Dave Bear
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- Joined
- Dec 13, 2007
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After having a fantastic fun-filled wild weekend in Vermont I had decided on making the most of my Monday holiday. I had reached New Hampshire at the early hour of 2:00AM and my blessed mother-in-law took me in for a much needed power nap. She probably thinks I fell on my head on one of my hikes and will never be right again! 
At 6:00AM I got up and took a quick shower, finished some last minute prep and headed for Nineteen mile TH. Early in the weekend I had contemplated hiking Wildcat A, camping by B, then continuing through the rest of the litter on Monday. Despite a foggy mind from staying up at UFC’s in VT Sunday til 5:30AM I decided my “full-moon” adventure was not going to be a night hike up a treacherous slide. Additionally, I didn’t think I had enough gas left to carry that kind of gear the full range on soft or no pack trails. My daypack was well stocked and even that would be making me trail heavy along with all the eating and drinking festivities. I started out with Microspikes on Montrails and the MSR’s on the pack. The monorail or balance beam continually checked my sobriety as I climbed Nineteen Mile. No, I don’t drive drunk much less hike that way but I took the test anyway. A few hundred yards in I got to a spot where Bullwinkle had postholed alongside the pack and his tracks would go all the way to Wildcat ridge trail. He was kind enough not to mess up the pack (CG I don’t think we need to cite him, he probably had a rough weekend too!). I had tossed out the idea of Cats by the Alphabet to very few people and knew it was likely to be all solo on a Monday but I selfishly kept it to myself for the most part. My weekend plans demanded the most flexibility and commitment to having fun that I’ve devoted in a while. Trying to coordinate with others would not have been fair to them so the best I can do is relate the journey and provide some amateur pictures. I say I hiked solo but id, ego and super ego kept each other company while the trail mesmerized the rest of my mind into the past and thoughts awakened by recent events. Getting together in VT first with UFC and then my brother Doug rekindled how free a spirit our brother Don was and how unstoppable fun was with him. He would do nearly anything on a dare or due to raging hormones. If he were alive he would have been leading me this entire weekend and I would have been only a candle to his bonfire. On one occasion we dared each other to motorcycle up a ski slope in late fall to camp on top for the night. The next day the mountain was a frosted cone and he lead off the summit and only slowed down slightly to take the J bar trail, cart-wheeling through the briars he said “I got it slowed down now!” The bikes were shut off and I still reached eighty at the lodge only to find him right behind me! We had hiked Mt Washington together with family in fall 1980 and his sense of adventure and an attractive Italian girl got us side tracked to Lake of the Clouds hut before we went to the summit. No lights, and in Levis and sneakers we descended Tuck at nearly a run. Don didn’t slow down until he crashed in some rocks. “Don’t worry! I got it slowed down now!” he said as he limped down the trail. The next fall, all too young, we buried him due to a drunk driving accident where he was a passenger. For twenty-six years I didn’t hike the peaks, perhaps because of the memories it opened up and feeling like an Icarus whose sense of adventure would be his demise. My memories had gone from the hysterically funny to the emotional about the time I met Cory the Carter hut caretaker as he headed to ski Wildcat. Hopefully I shook out of the weak moment before our pleasant chat. At Wildcat ridge trail I found that more folks have been out that way and it wasn’t too bad to stay on top. Off came the spikes and on with the MSR’s. My picture from Pulpit Rock had faintly shown where the trail starts up to the right. The trail was well broken on the whole ridge as if by an electronic bearing or someone that knows it like the back of their hand. Thanks! The trail was mashed potato snow and had given way on me a few times. At the slide I tied my rope to myself, looped around a tree, and back through a loop at my hip. I was literally at the end of my doubled 90 ft. rope when I reach the first live tree on the north side. At the corner some people had gone straight up and doubled back down. It does turn where the rock is on your left and a crotched birch is on your right! At the summit the breeze was faint and my altimeter said the barometer was 30.7 when I corrected for the elevation. A heavy dose of sunscreen and off through the alphabet, B went quickly and approaching C I saw one of only three blazes I would see up on the ridge. Several times I hit spruce traps and lost my leg and closest pole to the hilt. On the south side of C I stopped for lunch while enjoying perfect views of the presidentials. Though deep the col between C and D is not a bad pitch and was enjoyable temps compared to the heat up on the ridge. Part way down in to the col I drained the last of my three liter. Four feet later I heard loud running water between the rocks. I chipped out the ice and used my trekking pole to fab a makeshift spring. Unless it can give you the typical head cold, the unfiltered mountain water had no ill effects and was fine as wine. Didn’t even need gum to cover any spruce taste. Reaching the top of D I began to hear skiers taking the corner and was greeted by spectacular views from the observation platform. Relaxed and watched to see if Cory came off the lift to have another chance meeting with him then I headed off for E. Before I reached the summit it was quite obvious that Bozo was not as polite as Bullwinkle when postholing the trail. His clumsy holes were everywhere but did not appear to go back down. I wondered if he packed up skis or just skied down on those clods. Once I reached E I packed up the shoes and returned to spikes. It would have been a relentless juggle back and forth or join Bozo and raise havoc with the snow. Guilty as charged, whatever the fine on a day like this it was worth it! Some terrific overlooks including Sarge’s crag on the way down. Slowed and took my time as an old motorcycle injury to my knee was awakened by the spruce trap or the descent. At one ledge when the sun was dipping down over the presis I changed my socks and dumped out the Montrails. Treated numerous times, waterproof my @$$! In one place the trail hugs the ledges and a large rock on the slab looks as though it could fall! In a brief time I was down at Lost pond headed for Pinkham’s and hitchhiked back to Nineteen mile. 8AM to 8PM on the trail enjoying the Cats Alphabet, fond past memories and splendid new ones to celebrate the holiday!
Pics: http://community.webshots.com/album/563198000oGdqIa?vhost=community
Slideshow: http://good-times.webshots.com/slideshow/563198000oGdqIa
At 6:00AM I got up and took a quick shower, finished some last minute prep and headed for Nineteen mile TH. Early in the weekend I had contemplated hiking Wildcat A, camping by B, then continuing through the rest of the litter on Monday. Despite a foggy mind from staying up at UFC’s in VT Sunday til 5:30AM I decided my “full-moon” adventure was not going to be a night hike up a treacherous slide. Additionally, I didn’t think I had enough gas left to carry that kind of gear the full range on soft or no pack trails. My daypack was well stocked and even that would be making me trail heavy along with all the eating and drinking festivities. I started out with Microspikes on Montrails and the MSR’s on the pack. The monorail or balance beam continually checked my sobriety as I climbed Nineteen Mile. No, I don’t drive drunk much less hike that way but I took the test anyway. A few hundred yards in I got to a spot where Bullwinkle had postholed alongside the pack and his tracks would go all the way to Wildcat ridge trail. He was kind enough not to mess up the pack (CG I don’t think we need to cite him, he probably had a rough weekend too!). I had tossed out the idea of Cats by the Alphabet to very few people and knew it was likely to be all solo on a Monday but I selfishly kept it to myself for the most part. My weekend plans demanded the most flexibility and commitment to having fun that I’ve devoted in a while. Trying to coordinate with others would not have been fair to them so the best I can do is relate the journey and provide some amateur pictures. I say I hiked solo but id, ego and super ego kept each other company while the trail mesmerized the rest of my mind into the past and thoughts awakened by recent events. Getting together in VT first with UFC and then my brother Doug rekindled how free a spirit our brother Don was and how unstoppable fun was with him. He would do nearly anything on a dare or due to raging hormones. If he were alive he would have been leading me this entire weekend and I would have been only a candle to his bonfire. On one occasion we dared each other to motorcycle up a ski slope in late fall to camp on top for the night. The next day the mountain was a frosted cone and he lead off the summit and only slowed down slightly to take the J bar trail, cart-wheeling through the briars he said “I got it slowed down now!” The bikes were shut off and I still reached eighty at the lodge only to find him right behind me! We had hiked Mt Washington together with family in fall 1980 and his sense of adventure and an attractive Italian girl got us side tracked to Lake of the Clouds hut before we went to the summit. No lights, and in Levis and sneakers we descended Tuck at nearly a run. Don didn’t slow down until he crashed in some rocks. “Don’t worry! I got it slowed down now!” he said as he limped down the trail. The next fall, all too young, we buried him due to a drunk driving accident where he was a passenger. For twenty-six years I didn’t hike the peaks, perhaps because of the memories it opened up and feeling like an Icarus whose sense of adventure would be his demise. My memories had gone from the hysterically funny to the emotional about the time I met Cory the Carter hut caretaker as he headed to ski Wildcat. Hopefully I shook out of the weak moment before our pleasant chat. At Wildcat ridge trail I found that more folks have been out that way and it wasn’t too bad to stay on top. Off came the spikes and on with the MSR’s. My picture from Pulpit Rock had faintly shown where the trail starts up to the right. The trail was well broken on the whole ridge as if by an electronic bearing or someone that knows it like the back of their hand. Thanks! The trail was mashed potato snow and had given way on me a few times. At the slide I tied my rope to myself, looped around a tree, and back through a loop at my hip. I was literally at the end of my doubled 90 ft. rope when I reach the first live tree on the north side. At the corner some people had gone straight up and doubled back down. It does turn where the rock is on your left and a crotched birch is on your right! At the summit the breeze was faint and my altimeter said the barometer was 30.7 when I corrected for the elevation. A heavy dose of sunscreen and off through the alphabet, B went quickly and approaching C I saw one of only three blazes I would see up on the ridge. Several times I hit spruce traps and lost my leg and closest pole to the hilt. On the south side of C I stopped for lunch while enjoying perfect views of the presidentials. Though deep the col between C and D is not a bad pitch and was enjoyable temps compared to the heat up on the ridge. Part way down in to the col I drained the last of my three liter. Four feet later I heard loud running water between the rocks. I chipped out the ice and used my trekking pole to fab a makeshift spring. Unless it can give you the typical head cold, the unfiltered mountain water had no ill effects and was fine as wine. Didn’t even need gum to cover any spruce taste. Reaching the top of D I began to hear skiers taking the corner and was greeted by spectacular views from the observation platform. Relaxed and watched to see if Cory came off the lift to have another chance meeting with him then I headed off for E. Before I reached the summit it was quite obvious that Bozo was not as polite as Bullwinkle when postholing the trail. His clumsy holes were everywhere but did not appear to go back down. I wondered if he packed up skis or just skied down on those clods. Once I reached E I packed up the shoes and returned to spikes. It would have been a relentless juggle back and forth or join Bozo and raise havoc with the snow. Guilty as charged, whatever the fine on a day like this it was worth it! Some terrific overlooks including Sarge’s crag on the way down. Slowed and took my time as an old motorcycle injury to my knee was awakened by the spruce trap or the descent. At one ledge when the sun was dipping down over the presis I changed my socks and dumped out the Montrails. Treated numerous times, waterproof my @$$! In one place the trail hugs the ledges and a large rock on the slab looks as though it could fall! In a brief time I was down at Lost pond headed for Pinkham’s and hitchhiked back to Nineteen mile. 8AM to 8PM on the trail enjoying the Cats Alphabet, fond past memories and splendid new ones to celebrate the holiday! Pics: http://community.webshots.com/album/563198000oGdqIa?vhost=community
Slideshow: http://good-times.webshots.com/slideshow/563198000oGdqIa
