I spent the past week hiking in the White Mountains, my old stomping grounds. Seeing the Whites through the eyes of a thru-hiker gave me a different perspective on where I grew up. I think on some level I’ve always known that I was incredibly lucky to have spent a large portion of my life within easy driving distance of the White Mountains, but the hike from Georgia has really shown me how true this is. While the AT goes over many 5,000 and 6,000 foot peaks, none of them are as beautiful or at all come as close to making you feel like you’re going to be killed at any moment as the Whites.
This was especially true when I summited Washington on Monday, in 81 mile per hour winds. Before I started the AT I’d only hiked once in the rain, and it was descending to the car at the end of a two day hike. Growing up in New Hampshire I’ve heard plenty of stories about people making silly mistakes that cost them their lives on some of the higher peaks. As a person who generally shies away from embarrassment, I was hell bent on not making a mistake that would cause me to be the person in the newspaper that everyone else would shake their head at and wonder how they had come to be so stupid. Consequently, up until my thru-hike, I had only hiked the Whites in the best of weather. On the AT, however, if you only hike in the good weather, two negative things happen: 1) you don’t make good mileage, and therefore don’t make it to Maine, and 2) you miss out on all the beauty of inclement weather. Which is how I found myself summiting Washington in weather that was literally blowing me off of my feet.
But let me back up. Prior to hitting the Presidentials, I’d been doing approximately 15 mile days, which left plenty of time for blueberry picking (and campfire blueberry pie baking [Yes, you read that right! CAMPFIRE BLUEBERRY PIE BAKING. WHO WANTS TO HIKE WITH ME NOW, EH?]), sliding down moss into swimming holes, marshmallow roasting over campfires, and loafing on sunny peaks. However, when I hit the Presidentials, I slowed way down. Part of it was getting to hike with more people from home (Surjeet and Chris, thankfully sans monkeys), part due to not wanting to rush thorough a beautiful section of trail, and part of it was wanting to see the Presidentials through the eyes of my most recent hiking partner, Cotton, who is a photojournalist who had never seen the White Mountains before. As such, I did a whopping five miles to stealth camp on Pierce my first night, and five more to Lake of the Clouds Hut on my second.
One of the privileges afforded to thru-hikers through the White Mountains is the ability to stay at the huts in exchange for an hour or two of work. I’ve always wanted to wake up above tree line, and consequently staying at Lake of the Clouds seemed like a good deal. Cotton and I did the before dinner dishes at Lake of the Clouds and reorganized the hut bookshelf after dinner. Dinner was an all-you-can eat affair, served in the kitchen after the paying guests had eaten, and the idea was for us to sleep on the floor of the dining room, after the lights were turned out and the guests left. Unfortunately for us, by lights out (9:30 pm, which is waaaay past midnight for thru-hikers) not only had some of the paying guests not left, but were noisily getting loaded in the dining room. Cotton and I packed up our bags, marched outside in the rain to the emergency shelter (dubbed “The Dungeon”) in the basement, and fell asleep in the musty, dank, and QUIET room. (Well, it was quiet until the second thunderstorm hit. Man, thunder and lightning at 5,000 feet is incredible, and incredibly loud. Also, I think that I've finally found an appropriate situation for using the word "awesome" because it certainly was.)
Lake of the Clouds
The following morning brought high winds and 20 feet of visibility, and since we weren’t going very far, we delayed our start until about 11 am. The climb up Washington brought many beautiful sights, including the brilliantly pink calves of a 16 year old girl wearing jean Capri pants. (For reference, Cotton and I were both decked out in rain gear, gloves, and wool hats. Remember what I said about people making stupid mistakes in the White Mountains?) The summit of Washington was wild- I couldn’t stay upright, as my pack was acting like a sail and catching the wind every few seconds. We ended up hunkering down in the lunchroom for two hours until the winds died down to a reasonable 60 mph. During that time there were rumors floating around about the closure of the auto road and the Cog Railway, a scenic tourist train that runs to the top of Washington.
Cotton at the summit of Washington. He's able to stay upright because
he is an ultralight backpacker and his pack doesn't act like a stupid sail in the wind.
When the winds died down enough we hiked north, off of the mountain, and down to lower elevations. There is a long hiker tradition of mooning the Cog, which I may or may not have done in the past and may or may not have wanted to do during my thru hike. Cotton and I had figured that since there was talk of shutting down the Cog due to weather that we’d lost our chance to participate, but shortly after we crossed the tracks north of the mountain we could both smell and hear it coming. Now, I’m not exactly sure why there is a long tradition of mooning the Cog, but it probably has something to do with this: hiking up or down Washington is hard work, and taking a shortcut to the top by riding a (historically) coal belching, nasty smelling, expensive train doesn’t seem fair. (Park Rangers, who presumably rely on income generated from the railway, discourage the practice of mooning the Cog by handing out expensive violations to hikers who get caught.) So as the train slowly chugged its way of the mist, I assumed the proper position, and got ready to go. Thankfully, before I was able to fully negotiate my way out of the many layers of clothing I was wearing, Cotton called my attention to the conductor of the train, who snapped a photo of us as he passed by. Well then.
Pretty, eh?
We reached the summit of Madison in time for sunset. The clouds over our heads were brilliantly pink, and the sunset was by far the most beautiful one I’ve seen. Up until then, the trail had been fun; cold and windy, but fun. However, after sunset we headed down the Osgood trail, and things started to get a bit tough. The footing wasn’t all that great, and the trail was steep, so I started moving very slowly. I was getting very tired from being blown all over the trail for the past 8 hours, and had several near falls onto sharp rocks (also, the wind kept blowing my pack straps into my face, which was extremely unpleasant). I didn’t know the trail at all, so Cotton and I kept having to stop and search for the next carin in the dark. My feet started hurting from the rocks for the first time in 300 miles. And yet, despite my mood taking a nosedive, I was extremely thankful for getting to experience such beautifully inclement weather on such wild and remote (except for Washington) mountains. In fact, I wouldn’t have changed a single thing about the day (except, maybe, the photo that was taken of me by the conductor of the Cog. That was a bit creepy.).
Madison sunset.
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