blacknblue
Active member
With my busy season for work winding down, I decided to only work five days a week for the next few months, taking Thursdays off in addition to Sundays. Moreover, I wanted to dedicate my Thursdays to getting outside and getting my big fat duff into shape. With the forecast for the 22nd comparatively mild and the winds benign, it seemed like a good time to head above treeline. However, the promise of falling snow and fog from the Mount Washington Obs persuaded me to stay away from the Presies. I figured following Franconia Ridge is far easier in poor visibility than the broad tundra of the Presies. After a sluggish start, me and my big fat duff were at Lafayette Place by 9:00.
Shortly after my 9:15 start, I was peeling off the layers, hiking in just a silkweight top without hats or gloves. The gusts of wind became more frequent on Agony Ridge, but I was still surprisingly comfortable. Moreover, the clouds seemed to be holding and the ridgeline was still visible. I was fully prepared to repeat my what my brother and I did some years ago when we turned around a couple hundred feet below the summit of Lafayette because of threatening weather (although that day was thirty degrees colder).
By the time I got to Greenleaf Hut, a strange yellow orb was visible in the southern sky. I think I saw something like it in a movie once. I could make out two climbers about an hour ahead of me, summitting Lafayette and turning toward Lincoln as I sat at Greenleaf Hut. From the trail conditions section, I’m guessing it was Tom & Atticus. For some dumb reason, I decided to switch from snowshoes to crampons at this point, somehow forgetting that there was quite a bit of forested trail to come before getting truly above the trees.
Anyway, I huffed and puffed up Lafayette, keeping one eye on the clouds, one on the path behind me, memorizing the trail in case of zero-visibility retreat, one eye on the climbers headed up Lincoln, and one eye on the next cairn. I passed the point where my brother and I turned around before, and five minutes later stood on Mount Lafayette’s summit for the first time in winter. The Presidentials were startling and completely cloud-free (I guess I could have gone to Big George after all). Moreover, the weather seemed to be holding and I could not believe my luck. It was about 12:15—three hours after leaving the parking lot. I figured that I would have to layer up as soon as I stopped moving in the summit wind, but I stayed comparatively dressed-down while I took plenty of pictures from the summit. What a magnificent privilege!
It became clear pretty quick that crampons were superfluous that day, but I kept them on until I came to a rock barricade going up Lincoln. The previous hikers apparently detoured around, so I switched to snowshoes and followed them, which may not have been the best move. It was scrappy and slippery and I wound up stepping on some krummholz while hoisting myself back onto the ridgeline. I’m still not sure what the best strategy is for that section, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t mine. It took over an hour to get to Lincoln from Lafayette.
Descending Lincoln, I wished that I had my crampons on again. There was a lot of exposed rock and a few goofy downclimbs for which snowshoes tails didn’t help (Tubbs 25” were my shoes du jour). Still, it was remarkable to cross the ridgeline in February with little wind and pleasant temperatures. I found myself ambling because the day was so sublime and because I was overheating so readily. By the time I got to Little Haystack, the clouds were still holding well above the ridge and I spent an inordinate amount of time standing in sunshine without any gloves on (in February! I still can’t get over this.). I did my usual “hurry up and take photos and eat and drink before your fingers freeze off” routine, but the wind was a gentle breeze and the temperature must have been 20 or 25 degrees. (Needless to say, the down pants, down parka, balaclava, extra fleece jacket, neck gaitor, and extra fleece gloves didn’t see any action that day.)
Falling Waters Trail was great. I was able to butt-slide for a long portion near the top, which started off as an accident, but I managed to make it look intentional after a while. Thoughts of GH Pizzeria in Lincoln dominated the last twenty minutes, and I was back to the parking lot by 3:15—far earlier than I expected, and barely an hour and a quarter after leaving Little Haystack’s summit. The sky had clouded up quite a bit by then, erasing any blue skies that shone earlier, but it was still a marvelous day to be on Franconia Ridge.
Pics here.
Shortly after my 9:15 start, I was peeling off the layers, hiking in just a silkweight top without hats or gloves. The gusts of wind became more frequent on Agony Ridge, but I was still surprisingly comfortable. Moreover, the clouds seemed to be holding and the ridgeline was still visible. I was fully prepared to repeat my what my brother and I did some years ago when we turned around a couple hundred feet below the summit of Lafayette because of threatening weather (although that day was thirty degrees colder).
By the time I got to Greenleaf Hut, a strange yellow orb was visible in the southern sky. I think I saw something like it in a movie once. I could make out two climbers about an hour ahead of me, summitting Lafayette and turning toward Lincoln as I sat at Greenleaf Hut. From the trail conditions section, I’m guessing it was Tom & Atticus. For some dumb reason, I decided to switch from snowshoes to crampons at this point, somehow forgetting that there was quite a bit of forested trail to come before getting truly above the trees.
Anyway, I huffed and puffed up Lafayette, keeping one eye on the clouds, one on the path behind me, memorizing the trail in case of zero-visibility retreat, one eye on the climbers headed up Lincoln, and one eye on the next cairn. I passed the point where my brother and I turned around before, and five minutes later stood on Mount Lafayette’s summit for the first time in winter. The Presidentials were startling and completely cloud-free (I guess I could have gone to Big George after all). Moreover, the weather seemed to be holding and I could not believe my luck. It was about 12:15—three hours after leaving the parking lot. I figured that I would have to layer up as soon as I stopped moving in the summit wind, but I stayed comparatively dressed-down while I took plenty of pictures from the summit. What a magnificent privilege!
It became clear pretty quick that crampons were superfluous that day, but I kept them on until I came to a rock barricade going up Lincoln. The previous hikers apparently detoured around, so I switched to snowshoes and followed them, which may not have been the best move. It was scrappy and slippery and I wound up stepping on some krummholz while hoisting myself back onto the ridgeline. I’m still not sure what the best strategy is for that section, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t mine. It took over an hour to get to Lincoln from Lafayette.
Descending Lincoln, I wished that I had my crampons on again. There was a lot of exposed rock and a few goofy downclimbs for which snowshoes tails didn’t help (Tubbs 25” were my shoes du jour). Still, it was remarkable to cross the ridgeline in February with little wind and pleasant temperatures. I found myself ambling because the day was so sublime and because I was overheating so readily. By the time I got to Little Haystack, the clouds were still holding well above the ridge and I spent an inordinate amount of time standing in sunshine without any gloves on (in February! I still can’t get over this.). I did my usual “hurry up and take photos and eat and drink before your fingers freeze off” routine, but the wind was a gentle breeze and the temperature must have been 20 or 25 degrees. (Needless to say, the down pants, down parka, balaclava, extra fleece jacket, neck gaitor, and extra fleece gloves didn’t see any action that day.)
Falling Waters Trail was great. I was able to butt-slide for a long portion near the top, which started off as an accident, but I managed to make it look intentional after a while. Thoughts of GH Pizzeria in Lincoln dominated the last twenty minutes, and I was back to the parking lot by 3:15—far earlier than I expected, and barely an hour and a quarter after leaving Little Haystack’s summit. The sky had clouded up quite a bit by then, erasing any blue skies that shone earlier, but it was still a marvelous day to be on Franconia Ridge.
Pics here.
