Mount Garfield
Where: Mt. Garfield, NH
When: 3/11/95-3/12/95
With: Chip
When: 3/11/95-3/12/95
With: Chip
After our success on Mt. Kinsman, Chip was raring for another winter hike so we started to look at the maps. I suggested the Garfield Trail to Mt. Garfield. I'd been up in that area about 10 years ago and have always thought the shelter up there - perched on the ridge - would be an interesting place to stay. The walk in would be very similar to our last hike. A gentle approach, then a steep climb to a high ridge and a shelter for the night. One difference though...instead of hiking back out the way we came in, I proposed that we ski out on a different route, along the Franconia Brook trail and the Wilderness trail, going straight south on a couple of old railroad beds. It would be a long ski (8+ miles), but Chip and I had been on the trails long ago and we thought we recalled them to be flat and smooth...very skiable.
To do this required a couple of things. First, snow. There hadn't been enough to ski on in January, but since then there'd been a couple of storms so we figured we'd be okay. Still, New England weather in March being somewhat unpredictable, we knew we'd have to keep a close eye on the forecasts. Second, we'd need two cars, something we hadn't done before, since we'd be hiking out a different route than the one we came in on.
All in all, it seemed possible, so we set the date and began preparations. Chip was in charge of the food this time and also - via his friend Dick Johnson - for route reconnaissance. Dick lives up north and was able to give us reports on snow conditions. Chip continued his fitness regimen...he'd mentioned a number of times that he was in the best shape he'd been in in years. I, on the other hand, was not. While Chip was swimming, I was watching TV. While he was watching his diet, I was drinking beer.
As the day approached, we got two bits of information that almost changed our plans. First, my friend Brian noticed that an AMC group had planned a hike to the same shelter and they were leaving a day before us. That meant that they'd be firmly encamped in the shelter by the time we got there. At best, there'd be room, but it would likely be in front of the open doorway. At worst, they might take over the entire shelter, leaving us literally out in the cold. I checked the trip notice and saw there were four leaders/co-leaders, so it would likely be a large group, filling the shelter. Chip and I discussed going somewhere else, but decided to stay with our original plan and bring a tent, just in case.
The second bit of info was the weather. Dick Johnson reported that there was a good snow base, but a rainstorm had come through, followed by a freeze and then more snow. The end result was an icy base covered with a thin cover of dry powder. If the powder were blown off, the icy base would make for very tough skiing. Again, we debated the matter and then decided to take the skis anyway and see what things looked like once we got up there. A nice feature of this hike were two alternate routes out, both going back to the original trailhead, so we had some options. Dick had warned Chip though that crampons would be a necessity, so Chip considered a hike day detour to purchase some spikes.
Hike day arrived and we were off. The weather reports looked great... moderate temperatures and clear skies. Chip and I agreed to meet at the Wilderness Trail parking lot at 9AM, but we wound up meeting on the road north of Concord. We stopped soon afterwards at a rest area for a "Good Morning" and a break. While we were stopped, I noticed one of my tires was low on air, so we had to make one exit from the highway to find an air pump (we wound up getting a nice scenic tour of some New Hampshire town), but otherwise it was a straight run up to the trail.
We arrived right on schedule, at 9AM, and took a short walk to check the snow. It looked perfect, so we didn't stay long. One change at the Lincoln Woods lot...they now charge for parking longer than 15 minutes. I paid my $5, locked up my car, and we were on our way in Chip's Honda.
The ride to the starting point was uneventful and quick. We missed the access road the first time, but were able to turn around soon after (at the end of one of our alternate routes out) and were parked a few minutes later. We found the lot full of AMC cars, as we expected. We also found a gate blocked the access road. We weren't really surprised by this, but we had figured on being able to drive all the way to the trailhead. It meant a few more miles of hiking, but it was a beautiful sunny day and still quite early, so we didn't mind. We packed up and were on our way by a little after 10:00.
A few notes on equipment: I decided to bring my waxable skis this trip, instead of the waxless. I'd worn down the scales on the waxless so I didn't get much kick from them anymore. I figured I'd have a better chance with the waxes. I also figured that wax would be helpful if the trails turned out to be icy. The other equipment item was my camera. I decided to bring my SLR on this trip, despite its weight and bulk. I'd brought it on other trips and had been able to stow it under the hood of my pack without any trouble. When I packed up this time however, I found the pack to be so full that stowing the camera was difficult. I managed to get it in eventually though.
The first part of our trek was along the access road, a gentle uphill climb with plenty of snow for the skis. Eventually we reached a curve in the road where I thought the trail should be, but it wasn't there. There was an overgrown path/road heading off in the right direction, but it showed no signs of travel. Chip was confident that we just hadn't gone far enough so we continued. We figured that the tracks of the AMC group would eventually lead us to our trail, so we kept an eye on them. A bit later, the road curved again and crossed a bridge. About this time, a man pulled up on a snowmobile. He shut off the engine and asked if he was on a ski track, concerned he was messing up our tracks. We assured him that he was fine and asked about a trail. He indicated that he'd seen one just up ahead. We parted his company and, in a few minutes, were at the Garfield Trail trailhead at last.
According to the maps, the bottom section of this hike looked flat and skiable and we'd hoped to be able to ski in a ways, saving our energy. We were wrong. The trail started by climbing steeply up an embankment and then became a rough woods trail. We both climbed up and then I dropped my pack and switched to boots, while Chip attempted to ski ahead. The trail was firm enough for boots alone, so I left my snowshoes on my pack and lashed on my skis. I started walking and almost immediately came upon Chip, who was also switching to boots.
Another equipment note: Around this time I realized that I'd left my crampons back in the car. Chip asked if I wanted to go back for them, but I declined. Too far to backtrack and Chip had decided not to get crampons after all, so my lack of crampons would make things equal.
The trail continued through the woods a bit, then turned and joined the old road we'd noticed earlier. Apparently the trail had originally followed the road but had been relocated. We both commented on how skiable the trail appeared to be and even noticed a ski track or two among the footprints we were following. We decided to keep our skis on our packs though and kept walking up the trail.
Around 11:00, we stopped at a stream for water and a rest. Suddenly there was a noise up ahead. Snowmobiles! We crossed their track a short time later and wondered if - another time - they could provide taxi service to this spot, saving us an hour of hiking! Continuing on, we hiked until my altimeter indicated we'd climbed 1000 feet (I'd set it to 0 at the start of our hike) and then stopped for lunch. We'd both brought sandwiches and I had my thermos of hot veggie bouillon.
After lunch, Chip decided to put on his snowshoes, for the traction mostly, and we continued on, using elevations as goals for rest stops. My lack of conditioning began to show, as Chip bore on ahead while I took frequent rest stops. The temperature wasn't too bad, but cold enough to keep any stops short, before a chill set in. Still, I was able to hike the entire first day without wearing any gloves. After a bit, we pretty much separated, hiking alone mostly, then meeting up at resting spots.
During one of our separations, I found myself hiking in a level, wooded area and noticed activity off the trail to my right. Tents, and people. It had to be the AMC group. I detoured in to chat and sure enough, it was them. A group of 10, it turned out. I never understood the whole story of why they weren't at the top, but it had something to do with the fact that they had expected novices on this hike (hence the 4 leaders). The lead leader knew about this site in a hollow (not marked on any map) and had decided to set up camp here, rather than making the difficult climb to the top. However, there were no novices in their group. Not surprising, considering the trip had been rated as very difficult and participants were required to have full winter camping gear. So, if they were all experienced folks, why hadn't they changed their plans and gone on to the top? I got the impression from a couple of folks that they would've liked to do that. Who knows? Perhaps, assuming they'd be stopping early and wouldn't need the time required to get to the top, they'd started out late and had to camp in the woods. Again, who knows? What it meant to us was that we'd have the shelter to ourselves (probably). Yippee!
With that good news in mind, we trudged on up the trail. The hollow, by the way, may be the spot where the original Garfield Trail diverged from the present path. It might be worth a revisit during some non-snow season, since it appears to offer a more direct access to the shelter. Anyway, the new trail became somewhat steeper at this point and I found myself taking more and more rest breaks. It was still quite skiable though and I recalled a description of the trail in a backcountry ski book as one of the best routes in the area. Judging by the tracks we saw, it appeared that someone had climbed up within the last few days and then skied down. Must've been a great ride.
The trail and the woods, by the way, were quite pretty. A typical northern New England forest, with lots of relatively new (40-50 years?) growth. A solid snow cover on the ground, with a depth of at least a foot, and snow on all the trees also, due to the recent storm. So much for Dick Johnson's report of a dusting on top of an ice pack, though there was evidence of recent icing on the branches of the trees and undergrowth around us. It made for a very pretty sparkling effect whenever the sun was out. Not much in the way of views, though we did occasionally get some glimpses of other peaks - probably Cannon and Lafayette.
After a bit, the trail took a sharp turn to the left and I figured we were home free, since the map showed a single left turn and then a slow curve right, just before end of the trail. Chip, as usual, knew better and he was right. The trail would make many more turns before we reached our goal. Soon after this first turn, we met up with two older gents descending from the summit. Up for a dayhike. We asked about how much further it was and they said they'd been coming down for about 20 minutes, so we knew we were close, but not there yet. Chip asked about conditions up top and was told that it was icy, but the summit could be reached.
From here on, the trail wasn't a lot of fun for me. To start with, I was pretty tired and my legs just couldn't go too far without needing a break. I also had a bit of a groin pull from the little bit of skiing we'd done. And finally, the height of the trees along the trail had decreased to the point where they were constantly catching my skis (attached to my backpack and extending above my head). Whenever this happened, I was forced to lean in to the obstruction and push to bull my way through. That extra effort wound up depleting my energy levels even further and I was stopping for a rest every 50 feet or so. The trees also dumped a pile of snow on me every time I ran into them, so I was forced to hike with my hood up and my parka zippered shut. My view of the trail and the surrounding woods was restricted to the spot on the trail directly in front of my feet.
Chip, on the other hand, seemed to have no trouble keeping up a good, steady pace. Talking with him later, he attributed some of his success to a constant intake of food during his walk, keeping his internal power plant well stoked. He pointed out, accurately, that my use of calories far exceeded my supply for the day, and suggested I should try more munching. Something to bear in mind for future trips.
Finally, I looked up at one point and saw Chip in front on me, picking up one of his skis and not wearing a backpack. "You know," I said, "I'm really starting to hate these trees." He agreed, noting that they'd knocked his ski out of his pack. He also mentioned that the trail end was just a bit further. He offered to carry my skis for me, but I declined, figuring I'd gone this far with them already. A short time later, the trail junction sign appeared. I dropped my pack, munched on a candy bar, and rested at last. Chip pointed out that the trail down to the shelter was unbroken, a sign that no one had gone in there from here at least.
In the other direction, the trail continued 0.1 miles to the summit, and we decided to head up to it. My altimeter, by the way, indicated we were already standing 150 feet above the summit. Apparently, a low-pressure area had moved in and skewed the readings. I put on my snowshoes (for the crampons, mostly) and we started up the trail. It was nice to hike without a pack, but the trail was mighty steep and still tough going. I was almost at the top, and taking yet another rest, when I looked back and saw a hiker behind me. One of the AMC group it turned out. They were coming up to the summit for a day hike. A short time later, I cleared the trees and looked to see the summit rocks, with Chip up on them. It was icy up there, but climbable and I scrambled up to join Chip for some vistas and some pictures. Unfortunately, the low that had messed up my altimeter had brought in low clouds and snow, so there was almost no view at all. That makes two winter peak climbs now with no views.
While we were on top, the rest of the AMC group arrived and we chatted with them a bit before heading down. The hike back to the packs was more sliding than walking, but we were down fast and then on our way to the shelter. The soft, loose snow on the untracked trail meant we could do some glissading - a semi-controlled slide almost like skiing. Chip fell at one point and discovered the butt-glissade, which he used extensively on the rest of the descent. In a short time, we were at the access trail to the shelter. To our dismay, the short route to the campsite required more climbing, but we knew it would be the last for the day.
The access trail climbed to a small open area, where it disappeared. We'd seen the site from the summit, so we knew the shelter was in a second clearing nearby, but we couldn't figure out how to get to it. After a bit of wandering in the woods, Chip located the privy and then the shelter and we were done for the day. It was about 5PM - 7 hours of hiking. We dropped the packs with a thud and surveyed the area. Very nice. A good sized shelter (10 person) with some nice wind protection, set in a small clearing surrounded by trees. The trees were all covered in ice and snow, so there wasn't much hope for a fire, but they looked mighty pretty.
The first order of business was settling in. We both added some extra layers and Chip swept out the shelter with a broom he found. Housekeeping done, we started on dinner. First, we needed to melt snow for water. Chip brought out his stove, lamented that it was broken, and then suddenly figured out how to fix it. In no time, we had two stoves roaring along, melting snow. First we melted a couple of potfulls for drinking water and soup, then we started another batch for dinner. A short time later, ravioli and noodles were cooking along merrily and quickly thereafter, dinner was served. Chip added a packet of vegetable soup mix for a sauce and the result was quite tasty.
All this time, a light snow continued to fall. From the clearing, we could see the summit, but that was about it. We took a couple of pictures and played a bit of Frisbee before settling back into the shelter for the night. I decided to get into my sleeping bag for warmth while Chip puttered around the shelter, reading the logbooks. In no time at all, I was asleep. Chip stayed up awhile, reading the logs and adding his own entry. We both awoke around midnight for the call of nature then went back to sleep.
I had a somewhat fitful night...dozing and waking a number of times. At one point I got up and went outside to look around. The storm had intensified a bit. Earlier in the evening, we had a hazy moon and some stars. Now it was just clouds and wind and snow. Chip had to get up at one point to take down a snowshoe that had been banging against the shelter in the wind. Before I got back into my bag, I grabbed a granola bar, figuring I needed some fuel. I'd been feeling cold and a little stoking of the furnace seemed in order. I discovered later that Chip had rigged a cocoon around his sleeping bag, using a space blanket, to keep warmer. Something I wish I'd tried, though I'm not sure it would've made all that much difference.
Around 6:30AM, we both woke up and decided to start the day. Looking out the shelter opening, I could see it was still stormy, though now it seemed to be fog rather than snow. Sure enough, when I went out, I saw we were enveloped in a cloudbank, the mist racing through the trees surrounding the clearing as the winds blew. The peak was completely obscured, and it was cold. About 10 degrees. Brrrr!
After my traditional trip to the outhouse (there's nothing quite like an ice-covered toilet seat to wake you up fast!), we started to prepare breakfast. We had filled the thermos with boiling water the night before, so we were able to have some lukewarm cups of coffee while we melted some more snow on the stoves. A few more cups of coffee and some oatmeal later and we were ready to start the day. The question was, which way to go?
We'd begun to have doubts about the ski route out. We realized that route would only work if the trail was flat, smooth, and easy to ski. Given its length, anything less than an easy run out would have been trouble. Even the snow conditions could be a factor. We might find ourselves on ice or having to break trail through a foot of new snow. The problem was, we wouldn't know until we climbed down to where we could ski and once there, there'd be no going back. We'd last been on the trail a little over five years ago and we finally admitted we didn't remember it well enough to trust ourselves to it. The alternatives were to hike back up to the peak and go back the way we came, or to hike further down the trail to the Gale River trail. That trail also involved a steep descent from the ridge followed by a flat, skiable section, but it was much shorter and ended at our original trailhead. From what we could see, the trail to the beginning of this second trail didn't seem too bad and the idea of getting to the car faster was appealing.
With all that in mind, we found we still couldn't make a choice, except we did know we didn't want to go back up. So we packed up our gear and headed down the trail, vowing to decide at the trail junction whether to take the original long ski route or the shorter alternate route. We carried our skis, to avoid the trees, and an adjustment of my snowshoes made my life much better. The day before, my boot had been too far forward and kept catching the shoe. Today, everything worked as it should.
Much of the early going was steep descents and I was glad for the new crampons on my snowshoes. For the most part I was able to stay upright as I moved down the trail. At one pitch however, an ice flow forced us to change our tactics. First, we dropped our packs. Then Chip leapt across the ice to the other side of the trail and lowered himself by holding on to trees and branches. Once at the bottom, I slid the gear down to him and then did my own leaping and lowering. On another slide, we both wound up slamming into a tree. Painful, but it prevented further sliding. And so, with a combination of walking, sliding, and Chip's now-perfected butt-glissade, we arrived at the trail junction with the Franconia Brook trail. We debated for a few minutes about which way to go and decided to forgo the long ski this time.
The trail section to the Gale River trail junction was very pretty, with rime ice and icicles encrusting the short, gnarled trees on the ridgeline and an occasional view down into the misty valleys. It was a bit more strenuous than I'd expected though. A few small dips and rises at first, then some pretty steep rises and drops. I found myself swearing at the trail designer who laid out this route for not following the contour lines more. At one point, the trail veered sharply uphill, for no apparent reason, and then dropped just as suddenly. What? It couldn't have gone around, rather than up and over? Oh well. We got a lot of good use out of the snowshoes at least. The snow was quite deep under the tree cover and we would have been up to our thighs without the shoes.
Finally, we did make it to the trail junction and we stopped for an early lunch. Hot soup again, and the remainder of whatever food we'd packed. Then it was down the trail and back toward the car. After all the heavy lifting, it was a pleasure to finally be going downhill for good. The snowcover made for perfect butt-glissade conditions and Chip took full advantage of it while I clumped along behind. Soon after we started down, I heard a "Whoop!", moved out of the way, and watched as Chip slid past and disappeared down the path. Eventually, the trail leveled off and we both wound up walking. Also, the tree cover lifted and we were able to put our skis on our packs again. As it turned out, we would've been able to put the skis on our feet at this point, but we didn't know the trail and didn't want to be constantly switching gear.
From this point on, the hike turned into an easy trudge along the river on our snowshoes. The tree cover parted, especially at some old slides, and we were able to get some glimpses of the peaks we'd just descended. We crossed the river, then recrossed on a bridge and decided that now was the time for the skis. Having carried them up and over the mountain, we were determined to get some use out of them. We strapped the snowshoes to the packs, switched into ski boots (farewell, faithful Sorels!), and started gliding. It was a great choice. Soon we were swooshing through the forest with little effort, making great time. I wasn't getting much kick from my wax, but it didn't really matter.
After one final stop at a stream for water, we found ourselves at the trail's end and on the access road we'd started on, though at a different point. Once again, we consulted the maps to figure out which way to go and then headed for the car, skiing along a wide road used mostly by snowmobilers. It was a nice, sunny day once again, and we met up with a number of folks out with their machines, but mostly we had the road to ourselves as we slid along.
The snow conditions worsened as we got closer to the highway, but held out (just barely) for us. The hike ended with a walk along the highway back to the car, a complete loop, finishing up around 2:15PM, six hours after we'd started that morning. We changed into travelling clothes, packed up the car and headed back south. We missed the exit on the way down, but looped back and arrived at my car around 3:00. One last shift of gear, an exchange of handshakes, and the hike was over.
Final thoughts: This hike was definitely tougher than our last hike. It wasn't just my lack of conditioning. Total of 13.8 miles (vs. 7.6). A 6.3 mile hike in to the shelter the first day, with a 3100' elevation gain, vs. a 3.8-mile hike with a 2900' climb. Could we have done the long ski out? Maybe, maybe not. It occurred to me later that a long distance backcountry ski hike might not have been the best plan, considering that it would be the first time on cross-country skis for either Chip or I this season. And I was having trouble with my wax, so even if the trail had been perfect, even already tracked, it might've been a tough hike for us. We'll never know, and perhaps we'll regret not finding out, but I think we made the right decision this time.
Wildlife: Where are all the animals? We saw tracks for deer and rabbits along the trail, and what might've been moose tracks along the road, but the only live, in-the-flesh beastie sightings were a mouse in the shelter and some chickadees in the trees along the trails. So much for the "wild" backcountry. Mice and chickadees I can see at home. Despite the lack of actual encounters though, Chip took it upon himself to provide food for the trackmakers, knocking berries from the trees along the trail to the ground with his skis and poles. A nice gesture.
Equipment: Everything worked very well, especially the snowshoes. Chip's Atlas' performed superbly and I really appreciated the new crampons I got for my Iversons. In hindsight, the skis could've been left behind without much loss of fun and the reduction of weight and trouble would've been welcome. The crampons would've been helpful however, and I wished I'd remembered to use my ice ax on the climb to the summit. The SLR camera was a mistake. Too bulky to store and difficult to get at, so few pictures were taken. Also, the cold really did a number on the battery, so the light meter never really worked. The cheap, light disposable cameras seem to be the best things for these trips.
More pictures
To do this required a couple of things. First, snow. There hadn't been enough to ski on in January, but since then there'd been a couple of storms so we figured we'd be okay. Still, New England weather in March being somewhat unpredictable, we knew we'd have to keep a close eye on the forecasts. Second, we'd need two cars, something we hadn't done before, since we'd be hiking out a different route than the one we came in on.
All in all, it seemed possible, so we set the date and began preparations. Chip was in charge of the food this time and also - via his friend Dick Johnson - for route reconnaissance. Dick lives up north and was able to give us reports on snow conditions. Chip continued his fitness regimen...he'd mentioned a number of times that he was in the best shape he'd been in in years. I, on the other hand, was not. While Chip was swimming, I was watching TV. While he was watching his diet, I was drinking beer.
As the day approached, we got two bits of information that almost changed our plans. First, my friend Brian noticed that an AMC group had planned a hike to the same shelter and they were leaving a day before us. That meant that they'd be firmly encamped in the shelter by the time we got there. At best, there'd be room, but it would likely be in front of the open doorway. At worst, they might take over the entire shelter, leaving us literally out in the cold. I checked the trip notice and saw there were four leaders/co-leaders, so it would likely be a large group, filling the shelter. Chip and I discussed going somewhere else, but decided to stay with our original plan and bring a tent, just in case.
The second bit of info was the weather. Dick Johnson reported that there was a good snow base, but a rainstorm had come through, followed by a freeze and then more snow. The end result was an icy base covered with a thin cover of dry powder. If the powder were blown off, the icy base would make for very tough skiing. Again, we debated the matter and then decided to take the skis anyway and see what things looked like once we got up there. A nice feature of this hike were two alternate routes out, both going back to the original trailhead, so we had some options. Dick had warned Chip though that crampons would be a necessity, so Chip considered a hike day detour to purchase some spikes.
Hike day arrived and we were off. The weather reports looked great... moderate temperatures and clear skies. Chip and I agreed to meet at the Wilderness Trail parking lot at 9AM, but we wound up meeting on the road north of Concord. We stopped soon afterwards at a rest area for a "Good Morning" and a break. While we were stopped, I noticed one of my tires was low on air, so we had to make one exit from the highway to find an air pump (we wound up getting a nice scenic tour of some New Hampshire town), but otherwise it was a straight run up to the trail.
We arrived right on schedule, at 9AM, and took a short walk to check the snow. It looked perfect, so we didn't stay long. One change at the Lincoln Woods lot...they now charge for parking longer than 15 minutes. I paid my $5, locked up my car, and we were on our way in Chip's Honda.
The ride to the starting point was uneventful and quick. We missed the access road the first time, but were able to turn around soon after (at the end of one of our alternate routes out) and were parked a few minutes later. We found the lot full of AMC cars, as we expected. We also found a gate blocked the access road. We weren't really surprised by this, but we had figured on being able to drive all the way to the trailhead. It meant a few more miles of hiking, but it was a beautiful sunny day and still quite early, so we didn't mind. We packed up and were on our way by a little after 10:00.
A few notes on equipment: I decided to bring my waxable skis this trip, instead of the waxless. I'd worn down the scales on the waxless so I didn't get much kick from them anymore. I figured I'd have a better chance with the waxes. I also figured that wax would be helpful if the trails turned out to be icy. The other equipment item was my camera. I decided to bring my SLR on this trip, despite its weight and bulk. I'd brought it on other trips and had been able to stow it under the hood of my pack without any trouble. When I packed up this time however, I found the pack to be so full that stowing the camera was difficult. I managed to get it in eventually though.
The first part of our trek was along the access road, a gentle uphill climb with plenty of snow for the skis. Eventually we reached a curve in the road where I thought the trail should be, but it wasn't there. There was an overgrown path/road heading off in the right direction, but it showed no signs of travel. Chip was confident that we just hadn't gone far enough so we continued. We figured that the tracks of the AMC group would eventually lead us to our trail, so we kept an eye on them. A bit later, the road curved again and crossed a bridge. About this time, a man pulled up on a snowmobile. He shut off the engine and asked if he was on a ski track, concerned he was messing up our tracks. We assured him that he was fine and asked about a trail. He indicated that he'd seen one just up ahead. We parted his company and, in a few minutes, were at the Garfield Trail trailhead at last.
According to the maps, the bottom section of this hike looked flat and skiable and we'd hoped to be able to ski in a ways, saving our energy. We were wrong. The trail started by climbing steeply up an embankment and then became a rough woods trail. We both climbed up and then I dropped my pack and switched to boots, while Chip attempted to ski ahead. The trail was firm enough for boots alone, so I left my snowshoes on my pack and lashed on my skis. I started walking and almost immediately came upon Chip, who was also switching to boots.
Another equipment note: Around this time I realized that I'd left my crampons back in the car. Chip asked if I wanted to go back for them, but I declined. Too far to backtrack and Chip had decided not to get crampons after all, so my lack of crampons would make things equal.
The trail continued through the woods a bit, then turned and joined the old road we'd noticed earlier. Apparently the trail had originally followed the road but had been relocated. We both commented on how skiable the trail appeared to be and even noticed a ski track or two among the footprints we were following. We decided to keep our skis on our packs though and kept walking up the trail.
Around 11:00, we stopped at a stream for water and a rest. Suddenly there was a noise up ahead. Snowmobiles! We crossed their track a short time later and wondered if - another time - they could provide taxi service to this spot, saving us an hour of hiking! Continuing on, we hiked until my altimeter indicated we'd climbed 1000 feet (I'd set it to 0 at the start of our hike) and then stopped for lunch. We'd both brought sandwiches and I had my thermos of hot veggie bouillon.
After lunch, Chip decided to put on his snowshoes, for the traction mostly, and we continued on, using elevations as goals for rest stops. My lack of conditioning began to show, as Chip bore on ahead while I took frequent rest stops. The temperature wasn't too bad, but cold enough to keep any stops short, before a chill set in. Still, I was able to hike the entire first day without wearing any gloves. After a bit, we pretty much separated, hiking alone mostly, then meeting up at resting spots.
During one of our separations, I found myself hiking in a level, wooded area and noticed activity off the trail to my right. Tents, and people. It had to be the AMC group. I detoured in to chat and sure enough, it was them. A group of 10, it turned out. I never understood the whole story of why they weren't at the top, but it had something to do with the fact that they had expected novices on this hike (hence the 4 leaders). The lead leader knew about this site in a hollow (not marked on any map) and had decided to set up camp here, rather than making the difficult climb to the top. However, there were no novices in their group. Not surprising, considering the trip had been rated as very difficult and participants were required to have full winter camping gear. So, if they were all experienced folks, why hadn't they changed their plans and gone on to the top? I got the impression from a couple of folks that they would've liked to do that. Who knows? Perhaps, assuming they'd be stopping early and wouldn't need the time required to get to the top, they'd started out late and had to camp in the woods. Again, who knows? What it meant to us was that we'd have the shelter to ourselves (probably). Yippee!
With that good news in mind, we trudged on up the trail. The hollow, by the way, may be the spot where the original Garfield Trail diverged from the present path. It might be worth a revisit during some non-snow season, since it appears to offer a more direct access to the shelter. Anyway, the new trail became somewhat steeper at this point and I found myself taking more and more rest breaks. It was still quite skiable though and I recalled a description of the trail in a backcountry ski book as one of the best routes in the area. Judging by the tracks we saw, it appeared that someone had climbed up within the last few days and then skied down. Must've been a great ride.
The trail and the woods, by the way, were quite pretty. A typical northern New England forest, with lots of relatively new (40-50 years?) growth. A solid snow cover on the ground, with a depth of at least a foot, and snow on all the trees also, due to the recent storm. So much for Dick Johnson's report of a dusting on top of an ice pack, though there was evidence of recent icing on the branches of the trees and undergrowth around us. It made for a very pretty sparkling effect whenever the sun was out. Not much in the way of views, though we did occasionally get some glimpses of other peaks - probably Cannon and Lafayette.
After a bit, the trail took a sharp turn to the left and I figured we were home free, since the map showed a single left turn and then a slow curve right, just before end of the trail. Chip, as usual, knew better and he was right. The trail would make many more turns before we reached our goal. Soon after this first turn, we met up with two older gents descending from the summit. Up for a dayhike. We asked about how much further it was and they said they'd been coming down for about 20 minutes, so we knew we were close, but not there yet. Chip asked about conditions up top and was told that it was icy, but the summit could be reached.
From here on, the trail wasn't a lot of fun for me. To start with, I was pretty tired and my legs just couldn't go too far without needing a break. I also had a bit of a groin pull from the little bit of skiing we'd done. And finally, the height of the trees along the trail had decreased to the point where they were constantly catching my skis (attached to my backpack and extending above my head). Whenever this happened, I was forced to lean in to the obstruction and push to bull my way through. That extra effort wound up depleting my energy levels even further and I was stopping for a rest every 50 feet or so. The trees also dumped a pile of snow on me every time I ran into them, so I was forced to hike with my hood up and my parka zippered shut. My view of the trail and the surrounding woods was restricted to the spot on the trail directly in front of my feet.
Chip, on the other hand, seemed to have no trouble keeping up a good, steady pace. Talking with him later, he attributed some of his success to a constant intake of food during his walk, keeping his internal power plant well stoked. He pointed out, accurately, that my use of calories far exceeded my supply for the day, and suggested I should try more munching. Something to bear in mind for future trips.
Finally, I looked up at one point and saw Chip in front on me, picking up one of his skis and not wearing a backpack. "You know," I said, "I'm really starting to hate these trees." He agreed, noting that they'd knocked his ski out of his pack. He also mentioned that the trail end was just a bit further. He offered to carry my skis for me, but I declined, figuring I'd gone this far with them already. A short time later, the trail junction sign appeared. I dropped my pack, munched on a candy bar, and rested at last. Chip pointed out that the trail down to the shelter was unbroken, a sign that no one had gone in there from here at least.
In the other direction, the trail continued 0.1 miles to the summit, and we decided to head up to it. My altimeter, by the way, indicated we were already standing 150 feet above the summit. Apparently, a low-pressure area had moved in and skewed the readings. I put on my snowshoes (for the crampons, mostly) and we started up the trail. It was nice to hike without a pack, but the trail was mighty steep and still tough going. I was almost at the top, and taking yet another rest, when I looked back and saw a hiker behind me. One of the AMC group it turned out. They were coming up to the summit for a day hike. A short time later, I cleared the trees and looked to see the summit rocks, with Chip up on them. It was icy up there, but climbable and I scrambled up to join Chip for some vistas and some pictures. Unfortunately, the low that had messed up my altimeter had brought in low clouds and snow, so there was almost no view at all. That makes two winter peak climbs now with no views.
While we were on top, the rest of the AMC group arrived and we chatted with them a bit before heading down. The hike back to the packs was more sliding than walking, but we were down fast and then on our way to the shelter. The soft, loose snow on the untracked trail meant we could do some glissading - a semi-controlled slide almost like skiing. Chip fell at one point and discovered the butt-glissade, which he used extensively on the rest of the descent. In a short time, we were at the access trail to the shelter. To our dismay, the short route to the campsite required more climbing, but we knew it would be the last for the day.
The access trail climbed to a small open area, where it disappeared. We'd seen the site from the summit, so we knew the shelter was in a second clearing nearby, but we couldn't figure out how to get to it. After a bit of wandering in the woods, Chip located the privy and then the shelter and we were done for the day. It was about 5PM - 7 hours of hiking. We dropped the packs with a thud and surveyed the area. Very nice. A good sized shelter (10 person) with some nice wind protection, set in a small clearing surrounded by trees. The trees were all covered in ice and snow, so there wasn't much hope for a fire, but they looked mighty pretty.
The first order of business was settling in. We both added some extra layers and Chip swept out the shelter with a broom he found. Housekeeping done, we started on dinner. First, we needed to melt snow for water. Chip brought out his stove, lamented that it was broken, and then suddenly figured out how to fix it. In no time, we had two stoves roaring along, melting snow. First we melted a couple of potfulls for drinking water and soup, then we started another batch for dinner. A short time later, ravioli and noodles were cooking along merrily and quickly thereafter, dinner was served. Chip added a packet of vegetable soup mix for a sauce and the result was quite tasty.
All this time, a light snow continued to fall. From the clearing, we could see the summit, but that was about it. We took a couple of pictures and played a bit of Frisbee before settling back into the shelter for the night. I decided to get into my sleeping bag for warmth while Chip puttered around the shelter, reading the logbooks. In no time at all, I was asleep. Chip stayed up awhile, reading the logs and adding his own entry. We both awoke around midnight for the call of nature then went back to sleep.
I had a somewhat fitful night...dozing and waking a number of times. At one point I got up and went outside to look around. The storm had intensified a bit. Earlier in the evening, we had a hazy moon and some stars. Now it was just clouds and wind and snow. Chip had to get up at one point to take down a snowshoe that had been banging against the shelter in the wind. Before I got back into my bag, I grabbed a granola bar, figuring I needed some fuel. I'd been feeling cold and a little stoking of the furnace seemed in order. I discovered later that Chip had rigged a cocoon around his sleeping bag, using a space blanket, to keep warmer. Something I wish I'd tried, though I'm not sure it would've made all that much difference.
Around 6:30AM, we both woke up and decided to start the day. Looking out the shelter opening, I could see it was still stormy, though now it seemed to be fog rather than snow. Sure enough, when I went out, I saw we were enveloped in a cloudbank, the mist racing through the trees surrounding the clearing as the winds blew. The peak was completely obscured, and it was cold. About 10 degrees. Brrrr!
After my traditional trip to the outhouse (there's nothing quite like an ice-covered toilet seat to wake you up fast!), we started to prepare breakfast. We had filled the thermos with boiling water the night before, so we were able to have some lukewarm cups of coffee while we melted some more snow on the stoves. A few more cups of coffee and some oatmeal later and we were ready to start the day. The question was, which way to go?
We'd begun to have doubts about the ski route out. We realized that route would only work if the trail was flat, smooth, and easy to ski. Given its length, anything less than an easy run out would have been trouble. Even the snow conditions could be a factor. We might find ourselves on ice or having to break trail through a foot of new snow. The problem was, we wouldn't know until we climbed down to where we could ski and once there, there'd be no going back. We'd last been on the trail a little over five years ago and we finally admitted we didn't remember it well enough to trust ourselves to it. The alternatives were to hike back up to the peak and go back the way we came, or to hike further down the trail to the Gale River trail. That trail also involved a steep descent from the ridge followed by a flat, skiable section, but it was much shorter and ended at our original trailhead. From what we could see, the trail to the beginning of this second trail didn't seem too bad and the idea of getting to the car faster was appealing.
With all that in mind, we found we still couldn't make a choice, except we did know we didn't want to go back up. So we packed up our gear and headed down the trail, vowing to decide at the trail junction whether to take the original long ski route or the shorter alternate route. We carried our skis, to avoid the trees, and an adjustment of my snowshoes made my life much better. The day before, my boot had been too far forward and kept catching the shoe. Today, everything worked as it should.
Much of the early going was steep descents and I was glad for the new crampons on my snowshoes. For the most part I was able to stay upright as I moved down the trail. At one pitch however, an ice flow forced us to change our tactics. First, we dropped our packs. Then Chip leapt across the ice to the other side of the trail and lowered himself by holding on to trees and branches. Once at the bottom, I slid the gear down to him and then did my own leaping and lowering. On another slide, we both wound up slamming into a tree. Painful, but it prevented further sliding. And so, with a combination of walking, sliding, and Chip's now-perfected butt-glissade, we arrived at the trail junction with the Franconia Brook trail. We debated for a few minutes about which way to go and decided to forgo the long ski this time.
The trail section to the Gale River trail junction was very pretty, with rime ice and icicles encrusting the short, gnarled trees on the ridgeline and an occasional view down into the misty valleys. It was a bit more strenuous than I'd expected though. A few small dips and rises at first, then some pretty steep rises and drops. I found myself swearing at the trail designer who laid out this route for not following the contour lines more. At one point, the trail veered sharply uphill, for no apparent reason, and then dropped just as suddenly. What? It couldn't have gone around, rather than up and over? Oh well. We got a lot of good use out of the snowshoes at least. The snow was quite deep under the tree cover and we would have been up to our thighs without the shoes.
Finally, we did make it to the trail junction and we stopped for an early lunch. Hot soup again, and the remainder of whatever food we'd packed. Then it was down the trail and back toward the car. After all the heavy lifting, it was a pleasure to finally be going downhill for good. The snowcover made for perfect butt-glissade conditions and Chip took full advantage of it while I clumped along behind. Soon after we started down, I heard a "Whoop!", moved out of the way, and watched as Chip slid past and disappeared down the path. Eventually, the trail leveled off and we both wound up walking. Also, the tree cover lifted and we were able to put our skis on our packs again. As it turned out, we would've been able to put the skis on our feet at this point, but we didn't know the trail and didn't want to be constantly switching gear.
From this point on, the hike turned into an easy trudge along the river on our snowshoes. The tree cover parted, especially at some old slides, and we were able to get some glimpses of the peaks we'd just descended. We crossed the river, then recrossed on a bridge and decided that now was the time for the skis. Having carried them up and over the mountain, we were determined to get some use out of them. We strapped the snowshoes to the packs, switched into ski boots (farewell, faithful Sorels!), and started gliding. It was a great choice. Soon we were swooshing through the forest with little effort, making great time. I wasn't getting much kick from my wax, but it didn't really matter.
After one final stop at a stream for water, we found ourselves at the trail's end and on the access road we'd started on, though at a different point. Once again, we consulted the maps to figure out which way to go and then headed for the car, skiing along a wide road used mostly by snowmobilers. It was a nice, sunny day once again, and we met up with a number of folks out with their machines, but mostly we had the road to ourselves as we slid along.
The snow conditions worsened as we got closer to the highway, but held out (just barely) for us. The hike ended with a walk along the highway back to the car, a complete loop, finishing up around 2:15PM, six hours after we'd started that morning. We changed into travelling clothes, packed up the car and headed back south. We missed the exit on the way down, but looped back and arrived at my car around 3:00. One last shift of gear, an exchange of handshakes, and the hike was over.
Final thoughts: This hike was definitely tougher than our last hike. It wasn't just my lack of conditioning. Total of 13.8 miles (vs. 7.6). A 6.3 mile hike in to the shelter the first day, with a 3100' elevation gain, vs. a 3.8-mile hike with a 2900' climb. Could we have done the long ski out? Maybe, maybe not. It occurred to me later that a long distance backcountry ski hike might not have been the best plan, considering that it would be the first time on cross-country skis for either Chip or I this season. And I was having trouble with my wax, so even if the trail had been perfect, even already tracked, it might've been a tough hike for us. We'll never know, and perhaps we'll regret not finding out, but I think we made the right decision this time.
Wildlife: Where are all the animals? We saw tracks for deer and rabbits along the trail, and what might've been moose tracks along the road, but the only live, in-the-flesh beastie sightings were a mouse in the shelter and some chickadees in the trees along the trails. So much for the "wild" backcountry. Mice and chickadees I can see at home. Despite the lack of actual encounters though, Chip took it upon himself to provide food for the trackmakers, knocking berries from the trees along the trail to the ground with his skis and poles. A nice gesture.
Equipment: Everything worked very well, especially the snowshoes. Chip's Atlas' performed superbly and I really appreciated the new crampons I got for my Iversons. In hindsight, the skis could've been left behind without much loss of fun and the reduction of weight and trouble would've been welcome. The crampons would've been helpful however, and I wished I'd remembered to use my ice ax on the climb to the summit. The SLR camera was a mistake. Too bulky to store and difficult to get at, so few pictures were taken. Also, the cold really did a number on the battery, so the light meter never really worked. The cheap, light disposable cameras seem to be the best things for these trips.
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