MadRiver
New member
Lydia, my massage therapist, has been listening to my trail stories for years. She knew me before I quit smoking and was there to administer her healing hands when my wife and I hiked the 48's after I quit, so we were her natural choice when she decided she wanted to hike Mt. Washington. It took a while before she could coordinate her schedule to leave her husband and her kids for a weekend and travel to our little place in the woods of New Hampshire.
Everything looked promising for this past weekend, except for the weather. We kept getting conflicting reports of light rain in the morning followed by clearing in the afternoon to rain all day with isolated thunderstorms. As it turned out, the morning was clear with the possibility of late afternoon showers.
We left Thornton around 5:30am and headed to Pinkham Notch. Although I have climbed Washington a number of times, I have always avoided the Tuckerman Ravine Trail because of the horror stories of conga lines and crowds. However, Lydia had her heart set on climbing Tuckerman's, so off we went to Pinkham for a day of adventure.
Whenever we head up to the Pinkam Notch area we always take the Kancamagus to the Bear Notch road and Saturday was no exception. I was thinking as I was driving through the notch wouldn't be nice if Lydia saw a moose. Unfortunately, that was not to be and we turned on to 302 heading to route 16. Lydia mentioned she needed to use the bathroom just as I was waiting at the light to turn onto route 16. I assured her we would be at Pinkham Notch in a few minutes so she said she could wait.
About a mile past the Rocky Branch trailhead I saw something on the left side of the road and as I got closer there was no mistake that it was a moose. I slowed the car so Lydia and my wife Susan could see better and planned on continuing to Pinkham when Lydia and Susan screamed "STOP". Being the dutiful husband that I am I immediately pulled over to the shoulder and put on my hazards. Both Lydia and Susan leap from the car and starting taking pictures. I cautioned them not to approach the moose and allow her to just do whatever moose's do. The moose sauntered across the road to about 15 feet of the car and just stood staring at us as though she knew that it was a photo op. Several cars went by but no one stopped, which was nice since we had our little Mutual of Omaha scene all to ourselves. After awhile the moose got bored with us and slowly walked alone the road for about a 100 yards then disappeared into the trees. If seeing a moose is the harbinger of good fortune, we knew we were going to have a great day.
After using the bathroom and then donning our gear, we headed up the Tuckerman's trail. As most of your know, it is an easy trail and very wide so we took our time not needing to rush since we didn't have any agenda other than to have a good day of hiking. We met a nice family on the trail and leapfrogged them several times before reaching Hermit Lake. The bowl was clear when we arrived and then would be in and out of clouds as we began our push for the head wall.
We sat on the deck of the hut and rested a little before heading out. There were a number of hikers who must have spent the night and were preparing for the day's hike. My favorite was the young lad in the green peek-a-boo lame' skirt. I know some guys hike in kilts, but this is my first encounter with evening wear. Besides, he really didn't have the legs to pull it off.
The hike to the summit was slow and steady and I could see that both Lydia and Susan were having a good time chatting with other hikes. We were in the first wave of hikers to hit the summit so we could see the conga line forming at Hermit Lake from high up on the head wall. Lydia, being new to alpine hiking and hiking in general, wasn't familiar with the concept of a false summit, so she wasn't too pleased when I kept pointing out to her that the ridge you see is not the actual summit. Eventually we arrived and headed into the cafeteria for a mandatory bowl of chili. The family that we met early also arrived and we shared a table with them and chatted for about an hour.
Prior to the hike, I decided to take the Boott Spur Tail back to Pinkham thereby avoiding the conga line on Tucks. We headed to Lakes so Lydia could see a alpine hut and then we would head over to Boott Spur. Hiking down to the hut was an interesting experience, not for the hike itself, but for the diversity of people hiking to the summit. Most were your typical day hikers and I stopped to chat with four women who spent the night at the Highland Center. I didn't mention that some people call it the Ritz Crawford for fear that I might ruin their experience, so I just kept my mouth shut. The most interesting were a family with a girl of about 12 or 13 who was wearing platform flip-flops. Each time she would step on a rock her foot would slip off and she would loose her balance. This scene was repeated over and over from the time I first saw them until they passed me. Needles to say, she wasn't a happy camper. I learned a long time ago not to give unsolicited advice, so I made a mental note, "do not hike in platform flip-flops".
Since the summit was in and out of clouds most of the day, I kept getting questioned as to how far to the top. Most of the time I would just smile and say you were almost there, which was true most of the time. My favorite was a girl of about 14 who was leaning against a large boulder with a scowl on her face. She turned to me as I approach and barked, "How much further?" I took great joy in pointing out that she had at least another 45 minutes before reaching the summit, which almost sent her over the edge. I quickly headed down and felt a little sorry for the approaching mother and father who were about to be treated to an adolescent meltdown.
I arrived at Lakes about an half and hour before the girls, not due to my superior hiking prowess, although I would like to think that I still had it, but because the chili started working and I didn't want to have an accident. I realize a number of people hate the huts for one reason or another, I however, find them to be an interesting place to observe the diversity within the hiking community. There will always be one or two old woodsman types with weathered features who look like Charlie Manson on a bad hair day. The twentysomethings tend to shy away from these guys, while I find them to be the best source of information about any trail or peak in the Whites.
You then have the middle aged group like myself who just like to hike and are not interested in the latest gizmo or how I can make my pack a half an ounce lighter, we are just happy we can still hike and it doesn't hurt when we go to the bathroom. The next group are the European hikers who tend to keep to themselves and chat away in their native tongue, followed by my favorite the entitlement minded twenty/thirtysomthings. One husband and wife team became indignant when the hut croo wouldn't heat up their children's lunch. It made no matter to them that they were not guests or that it is not the policy of the hut to heat up hiker's meals, they simple couldn't understand why the croo didn't step and fetch at their command. At that point I went outside and waited for the girls to arrive.
I chatted with a ranger until the girls arrived and just before we were to head out, I felt a few sprinkles so we stepped inside for few minutes and found a seat at a table with a south bound thru-hiker. Just then the sky opened and it became a deluge outside. We chatted with the SOBO for about ten minutes and then decided to brave the elements. Susan forgot her rain pants so being the gallant husband that I am, I gave her mine and we headed towards the Camel Trail and then eventually Boott Spur.
The rocks were a little slippery so we took our time hiking across the alpine zone. Half way to the Davis Path the rain stopped and the clouds lifted so that Washington was in full view. I have to say that my favorite part of hiking Washington is when you are away from the crowds of the summit and of the Lakes and you can enjoy the relative solitude of the mountain. You do see people off in the distance, but they are so far away they do not register. You can just enjoy the natural beauty of the moment.
As we approach the Lawn cut-off to Tuckerman's I sensed that both Lydia and Susan were having a hard time negotiating the rocks. In retrospect, we should have taken the cut-off and headed down Tuckerman's rather than continuing to Boott Spur, but at the moment I thought it was more fatigue than anything else.
Everything looked promising for this past weekend, except for the weather. We kept getting conflicting reports of light rain in the morning followed by clearing in the afternoon to rain all day with isolated thunderstorms. As it turned out, the morning was clear with the possibility of late afternoon showers.
We left Thornton around 5:30am and headed to Pinkham Notch. Although I have climbed Washington a number of times, I have always avoided the Tuckerman Ravine Trail because of the horror stories of conga lines and crowds. However, Lydia had her heart set on climbing Tuckerman's, so off we went to Pinkham for a day of adventure.
Whenever we head up to the Pinkam Notch area we always take the Kancamagus to the Bear Notch road and Saturday was no exception. I was thinking as I was driving through the notch wouldn't be nice if Lydia saw a moose. Unfortunately, that was not to be and we turned on to 302 heading to route 16. Lydia mentioned she needed to use the bathroom just as I was waiting at the light to turn onto route 16. I assured her we would be at Pinkham Notch in a few minutes so she said she could wait.
About a mile past the Rocky Branch trailhead I saw something on the left side of the road and as I got closer there was no mistake that it was a moose. I slowed the car so Lydia and my wife Susan could see better and planned on continuing to Pinkham when Lydia and Susan screamed "STOP". Being the dutiful husband that I am I immediately pulled over to the shoulder and put on my hazards. Both Lydia and Susan leap from the car and starting taking pictures. I cautioned them not to approach the moose and allow her to just do whatever moose's do. The moose sauntered across the road to about 15 feet of the car and just stood staring at us as though she knew that it was a photo op. Several cars went by but no one stopped, which was nice since we had our little Mutual of Omaha scene all to ourselves. After awhile the moose got bored with us and slowly walked alone the road for about a 100 yards then disappeared into the trees. If seeing a moose is the harbinger of good fortune, we knew we were going to have a great day.
After using the bathroom and then donning our gear, we headed up the Tuckerman's trail. As most of your know, it is an easy trail and very wide so we took our time not needing to rush since we didn't have any agenda other than to have a good day of hiking. We met a nice family on the trail and leapfrogged them several times before reaching Hermit Lake. The bowl was clear when we arrived and then would be in and out of clouds as we began our push for the head wall.
We sat on the deck of the hut and rested a little before heading out. There were a number of hikers who must have spent the night and were preparing for the day's hike. My favorite was the young lad in the green peek-a-boo lame' skirt. I know some guys hike in kilts, but this is my first encounter with evening wear. Besides, he really didn't have the legs to pull it off.
The hike to the summit was slow and steady and I could see that both Lydia and Susan were having a good time chatting with other hikes. We were in the first wave of hikers to hit the summit so we could see the conga line forming at Hermit Lake from high up on the head wall. Lydia, being new to alpine hiking and hiking in general, wasn't familiar with the concept of a false summit, so she wasn't too pleased when I kept pointing out to her that the ridge you see is not the actual summit. Eventually we arrived and headed into the cafeteria for a mandatory bowl of chili. The family that we met early also arrived and we shared a table with them and chatted for about an hour.
Prior to the hike, I decided to take the Boott Spur Tail back to Pinkham thereby avoiding the conga line on Tucks. We headed to Lakes so Lydia could see a alpine hut and then we would head over to Boott Spur. Hiking down to the hut was an interesting experience, not for the hike itself, but for the diversity of people hiking to the summit. Most were your typical day hikers and I stopped to chat with four women who spent the night at the Highland Center. I didn't mention that some people call it the Ritz Crawford for fear that I might ruin their experience, so I just kept my mouth shut. The most interesting were a family with a girl of about 12 or 13 who was wearing platform flip-flops. Each time she would step on a rock her foot would slip off and she would loose her balance. This scene was repeated over and over from the time I first saw them until they passed me. Needles to say, she wasn't a happy camper. I learned a long time ago not to give unsolicited advice, so I made a mental note, "do not hike in platform flip-flops".
Since the summit was in and out of clouds most of the day, I kept getting questioned as to how far to the top. Most of the time I would just smile and say you were almost there, which was true most of the time. My favorite was a girl of about 14 who was leaning against a large boulder with a scowl on her face. She turned to me as I approach and barked, "How much further?" I took great joy in pointing out that she had at least another 45 minutes before reaching the summit, which almost sent her over the edge. I quickly headed down and felt a little sorry for the approaching mother and father who were about to be treated to an adolescent meltdown.
I arrived at Lakes about an half and hour before the girls, not due to my superior hiking prowess, although I would like to think that I still had it, but because the chili started working and I didn't want to have an accident. I realize a number of people hate the huts for one reason or another, I however, find them to be an interesting place to observe the diversity within the hiking community. There will always be one or two old woodsman types with weathered features who look like Charlie Manson on a bad hair day. The twentysomethings tend to shy away from these guys, while I find them to be the best source of information about any trail or peak in the Whites.
You then have the middle aged group like myself who just like to hike and are not interested in the latest gizmo or how I can make my pack a half an ounce lighter, we are just happy we can still hike and it doesn't hurt when we go to the bathroom. The next group are the European hikers who tend to keep to themselves and chat away in their native tongue, followed by my favorite the entitlement minded twenty/thirtysomthings. One husband and wife team became indignant when the hut croo wouldn't heat up their children's lunch. It made no matter to them that they were not guests or that it is not the policy of the hut to heat up hiker's meals, they simple couldn't understand why the croo didn't step and fetch at their command. At that point I went outside and waited for the girls to arrive.
I chatted with a ranger until the girls arrived and just before we were to head out, I felt a few sprinkles so we stepped inside for few minutes and found a seat at a table with a south bound thru-hiker. Just then the sky opened and it became a deluge outside. We chatted with the SOBO for about ten minutes and then decided to brave the elements. Susan forgot her rain pants so being the gallant husband that I am, I gave her mine and we headed towards the Camel Trail and then eventually Boott Spur.
The rocks were a little slippery so we took our time hiking across the alpine zone. Half way to the Davis Path the rain stopped and the clouds lifted so that Washington was in full view. I have to say that my favorite part of hiking Washington is when you are away from the crowds of the summit and of the Lakes and you can enjoy the relative solitude of the mountain. You do see people off in the distance, but they are so far away they do not register. You can just enjoy the natural beauty of the moment.
As we approach the Lawn cut-off to Tuckerman's I sensed that both Lydia and Susan were having a hard time negotiating the rocks. In retrospect, we should have taken the cut-off and headed down Tuckerman's rather than continuing to Boott Spur, but at the moment I thought it was more fatigue than anything else.
Last edited:
