Miles of Razor Sharp Rocks

Franconia Notch to Gorham, NH
August 28

The Presidentials in the White Mountains of New Hampshire rise from the green north eastern forests to rugged piles of rocks. This is the home of Mount Washington and “the worst weather on earth.” The day Ladybird and I walked the ridge from Mitzpah Hut to Madison Hut happened to be one of the most glorious days I could imagine in New Hampshire. Temperatures during the middle of the day were around 60 degrees and only a few wispy high clouds and small puffy cumulous clouds wafted by.

The summit of Washington, however, was a circus. Hundreds of people hiked up the couple dozen stairs from the parking lot or waddled off of the famous cog railway to fight for a spot atop the peak with the sign, “Mount Washington, Elevation 6288.”

I am told that in the early days on the Appalachian Trail planning stages, Mount Washington was considered for a possible northern terminus. I cannot imagine having to fight for a moment alone at the Appalachian Trail terminus at the top of a peak where people in sandals or heels can stand, with their cars parked 100 yards away. Mount Katahdin was a wise decision, I hope.

Several miles from the summit of Washington, all day hikers were gone. Ladybird and I bagged the other peaks on the way to Madison Hut. The terrain gets steadily more rugged. boulders become bigger and sharper. Mount Jefferson resembles a giant cairn. Mount Adams was similar. The difficulty in Adams, however, was the decreased temperature and diminishing daylight. Still a mile away, the sun had sunk to just above the horizon, below a bank of distant clouds which had increased as the day grew older. To the west, the setting sun illuminated the sky in neon red light, reflecting off the bottom of the clouds, highlighting the numerous ridges. Ladybird and I arrived at the hut, cold, in the dark, but pleased with a spectacular day.

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The huts in the White Mountains offer “work for stay” to Appalachian Trail hikers. They say there are two spots per night available at each of the eight huts. Ladybird and I were given “work for stay” at both Mitzpah and Madison with more than two hikers there. When we were asked if we wanted to work at Carter Notch Hut just after noon, we couldn’t refuse. A warm sunny day lounging by a lake, swimming, reading, visiting with the hut “croo” and other hikers? Typically “work for stay” is not granted before 4:00. Why not. We stayed. 3.2 mile day.

I Want to See Mountains!

Vermont and New Hampshire to Franconia Notch
August 18

Onrushing clouds broke around the rocky peak like waves on a rugged coastline. Ominous banks of billowing moisture bowed before Mount Killington, refusing to unleash fury upon the mountain top.

Northbound on the Appalachian Trail, Mount Killington, at over 4000 feet is the highest point since central Virginia, and the first peak bald peak in many miles.

The peaks in the south, balds, are often grassy and can grow trees, but due to harvesting and grazing remained bald. The mountains in the north climb into the alpine zone. Trees become stunted and windblown and eventually decide better of it, and refuse to live much higher than 4000 feet.

Climbing Glastenbury, Stratton, and Killington, I saw the increase in conifers. Spruce and Balsam Fir are omnipresent. As elevation increases, the needles surround and clutch their branches more tightly, growing thicker. This protects the trees from the surprisingly harsh conditions.

4000 feet in the west is laughable. There is typically not any snow that sticks around for the entire season in California at 4000 feet. But in the north east, 4000 feet is alpine. No one lives that high, barely anyone lives higher than 2000 feet.

The Appalachian Trail in New Hampshire goes over the summits of over 20 4000 footers. All of them are rocky and exposed. None of them have verdant deciduous trees.

Ladybird and I decided to tag a couple additional 4000 footers taking the Flume Slide Trail from Franconia Notch. The Flume slide trail is not recommended for south bound hikers. The ascent was at a 45 degree angle, sometimes steeper, up damp, slabby glacially, polished rocks. We scrambled, slipping backwards with every step, grasping violently for spindly trees, which clung loosely to the limited soil. Finally we reached a narrow shoulder and proceeded on actual real live trail to the summit of Mount Flume, then Liberty.

Franconia Ridge was spectacular in its sunlit glory. Dozens, nay, hundreds of day hikers crawled along the trail like ants on a discarded candy. Brightly colored fleece jackets dotted the rocky landscape. As evening approached, the day hikers departed, leaving the overnight hikers. This was when the gravity of the present situation hit me, pleasantly. I am alpine. I am above tree line. This Sierra boy feels at home.

Return of the Berry Monster

Well there's all kindsa berries. There's blueberries, raspberries, thimbleberries, huckleberries, blackberries, (western and eastern) mulberries, elderberries, strawberries...

And none are safe from the Berry Monster. The Berry Monster walks the ridges, valleys, and hills looking for the slightest glint of color. Down a well trodden path it plods, glancing not straight or up, but down to the right and left. This Berry Monster walks on two legs, grubby meat hoofs at the ready to pounce on tiny blue orbs, or red jewels, packed with the juice and nutrients to sustain the Berry Monster for another hour. At a large patch, the Berry Monster may regress to a previous evolutionary state, stooping to all fours, crawling on hands and knees, looking up under the leaves for shaded fruit, out of the harsh fruit-shriveling light of the fierce sun. Grubby meat hoofs become a blur, shoveling tasty morsels from bush to madly chomping jaws. Juice flows obscenely from red stained teeth. Extremeties change color from dirt stained brown, to juice stained red and purple. The Berry Monster has total disregard for others in it's presence and greedily defends the berry patch from other invaders and rarely leaves fruit for other creatures.

Occasionally the Berry Monster will pass through an area of significant human population. It pulls its bedraggled self together and dawns human-clothes, pulling sweat soaked money from a dirty rucksack, makes its way into the nearest grocery store. With dirt and juice stained paws, slaps the soggy currency down at the register in exchange for more fruit.

This pattern continues and becomes mare severe as summer progresses. As fall approaches, the Berry Monster must find other ways to survive until the first strawberries of spring.