Post Turkey Day Hike: Mt. Crawford

Post-thanksgiving, I drove up to Maine with my parents to spend a few days away from the Black Friday and holiday shopping crowds. Much of southern Maine had lost power during the pre-thanksgiving snow we received, but by the time we got up there on Friday, it had been restored. 

Saturday morning, my mom and I headed up to Crawford Notch for a hike. The forecast called for a cold day with wind on the higher summits, so we bundled up and packed our bags for typical winter conditions in the Whites. The trailhead was surprisingly full by 9:30 in the morning when we arrived, which meant the chances of having to break trail were slim. Yay!

The beginning of the trail was very gradual and crossed several small streams as it meandered through the woods. As we started to gain elevation, we let a boisterous group of hikers pass us, and then we continued up the trail, occasionally catching glimpses of the snow-covered mountains through the bare trees. 

A little over 2 miles up Davis Path, we came to the spur for Mt. Crawford. From the spur, it was about 0.3 miles to the summit. I kept looking over my shoulder to see the silhouettes of the White Mountains to the southwest. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun reflecting off the freshly fallen snow was almost blinding. Everything was so crisp and sharp to the naked eye. 

We came out on to the summit of Mt. Crawford, which was quite busy on this gorgeous day. Mt. Crawford is not a 4,000 footer, but it is one of the mountains listed on 52 with a View, which is a list of mountains under 4,000 feet that have worthwhile vistas. The views from Mt. Crawford easily surpassed those of larger and more impressive mountains. Granted, we had a near perfect day with visibility for miles, which is rare.

We snacked on cookies and nuts at the top, and had a few swigs of hot cocoa to warm us up as a chill had started to set in. After snapping a few photos we retraced our steps back down the trail. The early afternoon sun had softened the snow and it was a bit slippery in a few spots. A few rocky spots had turned into small snowfields, which paired with the expansive views gave a sense of an endless wilderness and put everything on a much larger scale than one would expect from a small mountain. We couldn’t have asked for a better day; the combination of the trail and the weather conditions were perfect. And to top it off, we stopped at the Met in North Conway for a cup of coffee to go along with our homemade turkey sandwiches!

Coming Home, Going Away

Time to say what everyone has been thinking: where the hell have I been? Ok, I admit, I disappeared off the face of the plugged-in world for a little bit there. I got a job in California, and I flew off at the end of the summer to take a look at that West Coast I had heard so much about. It was as beautiful and adventurous as I had hoped, but it came at a price. I had to leave home.

I've left home before, but this felt different somehow. I was no longer a few hours drive from my family and friends, from familiar and well-loved places. There was no particular return date set. I could no longer call MontAnia on any given weekend and plan an adventure in the 'dacks, the Greens, the Whites, anywhere I knew and loved. I was totally and completely out of my element. For gods sake, there were cacti there, and gluten free options. Ok fine, not complaining about the last one. 

As wrapped up as I was in west coast adventures, I kept feeling like I had left something behind. It was as though I wasn't fully there; some crucial piece of me was still back east, watching the leaves change and snuggling up in a cozy sweater. I called my friends and family back east a lot, but for every snippet of news from home I knew there were dozens that I would never hear about. Did we get any apples on the half-wild trees in our backyard this fall? Has there been a frost yet? How's the new job really going? 

As it turned out, I was only gone a little over two months when I got the opportunity to go back home (via Costa Rica, but more on that later). I drove around New England like a maniac that first weekend, catching up with friends here and there, taking in the last few yellow and red leaves that were resolutely clinging to the trees, and taking deep breaths of that gorgeous North East air. With every familiar face I felt more and more home.

It is never easy to leave home, or any place you love. Every time the thrill of an adventure wears off I am left with the realization that I have left a piece of myself in the latest place I have loved. The true price of adventure is not the dip in your savings or the time spent away, it is the piece of yourself that you leave behind with the glorious people and places you fell ever so briefly madly in love with. It's hard, and sometimes it is all I can do not run around trying to collect all those pieces I've left behind. But then I remember what those places-and those people, because friends are really all we have in this world-have given me, and leaving a piece of myself seems like a truly insignificant retribution, really. 

Sadly, it's just a short stay. I had already accepted a job out west for the winter, and as much as I missed the east, I know I'm not done exploring yet. The west is still calling my name; California is nothing if not inviting. So here's a thought: I extend that invitation to all of you. You know where I'll be, and a plane ticket isn't hard to buy. My couches, floors, and adventures are all yours to share. You just have to show up.

Okemo: Reunited at last!

Kelly and I hadn’t seen one another in months, many months. So, when she was headed back to the Northeast for a few weeks between her seasonal jobs, well, obviously, I had to see her. The fun thing about coming home after being away for a while is that everyone wants to see you. Kelly was cruising around the northeast and I was trying desperately to coordinate a time on a weekend when we both we’re free to meet up. And voilà! Sunday, it was!

We met at the Healdville trailhead for Okemo Mountain in Vermont. When her car pulled into the parking lot, we both squealed with excitement and jumped out of our respective vehicles. Yay! Happy! Happy! Happy! The hike was enjoyable 6 mile round-trip excursion, which started off quite gradually through a hardwood forest. Snow carpeted the ground, and clung to the pine boughs at the higher elevations. We talked and hiked, as we had much to catch up on. Kelly told me all about her past couple of months as a naturalist in California, and, in turn, I regaled her with tales of my 9 to 5 office job and my weekend warrior adventures (somehow my life didn’t sound quite as exciting as hers).

We reached the summit, put on our down jackets, and headed up the 70-foot tall fire tower. It windy once we got above the trees, and the metal railings were freezing cold. We popped up into the small room at the top. The window frames lacked glass, so we ducked down to stay out of the wind. Crouched on the floor, we ate handfuls of white chocolate covered coffee beans Kelly had brought back from Costa Rica for me. A delicious combination of sugar and caffeine that we quickly devoured. We popped back up to snap a few photos of the surround area at the risk of getting frostbite on our fingers. Needless to say, the California girl was not used to the bitter, biting cold typical of winter in New England.

Back down at the bottom of the fire tower, we broke out some hard boiled eggs, cracking them on the supports of the fire tower and scattering their broken shells on the snow. The hike down was enjoyable, as the trail was never very steep. We hooped and hollered, most definitely disturbing the peace and quiet of the woods that the people we passed came in search of.  Whoops. We made plans to meet up this winter in Tahoe, where Kelly would be taking her next job and where I would be escaping to for a few days. See you then, Kelly!

Mt. Monadnock: The Roar of the Mountain

The Roar of the Mountain

This mountain that roars its release from the ice

From darkness and stillness and absence of life;

now magnet to writers and hikers and westerly clouds

to litterers and spray painters and tramping crowds.

Roar grandly Monadnock, your lesson a tower

of how burdens help bearers rise to the hour.

Roar proudly Monadnock, my great granite friend

of abiding endurance and ability to bend.

Will LaPage (1989)

Eagle Crag and Mt. Meader

Eagle Crag and Mt. Meader sit between the Baldfaces to the south and the mountains of East and West Royce to the north. With an elevation of 3,000 feet and change, one wouldn’t expect much from these two. And that’s where you’d be wrong. Or more accurately, you’d be pleasantly surprised!

A group of us headed up the Bicknell Ridge trail, which branches off from the Baldface Circle trail. The Bicknell Ridge trail was fantastic; it started out somewhat gradually and then went uphill at a steady grade. About 2/3 of the way up, the trail becomes more open as it ascends rocky ledges, with great views of South Baldface across the way and, in the distance, the lakes and hills of southern Maine.

The trail rejoins the Baldface Circle trail upon reaching the ridge, just below the shoulder of North Baldface. Here, you are in the alpine zone, with small shrubs and the occasional tree to interrupt the sprawling view of the Carter-Wildcat range to the west, and the Caribou-Speckled wilderness to the north/north-east.

On this particular day, there was a dusting of snow on the ground (~ 1-2”) and small patches of ice clung to the rocks. The sky was overcast, but the ceiling was high enough to see the far off peaks of many of the White Mountains. Despite being on the exposed ridge, wind was not a factor, and the weather was much better than anticipated. Back in Massachusetts there are still leaves on the trees, but don’t be fooled winter has definitely arrived in the mountains of New Hampshire and Maine.

We followed the trail north and continued onto Meader Ridge trail, which was a rolling trail through beautiful pine forest. At the intersection with the Mt. Meader trail, there is a little spur to a view, which looks back in the direction from where we came. Despite it being around 2pm, the sun was already starting to sink as we began our descent. Ice, leaves and roots slowed us down, forcing our tired legs to search for safe footholds. The last 1.5 miles of the hike were flat, and we soon found ourselves on wide logging roads that led back to the road, a short walk from the parking lot.

Willoughby Wanderings

I was on dog duty for the weekend, which meant in addition to getting my puppy fix, I also got to escape to Vermont for a few days. My friend, Katie, and I drove up Friday night after work. Kirby Vermont lies less than 40 miles from the Canadian border. Up here, the foliage is far past peak, and the majority of trees are bare already with their leaves littering the ground.

I had found a few local hikes that looked promising. First up was Wheeler Mountain and Eagle Cliff in Sutton, VT.  

This was a short hike, a little over 2.5 miles. There were two options to ascend the mountain, we picked the red trail, which was very direct and involved scrambling over several large rock slabs. There were several instances when I just sprawled myself across a rock face and attempted to shimmy up; I called it the beached whale. Though definitely not graceful by any means, it was an effective strategy, especially when battling my fear of heights.

After the cliffs, the red trail rejoined the white trail, which continued to meander along the rocky ridge, popping in and out of the pine forest. This was one of the most beautiful, rewarding, and fun hikes I have ever been on.

And the views! The views just kept getting better as you continued. Behind us sat Wheeler Pond, and above that towered a ridge dotted with wind turbines. Straight ahead were Mount Hor and Mount Pisgah, with their steep cliffs flanking the southern end of Lake Willoughby. To the east, Lake Willoughby stretched out for several miles, and far off on the horizon stood Bald Mountain. A few wispy clouds danced in the blue sky, but visibility was impressive.

Upon reaching Eagle Cliff, we ate our snacks while we gazed out on the seemingly endless landscape that lay before us. The sun was warm, and it most definitely did not feel like November was right around the corner. After soaking up the sunshine, we turned around and headed back down, this time taking the less precarious white trail down.

Back at the car, we made a decision to drive over to the Mt. Hor trailhead near the southern end of Lake Willoughby. This hike followed a wide woods trail for a while before rocketing up the side of the mountain. We stopped at several outlooks along the way, which had views towards Lake Willoughby and the massive cliffs of Mt. Pisgah across the way.

The next day, we woke to overcast skies and cooler temps. The night before had brought rain and a dampness still lingered in the air. Fog sat low in the valley and the tops of the nearby mountains were shrouded in low-hanging clouds.

We headed to the trailhead for Bald Mountain, which sits just east of Lake Willoughby in the town of Westmore. Unfortunately, the weather made for a less than ideal hike, considering the summit has a fire tower with impressive views, or so they say… At the trailhead, we met up with an incredibly friendly woman who was hiking by herself. We chatted with our new friend for the majority of the ascent.

At the top, we investigated the cabin which was quite impressive by backcountry standards. It had a main room with a large table and stove, and a small bunk room where 3-4 people could easily spend the night. Its low ceilings and small windows meant it would be quite cozy with a few warm bodies and the woodstove running. We put on dry layers, hats and gloves.

Our friend made it to the top shortly after we did. She wasn’t quite as prepared, so we offered her some of our water and trail mix, which she gladly accepted and then she headed back down the trail. Katie and I took a few more minutes at the top, and then headed back down ourselves. The wet roots and mud made for a slow descent, filled with squeals and shrieks as we slipped and slid down the trail. 

VT: Mount Pisgah & Burke Mountain

A weekend in Vermont with 3 dogs sounds ideal. How could I pass up my neighbor’s offer to dog sit and stay at their vacation home in the rolling hills of the Northeast Kingdom? I don’t spend much time in Vermont, so I took this as an opportunity to get out and discover some nearby mountains.

Saturday was cool and overcast when I got in my car and drove up to Lake Willoughby. I had chosen to hike Mount Pisgah, which sat on the eastern shore of the lake. After passing by a small pond, the trail was a consistent uphill climb to the wooded summit. Along the way, there were several small outlooks from which you could catch a glimpse of the lake below. I had gone up the South trail, and made a decision to descend via the North trail and then return the way I had come to do a double traverse of the mountain. At a little over 2,000 feet, this small mountain offers sweeping views from the steep cliffs that face the lake.

Sunday morning brought more grey skies, heavy fog and a chance of rain later in the day. I headed over to Burke Mountain, home of Burke Mountain Academy, one of the top ski racing programs in the entire country. The mountain is relatively small in terms of New England ski areas, but its terrain is steep and challenging. I had skied here with my family before, but never hiked it.

The trail wound through the hardwood forest, and crisscrossed several mountain bike trails before gaining elevation. I hiked up into the low cloud cover, and a heavy mist swirled around the trees. Drops of water fell from the leaves overhead and my boots quickly became mud-covered with all the puddles that filled the trail. 

Nearing the summit, I could hear the hum of the chairlift that was running. The wind had picked up and once at the top, I ate a quick snack and looked up at the fire tower which disappeared into the dense clouds. I hiked along the Summit Loop trail over the western summit before following the West Side trail down.

Galehead & Garfield Backpacking Trip

There is one main factor in outdoor recreation that we have little ability to control, and that is the weather. Oftentimes, especially in New England, you make plans and then hope for the best that Mother Nature has to offer. Being the beginning of October, it’s possible to expect any type of weather in the mountains from a typical cool crisp autumn day with bluebird skies to blizzard-like conditions with gale force winds.

I had been watching the weather all weeklong in hopes that the weekend forecast wouldn’t be a complete washout. I had made plans to take one of my best friends from college and her boyfriend backpacking in the White Mountains. This would be my friend Katie’s second backpacking trip (her first being one we went on this past August in Vermont), and her boyfriend’s first. Needless to say, it’s always slightly stressful trying to pick and plan a trip that you think will be enjoyable for all levels of experience.

We left Massachusetts early on Saturday and were on the trail before 9:00am. We headed up the Gale River Trail, which starts out quite flat before gradually becoming steeper and steeper. The final section of trail makes your thighs burn with a seemingly never-ending staircase of boulders. At the intersection of the Garfield Ridge Trail we kept going straight to the AMC Galehead Hut.

The Appalachian Mountain Club maintains eight huts (more accurately described as lodges) in the White Mountains, which offer a full range of services to hikers in the backcountry. At the Galehead Hut, we dropped our packs and took a quick trip up to the tree-covered summit of Galehead. Upon returning to the hut, we took a quick break to refill water bottles, take advantage of the composting toilets, and scarf down several of the free pancakes that were left over from breakfast.

Onwards! Next up was the Garfield Ridge Trail, not to be underestimated. Despite only having a little under 3 miles to go ‘til we reached our campsite, the steep up and downs of the ridge were a challenge for weary legs under heavy packs. The mountains were socked in by the clouds and everything had been covered in a damp mist, making rocks and roots particularly slippery. We took our time, carefully picking our paths across sharply slanted slabs of rocks.

The plan was to spend the night at the Garfield Ridge Shelter due to the rain that was called for. We booked it for the last half mile to the shelter, and made it just as it started to drizzle. By lean-to standards, this place was a 5-star luxury accommodation; it had a loft, ample pegs to hang wet clothing on, and was finely crafted out of huge cedar logs. Oh, and it costs $8 pp/night.

No more than 5 minutes after we arrived, people started rolling in, including: a group of boy scouts, and a few guys who opted to spend the night in hammocks. The rest of the evening was spent curled up in sleeping bags, chatting with the troop leaders, and hanging out with their dog, a Weimaraner named Loki. We were so cozy and warm that we almost debated not getting up to make dinner. We fell asleep at dusk to the sound of the howling wind, and sheets of rain falling on the roof above us.

The next morning after a hot bowl of oatmeal, we shouldered our packs, and hiked to the summit of Garfield. Garfield is known to have some of the best views in the Whites, but this morning the summit was shrouded in clouds. We spent a while at the top watching the clouds rush by, as the sun tried valiantly to burn through. Every now and again, the clouds would part for just an instant and you were able to catch a glimpse of the sun-kissed Pemigewasset Wilderness below.

The remainder of the hike was a pleasant descent down the Mt. Garfield trail amongst the bright display of the leaves that clung stubbornly to the trees and carpeted the forest floor.  

October: The Wall

The following are photographs from Sunday's surf session up in Hampton, NH:

Mt. Ascutney Backpack

This past August, myself and two of my friends spent the night at one of the most gorgeous spots I have ever pitched a tent. That’s saying a lot.

DISCLAIMER: This was not at a legal campsite. In fact, what we did was against the rules of the park in which we camped. I’m usually pretty stringent when it comes to following the rules, but I had a brilliant idea, and I ran with it.

Perched on the edge of the world.

This was to be my friend Katie’s first backpacking trip, and my friend Jess’s second backpacking trip. Katie and Jess didn’t meet until the afternoon we met up to pack our bags and head off to the mountain.

Gus' Outlook.

I picked Mt. Ascutney because: it wasn’t too far of a drive from Massachusetts; it would be a moderately challenging trip with ~4 miles each day; it’s a relatively small mountain with a big reward; it has a fire tower and sprawling views; and, using two cars we could do a traverse to experience the best it had to offer.

I will let the pictures do the rest of the talking…

FOT48: Owls Head

On September 15^th 2001, a group of six hikers climbed Mt. Liberty and flew an American flag from the summit in a patriotic remembrance of the events that had transpired four days earlier. The following year, the event Flags on the 48 was organized.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with this event, here is a brief explanation: Every year on the Saturday that falls closest to September 11^th, hikers summit each of the 48 4,000 footers in New Hampshire, and raise the American flag in memory of the events that occurred in 2001. The flag will fly from 12 to 2 in the afternoon from every summit.

This was my second year participating in this event. Last year, I signed up for a crew that hiked South Twin. This is one of those events that fills up quickly, especially the more popular summits with good views and easy accessibility.

I signed up for Owls Head this year, which is one of the more remote, viewless summits, with a round trip of 16+ miles. To put it mildly, it’s a pain in the butt to get to, has no major reward at the top, and makes for a very long day.

A group of 6 of us met in the parking lot a little after 5am. We turned on our headlamps and started down the trail. Occasionally, the silence would be broken by a few early morning mutterings and introductions, but for the most part no one was fully awake for the first couple miles of the Wilderness Trail.

Soon we found ourselves stumbling through the brush as we followed the Fisherman’s Bushwhack alongside Franconia Brook. At first the lightly worn path was evident, but it soon became trickier, and we stopped to look around for what we thought might be the trail several times before continuing on in the right direction.

The approach to Owls Head is relatively flat for several miles, before reaching a mile long scramble up an open rock slide. It is a steep, gravel and boulder covered trail that heads into the woods after about a quarter mile. In that one mile, the trail gains over 1,500ft of elevation. Once the trail flattened out near the top, we continued to follow a small herd path to the summit of Owls Head. 

At the summit, we all bundled up in our warmest layers and set to putting up the flagpole and raising the flag. We also had a small memorial to James Foley, the reporter who was killed by ISIS. The weather was cooler than expected and there was a damp chill in the air. We broke out some whiskey, bacon, and hot dogs fresh off the grill (complete with buns and condiments). The summit was surprisingly busy that afternoon, and we got to meet some fellow hikers.

After two hours on the summit, we headed back down the slide. We got to the bottom just as the rain began to fall. Talk about good timing! The hike back to the trailhead was relaxed, with miles of gradual terrain and many river crossings, which resulted in some wet feet.

Thirteen hours after we had started, we arrived back at the trailhead, everybody overflowing with exhaustion and an elated sense of blissful accomplishment. After exchanging contact information, and snacking on some delicious homemade baked goods, we departed. All in all, I couldn’t have asked for a greater group of people to spend a day with in the mountains. Hopefully, I’ll see some of you at the 2015 event!

Caribou Mountain

Labor Day Weekend in the White Mountains is notorious for crowded trailheads; not exactly my cup of tea. So, I pulled out my maps of the White Mountains and scoured them in search of a mountain that was both off the beaten path and somewhat understated. Evans Notch is the far eastern section of the White Mountains and it straddles the New Hampshire-Maine state line. I've hiked this region many times before, and I've found it to be much quieter than the rest of the Whites. I choose Caribou Mountain, which can be hiked as a 7-mile loop via the Caribou Trail and Mud Brook Trail.

Birthday Hike on the Baldfaces

Getting above tree line, looking out at South Baldface.

Autumn in New England is one of the finest displays of nature. As the leaves change, the mountainsides become covered in a bold patchwork of color. 

The beginning of the ledges coming down from South Baldface. 

The last weekend of September, I had the pleasure of sharing one of my favorite hikes with my parents. My mom’s birthday is this week, and I surprised her by heading up to the family’s cabin in Maine late on Friday night.

Saturday couldn’t have been a more perfect day. The sun was shining and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. We had unseasonably warm temperatures in the 70s, and upon gaining elevation, there was a steady breeze to cool you off. 

The plan was to hike both North and South Baldface out of Evan’s notch, via the Baldface Circle Trail. We did the loop counterclockwise, which allowed us to avoid the crowds until later in the day. 

The Baldfaces straddle the Maine-New Hampshire state line and sit in the far east of the White Mountain National Forest. They get their name from the fact that they are sparsely vegetated as a result of a fire in the early 1900s. This means that despite the fact that they sit under 4,000ft, they are mainly above tree line, quite exposed to the elements, and have sweeping views along the several mile long ridgeline that connects both summits. Though the elevation may not be great, the hike itself is not a walk in the woods. It’s a little under 10 miles long and has over 3,500ft elevation gain. To add to the adventure, the southern peak in flanked by massive rocky ledges that proved to be very challenging and somewhat daunting, but we made it down safely (on our butts for most of the way). 

Look at Mt. Washington and the Wildcat-Carter Range from the summit of South Baldface.

The Ultimate TGIF!

This past Friday afternoon, my brother and I headed up to Hampton Beach, NH to SUP (SUP stands for stand up paddle boarding). I brought the my Nikon along, and got some action photos.

Full Moon Paddle

 Possibly my favorite aspect of summertime is that you can have a full day, eat a lazy dinner, have a drink or two on your front porch, and still have sunlight enough for an evening paddle. Especially when it's a full moon and there isn't a cloud in sight.

 Myself and these two goons loaded up and shoved off into the stillness of the river to take advantage of the perfect summer conditions. There really isn't much to say except we throughly enjoyed ourselves. And we may have seen a beaver.

Oh, and we have a supermoon this month! On the next full moon is tomorrow, the 10th, and it will be fullest and also coincidentally at it's closest point to earth. This will make it appear bright orange and larger than normal as it rises and sets; it will be well worth your time to go get a look at it. Maybe from the solitude of a river?

You can't paddle with a masters degree

Come with us!