The Feathered Hat
Active member
Tuckerman needed to get back on the trail.
He didn't come along with me on last week's climb of Mt. Cabot because he'd wrenched one of his back legs in a hole while running across the lawn. We climbed Cannon together a couple weeks ago, but the week before that he got left at home under the vet's order after getting snipped. So he's been antsy for a good hike. Besides, we've been working a lot on his behavior training -- he's in a class, too -- and while he has responded really well, you could tell he was tired of class time and just wanted to get into the wild outdoors again. At seven months, he still brims with puppy energy most of his waking hours.
The gently ascending, though rocky, Garfield Trail is one of my favorites in the Franconia region: the climb through various forest ecosystems is instructive, there are some nice brook crossings, there are good switchbacks (rare in the Whites) on the trail's upper portion, and the view from Garfield's summit can be spectacular on a clear day. It had been a couple of years since I'd climbed the peak, though, and it was new to Tuckerman, so: time to return.
We pulled in to an empty trailhead parking lot a little after 10 a.m. and got going under gray skies on a damp, muddy Garfield Trail that was bordered by abundant trilliums in bloom. A mile in, we came to the first and biggest of the three bunched brook crossings over tributaries of the south branch of the Gale River. With all the recent rain and continuing snowmelt, the brook was rushing more heavily than I've ever seen it; rock-hopping was impossible. So we waded. Actually, I waded -- twice, in fact, once with my pack and carrying my boots, and once to carry Tuckerman, who was frightened by the foaming, roaring water. I walked barefoot up the five or six yards of moist trail to the next crossing and waded it, too, though it might be rock-hoppable. With boots back on, I was able to rock-hop the next, and last, big brook crossing that's a tenth of a mile up from the other crossings, and Tuckerman swam it.
None of this wading was necessary. If I'd bothered beforehand to check either of the major White Mountain hiking guides, Smith and Dickerman's "4,000-Footers of the White Mountains" and the AMC guide, I'd have known about the sturdy bridge on the snowmobile trail that's about 100 yards upstream from the first crossing (an easy bushwhack). Tuck and I discovered it on our way back down the mountain, at least, but: lesson learned. Check the books first no matter how well I think I know a trail.
The trail began climbing away from the brooks, up a rocky route that was often streaming with water. At 2,500 feet we walked into the clouds, and I was reminded of the many gray, contemplative hikes I made in coastal fog when I lived for several years next door to Point Reyes National Seashore in California. At 3,000 the first small remaining patches of snow began to appear beside the trail, and at 4,000 feet the first pieces of monorail filled the trail groove. By 4,200 feet the monorail was solid but it was still possible to bareboot along the edges.
Things got serious after the junction with the Garfield Ridge Trail, two-tenths of a mile below the Garfield summit. I had thought exposure this high would have finished off most of the snow, but no: it's still pretty much solid snow and ice on the short stretch, especially on the two steep pitches. I was able to bareboot up but postholed deeply a couple times, and ice and the configuration of rocks made a couple of spots fairly tricky to negotiate, at least for me (Tuckerman, in four-leg drive, motored up easily). Using trees beside the trail for hand-pulling wasn't always useful due to icing on the trunks. I wore Microspikes going back down this stretch and thought I probably should have on the way up too.
We didn't stay but a minute or two on the windy, icy Garfield summit, just long enough to get a photo of Tuckerman, who seemed unimpressed with reaching his fifth NH 48 peak since the end of March. (We'll be back, though, when the weather's better.)
We walked down in snow, sleet and, lower down, rain nearly the whole way, though once we got out of the wind the wet weather wasn't unpleasant. The cold kept the bugs down all day too, even the ticks.
It took us six hours to complete the 10-mile up-and-back, including the time-killing (and unnecessary, it turned out) wades across the brooks on the way up. We didn't see another person the entire time; the trailhead parking lot was just as empty of cars when we left as it was when we arrived.
Despite the wet weather, the watery trail and harsh summit conditions, this was, in its way, another lovely day in the Whites -- quiet, moody, still wrapped in the old clothes of winter.
Photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/99682097@N00/sets/72157617987663622/
Steve B
The Feathered Hat
[email protected]
___________________________________
Tuckerman's report for dogs:
*Lots* of water, even on the trail. Streams everywhere. Good mud!
Still some slippery snow and ice for sliding up near the peak.
Even a dog postholes in the old, soft monorail up high.
Old coyote poop. Fresh moose poop. New turkey poop to roll in!
Scary brook crossing down low, but Big Boss Man said it isn't necessary. So why'd we do it, huh?
** Two sniffs (out of four). Tuck-Dog says check it out.
Working on:
5/48 NH 4Ks.
0/1,000 not jumping up on friends and strangers.
He didn't come along with me on last week's climb of Mt. Cabot because he'd wrenched one of his back legs in a hole while running across the lawn. We climbed Cannon together a couple weeks ago, but the week before that he got left at home under the vet's order after getting snipped. So he's been antsy for a good hike. Besides, we've been working a lot on his behavior training -- he's in a class, too -- and while he has responded really well, you could tell he was tired of class time and just wanted to get into the wild outdoors again. At seven months, he still brims with puppy energy most of his waking hours.
The gently ascending, though rocky, Garfield Trail is one of my favorites in the Franconia region: the climb through various forest ecosystems is instructive, there are some nice brook crossings, there are good switchbacks (rare in the Whites) on the trail's upper portion, and the view from Garfield's summit can be spectacular on a clear day. It had been a couple of years since I'd climbed the peak, though, and it was new to Tuckerman, so: time to return.
We pulled in to an empty trailhead parking lot a little after 10 a.m. and got going under gray skies on a damp, muddy Garfield Trail that was bordered by abundant trilliums in bloom. A mile in, we came to the first and biggest of the three bunched brook crossings over tributaries of the south branch of the Gale River. With all the recent rain and continuing snowmelt, the brook was rushing more heavily than I've ever seen it; rock-hopping was impossible. So we waded. Actually, I waded -- twice, in fact, once with my pack and carrying my boots, and once to carry Tuckerman, who was frightened by the foaming, roaring water. I walked barefoot up the five or six yards of moist trail to the next crossing and waded it, too, though it might be rock-hoppable. With boots back on, I was able to rock-hop the next, and last, big brook crossing that's a tenth of a mile up from the other crossings, and Tuckerman swam it.
None of this wading was necessary. If I'd bothered beforehand to check either of the major White Mountain hiking guides, Smith and Dickerman's "4,000-Footers of the White Mountains" and the AMC guide, I'd have known about the sturdy bridge on the snowmobile trail that's about 100 yards upstream from the first crossing (an easy bushwhack). Tuck and I discovered it on our way back down the mountain, at least, but: lesson learned. Check the books first no matter how well I think I know a trail.
The trail began climbing away from the brooks, up a rocky route that was often streaming with water. At 2,500 feet we walked into the clouds, and I was reminded of the many gray, contemplative hikes I made in coastal fog when I lived for several years next door to Point Reyes National Seashore in California. At 3,000 the first small remaining patches of snow began to appear beside the trail, and at 4,000 feet the first pieces of monorail filled the trail groove. By 4,200 feet the monorail was solid but it was still possible to bareboot along the edges.
Things got serious after the junction with the Garfield Ridge Trail, two-tenths of a mile below the Garfield summit. I had thought exposure this high would have finished off most of the snow, but no: it's still pretty much solid snow and ice on the short stretch, especially on the two steep pitches. I was able to bareboot up but postholed deeply a couple times, and ice and the configuration of rocks made a couple of spots fairly tricky to negotiate, at least for me (Tuckerman, in four-leg drive, motored up easily). Using trees beside the trail for hand-pulling wasn't always useful due to icing on the trunks. I wore Microspikes going back down this stretch and thought I probably should have on the way up too.
We didn't stay but a minute or two on the windy, icy Garfield summit, just long enough to get a photo of Tuckerman, who seemed unimpressed with reaching his fifth NH 48 peak since the end of March. (We'll be back, though, when the weather's better.)
We walked down in snow, sleet and, lower down, rain nearly the whole way, though once we got out of the wind the wet weather wasn't unpleasant. The cold kept the bugs down all day too, even the ticks.
It took us six hours to complete the 10-mile up-and-back, including the time-killing (and unnecessary, it turned out) wades across the brooks on the way up. We didn't see another person the entire time; the trailhead parking lot was just as empty of cars when we left as it was when we arrived.
Despite the wet weather, the watery trail and harsh summit conditions, this was, in its way, another lovely day in the Whites -- quiet, moody, still wrapped in the old clothes of winter.
Photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/99682097@N00/sets/72157617987663622/
Steve B
The Feathered Hat
[email protected]
___________________________________
Tuckerman's report for dogs:
*Lots* of water, even on the trail. Streams everywhere. Good mud!
Still some slippery snow and ice for sliding up near the peak.
Even a dog postholes in the old, soft monorail up high.
Old coyote poop. Fresh moose poop. New turkey poop to roll in!
Scary brook crossing down low, but Big Boss Man said it isn't necessary. So why'd we do it, huh?
** Two sniffs (out of four). Tuck-Dog says check it out.
Working on:
5/48 NH 4Ks.
0/1,000 not jumping up on friends and strangers.
