Amantio
New member
As I have become more actively involved with the climbing community, I have come to realize that it is a quite advanced culture, with customs, rituals and folkways which have developed steadily over the past century or so. As with any advanced culture, especially one so technologically advanced, a certain celebrity status is bestowed upon various members of the tribe. In some cultures, this celebrity status is bestowed almost randomly, or for qualities or attributes of an ephemeral nature (think Paris Hilton). Among the climbing community, however, celebrity status is earned, through feats of daring, perseverance, endurance and skill. When celebrity status develops over time, it can mature into legend status.
Over the past two weekends, I have been privileged to join two such VFTT celebrities, one of whom I would venture to say has attained legend status, and one of whom is well on her way to such recognition.
Last weekend I joined BIGEarl (celebrity and current legend) on a Twins-Galehead-Garfield Traverse. Up on the Twinway, and then later at the Galehead Hut, we bumped into LRiz (celebrity on the cusp of legend). LRiz mentioned that she planned to hit Owl’s Head the next weekend, and asked if I cared to join her. It is a measure of the development of my own insanity that I was so excited by this prospect, largely because I know that this is one mountain that I absolutely do not want to have staring me in the face when (and if) I come to the end of my “list”.
The unnamed peak above the Owls Head sits in a remote location deep in the Pemigewasset Wilderness. An eight mile hike over a combination of old railroad right of way (very flat, very straight, dare I say, boring) and wooded trails with several water crossings and very little in the way of elevation gain bring you to the base of a pretty dramatic slide with loose rock and gravel at the base, giving way to some nice rock scramble up top. Because the mountain sits within the wilderness zone, little, if anything, is done in the way of trail maintenance, and multitudes of large blowdowns must be negotiated on the trail. The summits (one “official” and one “actual”) are not marked in any meaningful way, and a climber must root around on top of the mountain bushwhacking over herd paths and through brush to attempt ot locate them. The trip down the slide is even more fun than the climb up. Footing must be chosen with great care, lest a false step render you disabled nine miles from any help. Only the mentally ill care to climb this mountain. I am proud to say that I am now among that number.
The three of us meet at Lincoln Woods at 7:30. LRiz and I would be joined by Sean, a recent Cornell graduate attempting to knock off his last half dozen or so of the NH 4000 footers before moving west for a job in Seattle. The hike in is largely uneventful, save for a mishap at the penultimate water crossing, where your correspondent loses his footing on a wet rock and winds up sitting on said rock calf deep in the stream. I decide to wring out the sock and hold my spare pair in reserve. This ends up being a good decision.
At the eight mile mark, we bang a right and it is up and up and up. The views of the Franconia Ridge behind us are imposing and stunning, with the lighter green growth below giving way to the darker green spruce above, and patches of snow still visible in the higher elevations. We get to the top of the slide, and LRiz announces that most of the elevation gain is behind us. Celebrity or not, she lies. There is still plenty of climb left in this mountain, which seemed so benign as I looked down upon it from the top of Garfield last week. We make our way over blowdowns and then over blowdowns on top of blowdowns (double blowdown?). As we rise to the top, we encounter "evidence" that we don't have far to go.
Soon we reach the “officially sanctioned” summit. After the obligatory summit shots, we make for the “actual” summit. Ten minutes or so later, we find a likely spot. Sean checks his GPS device, but LRiz want to be sure, and starts tearing around looking for a higher spot. It was at this point that I knew that I had joined the ranks of the insane.
Eventually I look around and noticed a primitive talisman (in the form of a Heinekin bottle cap) attached to a tree. This gave our leader comfort, and we were able to break for more photos, nourishment and hydration.
A bit later we begin our descent. Just before we hit the slide, we encounter a couple on their way up. These are among the very few people we have seen all day. The man looks at LRiz and, in a thick French Canadian accent, says “You are zee one who climb all 48 dis weenter.” LRiz modestly admits to her achievement. A humble international celebrity. How charming.
The slide claims us all as victims on the way down, one at a time. Sean goes down first. I think I go next, victim of a wet rock . I didn’t get to see LRiz go down. In any event, no real harm done.
At the bottom, we commence the long march out. After an especially artistic water crossing of which I am quite proud, the next two do me in. I break out my reserve pair of socks, and continue on, through mud and hungry mosquitoes.
Finally we get to the Champs Elysees, where we adopt a brisk march pace to the parking area and the finish. With a quarter mile to go, at around 5:30, the young folks break into a trot. With nineteen miles behind me, after ten hours on the trail, I just don’t have it in me. Why, then, am I so satisfied and joyful and grateful for the experience?
Oh, by the way, our celebrity promised that if I wrote the report, she would provide the pics.
Over the past two weekends, I have been privileged to join two such VFTT celebrities, one of whom I would venture to say has attained legend status, and one of whom is well on her way to such recognition.
Last weekend I joined BIGEarl (celebrity and current legend) on a Twins-Galehead-Garfield Traverse. Up on the Twinway, and then later at the Galehead Hut, we bumped into LRiz (celebrity on the cusp of legend). LRiz mentioned that she planned to hit Owl’s Head the next weekend, and asked if I cared to join her. It is a measure of the development of my own insanity that I was so excited by this prospect, largely because I know that this is one mountain that I absolutely do not want to have staring me in the face when (and if) I come to the end of my “list”.
The unnamed peak above the Owls Head sits in a remote location deep in the Pemigewasset Wilderness. An eight mile hike over a combination of old railroad right of way (very flat, very straight, dare I say, boring) and wooded trails with several water crossings and very little in the way of elevation gain bring you to the base of a pretty dramatic slide with loose rock and gravel at the base, giving way to some nice rock scramble up top. Because the mountain sits within the wilderness zone, little, if anything, is done in the way of trail maintenance, and multitudes of large blowdowns must be negotiated on the trail. The summits (one “official” and one “actual”) are not marked in any meaningful way, and a climber must root around on top of the mountain bushwhacking over herd paths and through brush to attempt ot locate them. The trip down the slide is even more fun than the climb up. Footing must be chosen with great care, lest a false step render you disabled nine miles from any help. Only the mentally ill care to climb this mountain. I am proud to say that I am now among that number.
The three of us meet at Lincoln Woods at 7:30. LRiz and I would be joined by Sean, a recent Cornell graduate attempting to knock off his last half dozen or so of the NH 4000 footers before moving west for a job in Seattle. The hike in is largely uneventful, save for a mishap at the penultimate water crossing, where your correspondent loses his footing on a wet rock and winds up sitting on said rock calf deep in the stream. I decide to wring out the sock and hold my spare pair in reserve. This ends up being a good decision.
At the eight mile mark, we bang a right and it is up and up and up. The views of the Franconia Ridge behind us are imposing and stunning, with the lighter green growth below giving way to the darker green spruce above, and patches of snow still visible in the higher elevations. We get to the top of the slide, and LRiz announces that most of the elevation gain is behind us. Celebrity or not, she lies. There is still plenty of climb left in this mountain, which seemed so benign as I looked down upon it from the top of Garfield last week. We make our way over blowdowns and then over blowdowns on top of blowdowns (double blowdown?). As we rise to the top, we encounter "evidence" that we don't have far to go.
Soon we reach the “officially sanctioned” summit. After the obligatory summit shots, we make for the “actual” summit. Ten minutes or so later, we find a likely spot. Sean checks his GPS device, but LRiz want to be sure, and starts tearing around looking for a higher spot. It was at this point that I knew that I had joined the ranks of the insane.
Eventually I look around and noticed a primitive talisman (in the form of a Heinekin bottle cap) attached to a tree. This gave our leader comfort, and we were able to break for more photos, nourishment and hydration.
A bit later we begin our descent. Just before we hit the slide, we encounter a couple on their way up. These are among the very few people we have seen all day. The man looks at LRiz and, in a thick French Canadian accent, says “You are zee one who climb all 48 dis weenter.” LRiz modestly admits to her achievement. A humble international celebrity. How charming.
The slide claims us all as victims on the way down, one at a time. Sean goes down first. I think I go next, victim of a wet rock . I didn’t get to see LRiz go down. In any event, no real harm done.
At the bottom, we commence the long march out. After an especially artistic water crossing of which I am quite proud, the next two do me in. I break out my reserve pair of socks, and continue on, through mud and hungry mosquitoes.
Finally we get to the Champs Elysees, where we adopt a brisk march pace to the parking area and the finish. With a quarter mile to go, at around 5:30, the young folks break into a trot. With nineteen miles behind me, after ten hours on the trail, I just don’t have it in me. Why, then, am I so satisfied and joyful and grateful for the experience?
Oh, by the way, our celebrity promised that if I wrote the report, she would provide the pics.
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