Bushwhack
Member
Eighteen years ago, my older brother returned from his very first trip in the White Mountains with stories of wonders. The landscape he described sounded like something out a myth: A boulder field so large it can't be crossed, caves a hundred feet deep with ice at the bottom of them, cold mountain lakes, and cliffs looming above. He had gone with his eighth grade class for a weekend, and wanted desperately to bring me there as soon as he could. “I jumped twenty feet off one boulder onto another!” He exclaimed. I was impressed, but not surprised. My older brother could, and would do just about anything.
This past August, we decided to return there. I had realized that for all our combined outdoor experience, we had never once gone backpacking together. I tentatively suggested a weekend spent together, expecting that he would be too busy, or too tired. John runs two farms full time, and was in the process of negotiating a few more for his apprentices to take over. He spends his life doing physical labor, working hard. Hiking is also hard work, but unlike farming, it does not pay you by the hour. A person working on his farm once snorted and told me I had too much time on my hands when he heard that I had spent twelve days hiking the long trail. to my surprise, though, John agreed. we originally set our sights on Katahdin (“well, that wouldn't really be backpacking, more like a day hike plus car camping...”), but as we drew closer to the date, the eight hours of driving required to get there seemed more and more daunting. We settled on Carter Notch instead, the location of his first ever white mountains trip. I was excited.
I camped out the night before on the side of wildcat mountain, and we met up saturday morning at pinkham notch. He warned me that he was not in great shape for going up mountains, and promptly set off at a brutal pace up nineteen mile brook trail. Farming may not work you out in the same way as backpacking, but it does get your body used to working hard for long periods of time. When we got to the top, he was awed by the views of the cliffs and lakes again: memory is a grand teller of tall tales, but this was just as mythic as he remembered. I have been to carter notch several times a year for the last eight years, but I am still caught off guard by the atmosphere of the place every time. We set up camp (at which point I gently demanded that he remove his watch. No checking for western time constructions out here, please) and immediately headed up to the ramparts.
The Ramparts are still my favorite part of the white mountains. It is an enormous boulder field, some of the boulders larger than houses. For those who are uninitiated, this photo should provide a good introduction
for scale, the triangle-shaped boulder in the lower center of the photo has a person standing on it. see if you can see them.
We went from boulder to boulder, John asking if this part or that boulder could be accessed (the answer was always “let's try it”) for a while. there were a couple of points when he had to remind himself that he could not attempt to climb something- his livelihood depended on his body being in working condition. It was a strange experience to see my brother, he who had taught me to ride a bike by taking me mountain biking, he who had used ladders like pogo sticks on the side of buildings, being cautious. Then he poked his head under a bush, and disappeared.
he had found a small opening that led to a good sized cave. I rock hopped over to him, and followed him in. It was a good sized opening in between the boulders, large enough for both of us top stand in. Probably possess by some madness, he then began crawling from crack to crack, cave to cave, and I, no longer the leader, little brother following him through the dark, would fit in after him. sometimes we were able to walk. Other times we squeezed headfirst or feet first through smallish holes, checking to see if it was safe by dropping stones in to see how far they fell. we were never truly out of view of some sunlight, but it was dark enough that our eyes needed adjusting. John had forgotten his tentativeness, and although he may not have noticed it, he was back to his old, relaxed ways, before he had to worry about a schedule and business expenses. He was in full-on exploration mode, completely and utterly in the moment. We explored for almost an hour without coming up. A few times we would take different routes and try to find each other again by the sound of our voices and some basic reckoning.
After about an hour of scraping and crawling, we came to a spot where the cave dead ended in the open world. With no cave left, we had no choice but to return topside. We had traveled roughly five hundred feet by my estimate, and were rather tired- crawling and squeezing through caves is hard work. we explored a bit more, and then went back down to our campsite.
Up for more exploring, and no longer waiting for my directions as to what our itinerary was, John asked if there were any trails up to the top of the cliffs. We headed up the north side of the notch, and then bushwhacked our way through dense spruce and fir to a huge boulder cantilevered out over the notch. we could hear people far below, but not see any of them. On the way back to the trail, we found an open space, and laid down for a nap in moss that was about five inches deep. We finished with an unexpected trip up carter dome ("No reason not to" he said), and then headed back to camp. Dinner was shitake mushroom, seitan, and purple pepper kebobs along with grilled cheese (not the spartan raisins and peanuts my brother was expecting). There was no checking of watches.
He and I are planning on doing another trip soon this fall.
This past August, we decided to return there. I had realized that for all our combined outdoor experience, we had never once gone backpacking together. I tentatively suggested a weekend spent together, expecting that he would be too busy, or too tired. John runs two farms full time, and was in the process of negotiating a few more for his apprentices to take over. He spends his life doing physical labor, working hard. Hiking is also hard work, but unlike farming, it does not pay you by the hour. A person working on his farm once snorted and told me I had too much time on my hands when he heard that I had spent twelve days hiking the long trail. to my surprise, though, John agreed. we originally set our sights on Katahdin (“well, that wouldn't really be backpacking, more like a day hike plus car camping...”), but as we drew closer to the date, the eight hours of driving required to get there seemed more and more daunting. We settled on Carter Notch instead, the location of his first ever white mountains trip. I was excited.
I camped out the night before on the side of wildcat mountain, and we met up saturday morning at pinkham notch. He warned me that he was not in great shape for going up mountains, and promptly set off at a brutal pace up nineteen mile brook trail. Farming may not work you out in the same way as backpacking, but it does get your body used to working hard for long periods of time. When we got to the top, he was awed by the views of the cliffs and lakes again: memory is a grand teller of tall tales, but this was just as mythic as he remembered. I have been to carter notch several times a year for the last eight years, but I am still caught off guard by the atmosphere of the place every time. We set up camp (at which point I gently demanded that he remove his watch. No checking for western time constructions out here, please) and immediately headed up to the ramparts.
The Ramparts are still my favorite part of the white mountains. It is an enormous boulder field, some of the boulders larger than houses. For those who are uninitiated, this photo should provide a good introduction
for scale, the triangle-shaped boulder in the lower center of the photo has a person standing on it. see if you can see them.
We went from boulder to boulder, John asking if this part or that boulder could be accessed (the answer was always “let's try it”) for a while. there were a couple of points when he had to remind himself that he could not attempt to climb something- his livelihood depended on his body being in working condition. It was a strange experience to see my brother, he who had taught me to ride a bike by taking me mountain biking, he who had used ladders like pogo sticks on the side of buildings, being cautious. Then he poked his head under a bush, and disappeared.
he had found a small opening that led to a good sized cave. I rock hopped over to him, and followed him in. It was a good sized opening in between the boulders, large enough for both of us top stand in. Probably possess by some madness, he then began crawling from crack to crack, cave to cave, and I, no longer the leader, little brother following him through the dark, would fit in after him. sometimes we were able to walk. Other times we squeezed headfirst or feet first through smallish holes, checking to see if it was safe by dropping stones in to see how far they fell. we were never truly out of view of some sunlight, but it was dark enough that our eyes needed adjusting. John had forgotten his tentativeness, and although he may not have noticed it, he was back to his old, relaxed ways, before he had to worry about a schedule and business expenses. He was in full-on exploration mode, completely and utterly in the moment. We explored for almost an hour without coming up. A few times we would take different routes and try to find each other again by the sound of our voices and some basic reckoning.
After about an hour of scraping and crawling, we came to a spot where the cave dead ended in the open world. With no cave left, we had no choice but to return topside. We had traveled roughly five hundred feet by my estimate, and were rather tired- crawling and squeezing through caves is hard work. we explored a bit more, and then went back down to our campsite.
Up for more exploring, and no longer waiting for my directions as to what our itinerary was, John asked if there were any trails up to the top of the cliffs. We headed up the north side of the notch, and then bushwhacked our way through dense spruce and fir to a huge boulder cantilevered out over the notch. we could hear people far below, but not see any of them. On the way back to the trail, we found an open space, and laid down for a nap in moss that was about five inches deep. We finished with an unexpected trip up carter dome ("No reason not to" he said), and then headed back to camp. Dinner was shitake mushroom, seitan, and purple pepper kebobs along with grilled cheese (not the spartan raisins and peanuts my brother was expecting). There was no checking of watches.
He and I are planning on doing another trip soon this fall.
