Post #29 The Presidents

During the first several days of hiking through the Whites, I meet a few SOBOs but now a big bubble of NOBOs has been passing me and we frequently camp at the same site. While explaining my hike, I often say that I just restarted my trip north, don’t have my trail legs, and ate too many potato chips over the winter. But I have come to my senses and realize there is no such thing as too many potato chips. For my funeral, I want to be lying in my casket with an open bag of Martin’s BBQ Potato Chips to share with mourners/celebraters one last time.

I clamber over Franconia Ridge on Monday and Tuesday. On Wednesday, when I arrive at the two mile level stretch of trail between Zealand Hut and Thoreau Falls, I am so grateful to be walking on a nearly rock-free path that I want to drop to my knees and kiss the dirt.

If one packs their fears, then I must fear hunger; I regret the extra pounds that I’m carrying due to my food quantity miscalculation.  You would think that after spending over 150 days on the trail I would know better.

Thursday’s 6.5 mile ascent from Crawford Notch to Mizpah Springs Hut and the Nauman campsite is a real draining slog. The heat and humidity are my kryptonite. The reasons I chose to wait until August to continue my hike are that there would be fewer bugs and lower temperatures and humidity; at least I am half right. I take solace in hearing some 25 year old thru hikers complain about the climb. If I could just find a phone booth to change in, the rest of this hike would be a breeze.

Traverse of the White Mountains’ Presidential Range is no joke. This alpine area has extreme weather (the highest wind speed ever recorded of over 200 mph), trails that are nothing but boulders, rocks that are no fun to walk on, and magnificent scenery on the days when the mountains are not enveloped by clouds.

It appears that most of the people who do this 25 mile traverse will make day hikes out of their trips by staying in at least two of the three alpine huts that the Appalachian Mountain Club has in this mountain range. These reservation-only huts can sleep 60-100 people in small dormitory rooms that hold nine bunks each. Breakfast and dinner is provided, but no linens or showers. I believe all the food is carried in daily. Everything there is solar powered, including the limited lighting, wastewater treatment and kitchen equipment. The sixteen 100 gallon propane tanks are flown in by helicopter. Non-guests, like thru hikers, can re-fill their water bottles, use the restroom, and occasionally score some leftovers and coffee.

As I hike over Mount Washington on Friday, I question whether I made the right decision to not bring sunscreen… reducing my pack’s weight by three ounces. This glorious day is overshadowed by the difficulty of clambering over boulders all day long. The summit of Washington is crowded with tourists, because, being a lot smarter than yours truly, they arrive by either driving up the toll highway or via the cog railway. I do take advantage of the summit’s amenities: restrooms and a cafeteria.

Because of the rocks, the only camping opportunities are on platforms below timberline, over a mile off the AT. I spend Friday night camped on the side of the mountain on a platform a few feet away from other backpackers. I enjoy chatting with a couple of guys that were childhood friends in Nepal, attended college in the US, and remain friends twenty years later.

My Saturday morning departure from camp is delayed by a brief rain shower. Ascending Mts. Jefferson, Clay, and Adams is uneventful. I score some leftover spice cake at the Madison Springs Hut and climb another thousand feet to the summit of Mt. Madison, which is totally socked in by clouds. The gentle breeze soon becomes a 50 mph wind with horizontal rain pelting me! I choose to continue moving forward, slowly descending, getting closer to the tree line. My progress for the next mile is not much faster than a crawl; I carefully place each footstep on the slippery boulders and try not to lose my balance in the buffeting wind. I walk hunched over and with a wide stance to reduce the risk of getting blown over and getting hurt if I do fall. I frequently pause to locate the next cairn in the fog or to rest in the lea of a huge boulder. Boy, there is nothing like a little fear to make one “pray without ceasing”. As I approach timberline the rain stops, the wind speed decreases a little, and the clouds start to break up. An hour later I’m setting up camp at a wonderful campsite and sleep really well all night.

Sunday gives me one final Mt. Washington experience: I previously mentioned the toll road that goes up to the summit. The AT crosses that road a couple miles from the Pinkham Notch Visitors’ Center. All morning I could hear the traffic going up the highway as I drew nearer. Some of the cars sounded like motorcycles without mufflers. This morning there is a car race up the mountain- the Subaru Mount Washington Hillclimb, also known as the Climb to the Clouds. Since it is a timed race and it appears that each car starts about one minute apart, race volunteers encourage me to briskly walk across the road between cars. I sit and watch the race for twenty minutes.

My plan to get a shuttle from Pinkham Notch to Gorham and spend Monday letting my legs recover from the wear and tear these mountains put on them is scuttled since there are no motel or hostel vacancies thanks to the car race. I move on to plan B and make a stealth campsite a quarter mile from Pinkham Notch, set up camp, and return to the visitor center and spend the rest of the afternoon hanging out in the hiker lounge, charging my phone and battery block, and documenting the events of the past few days. Then on Monday morning, I catch the 7:30 AMC shuttle to Gorham.

Next up: the Wildcat Mts.