Cascade Brook Trail
Where: Cascade Brook Trail, NH
When: 2/27/93-2/28/93
With: Chip
When: 2/27/93-2/28/93
With: Chip
After cancelling in January due to lack of snow, the White Mountains got something like 7 feet of snow in February, so up we went. We hit the parking lot at 9:30 and were on the trail by 10. We both had snowshoes (Chip rented a pair of Sherpas - metal frames...mine were wooden Iversons) and skis. My ski boots turned out to work just fine in the snowshoe bindings, so I left my Bean boots in the car to save weight. Mistake #1. After clumping along a well-worn access path, we made it to the main trailhead but almost missed it because it was untraveled. Despite the lack of a well-worn path, we decided to follow the trail anyway. "Hey," we said, "we've got snowshoes. How hard can it be to break trail?" Mistake #2. What a pain that was! 100 yards in and we were already talking about turning back. Just completely exhausting. And when we'd stop to rest, the cold would settle in and in no time we'd have to start moving again to keep warm. Thank god the snow was dry and slipped back through the decking on the shoes. If we'd had to lift the snow with each step... As it was, our pace was about 1/2 a mile an hour. That doesn't get you very far very fast.
Anyway, after some pretty constant climbing, the trail started to level off and the going actually got better. We started to feel pretty good. Just then, we came to a junction with another trail at a stream and found the other trail was a) 0.3 miles shorter and b) popular, i.e., well traveled and packed down. Should've come in that way. Mistake #3. Oh well, we thought, at the least the trip from there on would be easier. We were feeling pretty optimistic about the trip but a bit thirsty. I'd neglected to fill up my water bottles at home (mistake #4) and we'd gone through all the water we had on the trudge up. So hey, we're on a stream, we'll get water from there. A good idea, until I stepped on to some ice and went through, snowshoes and all. Mistake #5. I can only chalk it all up to the dehydration, because it was a dumb move and I knew it, but did it anyway. Some sense did kick in, because I knew enough to plant my ice ax while I was falling and was clawing my way out immediately. Chip grabbed on and managed to haul me out, shoes and all, but not before I was soaked to the knees. I seem to remember repeating "We're fucked," over and over the entire time.
Once out, we had to decide what to do. My boots were soaked and my other shoes were back at the car (see mistake #1) so if we were to continue, we'd have to be sure we could get a fire going to dry things out. The trail ahead was broken, to be sure, but for how far? The shelter we were heading to was on a rough, steep side trail that was unlikely to have been traveled, so we were looking at more trail breaking. Considering our earlier pace and exhaustion, it didn't seem likely that we'd make it there, so we were looking at trying to set up camp and a fire in 5-6 feet of snow. Not a great idea, but we actually did decide to try. I wrung out my socks as best I could and we started off. Unfortunately, after about 100 yards or so, I could feel my boots/feet starting to freeze up and I reluctantly decided we had to go back.
So back we went. Fortunately, we had dragged our skis up, so we pretty much just turned around, put on the skis and slid down. A fun ride, actually, with a couple of good, long runs and some spectacular, face-planting wipeouts. The trail we'd broken on the way up turned out to be perfect for skiing down, though at times, a bit too fast. Chip discovered that by skiing off the trail, the deep snow helped hold his speed down, so we did a bit of that too. At one point we met two guys coming up. They had skis also, but no snowshoes and were hauling obviously homemade sleds. We stopped to chat and they thanked us for the broken trail and then we continued on down.
In a fairly short time, we were back at the car, still thirsty, exhausted, a bit disheartened, but unwilling to give up just yet. We decided there were two equally important reasons to find some way to stay out. First, we'd told EVERYONE that we were going winter camping. We'd gone to great lengths to arrange this - inspiring an eerily prophetic song named Hell and High Water - and made a big point of saying how a little cold never bothered us. Go back now? We'd never live it down. Second, if we went home, we wouldn't be able to spend the evening consuming all the various supplies we'd brought! So we went to a convenience store, bought fluids, and then sat in the car and checked the map. The fluids must've helped, because I remembered a shelter in the area.
Years earlier, our friend Ken Levy had convinced Chip and I to go for a spur of the moment day trip to the White Mountains - in the dead of winter. With typical youthful abandon, we roared north (buying booze along the way), wandered back roads until we found a place to park, and then walked into the woods. We started on a trail, but soon were just bushwhacking through the snow, up the side of Mt. Moosilauke. We had a bottle of some rotgut bourbon and drank that along the way. We finally reached the top, or at least a level ridge, as it was getting dark. We dug a pit, built a fire, and played in the cold and dark for a good while before heading back down. Most of the trip down was spent sliding on our butts. We only had a general idea of direction, but figured that "down" was a good start. Somehow, we wound up intercepting a trail and followed that out. Soon we spotted a shelter and shortly afterwards, the car. By this time, the storm that had been blowing the whole time was ripping along nicely. Ken declared that he wanted to stand in the worst weather he could, so we walked down the road a bit to the end of a small pond (Beaver Pond) and stood in the blast of wind and snow roaring through Kinsman Notch. Wild. This whole time, I was roaring drunk, so I only vaguely recall a car with women stopping and a missed opportunity to join up with them. Anyway, we stumbled back to the car and drove home. All I recall of the ride back was that I threw up in the back seat and we all stopped at a McDonalds (Burger King?) for food.
Anyway, I actually recalled the fact that there was a shelter there and I pointed it out to Chip as we sat at the convenience store. It was close by, practically right on the road, though in an isolated area, and unlikely to be in use this time of year. We figured it was worth a shot, so we bought a gallon of water and with the daylight starting to fade, drove to the trailhead, packed up, walked in the three tenths of a mile (a.k.a. spitting distance) and found the shelter unoccupied. Perfect! We dropped the packs, gathered some wood, set up camp and wound up having a very nice evening, including a nice dinner, some good stars, and some serious consumption of supplies.
Next morning (after 11 hours of sleep), Chip tried to convince me that we should drive to a ski area, rent skis, and spend the day on the slopes. I couldn't get psyched for the idea, so we started to think about breakfast. We contemplated the prospect of melting snow for water and then having oatmeal, instant coffee, and frozen bagels. We decided against that, packed up, walked out, and drove into town for a nice Sunday brunch (Truants Tavern?). Over omelets, we debated options for the day, but my ski boots were still soaked (and after a night in the car, frozen) and we were too sore for more snowshoeing, so we just headed home.
All in all, we did everything we'd normally have done - hard hiking, fast skiing, and a night out in the woods - but it was different. Not that we didn't have fun, mind you, but it just didn't seem to satisfy whatever urge compels us to go out there each winter. Maybe it was the failure to reach the goal we'd set or the lack of a full second day of hard work to get back to the car. Maybe just a matter of pride.
Hell & High Water
For a couple of months now,
We've been talking the talk.
Gonna pack up the backpacks,
And go for a walk.
We sounded brave.
We sounded bold.
But when the day came,
Our feet got cold
Well, come Hell or high water...
This time we're gonna go.
(chorus)
Come Hell or high water,
We're gonna do it this time.
Come Hell or high water...
Our pride's on the line.
There's no backing out,
No alibis.
This time around,
We'll do more than try.
Come Hell or high water,
It's do or die.
Well, our wives shake their heads...
Say our minds are gone.
They say, "Think of the family...
What if something went wrong?"
Well, we gotta admit
What they say might be true,
But a man's gotta do
What a man's gotta do.
Come Hell or high water,
Gonna see this through.
More pictures
Anyway, after some pretty constant climbing, the trail started to level off and the going actually got better. We started to feel pretty good. Just then, we came to a junction with another trail at a stream and found the other trail was a) 0.3 miles shorter and b) popular, i.e., well traveled and packed down. Should've come in that way. Mistake #3. Oh well, we thought, at the least the trip from there on would be easier. We were feeling pretty optimistic about the trip but a bit thirsty. I'd neglected to fill up my water bottles at home (mistake #4) and we'd gone through all the water we had on the trudge up. So hey, we're on a stream, we'll get water from there. A good idea, until I stepped on to some ice and went through, snowshoes and all. Mistake #5. I can only chalk it all up to the dehydration, because it was a dumb move and I knew it, but did it anyway. Some sense did kick in, because I knew enough to plant my ice ax while I was falling and was clawing my way out immediately. Chip grabbed on and managed to haul me out, shoes and all, but not before I was soaked to the knees. I seem to remember repeating "We're fucked," over and over the entire time.
Once out, we had to decide what to do. My boots were soaked and my other shoes were back at the car (see mistake #1) so if we were to continue, we'd have to be sure we could get a fire going to dry things out. The trail ahead was broken, to be sure, but for how far? The shelter we were heading to was on a rough, steep side trail that was unlikely to have been traveled, so we were looking at more trail breaking. Considering our earlier pace and exhaustion, it didn't seem likely that we'd make it there, so we were looking at trying to set up camp and a fire in 5-6 feet of snow. Not a great idea, but we actually did decide to try. I wrung out my socks as best I could and we started off. Unfortunately, after about 100 yards or so, I could feel my boots/feet starting to freeze up and I reluctantly decided we had to go back.
So back we went. Fortunately, we had dragged our skis up, so we pretty much just turned around, put on the skis and slid down. A fun ride, actually, with a couple of good, long runs and some spectacular, face-planting wipeouts. The trail we'd broken on the way up turned out to be perfect for skiing down, though at times, a bit too fast. Chip discovered that by skiing off the trail, the deep snow helped hold his speed down, so we did a bit of that too. At one point we met two guys coming up. They had skis also, but no snowshoes and were hauling obviously homemade sleds. We stopped to chat and they thanked us for the broken trail and then we continued on down.
In a fairly short time, we were back at the car, still thirsty, exhausted, a bit disheartened, but unwilling to give up just yet. We decided there were two equally important reasons to find some way to stay out. First, we'd told EVERYONE that we were going winter camping. We'd gone to great lengths to arrange this - inspiring an eerily prophetic song named Hell and High Water - and made a big point of saying how a little cold never bothered us. Go back now? We'd never live it down. Second, if we went home, we wouldn't be able to spend the evening consuming all the various supplies we'd brought! So we went to a convenience store, bought fluids, and then sat in the car and checked the map. The fluids must've helped, because I remembered a shelter in the area.
Years earlier, our friend Ken Levy had convinced Chip and I to go for a spur of the moment day trip to the White Mountains - in the dead of winter. With typical youthful abandon, we roared north (buying booze along the way), wandered back roads until we found a place to park, and then walked into the woods. We started on a trail, but soon were just bushwhacking through the snow, up the side of Mt. Moosilauke. We had a bottle of some rotgut bourbon and drank that along the way. We finally reached the top, or at least a level ridge, as it was getting dark. We dug a pit, built a fire, and played in the cold and dark for a good while before heading back down. Most of the trip down was spent sliding on our butts. We only had a general idea of direction, but figured that "down" was a good start. Somehow, we wound up intercepting a trail and followed that out. Soon we spotted a shelter and shortly afterwards, the car. By this time, the storm that had been blowing the whole time was ripping along nicely. Ken declared that he wanted to stand in the worst weather he could, so we walked down the road a bit to the end of a small pond (Beaver Pond) and stood in the blast of wind and snow roaring through Kinsman Notch. Wild. This whole time, I was roaring drunk, so I only vaguely recall a car with women stopping and a missed opportunity to join up with them. Anyway, we stumbled back to the car and drove home. All I recall of the ride back was that I threw up in the back seat and we all stopped at a McDonalds (Burger King?) for food.
Anyway, I actually recalled the fact that there was a shelter there and I pointed it out to Chip as we sat at the convenience store. It was close by, practically right on the road, though in an isolated area, and unlikely to be in use this time of year. We figured it was worth a shot, so we bought a gallon of water and with the daylight starting to fade, drove to the trailhead, packed up, walked in the three tenths of a mile (a.k.a. spitting distance) and found the shelter unoccupied. Perfect! We dropped the packs, gathered some wood, set up camp and wound up having a very nice evening, including a nice dinner, some good stars, and some serious consumption of supplies.
Next morning (after 11 hours of sleep), Chip tried to convince me that we should drive to a ski area, rent skis, and spend the day on the slopes. I couldn't get psyched for the idea, so we started to think about breakfast. We contemplated the prospect of melting snow for water and then having oatmeal, instant coffee, and frozen bagels. We decided against that, packed up, walked out, and drove into town for a nice Sunday brunch (Truants Tavern?). Over omelets, we debated options for the day, but my ski boots were still soaked (and after a night in the car, frozen) and we were too sore for more snowshoeing, so we just headed home.
All in all, we did everything we'd normally have done - hard hiking, fast skiing, and a night out in the woods - but it was different. Not that we didn't have fun, mind you, but it just didn't seem to satisfy whatever urge compels us to go out there each winter. Maybe it was the failure to reach the goal we'd set or the lack of a full second day of hard work to get back to the car. Maybe just a matter of pride.
Hell & High Water
For a couple of months now,
We've been talking the talk.
Gonna pack up the backpacks,
And go for a walk.
We sounded brave.
We sounded bold.
But when the day came,
Our feet got cold
Well, come Hell or high water...
This time we're gonna go.
(chorus)
Come Hell or high water,
We're gonna do it this time.
Come Hell or high water...
Our pride's on the line.
There's no backing out,
No alibis.
This time around,
We'll do more than try.
Come Hell or high water,
It's do or die.
Well, our wives shake their heads...
Say our minds are gone.
They say, "Think of the family...
What if something went wrong?"
Well, we gotta admit
What they say might be true,
But a man's gotta do
What a man's gotta do.
Come Hell or high water,
Gonna see this through.
More pictures
