McRat
New member
What a beautiful day.
Seriously.
I think I will always remember the birth of my children, the day I got married, and the first views I experienced from Mt. Jackson.
This was my fifth of the NH 4kers, a gorgeous day, and the least obstructed-view summit so far, so it is possible that this is little more than the ravings of a neophyte hiker upon tasting such a banquet of scenery for the first time.
The day started off with my buddy Dennis arriving at 6:15am in his Jeep. He had a huge grin and the top off.
Jeep and convertible people go through a sort of spring fever where the top goes down while the windchill is still a bit more than anyone would enjoy - if it weren't for waiting all winter to open the thing up. Time to layer up and we haven't even left the driveway.
After we arrived at Crawford Notch we headed up the Webster Jackson trail where there was still a fair bit of snow, by the time we hit Bugle cliff it was T-shirt and shorts time. There were enough icy patches that I decided to throw on the crampons at this point.
Dennis began to quickly understand the difference between strength and endurance, and the trip became a leisurely walk with a friend, with increasingly frequent photo breaks by the time we hit the fork in the Webster Jackson trail and went on towards Jackson.
From here, crotch-depth postholes were almost constantly visible, and it was snowshoe time. The packed trail was fading fast, and was almost like a tightrope walk in places.
From the roaring Silver Cascade to the summit of Jackson, Den was running pretty much on will power alone. I reflected on how when he first got me back into hiking back in high school, the opposite was usually true. By contrast I thanked myself for all the time spent on Mt. Stairmaster getting ready.
By the time we arrived at the empty summit of Mt. Webster we decided a good feed and rest was in order. We probably spent an hour staring out at Crawford Notch and points beyond, devouring the finest lunch that could be assembled from a convenience store snack rack. By then, we had determined to buy gaiters. A good amount of snow had melted into the boot from postholing and slogging along and I took the feet out for a walk in the snow, changed socks, and headed up the Webster Cliff trail to Jackson.
The trail seemed to have turned to absolute mush. I wound up back in the snowshoes pretty much the whole of the trip, and still dipped in a bit. The white blazes were mostly visible but there trail was fairly overgrown in places making it appear like a heavily postholed bushwhack in places. At one point a a hill appeared and Den sat down, pointed at it and commented, "That isn't Jackson is it? That looks too far away, there's no way I'm climbing THAT."
"Nah, I replied... I think that's Pierce." So he trudged on. By the time we had just two hundred more feet to climb up, he questioned both my honesty and suggested that my father was unknown.
But not in those words.
Then he turned around to take in the view and psych himself up for the final stretch.
I was told the view is excellent from Jackson. That was an understatement. For a few minutes the earth itself was under my heels and the mountains rolled away like waves out to the horizon. The touches of snow, the pine and shadow, the bare trees creating that bone-grey color that will soon be lush swath of greens. I was speechless and a bit emotional as I looked out over the forest and picked out which peaks were next.
Aside from a rather bold and entertaining gray jay, the summit was ours. This was Dennis' first successful 4Ker, and after about five minutes of looking around silently thanked me for dragging him up. We took a celebratory shot of whisky and headed down about a half hour later. I felt like days. Good ones.
This section of the Webster/Jackson trail was worse than the part leading to Webster, and we slid along a while, as the sun began setting (yup LONG day). By the time we got to the Webster/Jackson split, the sun was silhouetting the mountains with a rich orange, umber, and purple glow which intensified and then faded to gentle wisps of color on the backlit-clouds as we reached the trailhead.
It was 8:00 when we put the top back on the Jeep only to discover that the window panels where left at home. Layer up. Three hours later, I was back in my driveway, windburned and chilly - but my mind was still up on that summit, until I could close my eyes and dream of it again.
Seriously.
I think I will always remember the birth of my children, the day I got married, and the first views I experienced from Mt. Jackson.
This was my fifth of the NH 4kers, a gorgeous day, and the least obstructed-view summit so far, so it is possible that this is little more than the ravings of a neophyte hiker upon tasting such a banquet of scenery for the first time.
The day started off with my buddy Dennis arriving at 6:15am in his Jeep. He had a huge grin and the top off.
Jeep and convertible people go through a sort of spring fever where the top goes down while the windchill is still a bit more than anyone would enjoy - if it weren't for waiting all winter to open the thing up. Time to layer up and we haven't even left the driveway.
After we arrived at Crawford Notch we headed up the Webster Jackson trail where there was still a fair bit of snow, by the time we hit Bugle cliff it was T-shirt and shorts time. There were enough icy patches that I decided to throw on the crampons at this point.
Dennis began to quickly understand the difference between strength and endurance, and the trip became a leisurely walk with a friend, with increasingly frequent photo breaks by the time we hit the fork in the Webster Jackson trail and went on towards Jackson.
From here, crotch-depth postholes were almost constantly visible, and it was snowshoe time. The packed trail was fading fast, and was almost like a tightrope walk in places.
From the roaring Silver Cascade to the summit of Jackson, Den was running pretty much on will power alone. I reflected on how when he first got me back into hiking back in high school, the opposite was usually true. By contrast I thanked myself for all the time spent on Mt. Stairmaster getting ready.
By the time we arrived at the empty summit of Mt. Webster we decided a good feed and rest was in order. We probably spent an hour staring out at Crawford Notch and points beyond, devouring the finest lunch that could be assembled from a convenience store snack rack. By then, we had determined to buy gaiters. A good amount of snow had melted into the boot from postholing and slogging along and I took the feet out for a walk in the snow, changed socks, and headed up the Webster Cliff trail to Jackson.
The trail seemed to have turned to absolute mush. I wound up back in the snowshoes pretty much the whole of the trip, and still dipped in a bit. The white blazes were mostly visible but there trail was fairly overgrown in places making it appear like a heavily postholed bushwhack in places. At one point a a hill appeared and Den sat down, pointed at it and commented, "That isn't Jackson is it? That looks too far away, there's no way I'm climbing THAT."
"Nah, I replied... I think that's Pierce." So he trudged on. By the time we had just two hundred more feet to climb up, he questioned both my honesty and suggested that my father was unknown.
But not in those words.
Then he turned around to take in the view and psych himself up for the final stretch.
I was told the view is excellent from Jackson. That was an understatement. For a few minutes the earth itself was under my heels and the mountains rolled away like waves out to the horizon. The touches of snow, the pine and shadow, the bare trees creating that bone-grey color that will soon be lush swath of greens. I was speechless and a bit emotional as I looked out over the forest and picked out which peaks were next.
Aside from a rather bold and entertaining gray jay, the summit was ours. This was Dennis' first successful 4Ker, and after about five minutes of looking around silently thanked me for dragging him up. We took a celebratory shot of whisky and headed down about a half hour later. I felt like days. Good ones.
This section of the Webster/Jackson trail was worse than the part leading to Webster, and we slid along a while, as the sun began setting (yup LONG day). By the time we got to the Webster/Jackson split, the sun was silhouetting the mountains with a rich orange, umber, and purple glow which intensified and then faded to gentle wisps of color on the backlit-clouds as we reached the trailhead.
It was 8:00 when we put the top back on the Jeep only to discover that the window panels where left at home. Layer up. Three hours later, I was back in my driveway, windburned and chilly - but my mind was still up on that summit, until I could close my eyes and dream of it again.
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