Desolation Shelter, Carrigain Notch
Where: Desolation via Carrigain Notch
When: Winter, 1987/88
With: Chip
We'd come in from the West, we'd come in from the North, so it was time to try a new approach to Desolation shelter. The first time we'd gone in, we shared the shelter with a group of college kids from Dartmouth who skied in through Carrigain Notch. If they could do it, so could we. The plan was to drive up north, go over the Kancamagus highway, cross over to route 302 on Bear Notch road, and then drive up Sawyer River road to the trail.
Well, when we pulled on to Bear Notch road, we were met with a gate and a sign saying it was unmaintained in the winter. In other words, unplowed and impassable. We continued down the Kanc to pick up route 16, which would take us through Conway and onto 302. Here we hit our second problem. North Conway, heart of ski country, was one long traffic jam that Saturday. We crawled through town, swearing all the way.
Finally we hit open road and made some good time down 302. The third obstacle came when we got to Sawyer River road. It too was closed in winter. Already behind schedule, we were faced with 2.1 miles of uphill skiing just to get to the trail. Undaunted, we parked the car and headed out. The ski up the road really wasn't all that bad, but we were glad to finally get to the trail.
The snow was well packed, which turned out to be fortunate. We headed in and had no real problems, though I remember being completely exhausted with many miles to go. The trail got a little rough and we had to walk some. This is where the snow conditions helped. There was enough of a crust to stay on top, rather than breaking through. Up and over the notch we went, the trail winding through the woods.
At this point, the delays we'd encountered on the road started to matter, because we ran out of daylight. The trail became harder and harder to follow as the sun went down behind the hills. We tried to make the best time we could, but exhaustion and confusion about the trail slowed us down. Chip, without his glasses, was having an especially hard time in the twilight. Somehow we made it to the junction with the Nancy Pond trail and debated just setting up camp there, but decided to push on. The trail followed an old railroad bed at this point and we figured it wouldn't be too hard to follow.
I led and skied mostly on instinct, trying to stay straight. One neat thing... when I wasn't looking right at my skis, I swore I saw flashes of light coming from the snow pushed aside by the tips of my skis. Perhaps I was picking up some faint reflected moonlight in my peripheral vision as the snow flew away, or maybe there was static electricity in the dry snow and cold air. I was fascinated and it helped distract me until we came to the junction with the Desolation trail.
We carefully read the trail signs with our flashlights, and were delighted to find we were only 0.2 miles from our destination. That last stretch consisted of alternately skiing and trail hunting. We'd use our flashlights to pick out the trail in the woods, then turn off the lights and ski in that direction until we weren't sure if we were still on the trail. We'd stop then, find the trail again with our lights, and then ski again. At one trail-finding stop, I swung my flashlight to my right and cried out to Chip. "We're here!" I'd spotted the outhouse! We were just a few feet from the shelter. Since it was hidden down an embankment though, we might not have seen it in the dark if not for the outhouse. We skied down and settled in for the night.
The next day we skied back out the way we'd come in, taking our time and enjoying the trail. At a stop near the trailhead, we were getting some water when Chip noticed some movement. It was an ermine, skittering across the snow, checking us out. We returned the favor, then finished the trip to the trailhead. Of course, we still had a couple of miles to go back to the car, but it was all downhill. We just put our skis together and poled our way down. Never picked up a lot of speed, but it was a lot easier than going up. Another adventure.
When: Winter, 1987/88
With: Chip
We'd come in from the West, we'd come in from the North, so it was time to try a new approach to Desolation shelter. The first time we'd gone in, we shared the shelter with a group of college kids from Dartmouth who skied in through Carrigain Notch. If they could do it, so could we. The plan was to drive up north, go over the Kancamagus highway, cross over to route 302 on Bear Notch road, and then drive up Sawyer River road to the trail.
Well, when we pulled on to Bear Notch road, we were met with a gate and a sign saying it was unmaintained in the winter. In other words, unplowed and impassable. We continued down the Kanc to pick up route 16, which would take us through Conway and onto 302. Here we hit our second problem. North Conway, heart of ski country, was one long traffic jam that Saturday. We crawled through town, swearing all the way.
Finally we hit open road and made some good time down 302. The third obstacle came when we got to Sawyer River road. It too was closed in winter. Already behind schedule, we were faced with 2.1 miles of uphill skiing just to get to the trail. Undaunted, we parked the car and headed out. The ski up the road really wasn't all that bad, but we were glad to finally get to the trail.
The snow was well packed, which turned out to be fortunate. We headed in and had no real problems, though I remember being completely exhausted with many miles to go. The trail got a little rough and we had to walk some. This is where the snow conditions helped. There was enough of a crust to stay on top, rather than breaking through. Up and over the notch we went, the trail winding through the woods.
At this point, the delays we'd encountered on the road started to matter, because we ran out of daylight. The trail became harder and harder to follow as the sun went down behind the hills. We tried to make the best time we could, but exhaustion and confusion about the trail slowed us down. Chip, without his glasses, was having an especially hard time in the twilight. Somehow we made it to the junction with the Nancy Pond trail and debated just setting up camp there, but decided to push on. The trail followed an old railroad bed at this point and we figured it wouldn't be too hard to follow.
I led and skied mostly on instinct, trying to stay straight. One neat thing... when I wasn't looking right at my skis, I swore I saw flashes of light coming from the snow pushed aside by the tips of my skis. Perhaps I was picking up some faint reflected moonlight in my peripheral vision as the snow flew away, or maybe there was static electricity in the dry snow and cold air. I was fascinated and it helped distract me until we came to the junction with the Desolation trail.
We carefully read the trail signs with our flashlights, and were delighted to find we were only 0.2 miles from our destination. That last stretch consisted of alternately skiing and trail hunting. We'd use our flashlights to pick out the trail in the woods, then turn off the lights and ski in that direction until we weren't sure if we were still on the trail. We'd stop then, find the trail again with our lights, and then ski again. At one trail-finding stop, I swung my flashlight to my right and cried out to Chip. "We're here!" I'd spotted the outhouse! We were just a few feet from the shelter. Since it was hidden down an embankment though, we might not have seen it in the dark if not for the outhouse. We skied down and settled in for the night.
The next day we skied back out the way we'd come in, taking our time and enjoying the trail. At a stop near the trailhead, we were getting some water when Chip noticed some movement. It was an ermine, skittering across the snow, checking us out. We returned the favor, then finished the trip to the trailhead. Of course, we still had a couple of miles to go back to the car, but it was all downhill. We just put our skis together and poled our way down. Never picked up a lot of speed, but it was a lot easier than going up. Another adventure.
