Desolation Shelter, Wilderness Trail
Where: Desolation Shelter via Wilderness Trail
When: 1/27-1/28, 1996
With: Chip
We were supposed to go to Guyot. Guyot Shelter, that is, high on the side of Mt. Bond. I've been there twice, on solo trips. Chip had never been, but a friend of his described it as his favorite shelter in the Whites and Chip was interested in visiting. Besides, it's one of the few backwoods shelters in the Whites which we haven't stayed at on one of our famous winter hikes (though one of my solo visits had been in the spring and there was enough snow to LOOK like winter). After our success at reaching Garfield last year, Guyot seemed reachable.
Our initial plans called for a trip the first weekend in January, taking a route from the north, over the Twin Mountains. As the day grew near though, I began to have doubts about our ability to reach our goal. An access road to the trailhead turned out to be a forest service road, closed in winter. That added 2.5 miles to the trip right away. Then there was another 2.5 miles of flat trail, followed by 2 miles of steep climb, and then about 4 miles of open ridge walking to the shelter. In total, more than 11 miles of hiking, a bit tough to do on a short winter day, even ignoring the need to drive for three hours just to get to the trail!
Complicating matters was the deep snow pack this winter. Chip and I both agreed that a broken trail was essential if we were to stand any chance of getting to our destination. The forest road would likely be heavily used by snowmobiles and would be passable to the trailhead, but if the trail itself were untraveled, we would have to return to the car and head to another shelter. That seemed okay at first...there was an shelter nearby (at Bridal Veil Falls) which seemed a good back-up choice...but the more we discussed the trip, the less an attempt at Guyot seemed like a good idea. No matter which way we worked it, it appeared we'd either be setting up a tent somewhere in the woods or going in, turning around, and heading for the back-up shelter. As usual, Chip was the go-for-it optimist, in favor of taking a shot at it and seeing how far we could get, while I was the voice of doom & gloom, cataloging all the obstacles that would hold us back. We even revived our eternal debate about the use of XC skis (Chip feels skis make travel faster and easier while I see little or no advantage to them and usually try to leave them at home).
Since we seemed so at odds about Guyot, we decided to look for alternate destinations. We settled on a shelter on Mt. Whiteface, south of Waterville Valley. A relatively new area for us, a shorter hike (4+ miles) and a shorter drive from home. It seemed good. In fact, both Chip and I noted a general feeling of "rightness" about the new plans.
Hike day arrived, and Chip got sick! Severe coughing and general illness, so we postponed to the weekend of the 20th. Just as well, because that weekend there were extremely low temperatures throughout the region and it would've been mighty chilly up in the mountains. Families on both sides were relieved we decided to forego the trip that weekend.
The following week, Chip called to report that he had recovered, but needed to move the date out one more week, due to a prior commitment. I told him that was fine, and also mentioned that I'd been XC skiing. Furthermore, I thought we could try for Guyot after all, but via a different route. The Wilderness trail would give us a shorter drive, a good parking area, a well-traveled trail for the first half of the trip, and plenty of options for alternative routes & destinations should things change. Chip was psyched, so we were on for Superbowl Weekend.
The day approached and we watched the weather. A decent storm was due Friday night and into Saturday morning and depending on its track, could mean significant snow or rain. An earlier thaw and rain had wiped out much of the snowpack, so we watched this storm with interest. I was concerned because one report had the area covered in ice on Saturday morning. I told Chip that if that were the case, he'd just be getting a phone call instead of a pick-up.
Saturday dawned and the ground was bare and dry. The storm was moving slower than expected. I hopped in the car, headed north, picked up Chip, and we were on our way. Almost immediately, it began to rain. Again, my concern was ice, but we agreed to keep driving as long as we could. We kept expecting a turnover to snow, but it never happened, though there was some slop on the road in some places. Finally, we arrived at the Lincoln Woods area at 10AM, in the pouring rain. The place was deserted, and we went in to the ranger's lodge. The warm fire in the wood stove was mighty nice, and we decided to bring our gear in and pack up inside. We asked about weather reports and trail conditions and were told that the high ridges would likely be icy and but the lower trails should be passable.
We paid our parking fee and starting packing up, discussing our options. We agreed to stick to the original plan, going for Guyot Shelter, but planned to review the decision at the Bondcliff trail junction. If we were behind schedule or conditions looked bad, we'd stay on the Wilderness Trail and head for Desolation shelter, an old friend of a lean-to we'd been to numerous times. The only concern about Desolation was the ranger's note that a group of hikers had been back in the woods for a week. They were listed as heading to Thoreau Falls, but given the weather we thought they might head for shelter and there might not be room for us. Besides, we preferred to be by ourselves on these trips.
Equipment was also discussed. Since both our plans and the weather were changeable, we felt we needed to bring both snowshoes and raingear. I also included crampons and an ice ax, while Chip decided to bring his skis. I was less enthused about skiing in the rain, so I left my boards in the car. Finally packed up, we headed out the door at 11AM and into the rain.
The hike got off to a bad start right away - it took us three tries to find out how to get to the trail from the parking lot! It wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't just spent a lot of effort convincing the Forest Service folks that we knew what we were doing! We joked that they'd probably send someone to trail us, assuming we'd get into trouble sooner or later.
As it turned out, once we got on to the trail, things got pretty quiet. I plodded along with my boots while Chip skied along the sometimes-sparse snow patches on the trail. The whole time, the rain just kept coming down. Our paces were about equal, so we managed to have a nice chat as we hiked. We passed some of the Forest Service guys early on, coming back from a futile attempt at trail maintenance, but otherwise we had the place to ourselves.
Around 12:30, we stopped for lunch at the Franconia Brook crossing. The hot vegetable bouillon I'd brought was especially welcome in the cool rain. After a bit, we began to get chilled, so we headed on our way. The next stop was the Bondcliff trail, 5 miles in, and our decision point. Long before we arrived though, we'd both made up our minds that Guyot was not to be this trip. In the trees above us we could hear the howling winds and we knew we were not prepared for walking high up on mountain ridges, especially since they'd likely be covered in ice. Besides, we were behind schedule and the stormy skies meant an early dusk, so we'd be hiking in the dark. We took a brief break and then headed for Desolation.
About this time, we started to notice moose tracks and droppings along the trail. We kept scanning the trail and the woods for the animals themselves, but never did see them, or any other animals for that matter. I guess we were the only creatures dumb enough to be out in the rain. Just as well, because there were signs all along the trail about bears in the area. Apparently they'd become quite a nuisance at the shelters and the signs warned hikers to be careful. As it turned out, we never saw any sign of bears at all on this trip, with the possible exception of a lone paw print I noticed.
As the hours passed, so did the landmarks. The bridge at the Cedar Brook trail, the junction with the Thoreau Falls trail, the spot where we'd made an emergency camp once right on the trail, the old lumber camps. Along the way, we kept watch on an odd set of tracks in the snow. They were the wrong size and spacing to be ski tracks, so we'd concluded they belonged to a sled being used by the Thoreau Falls group to haul in gear for their week in the woods. Sure enough, at the Thoreau Falls trail junction, they followed that path instead of the Wilderness trail, so we figured we'd have Desolation Shelter to ourselves.
One landmark that eluded me was an old crossing of the river by the original railroad. The current trail stays on the south bank, to avoid the crossing, and picks up the rail bed when it re-crosses further upstream, but the old train path is still there on the other side. Twice before, we'd returned from Desolation on that path - once by accident, having lost the trail and once on purpose - and it was a nice change of pace. Rarely traveled, somewhat overgrown, but quite passable. Ever since discovering it, I've thought it would be interesting to follow it up to, rather than back from Stillwater, but I've never been able to find the crossing from the upstream approach. A bit of the bridge does remain on the north bank, but it's hidden from view by 40 years of forest growth. That bit of bridge is my favorite part...a high stone structure, flat on top, surrounded by trees, and ending abruptly high above the water's edge. A perfect spot for a tent. Unfortunately, I was unable to spot it once again. I'll just have to go back in the summer.
For the most part, the hiking was just plodding along, though the trail was starting to get worse. There were more fallen trees that hadn't been cleared, and the rains had turned much of the trail into a full-fledged stream. Tough for both Chip and I to negotiate. My biggest problem was that water had gotten into my boots. The mild temperatures meant it wasn't a big problem, but I would have preferred dry feet.
Then there were the stream crossings. Because of the rains, normally innocuous little trickles were major torrents. In a couple of cases, we were forced to bushwhack far upstream to find a crossing. Even then, the crossings we found were less than ideal and more than a bit hairy. We were stepping on wet, icy rocks or using fallen trees or sometimes just hoping that a certain chunk of ice was still thick enough to hold us. We did make it over them all though, with no major mishaps. In fact, the only thing approaching a close call was at a small stream that crossed the trail. Chip made the jump across but started to fall back. He managed to hang on long enough for me to make the jump myself and grab him, avoiding a dunk of all his gear into the water.
Another issue with the swollen streams was the water quality. The water was pure storm run-off...more dirt and debris than water it seemed, so refilling water bottles was a problem. I'd left my filter/pump at home, but I don't know if that would've helped anyway. It probably would've just clogged right up. Fortunately, we'd brought a good amount of water from home so we had enough to get us to the shelter.
By this time, we were starting to approach Stillwater junction and the light was beginning to fade. Unfortunately, the trail was beginning to disappear too. For the first part, it had followed an old railbed and was pretty obvious. At this end though, it veered into the woods and took its own route. In the summer it was an easy-to-follow path, but the snow obscured that trail now. In addition, the winter storms had knocked a lot of limbs to the ground, so even a faint path became just another jumble of branches. Trail markers were either missing entirely or so faint as to be easily missed. We found ourselves cursing the folks charged with maintaining this trail. A number of times we found ourselves standing in the woods without a clue about which way to go. Fortunately, there was a very faint sign of a previous traveler in the snow - ski tracks. The rain had all but washed it away, but we kept managing to find it. Whenever we'd lose the path, we'd split up and comb the woods for the tracks, and we'd always find them. Sometimes it would be Chip who'd call out, and sometimes me, but we always got back on the trail somehow.
The worst came near the end. The final major stream crossing, of Carrigain Branch, was the most difficult by far. First, a crossing on icy rocks to a small island, then a crossing on a wet, icy log to the opposite bank. Once on the other side, we could find no trace of the trail. We knew we were very close to the end of our hike, but it was now nearly dark and we were having no luck at all finding our way. At one point, we found ourselves at the bank of a deep, raging steam, filled with chunks of ice and snow. I didn't say it aloud, but I had a fear that our way might be across that uncrossable flood. I hoped not and continued to look elsewhere in the woods. After stumbling around in the dark for a good while, soaking wet and sinking to our thighs in the snow, we were both ready to set up camp then and there. Fortunately, that's when I found the trail. Funny, it had disguised itself as a stream!
A short time later, we arrived at Stillwater Junction. The shelter was a short walk away, on a good trail, so we figured we'd made it. I spotted boot tracks in the snow and began to follow them, buoyed by the thought of a dry shelter at last. Then the tracks lead to the edge of that same raging, uncrossable stream and stopped. My heart sank. Fortunately, Chip came up and said he thought the trail had turned a few yards back. We backtracked and sure enough, there was the trail, perfectly obvious and heading into the woods. That'll teach me to follow someone else's tracks instead of looking for the trail. From there on the trail was easy to follow - a clear path through the trees - and better marked too. I made a point of touching each marker in thanks as I passed it.
Within a relatively short time - though longer than we might've liked - Desolation shelter appeared in front of us. Never did that shelter, or any other, look quite so good. We clamored in, shook hands, dropped our gear, and then collapsed onto the seats. At last, after 6 hours of walking, we were out of the rain! It was such a nice feeling.
After a brief rest, we started setting up housekeeping. While Chip got into dry clothes, I tried to wring as much water as possible out of my boots, then got some water from the stream and started dinner. Minestrone soup and tortellini. After dinner and cleanup, we both climbed into our sleeping bags, mostly for the warmth. I changed into a dry pair of socks for the occasion, but the rest of my stuff seemed dry, so I left it on. That turned out to be a mistake, especially with regard to my upper body. My polypropylene thermal undershirt, though not really wet, was just damp enough to keep me slightly chilled. I kept thinking it would dry out from my body heat, but finally I decided I needed to do something. I sat up, stripped down, then groped around in my clothing bag for a long-sleeved silk shirt I'd brought. An interesting exercise in the dark, I must say! Eventually, I did find it, put it on, and then relayered my fleece. What a difference. Immediately I was dry and warm. A lesson learned for future trips.
For the rest of the night we dozed, woke, chatted, took bathroom walks, and just listened to the roaring stream next to the shelter. Not the most comfortable night, but not the worst. At one point, Chip returned from a walk to announce that the rain had stopped at last and it was snowing lightly. At last, probably around 10 or 11, we both dropped off for good. We woke once more, at 5, and then slept until 7.
The morning brought cold, a couple of inches of new snow, and even some sunlight. I was happy to see how much the stream level had dropped already, now that the rain had stopped. Hopefully the stream crossings down the trail wouldn't be as bad. I made my traditional trip to the Desolation outhouse and then we got breakfast going. Oatmeal and coffee, as usual. After breakfast, we started preparing for the walk out. A lot of things we'd worn yesterday were frozen stiff now, so that made things interesting. Fortunately, most of my stuff was either dry or replaced already, so my only big issue was my parka. It had been left hanging all night and was now a stiff red board. I put it on anyway, and managed to get it flexible eventually. I also had an issue with my footwear. I decided to put most of my wet stuff back on. It was either that, or try to walk out wearing socks and mukluks. As it turned out, it wasn't that bad at all - wetness-wise - and it was certainly better on my feet. Chip's big problem was his ski boots. They were blocks of ice, so he put them in his coat and resolved to walk until they were thawed.
Around 9AM, we left the shelter and started for home. The walking was much more pleasant than the previous day. First and foremost, no rain. We were more likely to stop, look around, take pictures, and generally enjoy the scenery we were walking through. And very nice scenery it was. The dusting of snow on the trees and the occasional splashes of sunlight made the woods very pretty. Also, the trail was a bit easier to walk since the previous day's soft, wet snow had frozen into a relatively firm base. We still broke through at times, and we had to careful about walking on ice over now-empty storm streams, but mostly it was easier walking. Unfortunately for Chip, it was lousy conditions for skiing - essentially a dusting of snow on top of very uneven ice. As a result, he wound up walking out the entire way.
Amazingly, we managed to lose the trail going back at least once, a sign of just how poorly marked it was for winter travel. For the most part though we had no problems. The stream crossings were especially nice. In fact, it was quite amazing how much the water levels had dropped in just a short time. Some of the previous day's raging torrents were just rocky stream beds now and none of the crossings that had caused us so much trouble the day before were especially difficult.
Unlike the previous day, we traveled separately much of this day. Chip stopped a few times to change gear or adjust something and I just continued on ahead. I'd stop every so often to look back, and then continue once he came into view. It was very relaxing and in some ways, meditative. No deep thoughts or anything. In fact, no real thinking at all. Just walking and observing. Very good for my brain.
At the Cedar Brook trail, we rejoined and had lunch, walked together to the Bondcliff trail, then separated again, and hooked up for good at Franconia Brook. Following a snack break by the bridge, we crossed over and met our first person since the previous day, a man out for a ski with his dog. From there on, we met more and more people before finally arriving back at the car around 2:30. A quick change of clothes and we were on our way around 3.
Afterthoughts:
Trip length - 9.3 miles each way.
Pack weight - 40 pounds.
I brought my fleece liner for my sleeping bag, but I was still cold at night. Probably due to the wet more than anything, but still... This is the area of camping I need to work on the most. Should I wear more clothes or less to bed? Perhaps I should experiment on the back porch. As for the wet boots, I'm not sure what happened. These are nice warm Sorels, and I thought they were waterproof. Was the water coming in over the rubber rand, or down my legs? I thought it was the former, but I've since realized that I had my rain pants tucked INSIDE the boots. Stupid!
Food worked out well. I made a point of munching on Snackwell bars as I walked and that definitely seemed to help keep my strength, energy and attitude levels up. Good idea.
Chip and I figured it out...this was my seventh visit to Desolation Shelter and his sixth. Certainly a record for two guys who hate to repeat hikes, but in our defense, this is the first time we actually repeated a route to get to this site. Desolation happens to sit at the junction (Stillwater junction) of a number of backwoods trails in the Pemigewasset Wilderness, and we've tried almost all of them at one time or another. Unfortunately, its location has resulted in massive overuse and there was word that it had been removed by the Forest Service to discourage further damage to the area. We were glad to find out earlier this winter that it was still there. As I said earlier, an old friend of a shelter.
All in all, I really enjoyed this hike, though I could've done without the lost wandering in the dark. The temps weren't bad the first day - I never wore my gloves - so the rain wasn't a real problem, and I rather like being out in the elements like that. In fact, my favorite moment was standing out in the middle of the suspension bridge at the Cedar Brook trail, the raging Pemi below, the rain and wind whipping all around, miles from any shelter, and doing just fine. A bit damp, but fine. Just me and my gear out in the woods. It gives me a nice feeling of confidence to know that I have the skills and equipment for that sort of thing. The trip was also conducive to brain relaxation. As I mentioned before, I spent a lot of time just walking, without any significant thinking going on at all.
When: 1/27-1/28, 1996
With: Chip
Our initial plans called for a trip the first weekend in January, taking a route from the north, over the Twin Mountains. As the day grew near though, I began to have doubts about our ability to reach our goal. An access road to the trailhead turned out to be a forest service road, closed in winter. That added 2.5 miles to the trip right away. Then there was another 2.5 miles of flat trail, followed by 2 miles of steep climb, and then about 4 miles of open ridge walking to the shelter. In total, more than 11 miles of hiking, a bit tough to do on a short winter day, even ignoring the need to drive for three hours just to get to the trail!
Complicating matters was the deep snow pack this winter. Chip and I both agreed that a broken trail was essential if we were to stand any chance of getting to our destination. The forest road would likely be heavily used by snowmobiles and would be passable to the trailhead, but if the trail itself were untraveled, we would have to return to the car and head to another shelter. That seemed okay at first...there was an shelter nearby (at Bridal Veil Falls) which seemed a good back-up choice...but the more we discussed the trip, the less an attempt at Guyot seemed like a good idea. No matter which way we worked it, it appeared we'd either be setting up a tent somewhere in the woods or going in, turning around, and heading for the back-up shelter. As usual, Chip was the go-for-it optimist, in favor of taking a shot at it and seeing how far we could get, while I was the voice of doom & gloom, cataloging all the obstacles that would hold us back. We even revived our eternal debate about the use of XC skis (Chip feels skis make travel faster and easier while I see little or no advantage to them and usually try to leave them at home).
Since we seemed so at odds about Guyot, we decided to look for alternate destinations. We settled on a shelter on Mt. Whiteface, south of Waterville Valley. A relatively new area for us, a shorter hike (4+ miles) and a shorter drive from home. It seemed good. In fact, both Chip and I noted a general feeling of "rightness" about the new plans.
Hike day arrived, and Chip got sick! Severe coughing and general illness, so we postponed to the weekend of the 20th. Just as well, because that weekend there were extremely low temperatures throughout the region and it would've been mighty chilly up in the mountains. Families on both sides were relieved we decided to forego the trip that weekend.
The following week, Chip called to report that he had recovered, but needed to move the date out one more week, due to a prior commitment. I told him that was fine, and also mentioned that I'd been XC skiing. Furthermore, I thought we could try for Guyot after all, but via a different route. The Wilderness trail would give us a shorter drive, a good parking area, a well-traveled trail for the first half of the trip, and plenty of options for alternative routes & destinations should things change. Chip was psyched, so we were on for Superbowl Weekend.
The day approached and we watched the weather. A decent storm was due Friday night and into Saturday morning and depending on its track, could mean significant snow or rain. An earlier thaw and rain had wiped out much of the snowpack, so we watched this storm with interest. I was concerned because one report had the area covered in ice on Saturday morning. I told Chip that if that were the case, he'd just be getting a phone call instead of a pick-up.
Saturday dawned and the ground was bare and dry. The storm was moving slower than expected. I hopped in the car, headed north, picked up Chip, and we were on our way. Almost immediately, it began to rain. Again, my concern was ice, but we agreed to keep driving as long as we could. We kept expecting a turnover to snow, but it never happened, though there was some slop on the road in some places. Finally, we arrived at the Lincoln Woods area at 10AM, in the pouring rain. The place was deserted, and we went in to the ranger's lodge. The warm fire in the wood stove was mighty nice, and we decided to bring our gear in and pack up inside. We asked about weather reports and trail conditions and were told that the high ridges would likely be icy and but the lower trails should be passable.
We paid our parking fee and starting packing up, discussing our options. We agreed to stick to the original plan, going for Guyot Shelter, but planned to review the decision at the Bondcliff trail junction. If we were behind schedule or conditions looked bad, we'd stay on the Wilderness Trail and head for Desolation shelter, an old friend of a lean-to we'd been to numerous times. The only concern about Desolation was the ranger's note that a group of hikers had been back in the woods for a week. They were listed as heading to Thoreau Falls, but given the weather we thought they might head for shelter and there might not be room for us. Besides, we preferred to be by ourselves on these trips.
Equipment was also discussed. Since both our plans and the weather were changeable, we felt we needed to bring both snowshoes and raingear. I also included crampons and an ice ax, while Chip decided to bring his skis. I was less enthused about skiing in the rain, so I left my boards in the car. Finally packed up, we headed out the door at 11AM and into the rain.
The hike got off to a bad start right away - it took us three tries to find out how to get to the trail from the parking lot! It wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't just spent a lot of effort convincing the Forest Service folks that we knew what we were doing! We joked that they'd probably send someone to trail us, assuming we'd get into trouble sooner or later.
As it turned out, once we got on to the trail, things got pretty quiet. I plodded along with my boots while Chip skied along the sometimes-sparse snow patches on the trail. The whole time, the rain just kept coming down. Our paces were about equal, so we managed to have a nice chat as we hiked. We passed some of the Forest Service guys early on, coming back from a futile attempt at trail maintenance, but otherwise we had the place to ourselves.
Around 12:30, we stopped for lunch at the Franconia Brook crossing. The hot vegetable bouillon I'd brought was especially welcome in the cool rain. After a bit, we began to get chilled, so we headed on our way. The next stop was the Bondcliff trail, 5 miles in, and our decision point. Long before we arrived though, we'd both made up our minds that Guyot was not to be this trip. In the trees above us we could hear the howling winds and we knew we were not prepared for walking high up on mountain ridges, especially since they'd likely be covered in ice. Besides, we were behind schedule and the stormy skies meant an early dusk, so we'd be hiking in the dark. We took a brief break and then headed for Desolation.
About this time, we started to notice moose tracks and droppings along the trail. We kept scanning the trail and the woods for the animals themselves, but never did see them, or any other animals for that matter. I guess we were the only creatures dumb enough to be out in the rain. Just as well, because there were signs all along the trail about bears in the area. Apparently they'd become quite a nuisance at the shelters and the signs warned hikers to be careful. As it turned out, we never saw any sign of bears at all on this trip, with the possible exception of a lone paw print I noticed.
As the hours passed, so did the landmarks. The bridge at the Cedar Brook trail, the junction with the Thoreau Falls trail, the spot where we'd made an emergency camp once right on the trail, the old lumber camps. Along the way, we kept watch on an odd set of tracks in the snow. They were the wrong size and spacing to be ski tracks, so we'd concluded they belonged to a sled being used by the Thoreau Falls group to haul in gear for their week in the woods. Sure enough, at the Thoreau Falls trail junction, they followed that path instead of the Wilderness trail, so we figured we'd have Desolation Shelter to ourselves.
One landmark that eluded me was an old crossing of the river by the original railroad. The current trail stays on the south bank, to avoid the crossing, and picks up the rail bed when it re-crosses further upstream, but the old train path is still there on the other side. Twice before, we'd returned from Desolation on that path - once by accident, having lost the trail and once on purpose - and it was a nice change of pace. Rarely traveled, somewhat overgrown, but quite passable. Ever since discovering it, I've thought it would be interesting to follow it up to, rather than back from Stillwater, but I've never been able to find the crossing from the upstream approach. A bit of the bridge does remain on the north bank, but it's hidden from view by 40 years of forest growth. That bit of bridge is my favorite part...a high stone structure, flat on top, surrounded by trees, and ending abruptly high above the water's edge. A perfect spot for a tent. Unfortunately, I was unable to spot it once again. I'll just have to go back in the summer.
For the most part, the hiking was just plodding along, though the trail was starting to get worse. There were more fallen trees that hadn't been cleared, and the rains had turned much of the trail into a full-fledged stream. Tough for both Chip and I to negotiate. My biggest problem was that water had gotten into my boots. The mild temperatures meant it wasn't a big problem, but I would have preferred dry feet.
Then there were the stream crossings. Because of the rains, normally innocuous little trickles were major torrents. In a couple of cases, we were forced to bushwhack far upstream to find a crossing. Even then, the crossings we found were less than ideal and more than a bit hairy. We were stepping on wet, icy rocks or using fallen trees or sometimes just hoping that a certain chunk of ice was still thick enough to hold us. We did make it over them all though, with no major mishaps. In fact, the only thing approaching a close call was at a small stream that crossed the trail. Chip made the jump across but started to fall back. He managed to hang on long enough for me to make the jump myself and grab him, avoiding a dunk of all his gear into the water.
Another issue with the swollen streams was the water quality. The water was pure storm run-off...more dirt and debris than water it seemed, so refilling water bottles was a problem. I'd left my filter/pump at home, but I don't know if that would've helped anyway. It probably would've just clogged right up. Fortunately, we'd brought a good amount of water from home so we had enough to get us to the shelter.
By this time, we were starting to approach Stillwater junction and the light was beginning to fade. Unfortunately, the trail was beginning to disappear too. For the first part, it had followed an old railbed and was pretty obvious. At this end though, it veered into the woods and took its own route. In the summer it was an easy-to-follow path, but the snow obscured that trail now. In addition, the winter storms had knocked a lot of limbs to the ground, so even a faint path became just another jumble of branches. Trail markers were either missing entirely or so faint as to be easily missed. We found ourselves cursing the folks charged with maintaining this trail. A number of times we found ourselves standing in the woods without a clue about which way to go. Fortunately, there was a very faint sign of a previous traveler in the snow - ski tracks. The rain had all but washed it away, but we kept managing to find it. Whenever we'd lose the path, we'd split up and comb the woods for the tracks, and we'd always find them. Sometimes it would be Chip who'd call out, and sometimes me, but we always got back on the trail somehow.
The worst came near the end. The final major stream crossing, of Carrigain Branch, was the most difficult by far. First, a crossing on icy rocks to a small island, then a crossing on a wet, icy log to the opposite bank. Once on the other side, we could find no trace of the trail. We knew we were very close to the end of our hike, but it was now nearly dark and we were having no luck at all finding our way. At one point, we found ourselves at the bank of a deep, raging steam, filled with chunks of ice and snow. I didn't say it aloud, but I had a fear that our way might be across that uncrossable flood. I hoped not and continued to look elsewhere in the woods. After stumbling around in the dark for a good while, soaking wet and sinking to our thighs in the snow, we were both ready to set up camp then and there. Fortunately, that's when I found the trail. Funny, it had disguised itself as a stream!
A short time later, we arrived at Stillwater Junction. The shelter was a short walk away, on a good trail, so we figured we'd made it. I spotted boot tracks in the snow and began to follow them, buoyed by the thought of a dry shelter at last. Then the tracks lead to the edge of that same raging, uncrossable stream and stopped. My heart sank. Fortunately, Chip came up and said he thought the trail had turned a few yards back. We backtracked and sure enough, there was the trail, perfectly obvious and heading into the woods. That'll teach me to follow someone else's tracks instead of looking for the trail. From there on the trail was easy to follow - a clear path through the trees - and better marked too. I made a point of touching each marker in thanks as I passed it.
Within a relatively short time - though longer than we might've liked - Desolation shelter appeared in front of us. Never did that shelter, or any other, look quite so good. We clamored in, shook hands, dropped our gear, and then collapsed onto the seats. At last, after 6 hours of walking, we were out of the rain! It was such a nice feeling.
After a brief rest, we started setting up housekeeping. While Chip got into dry clothes, I tried to wring as much water as possible out of my boots, then got some water from the stream and started dinner. Minestrone soup and tortellini. After dinner and cleanup, we both climbed into our sleeping bags, mostly for the warmth. I changed into a dry pair of socks for the occasion, but the rest of my stuff seemed dry, so I left it on. That turned out to be a mistake, especially with regard to my upper body. My polypropylene thermal undershirt, though not really wet, was just damp enough to keep me slightly chilled. I kept thinking it would dry out from my body heat, but finally I decided I needed to do something. I sat up, stripped down, then groped around in my clothing bag for a long-sleeved silk shirt I'd brought. An interesting exercise in the dark, I must say! Eventually, I did find it, put it on, and then relayered my fleece. What a difference. Immediately I was dry and warm. A lesson learned for future trips.
For the rest of the night we dozed, woke, chatted, took bathroom walks, and just listened to the roaring stream next to the shelter. Not the most comfortable night, but not the worst. At one point, Chip returned from a walk to announce that the rain had stopped at last and it was snowing lightly. At last, probably around 10 or 11, we both dropped off for good. We woke once more, at 5, and then slept until 7.
The morning brought cold, a couple of inches of new snow, and even some sunlight. I was happy to see how much the stream level had dropped already, now that the rain had stopped. Hopefully the stream crossings down the trail wouldn't be as bad. I made my traditional trip to the Desolation outhouse and then we got breakfast going. Oatmeal and coffee, as usual. After breakfast, we started preparing for the walk out. A lot of things we'd worn yesterday were frozen stiff now, so that made things interesting. Fortunately, most of my stuff was either dry or replaced already, so my only big issue was my parka. It had been left hanging all night and was now a stiff red board. I put it on anyway, and managed to get it flexible eventually. I also had an issue with my footwear. I decided to put most of my wet stuff back on. It was either that, or try to walk out wearing socks and mukluks. As it turned out, it wasn't that bad at all - wetness-wise - and it was certainly better on my feet. Chip's big problem was his ski boots. They were blocks of ice, so he put them in his coat and resolved to walk until they were thawed.
Around 9AM, we left the shelter and started for home. The walking was much more pleasant than the previous day. First and foremost, no rain. We were more likely to stop, look around, take pictures, and generally enjoy the scenery we were walking through. And very nice scenery it was. The dusting of snow on the trees and the occasional splashes of sunlight made the woods very pretty. Also, the trail was a bit easier to walk since the previous day's soft, wet snow had frozen into a relatively firm base. We still broke through at times, and we had to careful about walking on ice over now-empty storm streams, but mostly it was easier walking. Unfortunately for Chip, it was lousy conditions for skiing - essentially a dusting of snow on top of very uneven ice. As a result, he wound up walking out the entire way.
Amazingly, we managed to lose the trail going back at least once, a sign of just how poorly marked it was for winter travel. For the most part though we had no problems. The stream crossings were especially nice. In fact, it was quite amazing how much the water levels had dropped in just a short time. Some of the previous day's raging torrents were just rocky stream beds now and none of the crossings that had caused us so much trouble the day before were especially difficult.
Unlike the previous day, we traveled separately much of this day. Chip stopped a few times to change gear or adjust something and I just continued on ahead. I'd stop every so often to look back, and then continue once he came into view. It was very relaxing and in some ways, meditative. No deep thoughts or anything. In fact, no real thinking at all. Just walking and observing. Very good for my brain.
At the Cedar Brook trail, we rejoined and had lunch, walked together to the Bondcliff trail, then separated again, and hooked up for good at Franconia Brook. Following a snack break by the bridge, we crossed over and met our first person since the previous day, a man out for a ski with his dog. From there on, we met more and more people before finally arriving back at the car around 2:30. A quick change of clothes and we were on our way around 3.
Afterthoughts:
Trip length - 9.3 miles each way.
Pack weight - 40 pounds.
I brought my fleece liner for my sleeping bag, but I was still cold at night. Probably due to the wet more than anything, but still... This is the area of camping I need to work on the most. Should I wear more clothes or less to bed? Perhaps I should experiment on the back porch. As for the wet boots, I'm not sure what happened. These are nice warm Sorels, and I thought they were waterproof. Was the water coming in over the rubber rand, or down my legs? I thought it was the former, but I've since realized that I had my rain pants tucked INSIDE the boots. Stupid!
Food worked out well. I made a point of munching on Snackwell bars as I walked and that definitely seemed to help keep my strength, energy and attitude levels up. Good idea.
Chip and I figured it out...this was my seventh visit to Desolation Shelter and his sixth. Certainly a record for two guys who hate to repeat hikes, but in our defense, this is the first time we actually repeated a route to get to this site. Desolation happens to sit at the junction (Stillwater junction) of a number of backwoods trails in the Pemigewasset Wilderness, and we've tried almost all of them at one time or another. Unfortunately, its location has resulted in massive overuse and there was word that it had been removed by the Forest Service to discourage further damage to the area. We were glad to find out earlier this winter that it was still there. As I said earlier, an old friend of a shelter.
All in all, I really enjoyed this hike, though I could've done without the lost wandering in the dark. The temps weren't bad the first day - I never wore my gloves - so the rain wasn't a real problem, and I rather like being out in the elements like that. In fact, my favorite moment was standing out in the middle of the suspension bridge at the Cedar Brook trail, the raging Pemi below, the rain and wind whipping all around, miles from any shelter, and doing just fine. A bit damp, but fine. Just me and my gear out in the woods. It gives me a nice feeling of confidence to know that I have the skills and equipment for that sort of thing. The trip was also conducive to brain relaxation. As I mentioned before, I spent a lot of time just walking, without any significant thinking going on at all.
Final note: Desolation Shelter was removed in 1997, as part of a program to clear all structures from Wilderness area.
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