Mad Townie
New member
No, that’s not a typo. I really did write Redingto_. You see, I don’t think it’s right to write the whole mountain name out because it might lead you all to think that I climbed the whole mountain. Alas, that is not the case.
Two incorrect “understandings” contributed to the situation. First, Shrink Rap and I “understood” that the CVR had been plowed at least to the landing area about 3 miles in. Nope, not so. It was plowed about 15 feet in from Rt. 27.
I’ll come to the other “understanding” later.
We put our skis on and managed to apply the perfect wax job: poor grip and poor glide! We worked and slipped our way up the road (which was very well packed by snowmobiles), admiring the beautiful landing area where we had planned to park. As we passed the AT crossing it was clear that nobody had been on the trail for quite a while. There was absolutely no sign of human passing in either direction. On the other hand, we did see all kinds of tracks as we skied along: snowshoe hare, squirrel, deer and coyote. After a good long time we reached the pond and turned right, up the hill. Until this time we had not seen a single snowmobile, though we were skiing on what was obviously a very well used trail. Soon a couple sleds did pass us, and their breaking up the crusty surface of the snow made the skiing better.
After heading uphill for a while we came into a large, open area where the trails diverged. There we saw what we thought was the summit of Redington, but it turned out to be the last southwest knob of the three-knob ridge. The sled trail that headed downhill would have been too easy, so it was obvious that the correct path was uphill. We stuck our skis in the snow (no skins), donned our snowshoes and trudged up the long hill. Without exception, all the snowmobilers we met throughout the day were friendly and courteous. (So were we, of course.) I love the smell of two-stroke fuel in the morning.
The second “understanding” was that I had heard (I can’t remember where) that there were snowmobile tracks to the summit. For that reason we continued to follow the “highway,” always looking for places where it seemed to head toward the summit. We trudged, and we trudged, and we trudged. Finally we reached the height of land between Redington and South Crocker, with North Crocker a large and imposing mass to our north, and had lunch. The trail then started downhill rather steeply. We followed it briefly, thinking that it must at some point diverge to the west and up toward the summit. Nope. Didn’t. We could see the summit tower, and I estimate we were between ¼ and ½ mile from it. But you can’t get there from here.
We headed back. This time we looked to our right for trails that had NOT been traveled by snow machines. We saw one, somewhat grown in with small spruces. We followed it for a while, but all we did was fall into a few spruce traps (nothing deeper than our waists this time). That wasn’t going to work, so we turned around and continued back along the sled trail. We found another path, similar to the first, but this one had some orange flagging on one of the trees. After following it and falling into a few more spruce traps we decided it would take us too long to get to the summit that way. Continuing on our retreat, we came to a corner in the trail and saw, to our right, a VERY obvious old twitch road, open and with no little spruces. It was marked by a long piece of pink flagging on one of the trees. Since we had been looking for snowmobile trails, we had paid no attention to it on our way up.
We began to follow this trail toward the mountain. The snow was about 2 feet deep, and we could tell we’d have some serious trail breaking ahead of us. It was about 2 p.m., and the weather forecast had called for rain or snow showers beginning around 1. We could see the weather coming in from the south, always a bad sign in the Maine mountains. The air got colder, the sky darkened . . . and we decided to call it a day. Several factors influenced our decision: we still had 9 miles to go to get back to the car; although we had the gear for wet weather, we didn’t relish the idea of an 8 mile ski in cold rain; we were tired; we had some serious trail breaking ahead of us. Disappointed? Yeah, some, but not unhappy.
So we headed out, singing as we went: “Goin’ where the chilly winds don’t blow, ain’t gonna be treated this a-way. Goin’ down the road feelin’ bad . . . .” An hour later we reached our skis. We had seen a couple snowflakes and felt a few raindrops, but the sky wasn’t looking any worse, and in some places it seemed to be brightening up a bit. After a break to lash the snowshoes back on our packs and try to improve our wax jobs, we headed out. Despite the wax, we did manage to get some glide on the gradual downhill road. Two hours later we were at the car. On the way out we saw our shadows a couple times, as the sky cleared a bit and the setting sun shone through the trees.
So my quest to finish the 48 AND 67 next Saturday on Moosilauke has come to naught. The New Hampshire part is still within reach, but with rain forecast for most of the rest of this week I’m afraid the 67 will have to wait.
But you know what? We had a great day! We’ve been hiking together more than 30 years, but for a variety of reasons we haven’t gotten out much together in the past 2 or 3 years. This trip gave us the opportunity to reconnect, to get out in some spectacular scenery (the gigantic ravine on the back side of Sugarloaf, Spaulding, Abraham, the Crockers from an unfamiliar viewpoint, and the wide open area between the AT and Redington. So despite the fact that I’ve “failed” in my quest for the moment, I wouldn’t trade March 10, 2007 for anything in the world. And isn’t that what it’s really about? Oh, and last I heard, that mountain isn’t going anywhere!
Photos to follow.
Two incorrect “understandings” contributed to the situation. First, Shrink Rap and I “understood” that the CVR had been plowed at least to the landing area about 3 miles in. Nope, not so. It was plowed about 15 feet in from Rt. 27.
I’ll come to the other “understanding” later.We put our skis on and managed to apply the perfect wax job: poor grip and poor glide! We worked and slipped our way up the road (which was very well packed by snowmobiles), admiring the beautiful landing area where we had planned to park. As we passed the AT crossing it was clear that nobody had been on the trail for quite a while. There was absolutely no sign of human passing in either direction. On the other hand, we did see all kinds of tracks as we skied along: snowshoe hare, squirrel, deer and coyote. After a good long time we reached the pond and turned right, up the hill. Until this time we had not seen a single snowmobile, though we were skiing on what was obviously a very well used trail. Soon a couple sleds did pass us, and their breaking up the crusty surface of the snow made the skiing better.
After heading uphill for a while we came into a large, open area where the trails diverged. There we saw what we thought was the summit of Redington, but it turned out to be the last southwest knob of the three-knob ridge. The sled trail that headed downhill would have been too easy, so it was obvious that the correct path was uphill. We stuck our skis in the snow (no skins), donned our snowshoes and trudged up the long hill. Without exception, all the snowmobilers we met throughout the day were friendly and courteous. (So were we, of course.) I love the smell of two-stroke fuel in the morning.
The second “understanding” was that I had heard (I can’t remember where) that there were snowmobile tracks to the summit. For that reason we continued to follow the “highway,” always looking for places where it seemed to head toward the summit. We trudged, and we trudged, and we trudged. Finally we reached the height of land between Redington and South Crocker, with North Crocker a large and imposing mass to our north, and had lunch. The trail then started downhill rather steeply. We followed it briefly, thinking that it must at some point diverge to the west and up toward the summit. Nope. Didn’t. We could see the summit tower, and I estimate we were between ¼ and ½ mile from it. But you can’t get there from here.
We headed back. This time we looked to our right for trails that had NOT been traveled by snow machines. We saw one, somewhat grown in with small spruces. We followed it for a while, but all we did was fall into a few spruce traps (nothing deeper than our waists this time). That wasn’t going to work, so we turned around and continued back along the sled trail. We found another path, similar to the first, but this one had some orange flagging on one of the trees. After following it and falling into a few more spruce traps we decided it would take us too long to get to the summit that way. Continuing on our retreat, we came to a corner in the trail and saw, to our right, a VERY obvious old twitch road, open and with no little spruces. It was marked by a long piece of pink flagging on one of the trees.
Since we had been looking for snowmobile trails, we had paid no attention to it on our way up. We began to follow this trail toward the mountain. The snow was about 2 feet deep, and we could tell we’d have some serious trail breaking ahead of us. It was about 2 p.m., and the weather forecast had called for rain or snow showers beginning around 1. We could see the weather coming in from the south, always a bad sign in the Maine mountains. The air got colder, the sky darkened . . . and we decided to call it a day.
Several factors influenced our decision: we still had 9 miles to go to get back to the car; although we had the gear for wet weather, we didn’t relish the idea of an 8 mile ski in cold rain; we were tired; we had some serious trail breaking ahead of us. Disappointed? Yeah, some, but not unhappy. So we headed out, singing as we went: “Goin’ where the chilly winds don’t blow, ain’t gonna be treated this a-way. Goin’ down the road feelin’ bad . . . .” An hour later we reached our skis. We had seen a couple snowflakes and felt a few raindrops, but the sky wasn’t looking any worse, and in some places it seemed to be brightening up a bit. After a break to lash the snowshoes back on our packs and try to improve our wax jobs, we headed out. Despite the wax, we did manage to get some glide on the gradual downhill road. Two hours later we were at the car. On the way out we saw our shadows a couple times, as the sky cleared a bit and the setting sun shone through the trees.
So my quest to finish the 48 AND 67 next Saturday on Moosilauke has come to naught. The New Hampshire part is still within reach, but with rain forecast for most of the rest of this week I’m afraid the 67 will have to wait.
But you know what? We had a great day! We’ve been hiking together more than 30 years, but for a variety of reasons we haven’t gotten out much together in the past 2 or 3 years. This trip gave us the opportunity to reconnect, to get out in some spectacular scenery (the gigantic ravine on the back side of Sugarloaf, Spaulding, Abraham, the Crockers from an unfamiliar viewpoint, and the wide open area between the AT and Redington. So despite the fact that I’ve “failed” in my quest for the moment, I wouldn’t trade March 10, 2007 for anything in the world. And isn’t that what it’s really about? Oh, and last I heard, that mountain isn’t going anywhere!
Photos to follow.
