Tales of Desolation

Desolation Shelter, January 1996

Desolation Shelter was a small lean-to shelter built by the Appalachian Mountain Club in 1949. Set deep in the Pemigewasset Wilderness ("The Pemi") of New Hampshire's White Mountain National Forest, it stood near Stillwater Junction, where several former logging railroads met. Those abandoned rail beds now served as trails to the site. 

Dick Carden Clearing Desolation Shelter Site, 1949

It takes some hiking to get to the shelter. The shortest route, going up and over Mt. Nancy from the east, is 8.1 miles long. Coming through Carrigain Notch, also from the east, adds another half mile. Following the Pemigewasset River from the west is a 9.3 mile journey. From the south, via Cedar Brook, the route is 12.2 miles. And coming in from the north, via Zealand Notch and Shoal Pond, is a 13.5 mile hike.

I cite all of this because, despite its remoteness,  I visited Desolation Shelter seven times over a period of just over nine years. Most of the visits were with Chip, in the winter. He & I tried and failed to get there at least one other time in the winter. Dave joined us for one winter trip, and I journeyed there solo one time in the summer. To return to any site multiple times is unusual for me...to return seven times to a remote spot, and in winter conditions is remarkable.

How did this all start? Why Desolation? Probably because of a map and a name.

In the summer of 1985 I had hiked around the Pemi, thanks to a newly-purchased AMC White Mountain Guide and map. The starting point was a large parking area with an information booth along the Kancamagus Highway, the primary starting spot for hikes into the Pemigewasset Wilderness (it's now the Lincoln Woods Visitor Center). I returned the following spring for another solo trip, then a few months later I returned to the area with The Stupids. When Chip & I decided to try a winter ski camping trip, it seemed like a good, somewhat familiar starting spot. Old logging railroads would have made for easy ski routes, and there - at the end of the primary trail - was the intriguingly-named Desolation Shelter. 

And so, in December 1986, Chip & I set off for our first visit to Desolation. The ski in was long (9.3 miles) but mostly uneventful until the end, when we got turned around a bit on the trails. We quickly found our way however, and settled into the shelter for the night. We were joined a bit later by a group of students from Dartmouth who arrived after dark via Carrigain Notch. They said the smell of our fire helped them find their way. We took a bushwhack route out the next morning for the first part of our ski out, following another abandoned rail bed.

The trip went well enough that we decided to try again two months later, coming in from the north through Zealand Notch. It was another epic adventure, but with issues. It was a long (13.5 mile) journey, starting with a long stretch of closed road which we didn't expect. There were some other problems as well, and though we'd planned for a two night trip, we bailed after one night.

I made a solo visit to Desolation the following August, as part of a loop hike through the southeastern part of the Pemi. The first day got me to the shelter, but though it was unoccupied, I decided to stay in a tent nearby instead. The next day I went up and over Mt. Carrigain before returning to my car via Hancock Notch.

Chip & I returned to Desolation for another winter trip in January 1988. This time we come from the east, via Carrigain Notch. A shorter route (8.6 miles), but there were delays getting to the trail head and another closed road at the beginning. Once we got on the trail, things got better, though we ran out of daylight well before we reached the shelter. It actually made for an interesting adventure and we arrived just fine.

Our next visit was in October of that year. A fall visit, coming in from the east again via Nancy Pond. Just a bit of snow this time, but cool and rainy the whole time. Though we did get to the shelter, it was fully occupied by a group and we wound up setting up camp with a tent a short distance away. We nearly got washed away overnight, but made it out just fine the next day. This was the shortest route to the shelter, just 8.1 miles.

In March of 1989, we convinced Dave to join us for what became known as the famous Winter Camping Weekend. A truly epic adventure, despite being one of the longer routes (12.2 miles) to Desolation.

There would be several camping trips after that, some in the summer, some in the winter, but we (Chip & I) didn't attempt a return to Desolation until February of 1992. We came in via Cedar Brook again, but ran into trouble and wound up camping on the trail, many miles short of the shelter.

Chip & I made our final visit to Desolation was in January, 1996. There was rain, flooded streams, poor trail conditions, darkness, route confusion, and... It was wonderful. Truly one of our most memorable trips. 

There will never be another visit to Desolation Shelter. It was removed in 1997, as part of a program to clear all structures from the Wilderness area (the suspension bridge at the Cedar Brook trail was also removed). The shelter was just shy of 50 years old, which would have given it protected status, but the Wilderness rules dictated its removal. Plus (as noted in my reports), the area around the shelter had seen serious overuse. Removal allowed the forest to recover.

There were log books in the shelter, which we dutifully signed on most of our trips. I remember seeing one entry saying something like, "10 degrees. Baby is a bit colicky but okay." I asked years later if those logs had been saved, thinking of using selected entries - along with my recollections - to write a book ("Tales of Desolation"). Alas, it appears the log books were just tossed out and replaced when full. Such a sad loss.

Final note: Of my seven visits to Desolation Shelter, I have photos of the shelter from only the final trip. It was before the advent of smart phones, and we often didn't think to bring a camera. I took some pictures on my summer hike in 1987, but just shots along the trail and from the summit of Carrigain. And audio recordings from the Winter Camping Weekend in 1989 mention photos being taken, but they've never been found.