The Unstrung Harp
Active member
Full report with pics at Trek For Peace:
http://trekforpeace.blogspot.com/2011/08/baldpates-west-peak-and-east-peak-maine.html
Tuesday, Aug 24, 2011
The Baldpates - West Peak and East Peak - Maine
The Baldpates - West Peak (~3662') and East Peak (~3780') via the Appalachian Trail
Distance: 7.8 miles* (need to double check gps, will check and edit shortly)
Pace: Moderate; steady but with lots of stopping for photos
Time : 5.5hours* (need to double check gps)
Trailhead: Grafton Notch State Park - north of Newry, Maine
After three splendid trips to Baxter this year already, each with excellent company, I was eager to have some solo time in a different area - preferably something not quite so far away. The two hour drive up to Grafton Notch State Park was still excruciating but whose fault is that?
What a contrast from Baxter! The relative gentleness in Grafton Notch always catches me off guard. The Appalachian Trail up the Baldpates is very well worn packed dirt for almost the entire first two miles. There is plenty to navigate and climb but it's a comparative breeze.
The upper third of the trail to the first summit, West Peak, involved a lot of water running over rock ledges, and then endless stone steps. Trail crews have done a really extraordinary job up there.
The day was somewhat overcast but the forecast had demanded that it should not rain; I stubbornly clung to this information. The dampness in the air made for great blasts of post-rain/foresty-pine smells all along the way.
The first summit, West Peak, came about in partial sun and I enjoyed my first glance at the rocky mound of East Peak.
There's nothing like the sight of a great summit to get you (me!) revved up after a rather tough climb.
I kept moving, uninterested in stopping except for a few moments here and there, not even to take a million below-average pictures. Simply going quietly toward the calmness that is forward motion. The humidity was countered with a refreshing coolness that whispered tiny breezes of the coming autumn. I decided to descend to the area between summits for a real pause, mostly for a chance to drink down a pound or two of water before having to do a final (almost) climb to the East Peak.
The energy arising from being precisely where I wanted to be was overwhelming and I eagerly began the last bit of the journey to East Peak. There were some neat ladders and a couple of beautiful alpine meadows along the way.
Then came a more-enjoyable-than-steep walk up a granite face, of which I took a ton of photos on the way down. And then one of the coolest summits I've ever checked out!
The camera was very much out by now, and my reckless photo-taking -- exacerbated by being alone and able to take all the time in the world -- was underway. Who needs self control at a time like this?!
Cool rock formations, funky stripes and other geological delights were everywhere.
Recent rains had caused some lovely tide-pool-esque areas around the summit. The wind was gusting; I'd put on a light fleece layer while between summits, and now was considering a third layer as well.
East Peak!
Lovely alluring granite underfoot...
In attempts to eternally remember the complete charm of the day, it seemed apropos to preserve this small memento of the passing clouds.
Paths lined in stone accompanied frequent cairns near the real summit of east peak.
Looking back toward west peak, some of the steep rocky areas were visible. That's Old Speck, Maine's third highest, off to the right in the background.
For the wicked official Trek For Peace record: I will probably not make a point to climb Old Speck again except for the purpose of getting to Speck Pond or Mahoosuc Notch. The Baldpates simply have way cooler summits.
Swaths of exhausted, wind-beaten grasses provide such a lush textural and colorful contrast to their rocky surroundings. Speaking of wind, I was beginning to get legitimately cold! A refreshing feeling after months of humidity and heat and heat and humidity. Welcome, Autumn, old friend. The door for you is always open.
Hanging out on top for quite a while had seemed like a great idea while en route, but as is often the case, after taking tons of photos, I was ready to keep moving. Not so much because of the temperature -- I did still have an other layer if needed -- but more because the art of stopping, really stopping, continues to be illusive. Something to work on...
The most dodgy climbing, which was really pretty tame, was between the two peaks. There was a good bit of water and/or mud on the trail in a few spots. As I made my way back, I documented a few interesting areas.
And when there wasn't mud, there was rock - some with really nifty stripes and ridges, most home to a little circus of lichen.
And every now and then, there was the rare possibility of....a root.
Who doesn't love a good ladder? Fortunately, after surviving the ladder of doom (it's somewhere on the south/west side of Goose Eye Peak on the AT), I think I am permanently immune to ladder fear, and tend to be less impressed by ladders in general.
I got slightly distracted by (and spent ages with) the zillions of lovely mushroom and fungi type beings back near the West Peak.
Soon I was back to the wet slabs and the stone steps. Still was pleasantly cool even down here - I actually hiked wearing fleece the whole way down. It seems like not such a big deal now as I write it, but me + sleeves + hiking is pretty rare except in Winter.
On the way up, I'd decided that I would count the steps on the way down. I got to 481, yes, FOUR HUNDRED AND EIGHTY ONE. And then a nearby grouse began drumming its wings nearby -- such a crazy cool sound -- and I lost count. Keep in mind too that each step is often made up of more than one stone. That's a lot of badass stone placing!
And how could I not take a picture of a tree that looked like an octopus? There was a squid tree too, but you'll have to go check it out for yourself.
After the steps, the trail was again mostly soft dirt and pretty easy walking.
There was lots of soft dappled sunlight, flickery leafy light, moss, and silence.
I only saw a couple of folks; there had been a few more while on the ascent. Quite a few backpackers, a few AT hikers, and some day hikers as well. Most exchanged a few lines of conversation, every single one involving the joy of being on this mountain. I don't think I saw a single other female traveling alone. Strange. Why not?
Beautiful bright white blazes. Is it wrong to see paint on a tree or rock as beautiful? Is it toxic? Do chipmunks eat it and croak? Do trees mind being painted? Is it itchy? Is it not worth worrying about? Is it worth worrying about?
Either way, the appeal and adversity of the solo hike is, of course, being alone with only your present surroundings and the hapless wanderings of your own bizarre mind...
...And that's it. Engage at your own risk, but do, for sure, engage.
http://trekforpeace.blogspot.com/2011/08/baldpates-west-peak-and-east-peak-maine.html
Tuesday, Aug 24, 2011
The Baldpates - West Peak and East Peak - Maine
The Baldpates - West Peak (~3662') and East Peak (~3780') via the Appalachian Trail
Distance: 7.8 miles* (need to double check gps, will check and edit shortly)
Pace: Moderate; steady but with lots of stopping for photos
Time : 5.5hours* (need to double check gps)
Trailhead: Grafton Notch State Park - north of Newry, Maine
After three splendid trips to Baxter this year already, each with excellent company, I was eager to have some solo time in a different area - preferably something not quite so far away. The two hour drive up to Grafton Notch State Park was still excruciating but whose fault is that?
What a contrast from Baxter! The relative gentleness in Grafton Notch always catches me off guard. The Appalachian Trail up the Baldpates is very well worn packed dirt for almost the entire first two miles. There is plenty to navigate and climb but it's a comparative breeze.
The upper third of the trail to the first summit, West Peak, involved a lot of water running over rock ledges, and then endless stone steps. Trail crews have done a really extraordinary job up there.
The day was somewhat overcast but the forecast had demanded that it should not rain; I stubbornly clung to this information. The dampness in the air made for great blasts of post-rain/foresty-pine smells all along the way.
The first summit, West Peak, came about in partial sun and I enjoyed my first glance at the rocky mound of East Peak.
There's nothing like the sight of a great summit to get you (me!) revved up after a rather tough climb.
I kept moving, uninterested in stopping except for a few moments here and there, not even to take a million below-average pictures. Simply going quietly toward the calmness that is forward motion. The humidity was countered with a refreshing coolness that whispered tiny breezes of the coming autumn. I decided to descend to the area between summits for a real pause, mostly for a chance to drink down a pound or two of water before having to do a final (almost) climb to the East Peak.
The energy arising from being precisely where I wanted to be was overwhelming and I eagerly began the last bit of the journey to East Peak. There were some neat ladders and a couple of beautiful alpine meadows along the way.
Then came a more-enjoyable-than-steep walk up a granite face, of which I took a ton of photos on the way down. And then one of the coolest summits I've ever checked out!
The camera was very much out by now, and my reckless photo-taking -- exacerbated by being alone and able to take all the time in the world -- was underway. Who needs self control at a time like this?!
Cool rock formations, funky stripes and other geological delights were everywhere.
Recent rains had caused some lovely tide-pool-esque areas around the summit. The wind was gusting; I'd put on a light fleece layer while between summits, and now was considering a third layer as well.
East Peak!
Lovely alluring granite underfoot...
In attempts to eternally remember the complete charm of the day, it seemed apropos to preserve this small memento of the passing clouds.
Paths lined in stone accompanied frequent cairns near the real summit of east peak.
Looking back toward west peak, some of the steep rocky areas were visible. That's Old Speck, Maine's third highest, off to the right in the background.
For the wicked official Trek For Peace record: I will probably not make a point to climb Old Speck again except for the purpose of getting to Speck Pond or Mahoosuc Notch. The Baldpates simply have way cooler summits.
Swaths of exhausted, wind-beaten grasses provide such a lush textural and colorful contrast to their rocky surroundings. Speaking of wind, I was beginning to get legitimately cold! A refreshing feeling after months of humidity and heat and heat and humidity. Welcome, Autumn, old friend. The door for you is always open.
Hanging out on top for quite a while had seemed like a great idea while en route, but as is often the case, after taking tons of photos, I was ready to keep moving. Not so much because of the temperature -- I did still have an other layer if needed -- but more because the art of stopping, really stopping, continues to be illusive. Something to work on...
The most dodgy climbing, which was really pretty tame, was between the two peaks. There was a good bit of water and/or mud on the trail in a few spots. As I made my way back, I documented a few interesting areas.
And when there wasn't mud, there was rock - some with really nifty stripes and ridges, most home to a little circus of lichen.
And every now and then, there was the rare possibility of....a root.
Who doesn't love a good ladder? Fortunately, after surviving the ladder of doom (it's somewhere on the south/west side of Goose Eye Peak on the AT), I think I am permanently immune to ladder fear, and tend to be less impressed by ladders in general.
I got slightly distracted by (and spent ages with) the zillions of lovely mushroom and fungi type beings back near the West Peak.
Soon I was back to the wet slabs and the stone steps. Still was pleasantly cool even down here - I actually hiked wearing fleece the whole way down. It seems like not such a big deal now as I write it, but me + sleeves + hiking is pretty rare except in Winter.
On the way up, I'd decided that I would count the steps on the way down. I got to 481, yes, FOUR HUNDRED AND EIGHTY ONE. And then a nearby grouse began drumming its wings nearby -- such a crazy cool sound -- and I lost count. Keep in mind too that each step is often made up of more than one stone. That's a lot of badass stone placing!
And how could I not take a picture of a tree that looked like an octopus? There was a squid tree too, but you'll have to go check it out for yourself.
After the steps, the trail was again mostly soft dirt and pretty easy walking.
There was lots of soft dappled sunlight, flickery leafy light, moss, and silence.
I only saw a couple of folks; there had been a few more while on the ascent. Quite a few backpackers, a few AT hikers, and some day hikers as well. Most exchanged a few lines of conversation, every single one involving the joy of being on this mountain. I don't think I saw a single other female traveling alone. Strange. Why not?
Beautiful bright white blazes. Is it wrong to see paint on a tree or rock as beautiful? Is it toxic? Do chipmunks eat it and croak? Do trees mind being painted? Is it itchy? Is it not worth worrying about? Is it worth worrying about?
Either way, the appeal and adversity of the solo hike is, of course, being alone with only your present surroundings and the hapless wanderings of your own bizarre mind...
...And that's it. Engage at your own risk, but do, for sure, engage.
