Feldmarschal
New member
I am no stranger to hiking in October. In 2003, three of us climbed Mounts Jackson and Webster. The weather that day was a brisk 25 degrees and though we got hit with snow flurries on both summits and during the descent, the impact had been minimal. In 2006, I soloed Carter Dome in late October. The weather that day was clear, but cold and windy. While ice was beginning to form near the summit, there was no snow on the ground. With those two trips in mind, and the fact that it was only the 14th of October, I was not expecting anything out of the ordinary. Just some cold weather, which I’d experienced before and handled with ease. Gary, my long-time friend and hiking partner this day, did recommend packing stabilicers just in case, so I did buy a pair at REI the day before and clipped them to my pack with a carabiner. As it turned out, I’m glad I did, because it saved the hike.
Our plan for this day was to climb to the summit of North Twin Mountain (elev. 4761′) via the aptly named North Twin Trail. According to the AMC White Mountain Guide, this trip would cover 4.3 miles in 3 hours and 40 minutes and gain 2950′ in elevation. The trail itself would follow the Little River for about 2 or so miles, crossing it 3 times, and then climb up one of the ridges on the northeastern slope of the mountain. The last half mile would be particularly steep before cresting about .2 miles from the treed summit. In spite of the trees, there are two ledgy viewpoints which would give us near 360 degree views of the surrounding countryside, if the weather cooperated. An optional extension of this plan would take us further away from civilization by following the North Twin Spur trail over to the summit of South Twin Mountain (elev. 4902′). In the end, we decided against that side trip for reasons which will become clear.
Because darkness falls early this time of year, we got a very early start on our day. I picked Gary up at his house at 4:30am and we immediately set off. We were going to eat breakfast at the Tilt’n Diner in Tilton, NH at 6am, but it was closed when we got there at 5:40am. Unperturbed, we topped off the gas tank at the Shell station next door and continued north. Some place had to be open somewhere. About 40 minutes later, we found Peg’s Restaurant in North Woodstock, NH and had a breakfast of french toast, ham (bacon for Gary) and home fries. By 7:30, we were on the road again.
As we approached Franconia Notch, we began to see that maybe this day would not be a typical late autumn hike. While the forests were a sea of gold, orange and brown, with tinges of red here and there, the upper flanks of the mountains were white. Not a solid ski slope white, but there was enough frost/snow to make us wonder. Rounding the corner of Cannon Mountain, where the Old Man of the Mountains used to be, I could see that the branches of some of the trees were encased in ice. Beautiful, but also an omen of sorts. No matter, I had many warm layers in my pack, two pairs of gloves and my new Stabilicers. How bad could it get?
We got to the trailhead a little before 8am. Immediately, we got an idea of what the day might be like. There was snow on the ground in the parking lot and in the surrounding countryside. It was lightly snowing little snow pellets and our breath was smoking in the chill air. I looked at Gary and a smile broke wide on my face. This was going to be a fun day. We geared up at set off at 8:05am.
The trail was wet from the previous day’s rain, but it was beautiful nonetheless. It was covered in gold and orange and brown leaves. The air around us was filled with lightly falling snow pellets and the crackling of those pellets falling on the leaves overhead filled the air. The clouds were low, but it was still early in the morning, enough time for the sun to burn the cloud cover away hopefully.
At 0.8 miles into the hike, the trail crosses the Little River for the first time. The Little River is well named. While not a river even by New England’s exaggerated standards, it is no easily forded calm stream. There were several boulders and smaller rocks with which to cross, but almost all of the possible routes had breaks with swiftly flowing torrents passing through. So, Gary and I picked our way further and further upstream in an attempt to find a passable route. The guide book does mention that there is an unmarked path that hikers can take to avoid the first and second river crossings if they’re comfortable with bushwhacking, but we opted to do the river crossings.
After a while, I found a decent rockhopping route and leaped across one of the torrents. Gary, with his heavier pack, couldn’t make that leap so we both continued upstream on each side of the river. After quite a hike, he was able to cross, but now we were quite a bit away from where the trail had crossed. Instead of backtracking, we decided to climb up the riverbank and bushwhack across on a steady compass bearing until we hit the trail, which we did in 5 or so minutes. Gary then marked that point on the trail so that he could backtrack on the way down and easily recross the river.
In about a half mile, it was time for the second crossing. As we approached the river, however, the skies opened up and a downpour of snow pellets fell all around us and on the rocks that we’d be using to cross. The pellets now clung to the rocks making our footing quite treacherous in places. Still, we had to get across the river.
Again, we had a difficult time finding good routes to use to cross. Once again, I got myself over half way across to a position where I’d have to jump. This time, however, the distance was a bit too great to try with my trekking pole and backpack. So, while balanced on two pumpkin-sized rocks with a torrent of water churning in front of me, I tossed my pole across to the far side. Then I took my backpack off and heaved it across, thinking, as I tossed it, that it was heavier than I thought. Luckily, it made it across just fine. Now, with no weight on my back to throw me off, I flung myself over to a flat wet rock on the other side and grabbed the boulder that it sat against. Safely across, I looked back at Gary who looked at me like I needed some professional help.
With no good routes to choose from, Gary decided to ford the stream. He took his boots and socks off, put on a pair of crocs, hiked up his pant legs and walked across in shin-deep frigid water. After he crossed, he simply dried off his feet and legs with a bandana, put his boots and socks back on and we continued on.
After about another half mile, we came to the third crossing. This one was easier, but it still took some fancy rockhopping to get across. By this point, we’d covered 1.9 miles and still had 2.4 miles to go.
Now the trail started climbing in earnest. The first half of the trail had followed an old logging railroad bed and the grade was somewhat easy. Because of that, we were only at around 2500′ and still had 2200′+ to cover in the next 2.4 miles. So, onward and upward we went.
It was at 2800′ or so that we started noticing that there was more snow on the trail than leaves. A look into the evergreen trees around us also showed anywhere from a half to a full inch of snow encrusted in the branches. Within the next 200′ of elevation gain, the gold and orange and brown of autumn was a memory; we were now fully in winter.
(cont'd)
Our plan for this day was to climb to the summit of North Twin Mountain (elev. 4761′) via the aptly named North Twin Trail. According to the AMC White Mountain Guide, this trip would cover 4.3 miles in 3 hours and 40 minutes and gain 2950′ in elevation. The trail itself would follow the Little River for about 2 or so miles, crossing it 3 times, and then climb up one of the ridges on the northeastern slope of the mountain. The last half mile would be particularly steep before cresting about .2 miles from the treed summit. In spite of the trees, there are two ledgy viewpoints which would give us near 360 degree views of the surrounding countryside, if the weather cooperated. An optional extension of this plan would take us further away from civilization by following the North Twin Spur trail over to the summit of South Twin Mountain (elev. 4902′). In the end, we decided against that side trip for reasons which will become clear.
Because darkness falls early this time of year, we got a very early start on our day. I picked Gary up at his house at 4:30am and we immediately set off. We were going to eat breakfast at the Tilt’n Diner in Tilton, NH at 6am, but it was closed when we got there at 5:40am. Unperturbed, we topped off the gas tank at the Shell station next door and continued north. Some place had to be open somewhere. About 40 minutes later, we found Peg’s Restaurant in North Woodstock, NH and had a breakfast of french toast, ham (bacon for Gary) and home fries. By 7:30, we were on the road again.
As we approached Franconia Notch, we began to see that maybe this day would not be a typical late autumn hike. While the forests were a sea of gold, orange and brown, with tinges of red here and there, the upper flanks of the mountains were white. Not a solid ski slope white, but there was enough frost/snow to make us wonder. Rounding the corner of Cannon Mountain, where the Old Man of the Mountains used to be, I could see that the branches of some of the trees were encased in ice. Beautiful, but also an omen of sorts. No matter, I had many warm layers in my pack, two pairs of gloves and my new Stabilicers. How bad could it get?
We got to the trailhead a little before 8am. Immediately, we got an idea of what the day might be like. There was snow on the ground in the parking lot and in the surrounding countryside. It was lightly snowing little snow pellets and our breath was smoking in the chill air. I looked at Gary and a smile broke wide on my face. This was going to be a fun day. We geared up at set off at 8:05am.
The trail was wet from the previous day’s rain, but it was beautiful nonetheless. It was covered in gold and orange and brown leaves. The air around us was filled with lightly falling snow pellets and the crackling of those pellets falling on the leaves overhead filled the air. The clouds were low, but it was still early in the morning, enough time for the sun to burn the cloud cover away hopefully.
At 0.8 miles into the hike, the trail crosses the Little River for the first time. The Little River is well named. While not a river even by New England’s exaggerated standards, it is no easily forded calm stream. There were several boulders and smaller rocks with which to cross, but almost all of the possible routes had breaks with swiftly flowing torrents passing through. So, Gary and I picked our way further and further upstream in an attempt to find a passable route. The guide book does mention that there is an unmarked path that hikers can take to avoid the first and second river crossings if they’re comfortable with bushwhacking, but we opted to do the river crossings.
After a while, I found a decent rockhopping route and leaped across one of the torrents. Gary, with his heavier pack, couldn’t make that leap so we both continued upstream on each side of the river. After quite a hike, he was able to cross, but now we were quite a bit away from where the trail had crossed. Instead of backtracking, we decided to climb up the riverbank and bushwhack across on a steady compass bearing until we hit the trail, which we did in 5 or so minutes. Gary then marked that point on the trail so that he could backtrack on the way down and easily recross the river.
In about a half mile, it was time for the second crossing. As we approached the river, however, the skies opened up and a downpour of snow pellets fell all around us and on the rocks that we’d be using to cross. The pellets now clung to the rocks making our footing quite treacherous in places. Still, we had to get across the river.
Again, we had a difficult time finding good routes to use to cross. Once again, I got myself over half way across to a position where I’d have to jump. This time, however, the distance was a bit too great to try with my trekking pole and backpack. So, while balanced on two pumpkin-sized rocks with a torrent of water churning in front of me, I tossed my pole across to the far side. Then I took my backpack off and heaved it across, thinking, as I tossed it, that it was heavier than I thought. Luckily, it made it across just fine. Now, with no weight on my back to throw me off, I flung myself over to a flat wet rock on the other side and grabbed the boulder that it sat against. Safely across, I looked back at Gary who looked at me like I needed some professional help.
With no good routes to choose from, Gary decided to ford the stream. He took his boots and socks off, put on a pair of crocs, hiked up his pant legs and walked across in shin-deep frigid water. After he crossed, he simply dried off his feet and legs with a bandana, put his boots and socks back on and we continued on.
After about another half mile, we came to the third crossing. This one was easier, but it still took some fancy rockhopping to get across. By this point, we’d covered 1.9 miles and still had 2.4 miles to go.
Now the trail started climbing in earnest. The first half of the trail had followed an old logging railroad bed and the grade was somewhat easy. Because of that, we were only at around 2500′ and still had 2200′+ to cover in the next 2.4 miles. So, onward and upward we went.
It was at 2800′ or so that we started noticing that there was more snow on the trail than leaves. A look into the evergreen trees around us also showed anywhere from a half to a full inch of snow encrusted in the branches. Within the next 200′ of elevation gain, the gold and orange and brown of autumn was a memory; we were now fully in winter.
(cont'd)
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