The day started off right--banana pancakes courtesy of the Trails folks, as we'd spent Saturday on trailwork. Thanks Sarah! After washing dishes, driving, and all the usual little last-minute things we hit the trail at 9am. Since the forecast was for rain later, we still hoped to be well down-trail by mid-afternoon.
The Nancy Pond Trail is quite pleasant right from the get-go, mostly on old woods roads with excellent footing and a grade that eats up elevation almost imperceptably. It enters Forest Service property with quite the fanfare of cairns, red-blazed trees, surveying signs, boundary signs, side paths back to 302.... Not too long thereafter it become more of a standard White Mountains trail, rocky and at points steep, but by then it's next to (or high above) Nancy Brook with lots of little points of interest, leading up to the crowning spectacle of Nancy Cascade. The day was fairly muggy and everything damp--including parts of the trail--but the rain did seem to be holding off as we climbed the steep headwall beside the cascade, popping next to it for the occasional view. A lot of serious engineering went into this trail.
We topped out and entered the boggy area near Nancy Pond. Most of the bog bridges here are fairly recent, but there was still the occasional muddy foot as we passed the picturesque pond and entered the Wilderness. Here conditions changed. Still wet, large parts of the trail are now submerged in Norcross Pond, and most bog bridges are entirely decayed. Bushwhacks were necessary around the really deep stuff; some herd paths are forming and it's altogether a blot on an otherwise gorgeous spot. The ledges at the pond outlet were most welcome, allowing us to dry out feet and enjoy lunch while gazing into the Pemi. It had taken just about three hours to reach this point.
The "herd path" up Nancy is very obvious off the north side of a revegetation area--it's actually more clear than the trail! A very short distance along it forks left at a bootleg (and probably illegal) campsite. There was no brushing-in, but the Forest Service has posted a sign shortly past this campsite, warning that the trail is not maintained and any such maintenance would have dire consequences.
The path to the base of the slide is very clear, level, and has nice views to Lowell through the trees. It seems that it slabs along to the steepest possible slope before reaching the slide and ascending. We chose to climb the slide, even though it's the loose sort that I dislike, and refound the herd path at the top. A brief moment of confusion five minutes beyond the slide was quickly resolved, and we resumed the very steep climb to the summit, reaching it at 1pm. The Presidentials were socked in, but Crawford Notch is very impressive from this vantage.
Views, pictures, and a snack later, we scampered back down, bypassing the slide for descent. I removed my socks and waded through the drowned sections of trail,, not wanting to bother with bushwhacking. At the wilderness boundary I dried off and resumed socks.
From here it was a fairly relaxed cruise through the bogs and down the steeps next to the cascade. We saw another hiker enjoying the falls from the pool at its base. Perhaps five minutes later it happened...something slipped, I fell with a loud snap from my right ankle, and let out a bloodcurdling scream until my lungs were empty. As best I can tell, I lost footing but my right foot found good purchase on a high-angle rock, holding there while the rest of my body went down and effectively turned the bottom of my right foot towards my left side.
Erik dropped his pack and helped remove mine, then got me face-up. Already the swelling ankle was obvious and we loosened that shoe as much as possible, then Erik provided in-line traction while I poked and prodded a bit. My initial fears of a fracture subsided slightly, as the worst tenderness seemed isolated to one side. I started to get out my first aid and repair kits when the hiker we'd seen at the pool came down the trail.
Fortunately he was willing to stay and help, and was also carrying a foam sleeping pad that made for a far better splint than anything we could have done with spare clothing. Erik cut some branches to provide stiffness and we splinted up good and tight with some REI sport wraps and p-cord. We did a round of cell phone checks--none of us had coverage. Don (our new hero) offered to run out, but I wanted to try self-rescue first. I managed to stand up by leaning on both of them and, with a fair bit of pain, could take some small hobbling steps. Erik cut me a staff, padded with a vest, and I used that as a crutch while leaning on Don on the left. Satisfied that we could move, however slowly, we split my gear between the two mobile hikers and Erik wore my pack over top of his. At some point in this process I glanced at my watch. It was 3:30 and we were just under 2.5 miles in, 1500' or so up.
It was a very slow, painful, hobbling process, but the splint made me feel a lot better and the motion seemed to help as well. Maybe moving improved bloodflow, maybe it just loosed the endorphins, maybe I was focussed on the task at hand rather than the pain. But as I gained practice with the makeshift staff I was able to move mostly under my own power, leaning on Don for difficult sections and going down the occasional rock staircase with effective use of my posterior. The stream crossings were grim but I managed without soaking my foot or splint. The worse had a deadfall across that I could sit-and-scoot. Probably the most annoying part was forgetting that the splint made my foot about three times as wide as usual, so brushing a rock with the splint would jerk my ankle and draw a fresh yelp of pain. At least the rain was mostly holding off, just a light mist.
We reached the car about 7:30, just as the rain really hit. Don went on his way with our thanks, and we drove to the hospital in North Conway, arriving just after the ER walk-in rush began and just before four ambulances with life-threatening cases. By the time I was X-rayed, poked, and splinted, it was about 1am. We retired to a motel and I ate the cold Burger King Erik had picked up. With food in my stomach I could finally take the first painkiller since my fall and go to sleep (which lasted about 4 hours before the meds wore off and woke me.) This morning we drove back to Boston.
No clean break showed in the X-rays. I may have torn a piece of bone off with a ligament, but everything's too messed up to tell. I have to let it heal a bit before seeing an orthopedist.
It could have been far worse. Our original plan for the day was Scar Ridge, but we decided a brutal bushwhack in the rain would be no fun. Being injured up there would be even less fun. That rain held off while we were in the field. We were very glad to be off the brutally steep sections before the incident. Although we probably could have managed without, Don's serendipitous presence made a huge difference, both practically and for morale. It was nice to have someone new to talk to on the way down.
I don't think I was going too fast. It was a good steady pace, but well below the fastest I would have felt comfortable and I was slowing down when spots got tricky. Perhaps, given the wet rocks that were prevailing, I could have taken more care to clean out the mud from my soles after wading through the pond. I don't think ankle-covering boots would have made a difference vs. the trail runners I was wearing. My trail runners certainly have better grip in those conditions than my leathers, and I've managed some pretty nasty twists while wearing fairly high leather boots. I also find the lighter weight and better "feel" of trail runners to be a huge advantage in maintaining balance in poor footing.
Sadly that did affect my decision-making to some extent. F&G seems fairly against anything but full leather boots, and with the ambiguity of recent decisions I didn't feel like being a test case. Attempting at least a partial self-rescue was pretty much a given, knowing how slow litter carries are and how long it would take to get some sort of help up there. Normally I'd rather call early, at least as a heads-up, instead of waiting until self-rescue had obviously failed. The threat of a large bill pushed that idea back to "last, LAST resort." Maybe that's part of the idea? At any rate, I'm glad we didn't have the option of making a call, as it spared me a hard decision and allowed us to simply focus on getting out.
Much thanks to Erik for putting up with this as just another in a long series of "interesting" hikes, to Don for donating a lot of time, strength, and a sleeping pad to a stranger, to my various WFA instructors, and to the staff at Memorial Hospital in North Conway. Amusing side note: a SOLO W-EMT student was following along with the doctor for training.
The Nancy Pond Trail is quite pleasant right from the get-go, mostly on old woods roads with excellent footing and a grade that eats up elevation almost imperceptably. It enters Forest Service property with quite the fanfare of cairns, red-blazed trees, surveying signs, boundary signs, side paths back to 302.... Not too long thereafter it become more of a standard White Mountains trail, rocky and at points steep, but by then it's next to (or high above) Nancy Brook with lots of little points of interest, leading up to the crowning spectacle of Nancy Cascade. The day was fairly muggy and everything damp--including parts of the trail--but the rain did seem to be holding off as we climbed the steep headwall beside the cascade, popping next to it for the occasional view. A lot of serious engineering went into this trail.
We topped out and entered the boggy area near Nancy Pond. Most of the bog bridges here are fairly recent, but there was still the occasional muddy foot as we passed the picturesque pond and entered the Wilderness. Here conditions changed. Still wet, large parts of the trail are now submerged in Norcross Pond, and most bog bridges are entirely decayed. Bushwhacks were necessary around the really deep stuff; some herd paths are forming and it's altogether a blot on an otherwise gorgeous spot. The ledges at the pond outlet were most welcome, allowing us to dry out feet and enjoy lunch while gazing into the Pemi. It had taken just about three hours to reach this point.
The "herd path" up Nancy is very obvious off the north side of a revegetation area--it's actually more clear than the trail! A very short distance along it forks left at a bootleg (and probably illegal) campsite. There was no brushing-in, but the Forest Service has posted a sign shortly past this campsite, warning that the trail is not maintained and any such maintenance would have dire consequences.
The path to the base of the slide is very clear, level, and has nice views to Lowell through the trees. It seems that it slabs along to the steepest possible slope before reaching the slide and ascending. We chose to climb the slide, even though it's the loose sort that I dislike, and refound the herd path at the top. A brief moment of confusion five minutes beyond the slide was quickly resolved, and we resumed the very steep climb to the summit, reaching it at 1pm. The Presidentials were socked in, but Crawford Notch is very impressive from this vantage.
Views, pictures, and a snack later, we scampered back down, bypassing the slide for descent. I removed my socks and waded through the drowned sections of trail,, not wanting to bother with bushwhacking. At the wilderness boundary I dried off and resumed socks.
From here it was a fairly relaxed cruise through the bogs and down the steeps next to the cascade. We saw another hiker enjoying the falls from the pool at its base. Perhaps five minutes later it happened...something slipped, I fell with a loud snap from my right ankle, and let out a bloodcurdling scream until my lungs were empty. As best I can tell, I lost footing but my right foot found good purchase on a high-angle rock, holding there while the rest of my body went down and effectively turned the bottom of my right foot towards my left side.
Erik dropped his pack and helped remove mine, then got me face-up. Already the swelling ankle was obvious and we loosened that shoe as much as possible, then Erik provided in-line traction while I poked and prodded a bit. My initial fears of a fracture subsided slightly, as the worst tenderness seemed isolated to one side. I started to get out my first aid and repair kits when the hiker we'd seen at the pool came down the trail.
Fortunately he was willing to stay and help, and was also carrying a foam sleeping pad that made for a far better splint than anything we could have done with spare clothing. Erik cut some branches to provide stiffness and we splinted up good and tight with some REI sport wraps and p-cord. We did a round of cell phone checks--none of us had coverage. Don (our new hero) offered to run out, but I wanted to try self-rescue first. I managed to stand up by leaning on both of them and, with a fair bit of pain, could take some small hobbling steps. Erik cut me a staff, padded with a vest, and I used that as a crutch while leaning on Don on the left. Satisfied that we could move, however slowly, we split my gear between the two mobile hikers and Erik wore my pack over top of his. At some point in this process I glanced at my watch. It was 3:30 and we were just under 2.5 miles in, 1500' or so up.
It was a very slow, painful, hobbling process, but the splint made me feel a lot better and the motion seemed to help as well. Maybe moving improved bloodflow, maybe it just loosed the endorphins, maybe I was focussed on the task at hand rather than the pain. But as I gained practice with the makeshift staff I was able to move mostly under my own power, leaning on Don for difficult sections and going down the occasional rock staircase with effective use of my posterior. The stream crossings were grim but I managed without soaking my foot or splint. The worse had a deadfall across that I could sit-and-scoot. Probably the most annoying part was forgetting that the splint made my foot about three times as wide as usual, so brushing a rock with the splint would jerk my ankle and draw a fresh yelp of pain. At least the rain was mostly holding off, just a light mist.
We reached the car about 7:30, just as the rain really hit. Don went on his way with our thanks, and we drove to the hospital in North Conway, arriving just after the ER walk-in rush began and just before four ambulances with life-threatening cases. By the time I was X-rayed, poked, and splinted, it was about 1am. We retired to a motel and I ate the cold Burger King Erik had picked up. With food in my stomach I could finally take the first painkiller since my fall and go to sleep (which lasted about 4 hours before the meds wore off and woke me.) This morning we drove back to Boston.
No clean break showed in the X-rays. I may have torn a piece of bone off with a ligament, but everything's too messed up to tell. I have to let it heal a bit before seeing an orthopedist.
It could have been far worse. Our original plan for the day was Scar Ridge, but we decided a brutal bushwhack in the rain would be no fun. Being injured up there would be even less fun. That rain held off while we were in the field. We were very glad to be off the brutally steep sections before the incident. Although we probably could have managed without, Don's serendipitous presence made a huge difference, both practically and for morale. It was nice to have someone new to talk to on the way down.
I don't think I was going too fast. It was a good steady pace, but well below the fastest I would have felt comfortable and I was slowing down when spots got tricky. Perhaps, given the wet rocks that were prevailing, I could have taken more care to clean out the mud from my soles after wading through the pond. I don't think ankle-covering boots would have made a difference vs. the trail runners I was wearing. My trail runners certainly have better grip in those conditions than my leathers, and I've managed some pretty nasty twists while wearing fairly high leather boots. I also find the lighter weight and better "feel" of trail runners to be a huge advantage in maintaining balance in poor footing.
Sadly that did affect my decision-making to some extent. F&G seems fairly against anything but full leather boots, and with the ambiguity of recent decisions I didn't feel like being a test case. Attempting at least a partial self-rescue was pretty much a given, knowing how slow litter carries are and how long it would take to get some sort of help up there. Normally I'd rather call early, at least as a heads-up, instead of waiting until self-rescue had obviously failed. The threat of a large bill pushed that idea back to "last, LAST resort." Maybe that's part of the idea? At any rate, I'm glad we didn't have the option of making a call, as it spared me a hard decision and allowed us to simply focus on getting out.
Much thanks to Erik for putting up with this as just another in a long series of "interesting" hikes, to Don for donating a lot of time, strength, and a sleeping pad to a stranger, to my various WFA instructors, and to the staff at Memorial Hospital in North Conway. Amusing side note: a SOLO W-EMT student was following along with the doctor for training.
