At Four Thousand Feet

Distance: 7.6 miles
Elevation Gain: 2,400 feet
Trails Used: Gorge Brook

Moosilauke has been high on my list of peaks to climb at night. Its domed, bald summit is easily approached by a variety of moderate trails, and on an ideal day, one has the opportunity to wander about above treeline for about a mile or so. In other words, an excellent mountain to climb by the light of the moon.

Ever since my spectacular nighttime adventure out on the Southern Presidentials last month, I’d been itching to get out on another hike after dark. So as you can imagine, when my friend Liza proposed a last-minute trip up Moosilauke on Friday evening, I more than jumped at the opportunity. The forecast was looking just stellar – cloudless skies, an 82% full moon, and manageable wind speeds. Perfect.

A little after 9pm, and we were off. Our trail of choice was Gorge Brook, due to its proximity to Lincoln, generally good footing, and moderate grades. Furthermore, approaching the mountain from this side presented us with the opportunity to create an excellent above treeline loop if conditions were ideal. However, looking upwards, both of us were surprised to note that the sky was strangely absent of both moonlight and stars.

The trail itself was coated in a light dusting of snow, which increased in density as we cautiously made our way up the mountain. There were a few patches of ice here and there, but for the most part the footing was surprisingly good.

I was hopeful that the sky would clear by the time we reached the summit, but my optimism was unwarranted. The snow cover was not the only thing that thickened with elevation – the fog did, too.

Arriving at treeline, there was not even the slightest gleam of moonlight in sight. The winds suddenly picked up, requiring us to quickly pull on our hard shells for the last push up to the summit. The distinctive orange signs were encrusted in rime ice, and appeared downright ghostly in the absence of light.

Nonetheless, we’d made it.

The wind, the cold, the poor visibility… Not a lot of thought was required to decide which route to take back to the trailhead. We scrapped our plans for an above treeline loop and headed down in precisely the same way that we’d came. Reaching the cover of the spruces, the winds instantly ceased. The night was quiet and calm once again.

To our amusement – and slight dismay! – as we lost elevation the sky slowly started to clear. By the time we’d arrived back at the parking lot, moonlight was cascading down in thick beams, creating crisp shadows on the frozen ground.

Oh, the joys of fickle mountain weather.

Distance: 7.6 miles
Elevation Gain: 3,100 feet
Trails Used: Greeley Pond, Mount Osceola

I have a confession to make – there’s a trail in the Whites that I’m downright afraid of. The Mount Osceola trail, as approached from the Greeley Ponds junction, is a route that I’ve avoided for almost a year. Steep, wet, and remarkably icy in the right conditions, it’s one of the few places I’ve visited in the mountains that caused me genuine fear. A bit of back-story:

Last December, I set out to tackle the Osceolas with two friends. It was a cold, windy day, and we had selected the peaks based upon the fact that the hike is short (7.6 miles round trip) and very direct. Not having been up East Peak before, I was aware that the route was steep – but after a successful Bonds traverse the day prior, I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself and more than ready take on any challenge that the mountains were willing to throw at me. The hike out on the Greeley Ponds trail was quick and uneventful, and after turning onto the Mount Osceola trail, I was surprised by the fact that the grade remained (deceptively) moderate.

What a joke, I thought to myself. How could this route be considered at all difficult?

I was about to make a rather boastful comment to my friends when – WHAM – all of a sudden, I was faced with what seemed to be a wall of ice. Crampons were instantly in order. And as we cautiously made our way up the steep face of East Osceola, my inexperience as a winter hiker clearly started to show. The 1″ Kahtoola crampons I was sporting had tremendous difficulty biting into the ice. Even my mountaineering axe seemed unwilling to handle the terrain, and I was forced to ascend the mountain by the grace of the tree trunks lining the trail.

With every step I took, I became increasingly more cognizant of the danger of my situation. Here I was, a hiker without even 10 winter peaks to her name, scrambling up an icy mountain without the necessary set of skills to handle the conditions. One misstep and I’d be careening down a slippery slope to… what end? Somehow, all three of us made it up and down both Osceolas in one piece. Spooked and shaken, I vowed never to set foot on the trail again.

…until this past Saturday, that is.

On Halloween, once again in tough conditions, my friend Eric and I decided to tackle the Mount Osceola trail. Our decision was simply logistical, as he had driven over from Maine and did not have time to take the alternative approach to the peaks. Ascending slowly and deliberately, I was surprised to find that the trail wasn’t half as bad as I remembered. Yes, it was steep and slick with rain. But at the same time, I felt confident in my abilities to ascend and descend safely.

Reaching East Peak proved to be a milestone in more than one sense. Not only did I conquer my fear of the trail, but I also reached my 200th 4k summit in calendar year 2009.

It’s amazing what we can achieve when we set our minds towards a specific goal. I hope that my experience will continue to grow as I chase after these wonderful New Hampshire peaks.

Distance: 10 miles
Elevation Gain: 3,100 feet
Trails Used: Mount Garfield, Garfield Ridge

The forecast for 10/18 called for terrible conditions (which strangely never materialized), so Adam and I decided that a shorter hike was in order. Garfield it was. There is something truly marvelous about this peak – it resonates with me deeply in a way that few other mountains do. The high cloud deck, coupled with the snow-dusted summits of the Pemi, made for utterly spectacular views. Unfortunately, my pictures don’t do them justice.

When I met with the doctor down in Boston last month, I was told that it could take as long as nine months for me to start running pain-free again. It’s been just under nine weeks since I sustained my hip injury. Imagine my surprise when I was able to crank out 3.3 miles on the treadmill last night. Although I have been incorporating short stretches of trail running into my hiking as of late, this represents the longest distance that I’ve been able to continuously run in over two months.

I’d be lying if I were to classify the workout as “pain-free” – the discomfort is still there. What’s most remarkable to me, however, is that the pain has gone from being absolutely debilitating to, well… more of a nuisance than anything else. A manageable annoyance. It no longer appears to be affecting my stride, and by focusing on my posture and cadence I’m able to draw attention away from the nagging hip at times.

While it certainly feels wonderful to hit this milestone, I know that I still have a long way to go. Running is wholly about enjoyment for me. I refuse to let it become something that I detest simply because I’m pushing through pain. As tedious as low-impact exercise machines can be, I’m confident that they’ve contributed significantly to my progress – and I will continue to suffer through my 2+ hour elliptical/arc trainer workouts until I’ve recovered enough to run entirely pain-free.

Thank goodness for hiking on the weekends! I could never be a 7-day gym rat.

Three trip reports/hiking albums to come this week. I can’t believe I’ve fallen so terribly behind. Here’s a quick picture from the Willey Range, courtesy of my friend Dr Wu. To think that all of the snow we had two weekends ago has now entirely melted…

Last Friday I embarked on an adventure that – precisely one week out – remains vividly fresh in my mind. My good friend Adam had approached me about the possibility of a night hike in Crawford Notch. Not one to shy away from a challenge, I instantly jumped on board. While no stranger to hiking at night, I’d never intentionally set off up a mountain under the cover of darkness. Factor in single digit temperatures, next to no moonlight, and… well, I knew I was in for a treat.

We met at Crawford Notch a little after 10pm, and within minutes were on the trail en route to Pierce. The woods around us were utterly silent, save our occasional chatter and the crunching of our boots on the cold, hard ground.

To shamelessly digress – yes, I was in boots! And yes, it was terribly awkward after spending the entire summer dancing around in my trail runners…

A light dusting of snow coated the trail almost from the onset, increasing in density (and slipperiness) as we gained elevation. The wettest portions of trail had turned entirely to ice, and barebooting (not so) nimbly from rock to rock quickly became a chore. I soon lost patience and elected to put on my microspikes. Adam, the agile devil that he is, decided to continue on without traction.

Every now and then we’d switch off our headlamps, pausing momentarily to take in the wondrous beauty of the silent world around us. The stillness of the air, biting and cold as it entered our lungs. The sheer blackness of the woods. The indescribable brilliance of the stars, burning fiercely in the absence of the moon.

As the tree cover thinned, I could sense that the summit of Pierce was near. Much to my surprise, I was not at all tired given the late hour. Uncommonly hyper would be a much more fitting description of my state, as is evident in the summit shot below.

Given the near perfectness of the conditions, the decision to venture over to Eisenhower was not a tough one. Up the Crawford Path we went.

There is something wonderfully mesmerizing about hiking above treeline in the dead of night, with nothing but the stars and the glow of your headlamp to show you the way. Nearing the summit cone of Eisenhower itself, we started to encounter some fairly significant snow drifts. Not only that, but we also happened upon – gasp – a spruce trap. In October? Tell me it isn’t so…

Punching through knee-deep snow, our pace slowed a little as we made our way towards the summit cairn. For some reason, neither of us felt a strong desire to linger atop the broad, domed peak. After shooting a few pictures, we slowly headed back towards Pierce, the trail enveloped by darkness.

Even if unspoken, we both knew that the hike wouldn’t feel complete without a trip over to Jackson. Proceeding towards Mizpah Hut, the trail quickly became an icy mess, prompting Adam to put on his microspikes as well. The journey was not fast, but nonetheless seemed to fly by thanks to excellent conversation. Fortunately, we made it up the slick, icy steeps of Jackson without incident.

2.6 miles to go, 2.6 miles to go…

…on the dreadful Webster-Jackson trail. The footing was at its worst as we carefully made our way down from the treacherous summit cone. I took a bit of a nasty fall whilst descending one of the steeper sections, which resulted in a banged-up knee and a huge loss of confidence. It became apparent that my microspikes had dulled considerably with just one season of use, as they did not grip the ice even half as well as Adam’s. Slowly and surely we went, the seasons transitioning as if in real-time. Winter’s grip on the mountains steadily gave way as we quietly descended into the valleys below. Reaching 302, it was autumn once again.