Mad Townie
New member
When you’re coming from Portland, two mountains in Vermont really require a weekend . . . especially when you do them the way I did.
Heading up on Friday evening was a breeze, and it got me there able to make an early start on Mt. Ellen and Mt. Abraham on Saturday morning. Brian and I decided against climbing from Appalachian Gap, thanks in part to Percious’s excellent information. So we headed up the ski trails. A couple patrol snowmobiles went by, their drivers waving to us, as we walked up the corduroy against 40-45 mph “breezes.” It was a bit chilly, too, but because of the work we were doing I was perfectly comfortable in a thin poly T-neck and a soft shell, under my Precip jacket.
The walking had a meditative quality to it, since I was bowing my head against the wind and looking only at the surface a foot or two in front of my snowshoes. It was easy to get into a plodding rhythm. Before we knew it, we reached the summit of Ellen, then turned left to head along the ridge (Long Trail) to Abe. That’s when the true adventure began.
At times the trail was easy to follow. At other times we could see just a faint hint of disturbance in the snow surface that looked more human made than wind drifted. At still other times we lost the trail completely and wandered around until we stumbled upon it once again.
Did I mention that this area got 4 feet (yup, 48 inches) of snow in the Valentine’s Day storm?
Of course, when you wander around off trail on a high ridge you will encounter the occasional spruce trap, and we often found ourselves sinking to knee or mid-thigh level, thrashing around awhile, then moving on. The sky was surprisingly blue overhead, and the sun was visible even though there were no good distant views through the light cloudiness, so it was easy to keep heading south along the ridgetop.
Brian’s quite a bit lighter than I am, so I tended to “find” a few more spruce traps than he did. At one point he was a good bit ahead of me, trying to find the trail as we entered an open area. I was following his snowshoe tracks when suddenly, whoom! I fell into the granddaddy of all spruce traps. My head was well below the surface of the snow—in fact, I couldn’t reach the surface with outstretched arms. Brian! No answer. Louder: Brian! Still no answer. Briiiiaaaaaan! Help!
I knew he wasn’t far ahead of me, and I also knew he’d turn back pretty soon when he noticed I wasn’t coming right up behind him. He and I have climbed Katahdin in the winter together, so I wasn’t worried about either his or my ability to get me out of my little predicament.
One more time: BRIIIIIIIAAAAAAANNNN!!!!! I heard him call my name and say, “Where are you?” We talked back and forth as I guided him toward me with my voice. He was looking all over the place but didn’t see me until he was right above the hole. We were both grinning like fools—after all, it did present a pretty funny picture. Unfortunately neither of us used the camera to record it. Brian carries a length of webbing in his pack, and I had a cordelette, so in no time he pulled and I pushed with my feet and we got me out. I could have extricated myself eventually had I been solo, but it would have taken a good long time and I would have gotten pretty tired.
We continued along the ridge, and soon we came upon a ski trail and the warming hut on Crystal Peak (aka Nancy Hanks). We stopped in for a quick snack and a shirt change and chatted with the patroller who was caretaking the place. Very nice guy. He asked us our plans, and I was frankly pretty curt in my answers at first, but as we talked I could tell that he was genuinely interested in us and our well-being, and he could tell that we had some idea what we were doing. In fact, he told us that the hut was left open at night and we were welcome to spend the night there if we were heading back and got benighted.
We said our goodbyes and headed up toward Lincoln Peak. Another ski patroller there told us the trail was up a small rise from the lifts, and he encouraged us to check out the viewing platform nearby. We did, but there were no good views as things were somewhat socked in. We could see Abe, but not its summit, to our south. He had told us the trail was near the platform, and sure enough there was a trail, albeit a well drifted-in one, that descended steeply from the platform area. We decided to drop packs, run over and tag Abraham, then return and head down the ski trails.
The trail was very clear . . . at first. Within a hundred yards or so we came upon a blowdown and lost the trail. We walked around the blowdown a couple times, but still didn’t locate the trail. At that point it was getting close to 4 p.m., and we decided that it would be foolish to continue, especially since neither of us had ever hiked this section before. We returned to our packs and got ready to head down. There was a signpost off to our left with no sign on it, and I now suspect that may have been the trail, but we didn’t check it out.
As we headed down the trail a ski patroller stopped on his way by to tell us that the mountain was closing. “You guys are fine,” he said, “I just want you to know there will be no one else coming down, in case you ran into trouble along the way.” Nice guy. In fact, all of the patrollers, without exception, were very pleasant. The guy Tim Seaver met a few days earlier must have been on his day off! So we descended, doing a fair part of the descent on our butts. What a ride! You haven’t lived until you’ve butt-slid a black diamond trail!
As we arrived at the Sugarbush parking lot we were rewarded with yet another spectacular view. The clouds over the ridge were curling upon themselves like ocean waves. We stood and watched for awhile until finally I remembered my camera; as a result, the photos of this phenomenon didn’t capture the best part.
So I had one of my last 2 Vermont 4Ks done, and one to go. We headed back to Brian’s for a fine dinner, great relaxation, and an early bedtime.
Photos here.
Heading up on Friday evening was a breeze, and it got me there able to make an early start on Mt. Ellen and Mt. Abraham on Saturday morning. Brian and I decided against climbing from Appalachian Gap, thanks in part to Percious’s excellent information. So we headed up the ski trails. A couple patrol snowmobiles went by, their drivers waving to us, as we walked up the corduroy against 40-45 mph “breezes.” It was a bit chilly, too, but because of the work we were doing I was perfectly comfortable in a thin poly T-neck and a soft shell, under my Precip jacket.
The walking had a meditative quality to it, since I was bowing my head against the wind and looking only at the surface a foot or two in front of my snowshoes. It was easy to get into a plodding rhythm. Before we knew it, we reached the summit of Ellen, then turned left to head along the ridge (Long Trail) to Abe. That’s when the true adventure began.
At times the trail was easy to follow. At other times we could see just a faint hint of disturbance in the snow surface that looked more human made than wind drifted. At still other times we lost the trail completely and wandered around until we stumbled upon it once again.
Did I mention that this area got 4 feet (yup, 48 inches) of snow in the Valentine’s Day storm? Of course, when you wander around off trail on a high ridge you will encounter the occasional spruce trap, and we often found ourselves sinking to knee or mid-thigh level, thrashing around awhile, then moving on. The sky was surprisingly blue overhead, and the sun was visible even though there were no good distant views through the light cloudiness, so it was easy to keep heading south along the ridgetop.
Brian’s quite a bit lighter than I am, so I tended to “find” a few more spruce traps than he did. At one point he was a good bit ahead of me, trying to find the trail as we entered an open area. I was following his snowshoe tracks when suddenly, whoom! I fell into the granddaddy of all spruce traps. My head was well below the surface of the snow—in fact, I couldn’t reach the surface with outstretched arms. Brian! No answer. Louder: Brian! Still no answer. Briiiiaaaaaan! Help!
I knew he wasn’t far ahead of me, and I also knew he’d turn back pretty soon when he noticed I wasn’t coming right up behind him. He and I have climbed Katahdin in the winter together, so I wasn’t worried about either his or my ability to get me out of my little predicament.
One more time: BRIIIIIIIAAAAAAANNNN!!!!! I heard him call my name and say, “Where are you?” We talked back and forth as I guided him toward me with my voice. He was looking all over the place but didn’t see me until he was right above the hole. We were both grinning like fools—after all, it did present a pretty funny picture. Unfortunately neither of us used the camera to record it. Brian carries a length of webbing in his pack, and I had a cordelette, so in no time he pulled and I pushed with my feet and we got me out. I could have extricated myself eventually had I been solo, but it would have taken a good long time and I would have gotten pretty tired.
We continued along the ridge, and soon we came upon a ski trail and the warming hut on Crystal Peak (aka Nancy Hanks). We stopped in for a quick snack and a shirt change and chatted with the patroller who was caretaking the place. Very nice guy. He asked us our plans, and I was frankly pretty curt in my answers at first, but as we talked I could tell that he was genuinely interested in us and our well-being, and he could tell that we had some idea what we were doing. In fact, he told us that the hut was left open at night and we were welcome to spend the night there if we were heading back and got benighted.
We said our goodbyes and headed up toward Lincoln Peak. Another ski patroller there told us the trail was up a small rise from the lifts, and he encouraged us to check out the viewing platform nearby. We did, but there were no good views as things were somewhat socked in. We could see Abe, but not its summit, to our south. He had told us the trail was near the platform, and sure enough there was a trail, albeit a well drifted-in one, that descended steeply from the platform area. We decided to drop packs, run over and tag Abraham, then return and head down the ski trails.
The trail was very clear . . . at first. Within a hundred yards or so we came upon a blowdown and lost the trail. We walked around the blowdown a couple times, but still didn’t locate the trail.
At that point it was getting close to 4 p.m., and we decided that it would be foolish to continue, especially since neither of us had ever hiked this section before. We returned to our packs and got ready to head down. There was a signpost off to our left with no sign on it, and I now suspect that may have been the trail, but we didn’t check it out.As we headed down the trail a ski patroller stopped on his way by to tell us that the mountain was closing. “You guys are fine,” he said, “I just want you to know there will be no one else coming down, in case you ran into trouble along the way.” Nice guy. In fact, all of the patrollers, without exception, were very pleasant. The guy Tim Seaver met a few days earlier must have been on his day off! So we descended, doing a fair part of the descent on our butts. What a ride! You haven’t lived until you’ve butt-slid a black diamond trail!
As we arrived at the Sugarbush parking lot we were rewarded with yet another spectacular view. The clouds over the ridge were curling upon themselves like ocean waves. We stood and watched for awhile until finally I remembered my camera; as a result, the photos of this phenomenon didn’t capture the best part.
So I had one of my last 2 Vermont 4Ks done, and one to go. We headed back to Brian’s for a fine dinner, great relaxation, and an early bedtime.
Photos here.
Last edited:
