down and accidentally breathed into them. A layer of ice crystals instantly formed on the surface of the lenses and they were rendered useless. D'oh.

On the way out we passed the tent of yet another winter camper, and heard the bark of another adventurous canine. When we finally reached the bottom, we bumped into a bunch of ice climbers who were heading to some nearby cliffs. We chatted with a couple of them briefly, then we made our way across the rickety suspension bridge yet again, and returned to the car at 10:15. The trip had had its ups and downs, and for my first winter backpacking trip the weather sure hadn't been terribly kind. However, we dealt with the several difficulties just fine, and learned a lot in the process. We headed off to find a restaurant and some hot food.

("I wheeled around because I ... didn't hear what you had said ...")

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