McRat
New member
The familiar crunch of the 19-mile brook trail had hardened to that of a squeaky hardwood floor as dozens of boots had packed the trail since my last visit. Over the last few months I've listened to this charming trail as it blossomed into winter, the soothing rush of the water over the rocks replaced by deep groans from below the the ice and snowy globes of encased boulders. The birds were enjoying the warmer weather, calling out to each other to celebrate a day of blue skies and snowy branches. But I was silent. How could this be? I was alone.
Carter Dome was proving to be a problem. My three prior attempts had been curtailed by harsh weather and trail conditions, but I had managed to tag Wildcat A & D on two of the previous trips. I was down my final two and had planned on a Saturday ascent.
As the week went on it began to look like there would be some heavy snow on Friday, possibly continuing into Saturday. I remembered the decent trail conditions from the previous week, as well as the slow trail-breaking slog up Wildcat A. I despaired at the thought of having to post a 'Carter Dome attempt 5'. The weather forecast for Thursday was hundred-mile visibility, mild winter temps, and low winds. Weather like this is why the good Lord gave us vacation days.
Per order of Mrs. McRat, I was in full solo survival mode. Extra food, water, gear, clothes, sleeping bag, pad, bivy... everything but the tent it seemed. About 40-45lbs. I even made sure I signed in at Pinkham Notch, and promised to call her when I got back down.
I remembered her last words to me as I headed down the stairs, "I love you honey. Promise me you won't get eaten by a bear." Seriously.
I finally started up the trail at 9:30. My snowshoes and crampons were attached to my pack with their points jutting out in all directions - the classic 'porcupine defense' of solo hikers against the ravenous hibernating black bears of the White Mountains.
The beginning of a trip is always the hardest for me, and the extra weight was making its presence known. My legs felt stiff, and I was shedding layers quicker than usual. I wondered what condition the trail would be past Zeta Pass, and even harbored a little doubt as to my success. I concentrated on my pace and breathing until I finally caught up to my second wind somewhere across from the small building by the dam.
Soon I had arrived at the Carter Dome junction and stopped for a snack.
The Carter Dome trail continued along as gently as the 19-mile brook trail until the switchbacks where I put on my snowshoes for a little more traction. I stopped and enjoyed the antics of a couple of cute boreal chickadees who managed to stay within 6 feet of me, but never still long enough for a photo. I realized that this was my only conversation today. I shared some sunflower seeds with my chatty friends and we parted ways.
Sometimes the silence was deafening. In the absence of background noise, I began to notice all the other sounds - the crunch of snowshoes, the zipping sound of my rain pants rubbing together, the rattle of my crampons. I could hear each breath of that delicious air, and on the steeper grades, the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.
At one point, what I think was a grouse, burst out from the trees. It flew across the trail just a few feet in front of me. A sudden brownish blur and the sound of the wings startled me, and provided just the adrenaline rush to propel me to Zeta Pass.
The trails weren't bad here, and I continued up the Carter Dome trail, hoping to make the summit by 2:30. Occasionally, the Presidential Range would appear through the trees, encouraging me onward.
Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies make excellent hiking fuel. I passed the undisturbed Black Angel trail and soon arrived at the summit of Carter Dome.
Number 47. Gorgeous blue skies and virtually no wind! I had the summit to myself. I turned on my cell phone to check the time. 1:00! It is not often that I beat book time. I had a leisurely lunch and decided I had the time and the weather to visit Mt. Hight.
Heading back, I took a right onto the Carter-Moriah trail and found the trail partially broken. The snowshoes managed fine with a bit of careful stepping, but there where two sets of postholes made by some very determined (though poorly equipped) hikers.
I had heard nice things about Hight, and my high expectations of the views were exceeded by the reality. Breathtaking. I took plenty of pictures, but they can never do justice to such a vista. I spent a good twenty minutes soaking in the scenery. The temperature felt to be around a windless 25°F. I decided to use one of my wind instruments to confirm this. The smoke from my cigarette went straight up, scarcely drifting at all.
The walk down the other side of Hight was tricky, and some moments of spontaneous glissading ensued, but otherwise it was a great walk down. I made steady time back to the 19-mile brook trail, where I decided to bareboot it. There was only one small icy patch on the trail, and sure enough, I found it. I did the 'ice dance', but did not fall this time.
I got back to the car at 3:30. I realized the only other times I beat book time are when I have traveled solo. Apparently jokes and stories use up a lot of air.
I took the long way back through Crawford Notch to 93. Just to wave to North Twin.
See you soon!
Carter Dome was proving to be a problem. My three prior attempts had been curtailed by harsh weather and trail conditions, but I had managed to tag Wildcat A & D on two of the previous trips. I was down my final two and had planned on a Saturday ascent.
As the week went on it began to look like there would be some heavy snow on Friday, possibly continuing into Saturday. I remembered the decent trail conditions from the previous week, as well as the slow trail-breaking slog up Wildcat A. I despaired at the thought of having to post a 'Carter Dome attempt 5'. The weather forecast for Thursday was hundred-mile visibility, mild winter temps, and low winds. Weather like this is why the good Lord gave us vacation days.
Per order of Mrs. McRat, I was in full solo survival mode. Extra food, water, gear, clothes, sleeping bag, pad, bivy... everything but the tent it seemed. About 40-45lbs. I even made sure I signed in at Pinkham Notch, and promised to call her when I got back down.
I remembered her last words to me as I headed down the stairs, "I love you honey. Promise me you won't get eaten by a bear." Seriously.
I finally started up the trail at 9:30. My snowshoes and crampons were attached to my pack with their points jutting out in all directions - the classic 'porcupine defense' of solo hikers against the ravenous hibernating black bears of the White Mountains.
The beginning of a trip is always the hardest for me, and the extra weight was making its presence known. My legs felt stiff, and I was shedding layers quicker than usual. I wondered what condition the trail would be past Zeta Pass, and even harbored a little doubt as to my success. I concentrated on my pace and breathing until I finally caught up to my second wind somewhere across from the small building by the dam.
Soon I had arrived at the Carter Dome junction and stopped for a snack.
The Carter Dome trail continued along as gently as the 19-mile brook trail until the switchbacks where I put on my snowshoes for a little more traction. I stopped and enjoyed the antics of a couple of cute boreal chickadees who managed to stay within 6 feet of me, but never still long enough for a photo. I realized that this was my only conversation today. I shared some sunflower seeds with my chatty friends and we parted ways.
Sometimes the silence was deafening. In the absence of background noise, I began to notice all the other sounds - the crunch of snowshoes, the zipping sound of my rain pants rubbing together, the rattle of my crampons. I could hear each breath of that delicious air, and on the steeper grades, the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.
At one point, what I think was a grouse, burst out from the trees. It flew across the trail just a few feet in front of me. A sudden brownish blur and the sound of the wings startled me, and provided just the adrenaline rush to propel me to Zeta Pass.
The trails weren't bad here, and I continued up the Carter Dome trail, hoping to make the summit by 2:30. Occasionally, the Presidential Range would appear through the trees, encouraging me onward.
Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies make excellent hiking fuel. I passed the undisturbed Black Angel trail and soon arrived at the summit of Carter Dome.
Number 47. Gorgeous blue skies and virtually no wind! I had the summit to myself. I turned on my cell phone to check the time. 1:00! It is not often that I beat book time. I had a leisurely lunch and decided I had the time and the weather to visit Mt. Hight.
Heading back, I took a right onto the Carter-Moriah trail and found the trail partially broken. The snowshoes managed fine with a bit of careful stepping, but there where two sets of postholes made by some very determined (though poorly equipped) hikers.
I had heard nice things about Hight, and my high expectations of the views were exceeded by the reality. Breathtaking. I took plenty of pictures, but they can never do justice to such a vista. I spent a good twenty minutes soaking in the scenery. The temperature felt to be around a windless 25°F. I decided to use one of my wind instruments to confirm this. The smoke from my cigarette went straight up, scarcely drifting at all.
The walk down the other side of Hight was tricky, and some moments of spontaneous glissading ensued, but otherwise it was a great walk down. I made steady time back to the 19-mile brook trail, where I decided to bareboot it. There was only one small icy patch on the trail, and sure enough, I found it. I did the 'ice dance', but did not fall this time.
I got back to the car at 3:30. I realized the only other times I beat book time are when I have traveled solo. Apparently jokes and stories use up a lot of air.
I took the long way back through Crawford Notch to 93. Just to wave to North Twin.
See you soon!
*grin*
