Mount Moosilauke
Where: Mt. Moosilauke
When: 1/17/98-1/18/98
With: Chip
When: 1/17/98-1/18/98
With: Chip
As usual, this wasn't the trip we'd originally planned. Tradition dictated yet another attempt to get to the Guyot shelter, but things happened. First, there was an ice storm up north that threw most of eastern Canada and northern New England into darkness for several weeks as all the power lines came down. Electricity wasn't a big concern of ours, but the storm had caused extensive damage to the forests in the White Mountains, at least that's what the reports said. The AMC website warned of obliterated trails and hazardous conditions, while trail reports told of paths that were impossible to follow.
Still, we stuck to our plans for Guyot. These included driving up Friday night, hiking in a bit, and setting up camp in the dark. We figured that would give us an early start and a good shot at Guyot. It was not to be though. Andy woke up sick Friday morning, so I stayed home with him. That nixed my plans for an early afternoon departure. There was also a medium-sized snowstorm that morning, with another storm predicted to follow in the afternoon.
I spoke with Chip and we agreed to try a Saturday/Sunday trip to another destination instead. As luck would have it, while I was searching the Internet for trail reports I found mention of a new shelter up on Mt. Moosilauke. The Dartmouth Outing club had built it a few years back and it looked great, so that became our new goal.
Saturday morning I drove to Chip's, presented him with a new thermos (personal size) as a present, and we headed north. A few uneventful hours and one stop for cigars later we were at the parking area for the Beaver Brook trail. No other cars were there when we arrived (around 10), but several other folks pulled in while we packed up. It was a beautiful winter day - blue skies, fresh snow, mild temperatures, and no wind. Perfect for hiking.
Two of the other folks hiked east from the lot, intending to climb up the ridge and then ski down into Woodstock. Another group of three was heading up Moosilauke. All were day hikers. We located the trail in the woods (it hadn't seen much traffic at all...just a single set of footprints), assembled our packs with just enough deliberation to let the day hikers go ahead of us, and set off.
In something of a first for us, neither of us had skis on this trip. I'm not sure that's ever happened before. We've brought skis and left them in the car, but I think this was the first time we didn't bring them at all. Just as well...they would've been useless on this route. Instead, we strapped on our snowshoes for the hike.
The trail was pleasant at first, winding through the woods and crossing a few small streams on bridges. I looked for the old Lost River shelter we'd stayed at 5 or so years ago, but never saw it. I've been told it's been removed. About where I thought it was though there were some signs on a tree. One was a trail marker, indicating distances to various spots further on. The other was a warning. It said that the trail we were on was extremely difficult and should only be attempted by experienced hikers "to avoid tragic results."
Immediately after this point, the trail started to climb the mountain. It followed the Beaver Brook in a straight line unceasingly up. Not a switchback to be seen! In the summer, a series of log and rock steps help ease the ascent, but the winter's snow covered those over, leaving us to advance only by the grace of the cleats on our snowshoes.
It was tough going, to say the least, and my lack of conditioning was evident. In a pretty short time I was puffing and wheezing and climbing in 3-5 step bursts. After a bit I began to find the snowshoes overly cumbersome and switched to my crampons. That helped a good bit (the trail was well packed, so there was no problem with sinking in), but I was still having a hard time.
In a way it was too bad that the climb was so difficult. The area was beautiful, with snow covered trees surrounding the ice-covered streambed, but I barely noticed it at all. I was concentrating on how much I didn't like what I was doing! I even started making up little Dr. Seuss-like rhymes about my misery.
As we walked, two other sets of day hikers caught up with us and passed us. The last set reassured us that we were nearing both the end of the climb and the shelter. They were the first folks we'd met who had ever been up this trail before, and it was nice to finally get some idea of where we were. Sure enough, we soon arrived at the spur trail to the shelter. We stumbled in past the snowed-in outhouse and dropped our packs on the shelter floor. It was 2:00 and it had taken us nearly three hours to climb the 1.5 miles from the car.
We now had a decision to make. Should we try to get up to the summit or wait until the next day? We figured we had about 3 hours of light left, so a hike to the top was feasible, but only if we left immediately. We discussed it a bit and decided to stay put. The view from the shelter was spectacular (Kinsman, then Lafayette ridges, and in the distance, the summit of Washington), and the idea of a bit of rest and relaxation was appealing.
We did a bit of housekeeping, sweeping out the shelter, then had lunch. After that, we each found some things to do...Chip dug out a fire pit while I dug out the outhouse. Finally we settled in for some cigars and scotch to celebrate the climb. One of the folks from the groups of day hikers stopped by for a bit and we had a nice chat with him. From Virginia, I think he said. He'd decided not to go to the summit and was waiting for his friends to return. He took our picture before finally departing.
The day started to draw to a close, so we went for a short walk up the trail. We hoped to get to the junction with the Asquam-Ridge trail or perhaps to get a view of the summit. Neither happened soon enough for us though and we soon returned to the shelter.
It was time to settle in for the evening and we proceeded to make the usual preparations. First was an attempt at a fire. We'd dug out a good fire pit, there was a small supply of wood stacked under the shelter, and Chip had brought an assortment of fire starters, so a blaze seemed feasible. There were a couple of false starts, but with the help of a bit of white gas we managed to get a small, smoky fire going.
The other order of business was dinner. We'd decided to use freeze-dried meals this trip instead of our usual tortellini dinner. They certainly made dinner easier. Just boil water, though that meant melting snow (the water supply at the stream was too hard to get to). We wound up doing a couple of water boils...first to make bouillon, then water for the dinners and a final run of the stove for drinking water. Chip's stove was having trouble and it barely made it to the end of the snow melting (clogged nozzle, I suspect), but finally we shut it off and settled in to eat dinner. Chip devoured his beef & noodles and helped me finish off my red beans & rice. Both good meals and clean up just meant dropping the containers in the fire, but I think I miss the tortellini.
About this time we decided to kill the fire. It had never really caught and the smoke and fumes from the fire starters were getting annoying, so we buried it with the snow we'd dug out of the fire pit. Soon it was the stars and us, and what stars they were. The clear, cold sky glowed with an incredible array of distant suns. The Milky Way sprawled in a bright, gauzy arch directly overhead and the major stars of the familiar constellations were nearly lost among their smaller, dimmer companions. We blew out the candle lanterns and just walked around the shelter area, heads back, trying to take it all in. Truly an amazing display.
There were lights below too. The town of Lincoln was clearly visible, its main thoroughfare a blaze of orange-tinged streetlamps. Chip was put off at first by the intrusion of civilization into our otherwise-wilderness view, but I found it an interesting sight and Chip decided it wasn't so bad after all.
Some other lights are worth mentioning:
I noticed flashes in the woods directly below the shelter a couple of times. They'd only appear for an instant, but I was sure I saw them. At first I thought they might be hikers coming up in the dark with headlamps, but no one appeared. I finally realized I was seeing headlights on the highway where our car was parked. We were only 1.5 miles away and the steep slope of the mountain made for a clear line of sight to the road, though a view that wasn't obvious in the light.
Other lights of note were in the sky. One was a shooting star that flashed across just when I happened to be looking up. Another was something I took to be a satellite. It was a bright object, moving slowly and deliberately. As I watched it though, it began to fade and soon disappeared completely. Odd.
The final lights appeared as we were heading into our sleeping bags. We'd managed to stay up until 7PM and decided to call it a day. Not necessarily sleep, but time to get warm and horizontal. Suddenly there was a flash and Chip called to me. Down in Lincoln, fireworks were going off. Something in conjunction with the holiday weekend and the ski area (Loon) no doubt. We watched for nearly half an hour as the distant plumes of color bloomed in the valley below, followed incongruously by the sounds of the explosions that created them.
When the last shell burst and faded, we thanked the town for the nice send-off for the day, took a last look at the stars, and climbed into our sleeping bags. I'd brought a sleeping bag cover this trip, in hopes of staving off the cold that usually plagued me, while Chip created a cocoon with his space blanket. After mentioning that he didn't think his body would allow him to sleep at such an early hour, Chip burrowed deep into his bag and within minutes was snoring deeply.
As usual, I didn't fall asleep so fast, and I'd brought my little headset radio along to keep me occupied until sleep did come. I didn't want to use it quite yet though, because I was pretty tired and thought I might snooze a bit. I was right, though I didn't realize it at first. I dozed for what seemed like a brief moment, then awoke. A check of my watch showed that only an hour had passed. "Damn," I thought. It was going to be a long night. I got up to pee, then returned to my bag and tried to go back to sleep. I was still a bit cold and sleep did not come. I checked my watch again and found that it was still 8:30. A quick check revealed that the stem on my watch had been pulled out, stopping the watch. I pushed the stem back in and got my radio, figuring it would occupy me a bit and give me the correct time.
It turned out to be a good move. I wound up having a great time wandering about the dial, listening to an assortment of interesting tunes. No one gave any indication of the time at first, but finally one announcer mentioned that they were coming up to 11:00. I'd dozed for nearly three hours! That made me feel better. I could listen to the radio a bit, catch another 3-4 hours of sleep later on, and be sufficiently rested. Sure, I would've preferred 12 hours of deep sleep, but 7 hours wasn't bad.
So I surfed the airwaves for an hour, listening to a song here, a song there, until I heard Chip stirring. He called to see if I was awake and then asked for a time check. I told him it was midnight and we chatted a bit about how things were going, sleep-wise. We both got up to pee (again!), and spent a few minutes looking at the stars and the now-risen half-full moon before going back to our bags. Chip, as usual, fell hard asleep almost immediately, while I listened to the radio for another hour before dozing off again.
I slept for another 5 hours or so, waking around 6 and relaxing until Chip woke up around 7. We compared notes on our nights and poked our noses out to assess the world. As I'd feared the previous day and suspected during my excursions during the night, clouds had moved in and our view was gone. A light snow was falling and a wall of gray filled the air beyond the trees surrounding our camp. I'd been looking forward to the sunrise over the far ridges, but it was not to be, and any chance of a view from the summit also seemed lost. Still, there was no wind and the temperatures weren't bad.
Though reluctant to leave the warmth and relative comfort of our sleeping bags, we eventually roused ourselves in hopes of getting an early start on our hike to the summit. Since Chip's stove appeared to have given its last for our supper the night before, we used my equipment for the morning's round of water melting and heating. Boiling water for our oatmeal and coffee, more boiling water for another round of bouillon in our thermoses, and finally drinking water for the trail.
Finishing breakfast pretty quickly, we picked up a bit and then prepared for the walk to the top. We realized we had more stuff to bring than would fit in fanny packs or pockets (water bottles, first aid kits, etc.), so Chip carried his pack, emptied of most of its contents. We set off around 8, Chip wearing his snowshoes and I with my crampons.
When we got to the main trail, I pointed out the unusual and distinctive mark of a butt-sled, which we'd seen one of the day hikers carrying up the previous day. He was part of the last group we'd seen and the man who'd chatted with us at the shelter had mentioned that the butt-sledder and his friend had planned to make it to the summit and then descend with headlamps. I thought I'd heard voices and whoops the night before, and now I knew it must've been them, sliding down the steep trail on their rear ends and having a good ol' time.
We went up, ourselves, retracing the steps of our short walk the previous evening and then treading new trail. There was a short, hard climb at first, then the trail leveled off as it followed the ridge line, winding through a pleasant, snowy, open wood. The trail was in excellent shape, well defined and packed down, and we had no trouble making good time. It was a nice change from the hard hike on Saturday. Soon enough we were at the trail junction, where the sign indicated we had another 1.9 miles to go to the summit.
We continued our walk, following the trail as it skirted the edge of the Jobildunc Ravine and lamenting the lack of visibility. The day had its own beauty though, and the gray void added a note of mystery to the places where the trail swung to an obvious outlook spot. As far as we could tell, the world just dropped away forever just below the thin, fragile path of the trail on the mountain's side.
After a short ascent over Mt. Blue, there was a descent and then what we figured to be the final ascent to the summit. The trees had become shorter and were covered with ice, indications of altitude. The GPS unit Chip's friend Dick Johnson had lent him also confirmed we were close to the height we knew we needed to reach. Then we heard voices. We were resting a bit and I figured we'd soon meet up with some other hikers coming down the trail, but they never appeared. We knew weren't close enough to the summit for it to be folks up there, so we were somewhat confused. The mystery was solved when we started climbing again and came across a party of campers who'd obviously bivouacked along the trail. There was one woman, maybe 6-8 men, and 3 or 4 campsites. We bid them good morning as we passed the spot where they were gathered having breakfast. A little polite chat revealed their accents...French, thought Chip. We mentioned that we had stayed at the shelter and the woman said, "There's a shelter?!" They told us the top wasn't too much further, and we wished them a good hike as we continued on.
Soon afterwards we came to the end of the Beaver Brook trail. The trail sign indicated the summit was 0.4 miles away, following the Benton trail. The trees thinned even further as we climbed and suddenly we were above tree line. Unprotected by tree cover, we felt the first sting of wind as we headed out across the gray, rocky summit plain. The way was marked by a trail of cairns connected by a roughly defined path. The rocks were essentially bare of snow or ice and our foot gear became something of a hindrance. Chip removed his snowshoes, but I decided to keep my crampons on. They cost me one stumble, but otherwise they weren't really a problem.
The visibility was still quite limited, so we didn't see the summit until we were practically on it. It had been a short walk since tree line until we spotted the summit signs and the remains of the old hotel foundations. We clambered over the remaining few rocks to the summit sign, took a few pictures, and admired the non-view. The hike had taken about 2 hours.
After a final look around it was time to return. We stopped a short ways inside the tree line for a quick drink of bouillon and a snack or two, but made no more stops on our way back to the shelter. It was a very pleasant, easy walk through a beautiful landscape. The campers had departed their bivouac site before we returned and we saw their tracks turn on to the Asquam-Ridge trail as we passed that junction. Obviously making a loop back to the Ravine Lodge area. We also passed some day hikers heading up to the summit.
Back at the shelter, we ate a quick lunch and then packed up for the trip back to the car. Chip planned to use his famous Butt-Glissade technique for the descent and he prepared with that in mind...lots of padding for clothing. We gave the shelter one final sweep, thanked it for the refuge, and departed.
The trip down the trail was far different from the climb up. Chip's technique served him well and he whooped and hollered as he slid down the snow-covered trail. I followed behind somewhat more slowly, walking with my crampons controlling my pace. Still, we never separated much. Along the way we met some more day hikers and gave them a report on the conditions above before continuing down.
Finally, the trail flattened and we were at the bottom. It was a quick walk back to the car, marred only by a stumble where I caught and ripped the back of my pants leg with my crampon. I checked my watch as I clomped across the parking lot. 45 minutes to descend the distance it had taken us three hours to climb the day before.
We de-hiked ourselves, changing clothes and stowing gear, and then drove into town for the traditional stop at Truant's. I had a beer and Chip had a coffee while we watched a Celtics game on TV. We arrived just in time to see the halftime retirement of Robert Parrish's number...a nice diversion before our trip back south.
The ride home was uneventful and I was back to the house around 5. An early but welcome return.
Notes:
- I should've zipped the sleeping bag cover completely closed. I think much of the cold I felt was the cold air coming in from the top of the bag. Chip had stayed warm by burrowing completely inside his bag and cinching the opening shut. He admitted to one episode of claustrophobic panic, but otherwise it kept him warm.
- The radio is a great idea. Next time I should turn it on right away and let it occupy the early evening hours, though the late-night listening of this trip was quite pleasant.
- We could've left the tent and my snowshoes at home. The big shoes are overkill for trips on packed trails, and the old orange pup tent is probably fine for trips where we're heading to a shelter. Both were probably good things to bring along "just in case" though.
- The disposable camera remains a great idea, but next time I need to keep mine in a zip-lock bag. Too much body moisture wound up fogging the lens on a couple of occasions.
- As always, more (some?) pre-hike conditioning would be helpful. Day hikes would be best, since they'd target the specific muscles needed. To a certain extent however, I remain impressed with my body's ability to continue to do this sort of thing despite the lack of any regular exercise. Good genes, I guess.
- Lots of new gear got a try-out this trip, with generally favorable results:
Hiking bibs: Warm and comfortable. I need more experience with them though. I didn't play with any of the zippers to control ventilation. Much better than the old Gore-Tex rain pants.
Sleeping bag cover: Hard to tell, but it seemed to work. As noted above though, I really should've zipped it closed to keep in the warmth. I liked the fact that it kept my sleeping pad in place.
Backpack: Very nice. A place for the sleeping bag and a suspension system designed for hauling weight up a mountain.
Oil lamp insert for candle lantern: It took some fiddling to adjust the flame properly, but eventually I got it going fine. Puts out nice light and the advertised burn time (12 hours) is great.
Heavy weight long underwear: Mighty nice once the hiking stopped. Well worth the weight and bulk.
More pictures
Still, we stuck to our plans for Guyot. These included driving up Friday night, hiking in a bit, and setting up camp in the dark. We figured that would give us an early start and a good shot at Guyot. It was not to be though. Andy woke up sick Friday morning, so I stayed home with him. That nixed my plans for an early afternoon departure. There was also a medium-sized snowstorm that morning, with another storm predicted to follow in the afternoon.
I spoke with Chip and we agreed to try a Saturday/Sunday trip to another destination instead. As luck would have it, while I was searching the Internet for trail reports I found mention of a new shelter up on Mt. Moosilauke. The Dartmouth Outing club had built it a few years back and it looked great, so that became our new goal.
Saturday morning I drove to Chip's, presented him with a new thermos (personal size) as a present, and we headed north. A few uneventful hours and one stop for cigars later we were at the parking area for the Beaver Brook trail. No other cars were there when we arrived (around 10), but several other folks pulled in while we packed up. It was a beautiful winter day - blue skies, fresh snow, mild temperatures, and no wind. Perfect for hiking.
Two of the other folks hiked east from the lot, intending to climb up the ridge and then ski down into Woodstock. Another group of three was heading up Moosilauke. All were day hikers. We located the trail in the woods (it hadn't seen much traffic at all...just a single set of footprints), assembled our packs with just enough deliberation to let the day hikers go ahead of us, and set off.
In something of a first for us, neither of us had skis on this trip. I'm not sure that's ever happened before. We've brought skis and left them in the car, but I think this was the first time we didn't bring them at all. Just as well...they would've been useless on this route. Instead, we strapped on our snowshoes for the hike.
The trail was pleasant at first, winding through the woods and crossing a few small streams on bridges. I looked for the old Lost River shelter we'd stayed at 5 or so years ago, but never saw it. I've been told it's been removed. About where I thought it was though there were some signs on a tree. One was a trail marker, indicating distances to various spots further on. The other was a warning. It said that the trail we were on was extremely difficult and should only be attempted by experienced hikers "to avoid tragic results."
Immediately after this point, the trail started to climb the mountain. It followed the Beaver Brook in a straight line unceasingly up. Not a switchback to be seen! In the summer, a series of log and rock steps help ease the ascent, but the winter's snow covered those over, leaving us to advance only by the grace of the cleats on our snowshoes.
It was tough going, to say the least, and my lack of conditioning was evident. In a pretty short time I was puffing and wheezing and climbing in 3-5 step bursts. After a bit I began to find the snowshoes overly cumbersome and switched to my crampons. That helped a good bit (the trail was well packed, so there was no problem with sinking in), but I was still having a hard time.
In a way it was too bad that the climb was so difficult. The area was beautiful, with snow covered trees surrounding the ice-covered streambed, but I barely noticed it at all. I was concentrating on how much I didn't like what I was doing! I even started making up little Dr. Seuss-like rhymes about my misery.
As we walked, two other sets of day hikers caught up with us and passed us. The last set reassured us that we were nearing both the end of the climb and the shelter. They were the first folks we'd met who had ever been up this trail before, and it was nice to finally get some idea of where we were. Sure enough, we soon arrived at the spur trail to the shelter. We stumbled in past the snowed-in outhouse and dropped our packs on the shelter floor. It was 2:00 and it had taken us nearly three hours to climb the 1.5 miles from the car.
We now had a decision to make. Should we try to get up to the summit or wait until the next day? We figured we had about 3 hours of light left, so a hike to the top was feasible, but only if we left immediately. We discussed it a bit and decided to stay put. The view from the shelter was spectacular (Kinsman, then Lafayette ridges, and in the distance, the summit of Washington), and the idea of a bit of rest and relaxation was appealing.
We did a bit of housekeeping, sweeping out the shelter, then had lunch. After that, we each found some things to do...Chip dug out a fire pit while I dug out the outhouse. Finally we settled in for some cigars and scotch to celebrate the climb. One of the folks from the groups of day hikers stopped by for a bit and we had a nice chat with him. From Virginia, I think he said. He'd decided not to go to the summit and was waiting for his friends to return. He took our picture before finally departing.
The day started to draw to a close, so we went for a short walk up the trail. We hoped to get to the junction with the Asquam-Ridge trail or perhaps to get a view of the summit. Neither happened soon enough for us though and we soon returned to the shelter.
It was time to settle in for the evening and we proceeded to make the usual preparations. First was an attempt at a fire. We'd dug out a good fire pit, there was a small supply of wood stacked under the shelter, and Chip had brought an assortment of fire starters, so a blaze seemed feasible. There were a couple of false starts, but with the help of a bit of white gas we managed to get a small, smoky fire going.
The other order of business was dinner. We'd decided to use freeze-dried meals this trip instead of our usual tortellini dinner. They certainly made dinner easier. Just boil water, though that meant melting snow (the water supply at the stream was too hard to get to). We wound up doing a couple of water boils...first to make bouillon, then water for the dinners and a final run of the stove for drinking water. Chip's stove was having trouble and it barely made it to the end of the snow melting (clogged nozzle, I suspect), but finally we shut it off and settled in to eat dinner. Chip devoured his beef & noodles and helped me finish off my red beans & rice. Both good meals and clean up just meant dropping the containers in the fire, but I think I miss the tortellini.
About this time we decided to kill the fire. It had never really caught and the smoke and fumes from the fire starters were getting annoying, so we buried it with the snow we'd dug out of the fire pit. Soon it was the stars and us, and what stars they were. The clear, cold sky glowed with an incredible array of distant suns. The Milky Way sprawled in a bright, gauzy arch directly overhead and the major stars of the familiar constellations were nearly lost among their smaller, dimmer companions. We blew out the candle lanterns and just walked around the shelter area, heads back, trying to take it all in. Truly an amazing display.
There were lights below too. The town of Lincoln was clearly visible, its main thoroughfare a blaze of orange-tinged streetlamps. Chip was put off at first by the intrusion of civilization into our otherwise-wilderness view, but I found it an interesting sight and Chip decided it wasn't so bad after all.
Some other lights are worth mentioning:
I noticed flashes in the woods directly below the shelter a couple of times. They'd only appear for an instant, but I was sure I saw them. At first I thought they might be hikers coming up in the dark with headlamps, but no one appeared. I finally realized I was seeing headlights on the highway where our car was parked. We were only 1.5 miles away and the steep slope of the mountain made for a clear line of sight to the road, though a view that wasn't obvious in the light.
Other lights of note were in the sky. One was a shooting star that flashed across just when I happened to be looking up. Another was something I took to be a satellite. It was a bright object, moving slowly and deliberately. As I watched it though, it began to fade and soon disappeared completely. Odd.
The final lights appeared as we were heading into our sleeping bags. We'd managed to stay up until 7PM and decided to call it a day. Not necessarily sleep, but time to get warm and horizontal. Suddenly there was a flash and Chip called to me. Down in Lincoln, fireworks were going off. Something in conjunction with the holiday weekend and the ski area (Loon) no doubt. We watched for nearly half an hour as the distant plumes of color bloomed in the valley below, followed incongruously by the sounds of the explosions that created them.
When the last shell burst and faded, we thanked the town for the nice send-off for the day, took a last look at the stars, and climbed into our sleeping bags. I'd brought a sleeping bag cover this trip, in hopes of staving off the cold that usually plagued me, while Chip created a cocoon with his space blanket. After mentioning that he didn't think his body would allow him to sleep at such an early hour, Chip burrowed deep into his bag and within minutes was snoring deeply.
As usual, I didn't fall asleep so fast, and I'd brought my little headset radio along to keep me occupied until sleep did come. I didn't want to use it quite yet though, because I was pretty tired and thought I might snooze a bit. I was right, though I didn't realize it at first. I dozed for what seemed like a brief moment, then awoke. A check of my watch showed that only an hour had passed. "Damn," I thought. It was going to be a long night. I got up to pee, then returned to my bag and tried to go back to sleep. I was still a bit cold and sleep did not come. I checked my watch again and found that it was still 8:30. A quick check revealed that the stem on my watch had been pulled out, stopping the watch. I pushed the stem back in and got my radio, figuring it would occupy me a bit and give me the correct time.
It turned out to be a good move. I wound up having a great time wandering about the dial, listening to an assortment of interesting tunes. No one gave any indication of the time at first, but finally one announcer mentioned that they were coming up to 11:00. I'd dozed for nearly three hours! That made me feel better. I could listen to the radio a bit, catch another 3-4 hours of sleep later on, and be sufficiently rested. Sure, I would've preferred 12 hours of deep sleep, but 7 hours wasn't bad.
So I surfed the airwaves for an hour, listening to a song here, a song there, until I heard Chip stirring. He called to see if I was awake and then asked for a time check. I told him it was midnight and we chatted a bit about how things were going, sleep-wise. We both got up to pee (again!), and spent a few minutes looking at the stars and the now-risen half-full moon before going back to our bags. Chip, as usual, fell hard asleep almost immediately, while I listened to the radio for another hour before dozing off again.
I slept for another 5 hours or so, waking around 6 and relaxing until Chip woke up around 7. We compared notes on our nights and poked our noses out to assess the world. As I'd feared the previous day and suspected during my excursions during the night, clouds had moved in and our view was gone. A light snow was falling and a wall of gray filled the air beyond the trees surrounding our camp. I'd been looking forward to the sunrise over the far ridges, but it was not to be, and any chance of a view from the summit also seemed lost. Still, there was no wind and the temperatures weren't bad.
Though reluctant to leave the warmth and relative comfort of our sleeping bags, we eventually roused ourselves in hopes of getting an early start on our hike to the summit. Since Chip's stove appeared to have given its last for our supper the night before, we used my equipment for the morning's round of water melting and heating. Boiling water for our oatmeal and coffee, more boiling water for another round of bouillon in our thermoses, and finally drinking water for the trail.
Finishing breakfast pretty quickly, we picked up a bit and then prepared for the walk to the top. We realized we had more stuff to bring than would fit in fanny packs or pockets (water bottles, first aid kits, etc.), so Chip carried his pack, emptied of most of its contents. We set off around 8, Chip wearing his snowshoes and I with my crampons.
When we got to the main trail, I pointed out the unusual and distinctive mark of a butt-sled, which we'd seen one of the day hikers carrying up the previous day. He was part of the last group we'd seen and the man who'd chatted with us at the shelter had mentioned that the butt-sledder and his friend had planned to make it to the summit and then descend with headlamps. I thought I'd heard voices and whoops the night before, and now I knew it must've been them, sliding down the steep trail on their rear ends and having a good ol' time.
We went up, ourselves, retracing the steps of our short walk the previous evening and then treading new trail. There was a short, hard climb at first, then the trail leveled off as it followed the ridge line, winding through a pleasant, snowy, open wood. The trail was in excellent shape, well defined and packed down, and we had no trouble making good time. It was a nice change from the hard hike on Saturday. Soon enough we were at the trail junction, where the sign indicated we had another 1.9 miles to go to the summit.
We continued our walk, following the trail as it skirted the edge of the Jobildunc Ravine and lamenting the lack of visibility. The day had its own beauty though, and the gray void added a note of mystery to the places where the trail swung to an obvious outlook spot. As far as we could tell, the world just dropped away forever just below the thin, fragile path of the trail on the mountain's side.
After a short ascent over Mt. Blue, there was a descent and then what we figured to be the final ascent to the summit. The trees had become shorter and were covered with ice, indications of altitude. The GPS unit Chip's friend Dick Johnson had lent him also confirmed we were close to the height we knew we needed to reach. Then we heard voices. We were resting a bit and I figured we'd soon meet up with some other hikers coming down the trail, but they never appeared. We knew weren't close enough to the summit for it to be folks up there, so we were somewhat confused. The mystery was solved when we started climbing again and came across a party of campers who'd obviously bivouacked along the trail. There was one woman, maybe 6-8 men, and 3 or 4 campsites. We bid them good morning as we passed the spot where they were gathered having breakfast. A little polite chat revealed their accents...French, thought Chip. We mentioned that we had stayed at the shelter and the woman said, "There's a shelter?!" They told us the top wasn't too much further, and we wished them a good hike as we continued on.
Soon afterwards we came to the end of the Beaver Brook trail. The trail sign indicated the summit was 0.4 miles away, following the Benton trail. The trees thinned even further as we climbed and suddenly we were above tree line. Unprotected by tree cover, we felt the first sting of wind as we headed out across the gray, rocky summit plain. The way was marked by a trail of cairns connected by a roughly defined path. The rocks were essentially bare of snow or ice and our foot gear became something of a hindrance. Chip removed his snowshoes, but I decided to keep my crampons on. They cost me one stumble, but otherwise they weren't really a problem.
The visibility was still quite limited, so we didn't see the summit until we were practically on it. It had been a short walk since tree line until we spotted the summit signs and the remains of the old hotel foundations. We clambered over the remaining few rocks to the summit sign, took a few pictures, and admired the non-view. The hike had taken about 2 hours.
After a final look around it was time to return. We stopped a short ways inside the tree line for a quick drink of bouillon and a snack or two, but made no more stops on our way back to the shelter. It was a very pleasant, easy walk through a beautiful landscape. The campers had departed their bivouac site before we returned and we saw their tracks turn on to the Asquam-Ridge trail as we passed that junction. Obviously making a loop back to the Ravine Lodge area. We also passed some day hikers heading up to the summit.
Back at the shelter, we ate a quick lunch and then packed up for the trip back to the car. Chip planned to use his famous Butt-Glissade technique for the descent and he prepared with that in mind...lots of padding for clothing. We gave the shelter one final sweep, thanked it for the refuge, and departed.
The trip down the trail was far different from the climb up. Chip's technique served him well and he whooped and hollered as he slid down the snow-covered trail. I followed behind somewhat more slowly, walking with my crampons controlling my pace. Still, we never separated much. Along the way we met some more day hikers and gave them a report on the conditions above before continuing down.
Finally, the trail flattened and we were at the bottom. It was a quick walk back to the car, marred only by a stumble where I caught and ripped the back of my pants leg with my crampon. I checked my watch as I clomped across the parking lot. 45 minutes to descend the distance it had taken us three hours to climb the day before.
We de-hiked ourselves, changing clothes and stowing gear, and then drove into town for the traditional stop at Truant's. I had a beer and Chip had a coffee while we watched a Celtics game on TV. We arrived just in time to see the halftime retirement of Robert Parrish's number...a nice diversion before our trip back south.
The ride home was uneventful and I was back to the house around 5. An early but welcome return.
Notes:
- I should've zipped the sleeping bag cover completely closed. I think much of the cold I felt was the cold air coming in from the top of the bag. Chip had stayed warm by burrowing completely inside his bag and cinching the opening shut. He admitted to one episode of claustrophobic panic, but otherwise it kept him warm.
- The radio is a great idea. Next time I should turn it on right away and let it occupy the early evening hours, though the late-night listening of this trip was quite pleasant.
- We could've left the tent and my snowshoes at home. The big shoes are overkill for trips on packed trails, and the old orange pup tent is probably fine for trips where we're heading to a shelter. Both were probably good things to bring along "just in case" though.
- The disposable camera remains a great idea, but next time I need to keep mine in a zip-lock bag. Too much body moisture wound up fogging the lens on a couple of occasions.
- As always, more (some?) pre-hike conditioning would be helpful. Day hikes would be best, since they'd target the specific muscles needed. To a certain extent however, I remain impressed with my body's ability to continue to do this sort of thing despite the lack of any regular exercise. Good genes, I guess.
- Lots of new gear got a try-out this trip, with generally favorable results:
Hiking bibs: Warm and comfortable. I need more experience with them though. I didn't play with any of the zippers to control ventilation. Much better than the old Gore-Tex rain pants.
Sleeping bag cover: Hard to tell, but it seemed to work. As noted above though, I really should've zipped it closed to keep in the warmth. I liked the fact that it kept my sleeping pad in place.
Backpack: Very nice. A place for the sleeping bag and a suspension system designed for hauling weight up a mountain.
Oil lamp insert for candle lantern: It took some fiddling to adjust the flame properly, but eventually I got it going fine. Puts out nice light and the advertised burn time (12 hours) is great.
Heavy weight long underwear: Mighty nice once the hiking stopped. Well worth the weight and bulk.
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