Falling into Maine (Aug 28th - 30th)

"The world is big and I want to have a good look at it before it gets dark."

~ John Muir

The first few miles out of Gorham were pretty gradual until we started the climb up Mt. Hayes.  Due to all our separate hitches out of town, we got pretty spread out and I hiked most of the day alone.  Just as I was greeting the rocky exposed top of Mt. Hayes, a rainstorm decided to greet me. You would wait until I had no tree cover you evil wench rain cloud. Luckily it was a quick storm that blew over as I made my way across the summit.  As I stood up there I had to pause to watch the clouds whirl around me. The rain had passed and I stood amazed at how quickly the clouds were moving.  I was going to be sad when I was no longer close to the clouds and didn't have time or need to watch their movements.

I relocated my gaze to the ground and saw piles of crap everywhere.  MOOSE!!!  I was in moose country now, and there was a moose around here somewhere.  I hoped I would find him as I made my way down the trail.  I came down Mt. Hayes and decided to get the climb up Cascade Mountain out of the way before taking a break at a view.  The sun was out now and I tried to dry out some of my gear that had gotten wet when I participated in the mini rainstorm.  I chatted with a group of hikers I hadn't met before,  six guys that had been behind me most of the way, but were now hoping to cruise through Maine and wouldn't see much of after.  Southern Maine is said to be the hardest part of the AT, so I had no plans to "cruise" through it.  It was basically the Whites continued, expect we had just worn ourselves out with the Whites.  

Flies and Pants playing Scrabble

No one really had a plan as to where we were headed that night. I arrived at Trident Col Campsite around 4pm just as the sky was darkening again.  I was pretty over hiking in the rain so I headed in.  It was super crowded, and not with thru-hikers.  It seemed weekend warriors were out by the hundreds.  I found the last open tentsite in the way back and decided to claim it.  My dad, Cheesetowel, Roller and Sunkist, Meds and FM (who had caught up) all made it to the shelter four miles ahead, which  was apparently just as crowded.  White Wolf, DS and Gribley went past Trident hoping to find stealthing at the lake up the trial, while Pants and Flies decided they would try and squeeze their tents next to mine.  The three of us settled in for the night, playing a very intense game of Scrabble. Flies was carrying a full Scrabble board. His other gear choices included two Hawaiian shirts and a Mario blanket. No jacket.  I worried a bit for his well-being as we were entering fall, in the mountains of Maine, and it was about to get cold.  Perhaps the Mario blanket wasn't the best choice....but at the moment I was more concerned with trying to beat them at Scrabble, keeping an eye on the dark clouds above us at the same time, though it never did rain again.

Bog Board of Death

The next morning I was the last to leave, which seemed to be becoming a regular occurrence.  As it got colder out, it was becoming increasingly harder to get out of my tent.  My tent was tiny and cozy, like being in a warm little bottle.  I finally got going, traveling past Page Pond, over Wocket Ledge and around Dream Lake (very dreamy yes). When I got to Gentian Pond Shelter I decided to have an early lunch.  I had the place to myself and the shelter had a nice view over the pond.  I browsed the register and learned that everyone saw a cow and calf in the pond last night!  Dammit, that was my moose! I packed my crap and made my way out of the shelter, ready to head out of NH.  I was five miles from the Maine border, certainly there would be moose over there.  Out of the shelter I was immediately presented with a pud, and was then allowed to climb over Mt. Success.  I caught up with Gribley, DS, and Pants who were resting at a view.  DS immediately showed me a hilarious picture of Gribley face planting into a bog board.  The bog boards, though well intentioned, are really just wooden planks of doom.  Boobie traps. They are rotted, slick, crooked and sometimes don't even support your weight.  So thanks, MATC, for littering the trail with them all through Maine.  Like we didn't have enough to worry about, you threw in your man-made bridges of death.  After getting a good laugh, the four of us successfully finished climbing Mt. Success.  We didn't stay long, as it was a very windy success, and we were too excited to head down the mountain and into MAINE!!!

New Hampshire wasn't giving up without a fight.  Pace had texted me that NH had tried to kill her and Hungus on their way out, and I now understood.  Coming off Mt. Success was slick and rocky, and my dismount was less than successful.  At one point we encountered a 20ft slick, smooth rock face we were suppose to get down somehow.  Gribley went first, and to the far right he found a mossy, rooty part of the rock we could use to gently step down, rather than the rock slide that was the center.  DS followed Gribley and I followed her.  Literally my first step onto the rock my feet flew out from underneath me and I started sliding down the rock.  I quickly grabbed onto a tiny wee tree growing up out of the rock to avoid sliding into, and subsequently taking out, DS.  And then, there I hung. 

I love you Maine

After that snafu, there was no way I was making it over to the right to slowly and carefully make my way off the rock, the way DS was now.  The only option left to me was to let go and slide the remaining 15ft down the rock.  The only problem was DS was still baby stepping her way down.  Not particularly enjoying dangling from the tree, I politely encouraged her to kindly hurry the fuck up.  While she yelled at everyone to quit rushing her, Gribley stood at the bottom laughing and capturing the entire disaster on camera while Pants stood above us watching it all unfold.  She finally hit the bottom and I immediately let my tired arm go and quickly slid to the bottom of the rock, praying I wouldn't hurt myself along the way.  I arrived safely, and ultimately decided I did not fall, I simply found a more efficient way to get down the mountain.  Either way, it didn't matter because we were only a few steps from Maine!

Grbley giving Maine love

We hit the border and were greeted by a somewhat shitfaced White Wolf and Flies.  Everyone else had moved on, but those two decided to wait for us, and kill a bottle of Jameson to pass the time. The four of us immediately joined the party, ready to celebrate our Maine arrival.  We spent I'm not sure how much time at the sign, taking pictures, frightening approaching hikers by warmly and loudly welcoming them to Maine (or NH) and participating in general debauchery.  Eventually we decided it was time to try and go somewhere (i.e. we ran out of wine and whiskey). We ambitiously set our sights on Carlo Col Shelter, a mere half mile away.  Disclaimer:  I do not endorse drunk hiking.  Like most physical activities, hiking is more difficult drunk.  But it didn't matter to us because we were hiking in Maine!  

DS in Maine!

Turns out Maine is a buzzkill.  Think back to the last time you were pretty drunk (if you can remember) and recall how successfully you were able to walk around.  Now throw in roots and rocks and a vertical boulder field to climb down.  But like the hiking rockstars we are, we arrived at the shelter safe and sound.  And sober.  Carlo Col Shelter was a bit far off the trail, so there weren't a lot of other people there.  We all made dinner and eventually drifted off to bed, ready to tackle Mahoosuc Notch the next day.  The following morning we all made our way out of Carlo Col Shelter and up and over Goose Eye west, east and north peak.  The peaks were exposed, windy and cold and we all tried to hurry over them.  I got a bit slowed down on the descent, the MATC again tried to be helpful by putting boards over the steeper parts.  They apparently hoped to incorporate a tight-rope aspect to our hike, as these boards were literally the width of my foot.  I'd rather just deal with the rocks thanks.  From where I stood on the exposed north side of the mountain, I could see down to the rest of the crew below me.

At the border!

Now there have been a lot of epic and hilarious falls throughout this trip.  We all wish there was some way we could get a video montage of hikers falling down the AT.  With our joints getting weaker and the trail getting rockier, it is safe to say we all fell a lot.  But Gribley's bog board face plant and my tree dangling gymnastics had nothing on the 'Dances with Flies mud pit fiasco.'  From where I stood I watched Flies stand on a bog board at the bottom of the mountain, and write his name in the mud next to him.  He liked to write his name in mud.  He then got it in his head that he should top off the work of art with his footprints.  Confident that the mud was just a 'top layer' and not very deep, he decided to jump, pack on, into the mud to leave two perfect footprints.  The mud was not a 'top layer' but a pit.  He jumped into a pit of mud.  He immediately started calling for help as he sunk deeper into the muddy mess.  The more he struggled the deeper he went.  I watched everyone else run back to him, but before helping him out they all got their priorities straight and took an abundance of photos first.  He was eventually pulled out of the mud and unhappily hiked the remaining mile to Full Goose Shelter as a mudman.

By the time I arrived he had cleaned most of the mud off but was left with wet boots and socks.  Flies learned that day not to jump into pits of mud if you don't want to be covered in mud.  We all had lunch and then began hiking towards Mahoosuc Notch.  We had a quick climb over Fulling Mill Mountain and then headed down to the notch.  Mahoosuc Notch is considered the most difficult, or, most fun mile on the entire AT.  The notch is a mile long gap filled with car and house sized boulders that must be climbed over, under or around.  There are several parts that require pack removal in order to squeeze through or under boulders.  Though there are some blazes, the MATC took a 'you figure it out' approach, leaving it up to us to decipher how to traverse the mile.  I personally was quite excited for this section.  Pants and I happily dove in.  The first couple of minutes we were wondering what all the fuss was about.  It wasn't long before we found out.  The trail disappeared and a sea of giant misshapen boulders lay in front of us.

We didn't get very far int the notch before we ran into Gribley, White Wolf and Flies, who had their packs off and were climbing down into a small hole.  The pile up of boulders over the years has resulted in a series of caves underneath the notch.  Flies was ready to explore and we were ready to follow. After the first cave, Gribley and DS took off to make their way through the notch, hoping to make it up the Arm yet that night.  Pants, White Wolf, Flies and I remained in the notch exploring cave after cave.  It did occur to me at one point that I was following a 19 year old wearing a Hawaiian shirt down very small holes with I don't even know how many tons of rock perched precariously above me. Alas, Flies never lead me astray and should really consider a career as a cave captain, though there were some holes I was unwilling to crawl in for fear of severe claustrophobia setting in.  

After a number of hours goofing off in the notch, we were finally ready to get out of it.  Problem was we had spent more time below the notch than on it.We still had most of the notch to actually hike, which can take up to two hours on it's own.  And we had no water.  Brilliant.  As we slowly made our way through the boulders I got it in my head that I was going to make it through the rest of the notch without having to remove my pack.  Why? Well....I'm not sure.  I guess when you dedicate six months of your life to the accomplishment of one thing, have removed all other distractions, literally everything you do from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to bed is focused on the attainment of one singular goal, well, sometimes that can feel overwhelming.  We've all worked towards goals, everyday we do.  Lose ten pounds, buy a house, get a new job etc...but the difference is, while working towards those goals, our lives are filled with other things as well.  Dotted with smaller goals I suppose, like mowing the lawn and cleaning the kitchen. 

When you set the goal of losing weight for example, you don't drop everything else in your life to accomplish it (well I didn't anyways).  But when we left to hike the AT that is exactly what we have done.  We have completely abandoned everyone and everything in our lives to devote ourselves physically and mentally to the accomplishment of one thing.  Get to Mt. Katahdin.  Six months of my life focused on achieving one thing.  At times Katahdin seemed so far away.  Even where I stood, 275 miles from her summit, she still seemed a figment of my imagination.  In addition, there is not a lot of variety in what we do.  There is a plethora of variety in what we experience, 14 states, three seasons, varying terrain and people, but what we do, that is unchanging.  We hike. Every day, all day, we hike.  Never mind drastically changing your life in order to achieve one thing, but if the only road to that goal was to focus on doing the same thing everyday - get up and hike,  that's all I ever had to do - could you remain focused? Or would you lose yourself in the exhaustive monotony?  Many do, and they are not in Maine.  

I guess I don't expect everyone at home to understand what that feels like, but understand that at times in order for us to deal with this monumental task we have set for ourselves, to reduce it at times to something we can comprehend, we need to dot our lives with smaller goals, so to speak. Something other than "I'm going to hike to here today."  For example, White Wolf decided that he was going to ford all the rivers without getting his feet wet or having to take off his shoes (he would soon learn that trying to accomplish that goal in Maine would be like us trying to hike to a mountain on the moon).  And today I decided that I would traverse the notch without having to take my pack off.

Pants went pack off

This too, proved to be difficult.  I awkwardly squeezed myself through several cracks until I arrived at a point where it appeared the intended route was to belly crawl over rocks under a boulder.  Hmmmm.....I left the pack on and went for it.  It wasn't long before my pack was stuck by the boulder above me, and I couldn't move.  I also couldn't unclip the pack as it was pushing me down into my rocky grave.  Of all the various ways I could perish on this trip, I was going to go with 'suffication by backpack.'  A death that was completely avoidable by the simple advance removal of said pack.  I never said that the smaller goals we set for ourselves aided us in achieving our larger goal of getting to Katahdin.   As I convinced myself not to panic, I wiggled and wormed my way free.  I eventually succeeded in crawling towards the hole above me that was my exit.  Now there really was no where to put your feet, so to exit out of the hole you basically had to pull yourself up with only your arms.  For the smart people, the ones who removed their packs, they could simply shove their packs through the hole, then packless, there was plently of space to lift themselves out.  Now I, with my bulky pack on, had to exit the hole backwards, fitting my pack (on my back) through the hole first, then using all my arm strength (which after walking across the country was zilch) dead lift myself and pack out of the hole.  Success!  It's the small victories.  

Satisfied with myself, but thoroughly exhausted, I was ready to be done with "the most fun mile of the AT."  We caught up with White Wolf and Dances with Flies and found a flat spot near Bull Branch just after the notch.  White Wolf, Pants and Flies played Scrabble while I opted to lay in my tent and drink hot toddies and recover.  The 'pack on' Mahoosuc Notch Challenge proved to be more exhausting than anticipated.  I promised myself to find other ways to entertain myself while hiking and tried to rest up for the long day tomorrow.  Though I will confirm that the notch was extremely fun, just take your pack off before crawling into holes.  Good advice in general I suppose.  

The Last of the Whites (Aug 24th - 28th)

"As I make my slow pilgrimage through the world, a certain sense of beautiful mystery seems to gather and grow"

~A.C. Benson

Well the Wildcats were no joke.  They could rename the mountain "Land of False Summits."  So many times during our climb we were given false hope we were near the top.  The trail would flatten out, filling our hearts with happiness, and just when we would finally relax and soothe our tired legs, convinced the worst was over, we would encounter yet another insufferable rock face, laughing at us, feeding off our pain and despair.  OK a bit dramatic perhaps, but this continued for three hours as we all leap frogged each other while taking heart attack avoidance breaks.  We finally arrived at Peak E, then slowly made our way up Peak D where the gondola was.  I was surprised to see Squatch sitting there chatting with everyone.  He had literally just texted me that he was staying in Gorham, and wanted to try and meet at the notch.  Sadly I had already hiked out of the notch and was halfway up Wildcat when I got it. Knowing I was about to pass the gondola, he took it up and surprised us with treats and water:) He hung out until he had to catch the last gondola down at 5pm.  Sadly that was the last time I got to see Squatch on the trail.  He had to bounce ahead to film Trails End Festival in Maine, then get some footage of Katahdin and Knife's Edge.  But I am excited to see how the film turns out and plan to continue to follow his career.

After the gondola quit running we felt safe to pitch our tents in the open grassy area (we weren't sure this was technically allowed). Then we (me, Pace, Hungus, White Wolf, Pants, my dad, Roller and Sunkist) enjoyed a gorgeous evening, listening to Mitch Hedberg with Hungus's mini-speakers.  Towelie and Cheesewater arrived a bit later, after hitching into town to get food and whiskey (which they drank all of during the climb to numb the pain).  The next morning I got to watch the sunrise from my tent, then we all went about the practice of drying out our crap in the sun.  The problem with camping on grass, and why I usually avoid it, is everything is covered in dew in the morning.  One by one we all took off, aiming to get somewhere around Imp campsite, 10ish miles away.  I climbed over Wildcat Peak C and A, before beginning the horribly steep descent into Carter Notch.  We all took a break at Carter Notch Hut, the last of the huts in the Whites.  No one else was there but the croo, so we hung out for an hour eating soup and relaxing before our climb up Carter Dome and Mt. Height. 

The clouds started rolling in as we tried to take a break on Carter Dome, so we just decided to carry on to Mt. Height and down to Zeta Pass.  We took a quick breather on some small nameless peak covered in trees, where we all agreed we were kinda over it for the day.  The wicked descent down to Carter Notch and the subsequent slingshot straight up Carter Dome wore me out. It was one of those points in our elevation profiles we used to look at way back in VA and laugh at the fact we had to do that, you know, sitting around "look at how stupid this looks! It's like straight down and straight up! hahahahahaha!" Well now we were doing that, and we were tired. We thought we might try to find a stealth site before Imp Campsite, which was another $8 pay site.  We all got up to pound out our last climbs over Middle Carter Mt. and North Carter Mt. before we could begin our descent to Imp.  And by descent I mean steep and rocky vortex into hell.  Hungus warned us the descent was nasty and he was right. We got the worst of it out of the way and started searching for a site. The entire trail to Imp we had a rock wall to our left and a swamp to our right.  Awesome.  We had no plan B, and when I made it to Imp I found White Wolf and Pants near the sign.  Towelie and Cheesewater decided to go ahead and try to find stealthing somewhere on Mt. Moriah.  I was pretty sure my dad was at Imp and everyone else was behind us still.  

After that descent my joints were shot and I had no desire to climb Moriah at the moment.  While many hikers prefer going down to the heart pounding sweaty uphills, White Wolf and I would much prefer if the entire AT was uphill (well, flat would be best, and maybe it could be lined with unicorns and trees made of chocolate while we're dreaming).  We are surprisingly much faster going uphill than downhill. Between White Wolf's knees and my ankles we have the combined joints of a 97 year old.  One really tough descent wears me out more than three tough climbs.  Climbing down off the Carters did me in and I was ready to bite the bullet and just pay the $8. Pants and White Wolf followed suit. We hiked the .2 down to the site and found the tent platform farthest away from the group of college kids out for the weekend or whatever part of the week it was, I rarely actually knew.  The caretaker came over to collect our $8 and stayed while we made dinner to chat.  Tomorrow was our last day in the Whites, we had an eight mile hike to US 2 and Gorham, where we all planned to take a zero and recover.  I hadn't showered in a week, being we were too lazy to bother with the coin-op showers at Pinkham Notch.  I was ready for town.

The next morning I was the last to leave Imp, making my way slowly over Mt. Moriah.  I paused a few times to take in the last of the Whites.  I could still see Mt. Washington in the distance.  Distances are so deceiving.  You'll be standing on one mountain, looking out at the mountain ahead of you and it will seem so far away, but within a matter of hours you'll be standing on it, looking back at where you just came from.  There is nothing more rewarding than standing on top of a mountain looking back at everything you did to get there.  I said one last goodbye to the Whites and turned to head towards town.  The hike down Moriah was very gentle, I took a brief break at Rattle River Shelter with White Wolf, then we topped off our day with an easy two mile stroll down to US 2.  We got to the road and walked down to the White Mountains Hostel so I could pick up my bounce box.  I sent it there because I originally thought I might stay there, but now that we were a giant group we all decided to just split rooms at the hotel in town.  I really only like staying at hostels when there are no other options.  Usually splitting a hotel is the same price and you get a bit more space to yourself.  

After picking up my box we headed back to the road to hitch into town. We were the last to arrive at the Royalty Inn - everyone divided up to split rooms and I went in search of my dad's room. I tried to get all my 'chores' done the first day.  Pace, Hungus, Dances with Flies (who appeared out of nowhere) and I got a ride to the Walmart from Broadsword and then went to dinner with them at pretty much the only restaurant in town.  We all stayed up on the porch chatting and drinking beers before exhaustion set in and I had to go to bed.  I woke the next morning excited for the whole lotta nothing I had to do that day.  Pace and Hungus decided to hike out, but the rest of us were staying put. I made my way over to the library to update my blog - I only got one entry typed up when I got a text from Gribley that he and Daystar had made it to town and were at the Walmart resupplying.  They had gotten off back at Pinkham Notch to visit a friend of DS's so they had gotten a day behind.  They were planning on hiking out that night, but wanted to grab a case of beer and come chill at the hotel with us for a bit first. I knew at "grab a case of beer" they weren't actually going anywhere, but I let them pretend:)

I left the library to go meet them in Pants and White Wolf's room. They showed up with Cheesetowel and Flies, who had apparently only gotten their room for one night but were still lurking around town as usual. Before they knew it, Pants and White Wolf were hosting an impromptu hiker party in their hotel room.  It was fun but I was glad I had my dad's room to retreat to when I was finally ready for bed. The next morning I got up bright and early and headed over to the PO to send my bounce box to Monson, then stopped at the liquor store to grab some whiskey.  We would be crossing the Maine border in a few days and I intended to celebrate.  I then proceeded to wake everyone else up (apparently they all slept like tetris pieces in White Wolf and Pants's room) and we all grabbed breakfast, grabbed our shit and started the process of pairing off and hitching out of town. 

We traveled like a scraggly herd out of the hotel parking lot when some kid ran out of the lobby to ask us if we were "real live hobos." Daystar told him we were hikers, but I don't think the difference registered. Inspiring the youth of America.....My dad and I walked ahead of Daystar and Gribley, with Towelie wandering somewhere in the middle.  Hitching into town is, I find, much easier since you're on a highway of some type and not walking down a business or residential street.  I stuck my thumb out as we walked down the street and a jeep pulled over into the parking spot next to me.  I went to open the back door to throw my pack in when the lady got out to inform me that she was just trying to go to the bank.  Oh. I slowly closed the door...Right. Well, enjoy the bank then....I turned around, shaking my head at Towelie and my dad who were running to try and piggyback on my hitch.  I made a mental note that every car pulling over near me was not necessarily doing so to transport me places.

But you know who was? Trail Momma.  She was across the street honking at us! Gribley and DS were already climbing into her car.  We sprinted across the avenue, hopped in and Trail Momma dropped us off at the trailhead.  We excitedly took off for the woods. In two nights we would be in MAINE.  The final state.  "See you in Maine!" had become a common farewell when saying goodbye to hikers, and we were about to see everyone in Maine and I couldn't wait.  

The Whites Continued... (Aug. 22nd- 24th)

"Most people are on the world, not in it."

          ~John Muir

So after an extended break on the top of Mt. Jackson, the three of us (FM, White Wolf and I) tore ourselves away and headed down to Mizpah Hut for lunch.  Mizpah was by far the most laid back hut and most accommodating to thru- hikers.  Doing my Work For Stay there would have been a much more relaxing experience than the one I was about to have at Lake of the Clouds.  We got there around 1pm, my dad was still there from the night before.  He was only going to Lake of the Clouds as well, and was hoping to get there by 4pm to secure some WFS.  LOC was a bit different, as it can't really turn away hikers due to it's location.  They only have six WFS spots like the rest, but for everyone else there is some type of dungeon bunk room you have to pay $10 for.  LOC is at the base of Mt. Washington, considered the 'deadliest little mountain,' so they can't really send hikers up and over it at night.  Washington is the highest peak in the northeastern US at 6,288 ft.  Up until 2010, the summit held the record for the highest wind gust directly measured at the Earth's surface, 231 mph, recorded back in 1934.  Due to the convergence of several storm tracks over the mountain, the weather is known to be very unpredictable and erratic.  In 2008, GearJunkie.com made a list of the 'World's 10 Most Dangerous Mountains.' Mt. Washington was #8, right after Everest.  So. Let's go climb it.

First we had to wind our way around Mt. Eisenhower, Franklin, and Monroe.  It was a beautifully clear day and we all took our time over the rocks, enjoying the view.  The AT over the Presidentials is almost entirely above treeline. In the 19 mile section between Webster Cliffs and Osgood Tent Site, there is pretty much no stealthing,  as the AT is completely exposed and rocky.  And by no stealthing, I'm not only referring to the illegality of it.  I mean there is nowhere to put a tent, as the stretch is a 19 mile boulder and rock mess.  Our only option was to stay at LOC, then get to Osgood the next night.  We arrived at LOC at around 4:30pm and a welcoming party greeted us when we arrived.  Pace, Hungus, Towelie and Cheesewater were all there. They had all stayed at Mizpah the night before and only hiked the five to LOC, deciding to save Washington for tomorrow.

I snagged the last WFS spot, securing a place on the dining room floor and avoiding the dungeon.  The 'dungeon' looked like it came straight from Auschwitz.  It was a tiny cement cell with plywood bunks stacked on top of each other, the bottom bunk literally being a piece of plywood on the floor.  It was also probably only two degrees warmer in there than it was outside. My tent would have been warmer. The huts won't allow us to set up our tents as it would "damage the alpine vegetation" (um, you put a building on top of it) and it would "look bad for the guests" I was told by one croo.  How witnessing people actually camping is offensive I do not know.

Lakes of the Clouds Hut

Regardless, we all had a somewhat enjoyable evening relaxing by the lake that is up there while waiting for dinner to be over.  This is where our hatred for the huts really set in.  Everyone else had done a few WFS, so they were prepared for the torture.  But it was the first for Meds, FM, Pants, White Wolf and I, so we weren't sure what to expect.  Apparently we have to sit around like starving dogs waiting for all the guests to finish eating, then for the croo to clear everything.  We didn't get to eat until 8:30pm.  That's usually when I'm in bed.  Pace and Hungus got to eat a bit earlier, as part of their WFS was to talk to the normies and answer all their questions about thru-hiking.  The huts usually arrange a naturalist to speak to the guests each night, and when they don't have one, they pluck out a few thru-hikers to talk as their WFS.  Only after Pace and Hungus started their talk were we allowed to go back to the kitchen and eat.  After spending the last few months hiking 1,850 miles over mountains, we had larger than normal appetites.  And we are not used to eating that late.  We were crabby and starved. 

Afterwards the dungeon people retreated to their cave while those of us who got WFS had to wait until all the guests left the dining room so we could put down our pads and bags and go to bed.  I think part of the frustration was that for the last five months we have had to abide by no one's schedule but our own.  And by our own I mean we didn't have one.  I slept when I wanted to sleep, ate when I wanted to eat, and hiked as far as I wanted to hike.  I never had to worry about a work schedule, being somewhere on time, etc...so having to abide by someone else's schedule was just not suiting me.  Granted, LOC was a bit more chaotic than the rest of the huts, it was the largest and most popular due to it's location.  Eventually the normies cleared off and we could finally go to bed.  Well we also had to wait for the lunatic croo member Andrew to quit playing his didgeridoo, then we were allowed to sleep in peace. 

We were woken bright and early by normies milling around the dining room waiting for breakfast.  The hikers in the dungeon and those that already did their WFS decided to forgo leftover breakfast and get the hell out of there.  Unfortunately me, my dad, Roller and Sunkist agreed to do our work in the morning, so we had to wait for breakfast to be over and for everyone to clear out of the hut so we could sweep the dining room and bunk rooms.  After our chores were done, we were given leftover cold breakfast.  I scarfed it down ready to get out of there.  Sadly, Mt. Washington was covered in a cloud.  It was windy and freezing, but there could have been a tornado on the mountain for all I cared, I didn't want to spend one more second at this hut.  My dislike of the huts existence was justified by this experience in my mind.  I walked out of the hut and Washington loomed in front of me.  Now or never I guess.

Going up Washington

I started my climb up, and the whole thing really wasn't as bad as I expected.  That or I was just prepared for the worst.  There wasn't much of a trail as it was all rocks, we just had to follow cairns.  It was so cloudy I could really only see from one cairn to the next.  Sorry there really are no pictures, that would have involved me stopping and taking my gloves off, which I was unwilling to do.  Eventually I found my way to the top, the whole thing was in a cloud and I walked around a bit aimlessly at first trying to find everyone.  Finally some buildings emerged from the clouds.  I became pretty horrified by what I found.  Buildings and people everywhere.  I knew there was a road and a train that went to the top for those that didn't want to risk hiking it, but I didn't expect to find an entire plaza of consumption.  People everywhere, in T-shirts and flip flops trying to experience Mt. Washington without having to take more than 10 steps.  I found my way inside to a room reserved for backpackers.  We could stash packs and charge phones.  I saw everyone's packs and after dropping mine, went in search of them upstairs. The plan was to wait a few hours to see if the weather cleared before climbing down.  Unfortunately, the cloud never cleared, and our threshold for dealing with stupid annoying people was a lot smaller than our threshold for physical discomfort. 

We made our way over to the summit sign which was next to the eating and buying building.  There were tourists galore, trying to maneuver their way up the five foot rock pile to take a picture with the sign.  White Wolf took one look at the disgusting scene, said fuck it, and started hiking down.  I was about to follow suit, but my dad really wanted a photo.  And you know what, it took me two days to climb up here from Crawford Notch. I was taking my picture with this stupid sign.  We waited patiently for our turn, until a woman behind us called out "How about people wearing T-shirts and shorts get their picture first!"  Every thru-hiker near that sign paused to slowly look at her with disgust.  We were just waiting for someone to say it.  Finally Roller responded with "How about the people that actually climbed this mountain get their picture first while you go back to the car and get a jacket?"  ......we all got our pictures and quickly made our exit, walking away from the clusterf*ck to the more peaceful experience of climbing down Washington in a cloud.  

After three miles, we were far enough below Washington to be out of the windy cloud.  Once you got off the summit, it became a wonderfully clear day.  The 6 mile stretch down Washington, up Mt. Clay, Mt. Jefferson, past Edmonds Col, up Thunderstorm Junction and down to Madison Spring Hut were glorious.  All above treeline, miles of nothing but splendid views to wash away Lake of the Clouds and Mt. Washington.  We were truly lucky with how good the weather had been.  I can't imagine doing any of this trail in a storm, or even rain.  We were always completely exposed and the rocks would be very slick.  Most of the people would just stay at their huts, but we wouldn't really have a choice but to keep hiking, so I thank you weather gods.


I took a quick break at Madison Spring hut, but wasn't keen on lingering long.  I guess Gribley, Daystar, Dances with Flies, Honest Abe and Warrior had all tried to do WFS here the night before but got turned away.  The nearest place to camp was at Osgood, three miles away, up and over Mt. Madison.  They said they didn't need to eat, they just wanted to sleep on the floor, the porch even, but the croo said no.  Refusing to night hike down Madison, I guess they quietly cowboy camped behind the hut.  After climbing up and over Madison, I honestly can't believe they expected them to do that at night.  Leaving the hut, the climb up Madison was the usual rocky scramble, but the two and a half mile descent was the longest two and a half miles on the entire trail for me, and for many.  Hungus later told me it was the most elevation loss in one swoop on the entire trail. And the whole descent was rocks.  Walking steeply down misshapen basketball sized rocks.

Cogg Railway

The worst part was that there were so many false summits, you couldn't see all the way down.  It would flatten out (the rocks were still there) and you would get to the edge, just to be confronted with another long descent.  Over and over this happened.  You had to take such careful steps, all the rocks were so unstable, the entire descent turned into a giant controlled fall.  I was just biding my time till I face planted.  And face plant I did.  I tripped on one of the stupid rocks and flew about 10 ft face first into some tiny alpine bush.  I laid there for a minute, assuming I was broken, mangled and dead.  That was it, I'm not moving.  I live here now.  But I slowly got up and quickly realized I was perfectly OK.  My knee was going to have a wicked bruise on it, but all my body parts appeared to be in the correct place.  I looked back up at my trekking pole standing stiff, stuck in the rocks back where I tripped.  I couldn't believe how far I went.  I think it qualifies as flying.  I then looked at the bush I landed in.  It was the only bush among the sea of jagged rocks.  I tripped, flew, and somehow landed on the only spot that wouldn't result in pulverized bones.  So.  That happened.  I went back to get my pole and continued down the 10 ft. section that I had just 'air-blazed.'  I have had several scary falls, including one where I successfully punched myself in the stomach with my trekking pole, but that one just took the top spot.

White Wolf on top of Madison

I shook it off, thanked the bush for saving my life as I walked by, and continued my never-ending climb down this impossibly long mountain.  Eventually I was transported below treeline and the rocks smoothed out, giving me false hope that I might be somewhere near my destination.  But every once in awhile, I got a glimpse through the trees....I was still really high up on the mountain.  Are you kidding me. What was happening? How is this taking so long?  For fuck's sake, I'm not sure what kind of president Madison was, but his mountain was starting to piss me off.  Finally, around 6pm, I arrived at the side trail to Osgood tent site.  It was the only campsite off the AT in the Whites that didn't have a fee. It was bound to be crowded.  

FM, Meds, Towelie, Cheesewater, Pants and White Wolf were all there.  Roller, Sunkist, Pace, Hungus and my dad were still climbing down the miserable beast.  I squeezed my tent on a platform between Towelie and Cheesewater and went to the fire to make dinner.  The rest of the crew rolled in just before dark, looking as exhausted as I felt.  The Whites were wearing on us, and we still had the Wildcats to contend with.  The next morning we were all pretty excited to get to Pinkham Notch.  Pinkham was our first 'emergency exit' out of the Whites so to speak.  There was a lodge type thing at the notch with a restaurant, store and coin-op showers.  It was also an easy hitch into Gorham from here.  Meds and FM were planning to go into town and take a break for the night.  The rest of us were going to grab a hot meal, a small resupply from the store and continue through the Whites, going into Gorham in three days from US 2.  My dad got hiking at the crack of dawn, hoping to go into town to get a full resupply and get back to the trail.  The rest of us got a later start, as it was only 4.8 miles to the notch and we had no town ambitions.  We just had a small climb up Lowes Bald Spot before arriving at the notch.  

About a half mile before the road we were surprised with yet another blast from the past.  Strolling down the trail towards us was Spools.  He was a hiker I knew way back in TN and VA, and hadn't seen since.  He had apparently took some time off the trail and was now doing a flip flop.  Flip floppers start as NoBos, then at some point in their journey, flip up to Katahdin and hike south to the point they got off.  The main reason for doing this is the running out of time. Baxter State Park in ME closes Oct. 15 due to weather.  It is the only real 'deadline' the trail imposes on hikers.  If you aren't moving fast enough to make that deadline, you need to flip up and go south, since SoBos have no such deadline, no other part of the trail actually closes.  It is still most definitely considered a thru-hike, though I can't imagine not finishing my hike at Katahdin.  Spools flipped up at Waynesboro, VA, before the halfway point, so he had some miles to go. We finished catching up, got word on hikers behind us (you always know whats going on with the hikers ahead of you from the registers, but no clue where the people behind you are), then made our way to the notch.

Hiking down Madison

 Meds and FM got a ride into town from Broadsword and Snakegirl - two hikers who had already summited, but Snakegirl had skipped part of the Whites and was back finishing this section to complete her thru hike.  While I was in the restaurant eating with everyone, my dad arrived, getting a ride back from town with Trail Momma.  (Not sure if I've explained before - Trail Momma is slackpacking her husband SOS the entire way, she's not actually hiking, but has become such a part of the trail for many).  We all milled around Joe Dodge Lodge for a bit, procrastinating our climb up Wildcat Peak E.  We weren't going far, it was only three miles to the top.  We were hoping to stealth on the summit, there was a ski gondola that ran in the summer as well, and when it stopped at 5pm and the worker man went down, we were hoping to set up our tents and stealth in the grassy area next to it.  I contemplated getting a ride to the gondola, sending my pack up, then hiking up the mountain packless.  Or maybe sending water up so I didn't have to carry it (we had to carry a lot as there would be no water on top). Or maybe the first person up could take the gondola down and get water for everyone else (there was a restaurant at the bottom).  After about an hour of scheming ways to make this climb easier, we all agreed we just needed to get up and actually climb it.  I adorned my stupidly heavy pack (water why you so heavy?) and ventured into the Wildcats.  

The Whites!!! (Aug 19th-22nd)

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.  It is the source of all true art and science.  He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed."
                                                                   ~Albert Einstein




On Franconia Ridge

The four of us woke up on the 19th excited to dive into the rest of the Whites.  We did our laundry and resupplied at the gas station across the street. At this point I had completely given up on trying to be healthy and went for whatever was lightweight and calorie dense. Gas stations usually provided these items. In fact, I did an entire pack shakedown in Hanover, getting rid of anything I didn't absolutely need.  We had a lot of climbing ahead and I wanted my pack as light as possible.  We got dropped off at Franconia Notch around 11am, ready for our hike up to Franconia Ridge and into the Presidential Range.  Our first task was to hike up Little Haystack Mountain where we stopped to take a lunch break in a small clearing.  Here I met Medicine Man and FM, they had always been a day ahead of me in the registers so it was nice to finally put some faces to the names.  They were really fun and little did I know at the time I would be spending the rest of my hike and summiting with them.  I didn't want too sit long as I was too excited to get on the ridge.

The two miles of Franconia Ridge are completely above treeline and the views all around on a clear day are suppose to be amazing.  And we had a perfectly clear day on our hands.  I emerged onto the ridge and was speechless.  Worth Every Step.  Everyone was in complete awe of the vast beauty that surrounded them. The ridge went up and over the summits of Mt. Lincoln and Mt. Lafayette.  We all took our sweet time along the ridge, stopping every few minutes to simply take it all in.  The hikers who got off before this, who never got a chance to experience this, well they fucked up.  This stretch was quickly becoming my favorite as it put every other view to shame. 

We paused at Mt. Lincoln before heading up to Mt. Lafayette. In his memoir, David "AWOL" Miller commented that the views from the top of Lafayette were bound only by the limits of his vision.  How superbly right he was. We all hung out at the summit for a bit, drinking some beers we packed out and basking in the glory of our awesome lives.  Realizing it was getting late, we all tore ourselves away and began the three mile descent to Garfield Pond.  According to my stealth list from the guys at the hostel, once you hit the pond, if you walked east off the trail a few hundred yards you will find an impacted site where a shelter from the 30's used to be.  Sure enough we found a large flattened area off the pond large enough for all of us (me, my dad, White Wolf, Pants, Meds and FM).  There was an actual shelter/campsite a mile up the trail but it was one you had to pay to use.  The fee was only $8, but is it was the principle of the thing, plus it would be full of normies, plus we had to climb up and over Mt. Garfield to get there.  That should be enough excuses.  We were happy with our pond, pond people we were.  I went to bed content and pondering how awesome the rest of the Whites were gonna be.

Looking back at everything we had climbed

The next morning my dad got up bright and early, hoping to get to Galehead Hut for some leftover breakfast.  Not interested in sprinting four miles for leftover eggs, I took my time over Mt. Garfield, taking a break with FM at a stream by the shelter.  As I continued with my descent, it seemed the trail maintainers decided to save themselves some time and effort - instead of actually creating a trail, they decided to simply blaze the stream that flowed down the mountain.  I caught up with White Wolf as he tried to maneuver over the slippery rocks.  Wondering if we were actually on the trail or just walking through a stream, we eventually decided it was both and carefully made our way down.  Eight years later, after a bit more rocky crazy trail, we arrived at Galehead Hut.  There were no guests at the moment, as they were all out doing their day hikes, so all the thru-hikers took over the porch, enjoying the view and eating $2 bottomless soup the huts offered during the day.

 As we were eating our soup, we received a pleasant surprise.  Around the corner comes Beowulf.  Beowulf was a hiker I met way back in N.C., but he was cruising and only saw him again when we both went back for trail days.  I had heard he summited at the end of July, so imagine my surprise when he strolled into Galehead, 360 miles from Katahdin.  My first thought was 'is he yo-yoing?  Am I getting lapped right now?' (a yo-yo is when you complete your thru-hike, then immediately turn around and hike back to GA. Don't ask me why, there is only one in the 2012 class that I know of attempting to do this ). Beowulf had summited at the end of July, and not wanting to leave the trail, immediately got a job with the huts.  He was at Greenleaf Hut, which we skipped.  It was his three day off period so he was just hiking around.  It was good to see a hiker who had actually finished, that this trail actually did have an end.  He was gonna stay at Zealand Falls Hut that night (in the croo quarters) so we would see him the next day.



Atop South Twin Mountain

Eventually we filtered away, off to tackle South Twin Mountain. One burly climb later, we were again sitting atop a glorious summit taking in 360 degrees of inspiring views.  We slowly made our way to Zealand Mountain. There was a side trail to the summit which I wasted my time with as it only lead me to a sign, with no view.  I got back and everyone was sitting around talking to a guy named Caleb.  He was a caretaker at Ethan Pond Shelter and told us to stop in when we passed by and he would play some banjo for us.  Eventually we all made our way down the mountain to Zeacliff pond.  FM, Meds, White Wolf, Pants and I were hoping to stealth at a view on the ridge.  My dad was taking a different approach to the Whites, hoping to take advantage of the WFS so he could carry less food.  I preferred to carry more food and avoid the huts. 





Tiny campsite...

After Zeacliff pond the five of us hiked another 1/2 mile and veered off the trail at a view to the east.  We were rewarded with a nice rock cliff and a gorgeous view, and enough (barely) flat spots back in the trees to camp.  We all agreed that we've known each other for at least two days, so we might as well be family and sleep practically on top each other.  It looked like a Big Agnes convention being FM, White Wolf and I all have the same tent.  This was probably one of my favorite camping spots.  Here in this overpopulated national park, which was bursting at the seams with people, the five of us found our own private nook with a view to the world.  We all brought our sleeping pads and bags out to the cliff to snuggle up and watch the sun set.  Only a little Norah Jones could have brought the whole scene together, which FM graciously provided.  My life couldn't have been more perfect, no where else I could think to be. Eventually we retired to the obstacle course that was our tent site, ready for the easy nine mile day we had planned for tomorrow.



With a great view...

The next morning I was the last to leave, milking every last second at this awesome spot.  I finished my descent off Zealand meeting everyone at Zealand Falls Hut.  Beowulf was there hanging out with the croo, and they gave us a bunch of baked goods for free.  The huts during the day were actually kinda cool, the guests are gone hiking so they are quiet, so the croo are a bit more relaxed and willing to slide thru-hikers some goods.  Though I still stand by the statement they would be cooler if they weren't there.  I saw from the register my dad had done WFS there the night before and was gonna try to make it to Mizpah Hut that night.  We had less ambitious plans to camp somewhere before that.  The boys were all hoping to hitch a ride at Crawford Notch to some gas station in the middle of nowhere to get more food as they were running low.  We were hoping to find a place to camp at Saco River right after the notch, saving the climb up Mt. Webster for the next day.  Myself having brought enough food to get through the Whites, I decided that instead of hitching to a gas station, I would have a waterfall themed day and take a few side trails. 




Chillin at Zealand Falls Hut

I was again the last to leave the hut, after going to check out Zealand Falls nearby.  I had an easy flat stroll (the only flat non-rock infested part of all the Whites) over to a side trail to Thoreau Falls.  I found Pants and White Wolf there having lunch and I decided to join them.  The falls rushed over a gently sloping rock face, so we were able to sit right next to the flowing water.  Pants and White Wolf took off before me to get to the notch.  I lounged a bit more, in no real hurry, but eventually got up and made my was towards Ethan Pond campsite.  I remember the caretaker we ran into the day before said he was at Ethan Pond and that he played the banjo, and, as if on cue, I heard a very melodic voice floating over the trees.  I made my way towards the music and found Caleb sitting in the shelter by himself strumming the banjo and singing.  I hung out with him for over an hour, eating second lunch as he played, pausing occasionally to direct the weekend warriors and college groups that were filtering in for the night (though it was only like 3pm, normies quit hiking really early).  Ethan Pond was another pay site so I had no intention of staying, and Caleb told me I would have no problem finding a spot by the river.  He also told me a lot of the caretakers will let thru-hikers do "Work for stay" at the campsites, which usually involved sweeping out the privy for like five seconds or something.  I said goodbye, thanking him for the afternoon tunes and made my way towards the river.

Lunchtime banjo

About a half mile before the notch I saw a sign to a side trail to Ripley Falls.  The falls were a half mile off the AT, so it would be an extra mile round trip.  Why not?  It was early and the boys were probably still at the gas station.  I hiked down to the base of the Falls and it was totally worth it.  There was a large pool at the bottom, I took my shoes off, sat on a rock, stuck my feet in and spent two hours journaling and reading at the base of a beautiful waterfall.  Not a soul came by while I was there. Most of the normies were done hiking for the day and very few thru-hikers would bother with a half mile side trail to anything, we hike enough.  I contemplated just camping there, but the river was only a mile away, and I didn't want to add a mile to my already long day tomorrow.  I had a lot of elevation gain to get to the base of Mt. Washington tomorrow, so might as well get this mile out of the way now.  I begrudgingly pulled myself away from the falls and hiked down to the notch.




Ripley Falls

Our timing was impeccable, all the boys were clamouring out of Trail Momma's car.  She had found them sitting in front of the gas station gorging themselves and gave them a ride back to the trail.  I don't know what we were all gonna do when the hike was over and Trail Momma doesn't randomly just appear to take us places.  We said farewell and made our way across the river in search of a home.  After we crossed the footbridge over Saco River we veered left off the trail a few hundred yards looking for impacted spots to camp.  We found a nice clearing complete with a fire ring.  We obviously weren't the first ones to have this idea.  Meds started a fire, we all made dinner and called it an early night.  We had a tough day ahead of us.  Eleven miles to the base of Mt. Washington.  Eleven miles in the Whites was like a 20 on the rest of the trail.  You just hike slower, the trail is too hard.  Plus if you have any appreciation for what you're doing, you don't just plow past the amazing views.  We had to climb over Mt. Webster, Mt. Jackson, Mt. Pierce, Mt. Eisenhower, Mt. Franklin and Mt. Monroe just to get to the base of Mt. Washington.  Needless to say I was hoping to get a good nights sleep so I was ready to high five all the presidents tomorrow. 

We got up early to get as much day as possible, we all agreed we would try and do WFS at Lakes of the Clouds Hut that night.  We hadn't had a "thru-hiker hut experience" yet, and though I was ok keeping it that way, there was no way I was going up and over Washington after everything else I had to do that day.  My dance card was full.  We all got going, slowly climbing up to Webster Cliffs.  White Wolf, FM and I got ahead of Pants and Meds, and the three of us hiked together most of the day.  We hung out at Webster Cliffs for a bit, and then traveled the half mile traverse, enjoying views all along the way.

White Wolf enjoying Webster Cliff

FM and White Wolf got a bit ahead of me, and as I turned a corner I came across the two of them chucking what appeared to be hamburger buns off the side of the mountain.  FM had gotten 'squirled' the night before, they had gotten into his buns and took little bites off all them.  No longer wanting to eat them for fear of getting some squirrel disease, he thought it would be fun to throw them off the mountain Stephen Katz style.  We then sat down to try and figure out where we were.  We all agreed that based on how long we had been hiking, we most certainly had to be on Mt. Jackson.  Imagine our dismay after hiking another hour and half to find a sign informing us that NOW we were on Mt. Jackson.  Seriously? That means we were only hiking a mile an hour.  I was warned this would happen, after building up our speed to 3-4 mph, you get to these mountains and get slowed down a lot.  It is very discouraging. If we're going this slow, no wonder the normies only do a mile or two a day. 

My frustration quickly subsided as I looked out from the top of Mt. Jackson.  What was my hurry? Why would I want to hike any faster? So I could leave this beautiful place? From that moment on I never for the rest of my trip cared how fast I was hiking.  I was slowly coming to the end of this journey and I wanted to savor every step.  Besides, I really had nowhere to be, and all day to get there.   

New Hampshire Part 2: Up We Go (August 17th-18th)

I awoke bright and early on Moosilauke morning and was one of the first to leave the hostel. I popped into Jeffers Brook to say hi to Pants but was too eager to get up the mountain to stay long. I started my climb and the energy I had was indescribable. I have never been more excited to physically exhaust myself. And physically exhausting it was. I usually have a rule with mountains - don't stop till you get to the top. The Whites were an entirely different playing field so I assumed this rule would have to be tweaked. But I had so much adrenaline coursing through my veins I didn't stop once through the entire four and a half mile ascent. It was a fairly steep and rocky trail, but wasn't horrible, though it did seem to last forever. I finally got to a part that flattened out, and a sign indicating a side trail to the south peak. That meant the north peak (true peak) had to be close!!!

I practically started sprinting down the trail. Moosilauke was the first time we were going to be above tree line and I couldn't wait to take in these views (the treeline is the edge of a habitat in which trees are capable of growing.  I was currently in an Alpine climate, which is the highest elevation that sustains trees.  Higher up it is too cold. This is different than a bald - if interested click here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Appalachian_balds ) I became more and more eager as the trees became smaller and smaller. At this point I truly was running, winding and wheezing in a travesty of enthusiasm to get to the top. I finally burst out into the open air and saw the north peak looming in front of me. Slow down there killer, you still gotta climb up that. I started making my way when a tiny French Bulldog began trotting along next to me. I paused to search the trail for it's owner, when a younger guy came up behind me. Relieved there weren't wild French Bulldogs roaming the mountain, I continued up the trail, bulldog in tow. Will, his owner, said it was fine as long as I kept him from falling off the mountain. So I completed my summit of Moosilauke with a dog named Pimpsy. At the top we sat to the side of the summit sign and waited for Will. There was currently a large group of college students crowding the summit, but I was fine in my corner, taking in all that I had accomplished. The Whites were going to restore my love of hiking.

Not that I had quit loving it, but after five months I was getting a bit sick of it. But not out here. The feeling you get after climbing a mountain is unlike any other. The complete joy and happiness I experienced at that moment is indescribable. Pimpsy didn't appear as touched as he relocated rocks from one pile to another pile. Will finally arrived and we chatted for the better part of an hour waiting for the crowds to clear. Will and Pimpsy were peak baggers. There are 42 peaks in NH over 4,000 ft, and they were trying to climb them all. Eventually we made our way over to the summit sign and took turns taking each others pictures. At no point did any other hikers I knew come up, but it was starting to get a bit cold and cloudy, so I didn't want to wait any longer. Deciding it was time to make my way down, I said goodbye to Will and started my descent.

I walked along the ridge for a bit before the AT turned off to a steep drop. One of the trickier things about the Whites was that the AT was not the most dominant trail. In fact, it was hardly marked. There were numerous trails weaving throughout the Whites, with names like Glencliff Trail and Beaver Brook Trail. In the Whites, rather than being its own separate entity, the AT simply coincided with one of these trails. You had to constantly pay attention to what trail you were suppose to be on that also happened to be the AT. At this particular moment the AT was following Glencliff trail but turned right onto Beaver Brook trail at a four way junction. There were still white blazes, but few and far between. The park is very popular and does not necessarily cater to thru hikers for lodging or hiking.

I switched trails and hooked right down a flatter path, and was alarmed to see a large rabbit galloping towards me down the trail. The trail was very narrow and I really had no where to go to get out of its path, so I was hoping it would soon see me and swerve, but it came closer and closer. I started to panic and lift my leg to let it by, but it ran smack into the bottom of my shoe. Oh my God I just kicked a bunny. He looked a bit startled, as if he had just noticed me for the first time. He then quickly ran behind a bush and paused there panting and looking terrified in general. What the hell little man? I offered him some words of comfort before warily continuing down the trail in the event there was some giant Liger lurking around the corner to cause such panic in this rabbit. I proceeded slowly but no threat presented itself, must have been running from a hawk.

I made my way down to Beaver Brook Shelter to have lunch and gear up for the real descent. The 1.5 mile hike down to Kinsman Notch was known to be the steepest on the AT. In fact many hikers slack pack Moosilauke going south out of Kinsman so they are climbing the north side, making it less dangerous. I prefer my journey to be one continuous flow north, so down the slide I go. Roller, Sunkist, Pants and White Wolf all made it to the shelter and we began our slippery descent. I say slippery because the trail follows alongside Beaver Brook the entire way down, but it is so steep it basically becomes a waterfall, making the rock faces we are expected to climb down very slick. This was the first time on the trail where I stood at the top of something for entire minutes, pondering exactly how I was suppose to get down without dying. This would have been much easier if I didn't have 30lbs on my back. I was beginning to see why people slack packed this part.

It took me just as long to climb the 1.5 miles down the north side of Moosilauke as it did to climb the 4.5 up the south side. Good grief.  I was beginning to wonder how I could have my mail forwarded to the mountain, as I was clearly never getting off it, when I finally burst onto the parking lot of Kinsman Notch.  That all being said, it was probably one of my favorite miles on the trail.  Hiking down next to a waterfall was a beautifully terrifying and thrilling experience and I would recommend it to anyone, unless you have vertigo.  We lurked around Kinsman for a bit before getting a ride in the back of a truck into North Woodstock.  Roller, Sunkist, Pants and I were going to stay in town that night, get shuttled back out in the morning and attempt to slack the 16 miles between Kinsman and Franconia Notch, going back into N. Woodstock from Franconia.  I say attempt because there have been several hikers who have tried to do this stretch in one day and ended up having to stay at Lonesome Lake Hut three miles short of Franconia.  It was going to be a tough day with climbs over Mt. Wolf and the Kinsmans (known to have the most broken arms on the trail).  But if my dad did it, which he did, I had to do it, right?  We said goodbye to White Wolf who was heading to the next shelter, and would meet us in town via Franconia Notch the next night.  My first day in the Whites had been an awesome success and I was off to finally meet up with my dad. 


Steep climb down Moosilauke

The next morning I woke up at the crack of dawn to start the slackpack.  I went across the street to the deli to order some breakfast sandwiches and ran into Slowfoot, who was also gearing up for the slackpack.  Apparently Miss Janet was staying at the same hotel as us and was dropping Slowfoot off at Kinsman. I called and canceled our shuttle as Pants and I hopped in her crazy van with Slowfoot.  Miss Janet is somewhat of a trail personality and we first met her back in Erwin, TN.  She was now up north making the rounds at the hiker hostels.  She dropped the three of us off at Kinsman Notch at 6:30am wishing us luck.  We immediately started our steep and horrible climb up Mt. Wolf.  A quick break was had at the summit before beginning our descent to Eliza Brook Shelter (the last free shelter in the Whites).  Headin Out was there and together we took off for our climb up South Kinsman Mountain.  It was tough and long.  And extremely steep.   I put my trekking poles away as I had no need for them during the hand over head rock climbing.  Just when I was starting to wonder if the mountain was growing as I was climbing it, I finally reached the south peak.  The views were worth it.  I could see the north peak ahead of me and started to make my way there, rewarded again with breathtaking views.  It was difficult to tear myself away from the scene, but I still had five and a half miles to hike, and I'm slower going down mountains than I am going up. 


Climb up Kinsman

 I finally made my way down the steep descent to Lonesome Lake Hut.  Now, some info on the huts: The huts are not shelters.  They exist only in White Mountain National Park and are operated by the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC).  They are actual buildings with heat, electricity, running water, and bunks.  There are 5-6 employees stationed at each hut known as the 'croo.' They are usually younger, college kids working for the summer etc... and are responsible for the upkeep of the huts and the care and feeding of its guests.  Notice I say 'guests' and not hikers.  The cost to spend the night in one of these huts is around $80-$100.  The patrons of these huts are usually people who want to get out and see the Whites, do a bit of hiking without having to worry about dealing with camping.  Now there are no roads to the huts, so the visitors do actually have to hike to them (and the poor croo must pack in and out all supplies and trash).  The hut visitors usually take short three mile side trails to the hut they are staying at, hike around that area, then head back down the next morning.  People out for multiple day trips will just hike between the huts, which are about five to seven miles apart. If you are following the AT, it is about an 8 day hike (for a thru, not a normie) from Franconia to Gorham if you want to avoid wasting time with side trails down to roads. I have yet to meet a thru hiker who has actually stayed in the huts as a guest for three reasons: you have to make reservations far in advance, and it is difficult for us to gage when we will be somewhere.  They are $80-$100.  And we actually enjoy camping.  I'm not sure if these people paying all this money are aware they can just bring a tent and enjoy the Whites for free, but they can.  It is a bit trickier though to camp throughout the Whites, and now that you understand the huts, I will explain why most thru hikers dislike them.

Before the AMC took over, there use to be shelters in the Whites for thru-hikers, like the rest of the AT.  Those have since been wiped out and replaced with these expensive huts OR designated campsite areas that you also have to pay to use.  There 'officially' is nowhere free for a hiker to stay, unless they stealth.  Stealthing is tricky as there are rules in the Whites.  We are not allowed to camp above treeline, within an FPA zone (designated by signs) or within 1/4 mile of a hut, an official campsite, or within 200 yards of water or the trail.  Whew.  Anything else is fair game.  The huts offer Work For Stay to thru-hikers, each hut will take around five to six thru hikers a night. They have to do some light work (wash dishes, sweep etc.), they then get to eat the leftovers of dinner (which there always are, the croo has to pack everything out so they view hikers as garbage disposals) and then we can sleep on the dining room floor after all the guests have gone to bed.  Essentially we are treated like dogs.  A lot of hikers take advantage of these huts for the free food and the floor so they don't have to search for stealth sites.  Unfortunately it has created a sort of competition among hikers to get there first, since each hut only takes so many.  If you get turned away, well you have a long night of hiking ahead of you since you can't tent near the huts.  The AMC has made it very difficult for thru-hikers in the Whites.  In addition they have made it very crowded.  Like the Smokies and the Shennies, the Whites are a very popular park, but the huts have made them very accessible so they are overrun with people. 

Pants and I had our first hut experience at Lonesome Lake.  Most hikers don't bother trying to do WFS at this hut, as it is only three miles to Franconia Notch.  You can hitch into North Woodstock from there, which is the last resupply stop for thru-hikers before heading into the meat of the Whites, so most of us are keen to get there.  We were curious about the huts and wanted to stop and see what they were all about.  Plus we were told during the day they sold soup, baked goods and lemonade.  We came upon Lonesome Lake and were immediately overwhelmed.  There were people everywhere.  I mean small children running around, moms yelling, teenagers looking bored and angsty at the fact they were dragged into the woods.  Pants and I popped into the hut to take a look, it was larger and nicer than I expected.  Two croo were busy preparing dinner while another, I presume guest, was reading at a table. We helped ourselves to the self-serve lemonade and plopped a dollar in the basket.  We sat down and took in the scene, watching the scores of people lurking around the lake.  Ready to leave, we thanked the croo for the lemonade and headed out the door, dodging children and overweight dads left and right. We had three miles left to hike down to Franconia Notch, where I presume most of these people hiked up from.  During our gradual descent we began an interesting discussion that I invite you all to participate in.

My experience in the woods has led me to believe that our culture (human culture) has made the natural wonders of this planet too accessible to the general public.  The huts have provided a refuge for those who want to experience the beauty of the Whites, but are fearful of their power.  They invite people to come out here, who, otherwise would never be here.  As a result, I turn the corner in the woods and encounter giant propane tanks.  Our strong desire to experience this natural wonder has prompted us to make it as accessible as possible, and as a result, detracts from the very beauty that drew us to it in the first place.  Giant buildings on top of mountains so people don't have to camp.  Roads and trains to the top of mountains so people don't have to climb.  Call me elitist, but I believe that if you want to be on top of a mountain, you should have to climb it.  I have had so many people say to me "I could never physically do what you're doing." Well, you could.  You just don't want to.  And that is totally fine.  But I feel that the total awe and power that one experiences from standing atop a mountain should be reserved for those willing to make the mental and physical sacrifice of climbing it. 

It is disappointing for those who have worked very hard, I mean extremely hard, to experience nature in the least impactful way possible only to see it tarnished by the constructions of man.  Constructions whose sole purpose is to make it easier for man to be there.  Well I got here fine without that road and I don't need that building so why must they exist? It is going to be difficult to sustain the natural beauty and wonder of these places if we continue to make them easier and easier to get to. Now I realize that the AT itself is an impact on the environment I am trying to experience, but where do we draw the line?  99% of these people wouldn't be here if they didn't have these huts to stay at or the roads that wander so close to them.  This topic was again brought up during the cluster fuck that was Mt. Washington, which you will hear abut later.....I know there are many who may disagree with me and that's ok.  I think it's a very interesting topic and I open it to you all and welcome any input or feedback you may have:)

Pants and I discussed this for the few remaining hours of our hike when we finally came to Franconia Notch.  We called Miss Janet to come pick us up and got back to town. We got to the hotel just as White Wolf was hiking in, and the three of us joined my dad for dinner and a game of pool at the bar down the street.  He beat us twice (and by us I mean the three of us on a team against the one of him).  We had a late night and went to bed not looking forward to all the chores we had to do the next day before hiking out.  We had an eight day stretch ahead of us through the rest of the Whites and we were planning to do it all in one go, fully immersing ourselves in them before surfacing in Gorham on the other side.  The good chaps at the Hikers Welcome Hostel in Glencliff gave me a list of solid stealth sites so we could avoid the huts and the people and just enjoy the mountains.  The few mountains we had done thus far had proved challenging, but worth every step, and I was pretty sure it was only gonna get better.  

Lonesome Lake

View from Kinsman