In the Shadow of the Cat

A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way. - Mark Twain

Mark and me finally ready to head for the Cat.

May 7, 2010. Nineteen Mile Brook Trail trailhead. Mark and I were gearing up for a hike up to Carter Notch Hut and then to climb Wildcat Mountain. Something was missing however, Mark had forgotten his gaiters. You have to have gaiters if you are going to hike in the snow, and even though it was May we were going to be hiking in snow. Gaiters wrap around your lower leg and boot to stop snow from getting into your boots. If you get snow in your boots, your feet get wet. Wet feet in the cold can be very bad for your comfort and potentially your life. More likely however is your wet foot getting rubbed raw by your boot, and if you have never hiked mountain terrain with your feet blistering, consider yourself fortunate. So we went back to the AMC's Pinkham Notch Visitor Center to buy gaiters for Mark. It happens. I once went birding and forgot my binoculars. Okay, more than once, hard to believe but there it is. I guess I'll also add that I forgot to bring Nuttah MD with us this time. Well she was with us in spirit at least, providing inspiration.

Nineteen Mile Brook Trail

We would be hiking up Nineteen Mile Brook Trail and staying at the AMC's Carter Notch hut for the night. The original weather forecast of fine weather for days had gone sour and our plan to climb Wildcat Mountain the next day had to be modified to doing it today. So we would hike our gear to the hut, sign in with the caretaker, dump gear there to lighten our load, and climb to the summits in the afternoon. Wildcat Mountain has two summits that count as 4,000 footers, Wildcat A and Wildcat D. It also has a well known ski area. So off we went with Nineteen Mile Brook roaring and pounding with snow melt water.

Nineteen Mile Brook was more an angry river with the recent snow melt.

We were hiking during that awkward time of year in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, when Spring is happening down low but Winter has not yet surrendered up high. So we were a bit over dressed on the low section and started sweating with the effort and weight of our packs. We had over night gear as well as snow hiking gear such as snowshoes. At the trailhead we heard a few returning warblers singing, such as Northern Parula, but on top the snow would still be 3 to 5 feet deep. These little feathered marvels had traveled all the way from the tropics to be here, and we drove up from Connecticut to briefly share the trailhead with them by the side of NH Routte 16. On the other side of Route 16, Mt. Washington and the northern Presidentials rose above us, but today we headed east, into the shadow of the Cat.

Crossing the brook

 Nineteen Mile Brook Trail is an easy hike as far as White Mountain trails go. Still it was pretty warm, and we were overdressed, so we worked up a good sweat anyway. I had last walked this trail more than twenty years earlier, with my friends Mike and Cindy. Then we were headed out from hiking the Carter Range, which was now on our left hand as Mark and I climbed. On that hike down with Mike and Cindy I managed to stumble and do a complete somersault with a full pack. I had gotten a bit scraped up and almost slid into the brook, but I came up laughing. I still have to laugh when I think about it now.

We reach the junction with Wildcat Ridge Trail

I need to explain about "monorail," rotten monorail more to the point. Okay, so it snows in the mountains, you probably aren't surprised to hear that. It snows a lot. That snow gets pretty deep right? Winter hikers walk over that deep fresh snow, usually wearing snowshoes. When they do this they compact the snow on the trail, resulting in a sunken but hardened path. Now this compacted snow is still pretty deep, 3 feet or often more. So hikers keep traveling over this compacted trail all winter and it gets a harder and harder crust. Then Spring comes and snow starts to melt. But the compacted snow on the trail melts more slowly. So as the snow on the sides of the trail sinks and disappears, the hardened trail snow does so much more slowly. This results in the trail turning from a sunken path to a raised path above the surrounding snow. Hikers now have to walk this elevated snow hump, and we call it "monorail", like the elevated track of an actual monorail. So good so far, but all snow melts eventually, and it also melts from underneath. Melt water running underneath the monorail attacks it and the warmth of the earth also eats away at the monorail's underbelly. So the monorail gets weak, and then we refer to it as "rotten." When a hiker is walking along rotten monorail he will break through on some strides and his leg can fall in right to the hip. This sudden unwelcome "how-do-you-do" obviously stops you dead and sucks energy and the joie de vive right out of you. This event is called "post-holing", for obvious reasons. Hikers don't enjoy rotten monorail or post-holing. On the upper stretches of Nineteen Mile Brook Trail we ran into rotten monorail and Mark and I post-holed again and again. New experience for Mark, old one for me. There would be more to come later on the ridge climb.

The Carter Lakes lie in Carter Notch in the shadow of the Cat.

So we slogged and post-holed our way to the junction with Wildcat Ridge Trail. We would be taking Wildcat Ridge Trail upwards to the peaks, but first we needed to go to Carter Notch Hut and sign in and drop our extra gear. We dropped down towards the Carter Lakes of Carter Notch and the hut. The hut was on the far side of the lakes from where we were. The Carter Lakes are gorgeous crystal clear mountain pools. Wildcat Mountain rises nearly vertically for 1,000 feet on the south side of the lakes and the impressive Carter Dome rises on the north. Bounding the lakes on the east is an amazing wall of huge boulders, appropriately called the "Rampart." It looks just like a massive fortress wall right out of Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings." The Rampart was formed by massive rock avalanches from both Carter Dome and Wildcat Mountain. It is an imposing and memorable sight that reminds us mere humans of the power and forces our world unleashes from time to time. It must have sounded like the apocalypse when that slide happened.

The "Rampart" on the far side of the Carter Lakes.

Looking south in Carter Notch. The base of Carter Dome. The large bowl right of center is where the stone that now forms the "Rampart" split and fell. The top the northern end of the "Rampart" is visible above the tree tops.

After Mark and I took a few moments to drink in the magnificence of our surroundings, we followed the trail that circled the lake to get to Carter Notch Hut. In winter, some of the Appalachian Mountain Club huts are open on a caretaker basis. Winter hikers can stay at these huts but they must supply their own food and cook stove. They also should bring a sleeping bag and pad even though there are bunks available. Carter Notch hut is one of these huts, and the caretaker in residence during our visit was Heidi. I know, I know, Heidi in the mountains, how ironic. I didn't bring it up. I figured I wouldn't be the first to do so and spared her another comment about it.

Carter Notch Hut

Mark and I introduced ourselves to Heidi and we chatted for a few minutes. We told her we were going up Wildcat Ridge Trail and were going to try for both Wildcat A and Wildcat D peaks that afternoon. It's good to let the caretaker know your plans in case something goes amiss, it never hurts to have more people aware for safety's sake. I should explain what a caretaker is I suppose. During the summer season all the AMC huts are fully crewed (hut crew call themselves "croo"), usually with young men and women. They run the hut, generally entertain a bit, and cook wonderful back country breakfasts and dinners for guests. They also partake in mountain rescues from time to time, these are not just any kids but are fine examples of young adults. During the off season, the caretaker huts have a single individual who watches over the hut and any winter hikers who wish to stay. This can be a lonely thing as you can imagine. Many nights see no one stay. It is not for the faint of heart, who need to be near civilization and other humans. Many nights are spent with no other company than the dark and the winter wind. And of course, your imagination. It reminds my of that line from "The Hobbit," when Beorn says to the dwarfs, "Heed no nightly noises." Ya, good luck with that! The "nightly noises" Beorn was warning about outside his house at night would have killed the dwarfs by the way.

Mark on bunk house porch

After our brief chat with Heidi, Mark and I headed over to the newly rebuilt bunk houses to drop gear before the hike up. We were very impressed with the lovely new bunk houses and bunks at Carter Notch. Being both teenagers at heart, Mark literally and me virtually, we both chose top bunks for night. We ridded ourselves of all the gear from our packs except for the things we would take onto the Cat.

Brand new bunk house and bunks.

There is no easy way to re-provision the AMC huts. So heavy loads are brought in by helicopter. At Carter Notch Hut there is no where to land a helicopter. So a helipad has been built on the top of the bunk house. The helipad is only inches wider than the helicopter's landing runners. The chopper pilot has to be good, has to be very good indeed!

  Once ready, we headed back around the lake to the junction with Wildcat Ridge Trail. It was getting on in the afternoon and we would have to make good time to get both peaks. As we headed up the trail however it didn't take long to realize we would not be making good time. Very early in the ascent we hit rotten monorail. Worse yet, the top of the monorail was eaten away at an angle. So the footing was treacherous and crumbly. Finding good footing as we climbed took time, too much time, and post-holing was not an infrequent event.

Spectacular view above the Carter Lakes

Mark post-holes right up to the hip. Not fun, and not making for fast hiking.

The monorail was very slippery in some areas as well. At one point I was standing still and talking over my shoulder to Mark when both feet shot out from under me. I fell off the monorail and landed hard on my side with my poles underneath. The poles were bent and so was my pride. Still I had to laugh, and moan a little too. Mark was concerned and quickly asked if I was okay. Certainly I had new bruises and pains I didn't have a few moments ago, but I was materially unhurt. I bent my poles back as best I could and kept going. The depth of the snow on this north facing slope was still 3 to 4 feet, making finding the trail more difficult. As we climbed higher, the snow bed was still intact and the monorail disappeared into a deep sheet of steeply angled hard snow across the Cats northern slope. No one had been on this trail recently, so there were no tracks to follow, and the height of the snow above the trail bed put our heads into the lower branches of the spruces that would normally have been over our heads. A few times we headed off the wrong way and had to backtrack to find the right way. Another danger in the mountains in winter is "spruce traps." A spruce trap is formed around the base of a tree or boulder in deep snow. The spruce or boulder will often warm the deep snow around it and melt it below the snows surface. This can lead to a large void around the tree or bolder that is invisible to anyone passing by until they step on the void's thin crust. The hiker (or skier) then breaks through and often is tumbled in head first, trapping them with their arms at their side. People die in spruce traps every winter somewhere in the US. I warned Mark about these traps and we found a few that were already opening up in the warming weather. We post-holed constantly but steered clear of any potential spruce traps.

A spruce trap open up in the warming weather

Mark inspects a spruce trap.

The angled snow cover we were hiking on had been softening and refreezing in the Spring thaw and was very slick. I was concerned for my young friend's safety, it would be easy to slip and shoot off into the broken and jagged spruce branches that adorn every trunk in the dark forest. So I started to kick foot holds in the snow's crust to reduce the chance of either of us slipping off and falling down slope into spruce "punjis". This further slowed our pace and tired me out considerably. Despite this precaution we both managed a few falls between frequent post-holes before we finally crested the ridge top.

A pose all too often taken. Mark after a fall.

Much later than I had planned, we reached the top of Wildcat Ridge. Below us lay the Notch and the AMC hut nestled along the Carter Lakes. The Rampart was even more impressive seen from a thousand feet above. The mass of it was striking from on high. To our north lay the peak called Carter Dome. We took time to enjoy the views that unfolded before us, and to soak in the accomplishment of what had been the most difficult snow/monorail/post-holing I had ever encountered in the Whites. I was thoroughly beaten up and tired out. We would get the Cat's A peak today but I had no desire to slog the ridge all the way to the D peak this late in the afternoon and have to head down this slippery slope in the dark. So after hanging out for awhile and gazing at the beauty of Carter Notch and surroundings, during which Mark called his parents on my cell phone, we headed back down the ridge trail to the hut. Going down is always faster than going up, but you still have to be careful. Even more so since falling on the descent is usually worse than falling on the ascent.

In the shadow of the Cat. Carter Notch Hut and Carter Lakes seen from Wildcat Ridge. The Rampart is the broad mass of boulders to the right of the lakes.

Carter Dome lies across the notch.

Looking down Carter Notch towards Nineteen Mile Brook

Mark and me on Wildcat Ridge

Looking eastward. Maine lies in the distance.

Tired and bruised, we finally found our way back to the hut at dusk. We first went to the bunkhouse and dropped our packs. Then we gathered up our stove and food and headed over to the hut to make dinner. If you have ever eaten freeze dried trail dinners, you know they are not high cuisine. Their quality is immensely improved after a long hard hike however. Mark's mom had given me a new JetBoil stove for my birthday, so we christened it making dinner that night. The juxtaposition of my little backpacking stove next to the massive cast iron stove of the hut was comical. By the way, that hut stove came all the way up the notch in pieces on the back of superhuman porters who carried it all the way up from the trailhead on Route 16 many years ago. A mind boggling accomplishment that was beyond my mere mortal strength to perform!

The hut's stove. This massive cast iron beast came up the notch on the back of men. Supermen surely.

My JetBoil on the counter (with the little orange legs) is dwarfed by the hut's stove. The white bins below the counter are for food. This keeps food out of the bunk house. This is a black bear precaution.

Mark eats a found treasure, a Poptart left at the hut by a Boy Scout Troop while he waits for dinner.

After dinner we talked for some time with Heidi. It turned out she grew up just a few miles from our homes in Connecticut. It's a small world indeed. Mark clearly enjoyed the chance to learn from Heidi and to share his experiences with her. I was very happy he was enjoying himself so much. That is why I bring him on these hikes, and of course because he's fun to have around too. A bit later I told Mark he needed to make an entry in the huts journal. These books have been around for pretty much as long as the huts have and hikers have been recording comments and observations in them for decades. I knew Mark's mom would want Mark to add his voice to the hut's history.
 

Mark and I add comments to the huts journal. A shelf in the hut holds dozens of filled journals from the past.

 After dinner we called it a night and headed back to the bunkhouse. We stopped at the huts "facilities" on the way. You may have wondered about the "facilities." They consist of a rather large outhouse that actually has running water in the sinks in summer and toilets over composting pits. In the mountains, this amounts to luxury.

The outhouse is above the bunk house.

We settled in for the night in our respective top bunks. When we turned our headlamps off we experienced the total darkness of the mountains. I love it. So heeding no nightly noises, we slept the night away. Morning found fog and rain pounding the bunk house. The temp outside was 34 degrees. The decision to climb the ridge yesterday afternoon was a good one clearly. We headed over to the hut to make breakfast and hang out till a break in the heavy rain hopefully occurred. We found Heidi getting ready to hike out to meet  a  friend who would be hiking back in with her later in the day. We said our goodbyes and Mark and I had the hut to ourselves for a leisurely breakfast.

The breakfast table.

  Eventually the rain lessened. So in fog and moderate rain, Mark and I said goodbye to Carter Notch and headed down. The hike out was unremarkable but wet and muddy once below the remaining monorail. Hiking in the rain and mud made for a seemingly long trip out but we finally reached the trailhead and gratefully climbed into the shelter of my truck. Off we went for quick showers at the AMC Pinkham Notch Visitors Center and then do the long drive home to Connecticut. Mark had another peak on his resume and he had his first hut experience. Once again I had enjoyed his company and his hiking toughness. It had been a fun couple of days in the shadow of the Cat.

Visiting Kin

"If we are facing in the right direction, all we have to do is keep walking." - Buddhist Proverb

March 27, 2010. It had been two weeks since my young friend Mark had climbed his first White Mountain in New Hampshire. Now we were back again. This time we had a 10 mile hike planned that would take us over two more 4,000 footers, North Kinsman and South Kinsman. I had planned the hike to be at least 10 miles for a reason. Mark is a Boy Scout and he is working on his hiking badge. This entails doing several 10 and 20 mile hikes, most of which he has done with the troop and his mom, an excellent hiker in her own right. She and I had discussed presenting a 10 mile hike to Mark's hiking badge leader Dwight, and he had agreed to allowing a mountain hike with me to count towards Mark's badge. It certainly was going to be a more difficult 10 miler than anything the Boy Scout Troop did in Connecticut, as Mark and I would feel thoroughly beaten up when the day ended. But I mean that in a good way.

Mark and Nuttah MD at trailhead sign in Franconia Notch

The day was cold but clear and the wind was light. It was going to be a gorgeous day. We would be hiking from Lafayette Place Camp Ground up to Lonesome Lake, and then on to Kinsman Ridge and the two peaks that dominated the ridge, North and South Kinsman. Franconia Notch is formed by Kinsman Ridge on the west and Franconia Ridge on the east, and is split by Route 93 going north and south. It is one of the most scenic and heavily visited areas of the White Mountains.

The trail to Lonesome Lake.

Mark and I geared up in the parking lot and soon were on our way. The trail leading up to Lonesome Lake was fairly easy and the lower part was mostly snow free. Still we carried microspikes, crampons, and snowshoes. The traction would come in very handy further on. Lonesome Lake sits high above the floor of the notch and the Appalachian Mountain Club has one of their huts there. It is one of the most scenic spots for a hut and one of the most accessible, so it gets many visitors during the year. We had planned to stay there ourselves but no space was available, more on that later.

Trail and warning sign at Lonesome Lake. Footprints across the frozen lake showed someone had ignored the warning

We soon reached Lonesome Lake and started to circle it westwards. The lake is girdled with a trail that has several outlets heading up or down. This is a popular way to climb either the Kinsmans or to climb Cannon Mountain, known for its ski area and as the former location of the Old Man of the Mountain. The Old Man had always been the very symbol of the Granite State until it plummeted into the notch on May 3, 2003. The loss of this icon still haunts those of us who have gazed on it and believed it would long outlive our children and their children's children. It just goes to show that you are never promised tomorrow and that all things must pass.

Outlet stream at south end of Lonesome Lake

The Kinsmans and Kinsmans Ridge loom over Lonesome Lake

 
This trail around the lake would take us to the hut and to the trail we would be taking up to the ridge, Fishin' Jimmy Trail. This trail with the easy name would prove to be less than easy on the body with a very steep and challenging section as it approached the ridge. But for now we stopped at the hut and took a break before the push upwards.

Mark takes a break at Lonesome Lake Hut.

Mark and a frozen Lonesome Lake. Franconia Ridge lies across the notch

When we had finished taking a breather, we slung packs and headed out on Fishin' Jimmy Trail. This trail would turn out be quite a slog with many undulations followed by a steep and very icy pitch up to Kinsman Ridge. I had my crampons on and Mark was using my microspikes. Without these traction tools we would never have made it safely to the top. Mark is a solid hiker but by the time we had finished Fishin' Jimmy Trail he had developed something of an animosity towards it and I couldn't blame him. Steeper than a staircase and treacherously icy, the trail had taken a toll on us when we finally reached the Junction with Kinsman Ridge Trail. Kinsman Ridge Trail runs the length of the ridge but we would only be taking it far as South Kinsman summit and then back again. But before we did that, it was time for lunch. Fishin' Jimmy Trail had taken a couple of hard hours to cover so we headed off on a little detour to Kinsman Pond and shelter. Kinsman Pond lies below North Kinsman and would be a lovely place to stop for lunch.

An early section of Fishin' Jimmy Trail. This benign section gives little warning to the steep and icy sections ahead.

At Kinsman Pond. North Kinsman rises in the background.

Mark prepares lunch at Kinsman Pond

  Kinsman Pond shelter is an AMC open cabin. There are many such shelters in the White Mountains. Some are available by reservation in season, such as the AMC huts, and some are by first come first serve availability. The Kinsman Pond shelter has recently been rebuilt and we found some backpacks inside which indicated there were already a few hikers that had dumped gear here and headed out for the day.

Kinsman Pond Shelter

After a simple lunch of pepperoni sandwiches and trail mix, we headed back to the juncture with Kinsman Ridge Trail. The snow was now about 3 to 4 feet deep on the trail and the sign and any visible tree blazes were all just a little above the snow cover.

Kinsman Ridge Trail Junction sign.

Glad to be done with the outward journey on Fishin' Jimmy Trail we headed up Kinsman Ridge Trail. Earlier, when we had reached Kinsman Pond, Mark had assumed we were nearly at the top of the ridge. When North Kinsman came into view over the pond he asked, with clear concern in his voice, if we had to go up on "that." I told him that we would be climbing to the highest point on Kinsman Ridge, so anything above us now had to be climbed. He wasn't too pleased to hear it and when we started on the climb up Kinsman Ridge Trail he started to occasionally grumble about "this stupid trail." Mark is 14 and a remarkable hiker for his age, but many hikes in the Whites can seem like climbing uneven stairs for hours with the weight of a pack on your back. Mark wasn't the first, nor will he be the last, hiker to grumble a bit! After what seemed a long time, but wasn't, we reached the summit of North Kinsman at 4,293 feet and saw the glory of Franconia Ridge to the east.

Mark and I on North Kinsman

Franconia Ridge from North Kinsman. Mt Lafayette is left of center and Mt. Lincoln is right of center. The white gash in the foreground is Lonesome Lake. Rte 93 lies very far below in the notch.

Cannon Mountain at left as seen from North Kinsman. Mt Lafayette is the white peak on the right.

When we had reached the summit of North Kinsman I was tired. But I'm part Irish and very stubborn and had every desire to continue on to South Kinsman before turning back. I was a little concerned for Mark however and I decided to give him an "out". So I asked him if he wanted to skip South Kinsman this time and head back. He told me no he wanted to go on as planned. I then asked again and said I was tired myself and didn't mind turning back at all to give him another chance to save face as it were. He responded in his classic monotone, "Frankly Mr Pro, I don't believe that. We are finishing the hike." I had to laugh but once again the young man had impressed me and made me proud of him. It would not be the last time. So on we went to South Kinsman. The weather was gorgeous so we took advantage and dumped some of our gear along side the trail to lighten our load. I kept some emergency gear with me for safety and because Mark's mom had once again invoked the need for me to bring Mark and all his body parts back safely. We were soon on the summit of South Kinsman at 4,358 feet.

On South Kinsman

North Kinsman seen from South Kinsman

Looking southeast. The white scar is Mt. Flume

Mt Moosilauke as seen from South Kinsman. Mark's mom and I had climbed that peak the year before. I had to point out to Mark that his mom had been higher in the Whites than he had to that point. Never miss an opportunity to mess with a kid's head!

The white lines at center are the ski trails of Loon Mountain in Lincoln NH. The peaks in the distance are the Osceolas and the Tripyramids.

We had bagged two more 4,000 footers and it was time to head back. We would be retracing our step. Both of us were tired but it always gives you a boost when you know you are heading back. We re-crossed North Kinsman and grabbed our gear then headed down to the junction with Fishin' Jimmy Trail. Mark took advantage of his nylon snow pants and slid down on his butt whenever he could. Fishin' Jimmy was no fun going in the easy direction either and many injuries occur when heading downhill, so it was a real pleasure to finally reach Lonesome Lake hut once again. When we reached the hut we could clearly hear some of the people partying inside who were to stay that evening. It's unusual for the hut to be full in March and I wondered why it was today.

The entry to the main cabin at Lonesome Lake Hut

The front of the Lonesome Lake Hut. This porch has a spectacular view of Lonesome Lake and Franconia Ridge.

We took another rest and food break at the lake before heading down. When we were outward bound from the lake we started to run into hikers headed for the cabin and they told us why the cabin was full that night. It seems a bunch of friends reserve the cabin each March for a formal "Thanksgiving" meal and dance! The men carry full suits in their packs and the women bring dresses and high heels! On top of that, they each also hike up some part of the meal in their pack. One guy had 12 roasted turkeys in his pack and one girl had a full birthday cake and bottles of wine! It makes you feel good about people when you hear things like that. The revelers we ran into seemed a bit impressed with Mark when they realized the hike he had just done and very graciously invited us to turn around and join them at the party in the hut. Unfortunately we had a long drive home still to do and we were a bit under-dressed for the occasion anyway (I hadn't brought my heels) so we had to decline. We would be stopping at the Woodstock Inn for dinner and microbrew on the drive south so there was that consolation.

Dinner at Woodstock Inn and Station before the long ride home.

We reached the trailhead tired but happy. We both had two new 4,000 footers under our belts. The sun had set and the moon was over Franconia Ridge. Mark also had another 10 mile hike done towards his hiking badge. It was a real pleasure to dine at the Woodstock Inn that night. It was a real pleasure just to sit actually, and to drink a well earned Pemi Pale Ale. It had been another great day in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I have had many of those in my time and hope to have many more. And I hope Mark does as well.

Piercing Wind

“What a child doesn't receive he can seldom later give.” - P.D. James

Nuttah MD is ready to hike!

Mark’s eyes were big as he took in the dramatic views as we drove through Crawford Notch in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. It was March 13, 2010. This was the first time he had seen the Whites, and I was gratified to see he was impressed. This was to be the first time Mark would hike in the Whites and the first time he would climb a mountain. He would also be doing his first mountain hike during winter. He’s a brave kid but it was probably more likely a blind trust in me that made him so willing to take on winter in the Whites, after all, unprepared hikers have perished doing so. I must admit I was nervous on how this 14 year-old young man would do on the snowy slopes and I was very anxious about whether he would enjoy it or not. I very much hoped that it would be an experience he would want to repeat, and not just with me. I was hoping it might become part of his world, and that it would be something he would do with his friends later in his life, maybe even with his own children someday. I once heard someone say how important it is to leave footprints in a child’s life, and I felt very fortunate to have the chance to leave some in Mark’s life. Of course it wasn’t just doing something for Mark that brought us here together, it was also doing something with Mark. I rather enjoy his company you see.

Mark at trailhead. That sign is actually 5 feet high.

The weather today was typical of winter in the Whites, cold, gray, and windy. Windy to the tune of hurricane force gusts on the summits. Today we would be ascending Mt. Pierce and hopefully Mt. Eisenhower. The temperature on the summits would be in the low twentys to the high teens, not so bad in itself but the wind would make things a tad more uncomfortable. As we climbed out of the car at the trailhead parking lot the wind combined with the gray skies to create a very forlorn atmosphere. Mentally shaking off that false impression of gloom, I popped the trunk open and we started to gear up for the hike.

Traction: Crampons top; Microspikes bottom

If you are going to go up into the White Mountains in winter you need to know what you are doing, or bad things can happen. I had promised his mom that I would bring him and all his body parts back safely and I was going to make sure that happened. Our gear included snowshoes, crampons, microspikes, trekking poles, emergency gear, maps and compass, food and water, and extra clothing. We wore a mixture of high-tech garb designed for proper winter protection. In the world of winter outdoor survival there is an old saying, “Cotton kills.” Cotton gets soaking wet easily by sweat and doesn’t dry quickly so it loses its insulating capacity and quickly saps the heat from the wearer. So no cotton for us.

We were soon ready to head out along the Crawford Path that would takes us over Mt. Pierce and Mt. Eisenhower. Shouldering our daypacks we started up and the snow beneath our boots crunched sharply in the cold air. One advantage to hiking these trails in winter is that the deep snow, 3 to 5 feet in this case, covers rocks and uneven features along the trail and makes what I call a “snow ramp.” As long as you are not the first to hike over fresh snow, called “breaking trail,” the packed snow ramp makes the trail easier going. Inevitably when you start out on these hikes wearing microspikes, crampons,or snowshoes on your feet, you soon have to stop and re-adjust the traction gear for snugness.

Mark adjusts gear soon after starting up

Crawford Path snowramp

As we climbed the lower slopes of the southern Presidentials, we passed through an impressive winter landscape with heavy snow adorning the fir trees, making everything look like a Christmas postcard. The air was cold but we soon heated up from exertion and we could hear the wind moaning through the tree tops but couldn’t really feel its relief since the trees blocked it from reaching us. I was constantly wondering how my young friend was doing and how he was feeling about this long climb. I have been doing this for years but this was Mark’s first time. I knew the views we would be treated to when we broke out above treeline would make it all worthwhile but Mark was yet to experience this, so I worried he was thinking this slogging uphill in the dead of winter wearing heavy gear was less than a treat. We came to a spruce that had been blown down across the trail and then buried in heavy snow. The result was in essence a short tunnel that the trail passed through. We both thought this very cool until as I was taking Mark’s picture when he passed underneath it, he banged his head on the sharp end of one of the spruce’s branches. Clenching his teeth he rubbed his head and answered he was fine to my query. Tough kid that.

Mark emerges from blowdown tunnel

Before long we came to the junction with the trail named Mizpah Cutoff. This trail leads up to the Appalachian Mountain Club’s Mizpah Spring Hut. I thought this a good place to stop and take a break. The trail sign poked comically out of the snow at ankle level since the snow pack was about four feet deep on the trail. We still had a long way to go on our hike and I told Mark of one of my old techniques for avoiding feeling the trek ahead was almost over only to find out there was still a long hard way to go still. That trick is to always tell yourself there is a long way to go, never allow yourself to feel you are almost there. That way when you do reach your destination it comes as a pleasant surprise that you are there already. This doesn’t always work however, as I’m sure you already guessed!

Mizpah Cutoff Junction Sign. Almost buried by snow depth

Finishing our break we slung packs again and headed upwards along the Crawford Path. As we walked the snow ramp upwards we talked of this and that. In taking Mark on this trip, I not only wanted to share the experience and share his company, I wanted to start to build his knowledge and experience of mountain hiking. There are few more important things you can do for someone you care about than building their confidence in themselves. Far too many times in my life I have seen how people can try to shake the confidence of the people they supposedly care about to gain greater influence over them. That is no way to treat anyone, much less someone you care about. It is my hope that in taking Mark hiking in the Whites and learning how to survive these long hard treks in a harsh environ, Mark’s confidence in himself will be strengthened and will help him face the challenges of life ahead. And as I said before, I just enjoy his company, so admittedly I’m not being totally selfless here!

We reach Treeline

Treeline in the mountains is the elevation where the combination of wind and cold temperature result in such a brief growing season that trees can not establish a foothold. This elevation varies depending on the mountain and the weather patterns. For the mountain hiker, reaching treeline is both an achievement and a glorious gift. When you break out above treeline the world suddenly explodes into the distance. While hiking among the thick spruces the boundaries of your horizons are measured in a few feet. When you step into the open above treeline, your horizons suddenly leap out for many, many miles. So sudden is this that it hits you viscerally and some people can actually experience vertigo at the sudden experience of being very high with the world falling away from them. For me it is one of the greatest thrills in life, and I was very curious how it would strike Mark. The look on his face and the exclamation “Wow” he made was very gratifying for me, maybe he would fall in love with mountain hiking after all.

Looking west. The Bonds and the Twins dominate the horizon.

Vermont in the far distance

Where we now stood we were still sheltered from the wind by the ridge ahead of us. But a few forceful swirls were reaching us and the sound of the wind ahead was impressive. We stopped for a few photos and to put more clothing on in anticipation of cresting the ridge and facing the wind’s fury. Now prepared, we continued onward. When we did crest the ridge the wind was blowing a steady 30 mph and gusting to easily 50 mph or more. It would get worse when we approached the summit. The ridge we were on still had some scrub on it and the snow had made the trail difficult to discern. There were many tracks wandering about but we could see Mt Pierce’s summit looming ahead so we headed in its general direction and made our own path. As we hiked along we descended briefly into a fold in the mountains side and were once again sheltered from the wind. It was the home stretch now for Mt Pierce’s summit.

Pierce summit comes into view with a snow clad Washington behind

We found a track broken out by other hikers before us and we silently thanked them for making our way easier. Following this track we soon climbed to the big broad summit of Pierce. It was here we really felt just how strong the winds were. A steady 50 mph was frequently ratcheted up to gusts exceeding 70 mph. Often we were buffeted and knocked sideways, stumbling several feet in an unexpected direction before regaining control. Well, Mark was getting a proper introduction to winter in the Whites, that was certain. Mount Washington loomed to the east, dazzlingly white and majestic, to the northeast the rest of the Presidentials were strung out ahead of us. Westward we could see well into Vermont and to our west as well stood Franconia Ridge with Mt. Lafayette standing proud. Eisenhower stood before and above us about a mile and a half away but I knew we would not be visiting that summit today. The winds would certainly be even worse there. Earlier we had run into other hikers who had tried getting to Eisenhower’s summit. They told us they had been forced to crawl on hands and knees because of the ferocious winds and had turned back short of the top. I might have tried it on my own but it would have been irresponsible to take Mark into that level of risk, and of course I had promised Mark’s mom Mary that I would bring him (and all of his body parts, she was very specific about that) home safely. Lenticular clouds were also starting to form above the peaks and foul weather seemed in the offing, so Eisenhower would have to wait for another day.

Mark leans into hurricane force gusts just below Pierce's summit

Mt. Washington and the southern Presidentials seen from summit of Pierce

Mark summits his first 4,000 ft White Mountain, Mt Pierce summit

After taking a few pictures we headed back along Crawford Path, or at least somewhere in its general vicinity since the snow had obliterated any obvious signs of the trail. Mark had his first 4,000 footer under his belt but I wanted to show him more of the Whites. When we had descended all the way back to the junction with Mizpah Cutoff we stopped for lunch. I proposed to Mark that we head up Mizpah Cutoff and visit the Mizpah Spring hut on the flank of Pierce. It was closed for winter but he had not yet seen one of these wonderful mountain cabins. So we would have lunch here then head on up. I have always taken very simple food when I hike. Trail mix, energy bars, fruit, chocolate, etc. Simple high calorie stuff, and today was no exception. Certainly I brought nothing even resembling prepared food. This was not Mark’s expectation of lunch however. When I pulled the bag of trail mix and granola bars out of my pack he looked ruefully at the contents and dryly remarked, “So no lunch, huh?” That is when it hit me that any future hikes with the lad would have to have a better menu.

Mark wasn't thrilled by my lunch menu but a Gray Jay seems well satisfied

After what was a disappointing lunch for Mark, though he did get to feed a Gray Jay some nuts, we headed up Mizpah Cutoff. At first we had a clear track to follow but soon it became evident that the many previous hikers had been wandering about trying to find the trail. So, there was no trail to follow and the snow was covered with a myriad of confused tracks leading in all directions. We went along in the general direction of the hut, but after much wandering about among thick spruces, we had not found it and the daylight would soon be failing. It was time to head back down, but I had to go slowly trying to stay on course. At one point I had to resort to getting on my hands and knees to closely study the snow for my previous crampon marks so we could exit the way we had come up. I was a little anxious about getting too sidetracked and having to hike out in the dark, not something I fear doing but it does make injury more likely. We eventually found our way back to the Crawford Path and headed down the well trodden snow ramp on “cruise control.”

Bushwacking on the search for Mizpah Hut

Lenticular clouds form over the mountains

It had been a day of firsts for Mark and it had been a good day all the way around. Mark had enjoyed the hike and felt the accomplishment as I had hoped. I had truly enjoyed doing this for him and with him. It looked very much like he would want to do this again, which made me feel very happy indeed. He had done very well and had out-hiked many adults I have hiked with before. I was impressed with him I was definitely proud of him. It was getting late and the light was fading fast as we neared the trail’s end. Before the long drive home, we would be dining at Moat Mountain Brewery in North Conway, as I had done with his mom the year before. Warmth, a comfortable chair, and good food awaited both of us, not to mention the excellent ale that awaited me. Mark will have to wait a few years before celebrating a White Mountain hike with Iron Mike’s Pale Ale, but I don't think that bothers him right now. It had been a good trip, and I would be bringing Mark and all his body parts home safely as promised, with a bunch of good memories to boot.