In the past few weeks, I’ve been asked multiple times about my “most recent adventure” during casual, aka “short answer needed,” conversation. I haven’t exactly stuck to an elevator pitch, but here are the themes I’ve used to describe my Dad’s and my four and a half days in New Hampshire’s White Mountains in February.
“Otherworldly.”
“That place is so magical during the winter.”
“We saw two people on the trail during four days.”
“Unbelievable.”
And the list of superlatives goes on…
Unlike the year before, we entered this trip with, shall I say, confidence? There were no back-and-forth emails months out from our departure date discussing in great detail what the heck we needed clothing wise. And whether we should hire a guide. And what hikes were even doable during a New Hampshire winter.
Rather, we talked a little bit over the holiday break about possible hikes, and shared a couple emails, and Dad read up in his snowshoe hikes in New Hampshire book. But that was about it. The rest we left to making decisions on the fly, such as:
Is it going to be really windy and snowy today? Probably not a good idea to tackle a high summit. Is it going to be clear today? Let’s goooooo! We also found an invaluable resource, Newenglandtrailconditions.com, where hikers post very basic descriptions of their hikes with the essential information — what was the trail like? Were crampons or snowshoes needed? Were there any dogs on the trail?
(OK, the dogs question wasn’t really essential to us.) Anyway, between our experience of a year ago, having the right gear, and that website, we felt ready. We met on Sunday afternoon, Feb. 7, me driving from Manchester to Boston to pick up Dad after he smartly took an incredibly great voucher deal to fly in a tiny bit later and to a different airport. Great start to the trip! We drove to Susan and Woodie’s in mild conditions, a huge contrast from 2015’s freezing rain experience. We watched a terrible Super Bowl Sunday evening (except for the halftime show), and toward the end began thinking of hiking. Let the anticipation build!
Day 1, Jennings Peak — 6.3 miles hiked
Our morning process during these trips is to get good sleep (9 hours or so) and then check the weather about 3,843 times during a granola breakfast. On Monday, we decided to start with a somewhat challenging but not crazy hike — the 6.3 miles to Jennings Peak (3,455 ft) on the shoulder of Sandwich Dome mountain. With snow forecasted to begin falling early in the afternoon, we figured that a hike up a higher peak would come with limited or new views at all.
The interesting thing is that no snow had fallen in the previous few days, so the steep trail was packed down snow with constant ice, too. The trees were barren of the white stuff. This made the scenery significantly less beautiful, but didn’t lessen the difficulty of the walking. We both wore our microspikes, although mine are significantly sharper or “spikier” than Dad’s (more on this later). The 1.2 miles up the Dome trail to Noon Peak is steep, and it was a good test in layering, our most frequent topic of conversation on the trail (exciting, I know!).
I learned a lesson on Monday — don’t wear multiple base layers. Soon, I had broken a sweat, which is never a good thing when dealing with temperatures in the low 20s and hearing the wind howling through the trees. Before emerging at the first outlook, we smartly threw on all our layers (base, fleece, down, outer shell, balaclava, goggles, layer gloves under winter mittens). Then upon walking out onto the snow-covered rock looking out at the mountain peaks to the north and east, I was blasted by the wind. It wasn’t exactly comfortable. After inhaling a Larabar, I escaped the wind back onto the trail.
The 1.3 miles to the Jennings Peak spur went quickly, and soon we were re-layering and then emerging on the exposed snow-rock peak. It’s a beautiful summit on which I’ve spent summer afternoons reading and enjoying the scenery, but on this day the wind was biting and sitting wasn’t too comfortable. The surrounding mountains were beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but they were mostly green. There wasn’t a lot of the winter white that makes the season spectacularly gorgeous.
We were dealing with winter temperatures and ice, but minus the fluff that takes the season’s scenery to new level of wonderment.
We stayed on the peak for 15-20 minutes before descending into the trees. On the way down, we took the winding, easier-on-the-knees Drakes Brook Trail. We stopped at a few places to enjoy the snowy, icy stream that followed the trail on our right-hand side. Some spots were frozen and others weren’t, making for a nice contrast when taking photos.
We reached the trailhead around 4pm, satisfied from a fun hike but also wanting more. We knew that just a slight dusting of snow could transform this place into something entirely more beautiful. As we were eating dinner at an Italian restaurant on the edge of Plymouth, the snow started to fall. In fact, by the time we got back to Susan and Woodie’s, the road had become so slick that the crappy tires on our rental Hyundai Elantra barely made it up the road’s hill and couldn’t climb their driveway. We parked at its base, the snow continuing to fall, and walked to their door.
Day 2 of hiking would be something else.
Day 2, Mt. Liberty — 8 miles hiked
Sitting at the kitchen counter eating our granola Tuesday morning, we checked the weather reports. We also gazed outside, where 3 inches of fresh snow blanketed the cold ground. The forecast put music in our ears — No. Wind. Yes! Quickly, we came to the decision: This was our day to tackle a big, exposed peak.
Mt. Liberty.
Liberty (4,459 ft) sits on the highly exposed Franconia Ridge Trail, one of the two most beautiful ridges in the White Mountains. The hike to Liberty is far from an easy one, climbing a combined 3,150 feet up the Liberty Springs trail through the woods and then 0.3 miles on the ridge trail up and out of the spruce trees to the exposed summit. It would be a slog, we knew that.
But from the moment we stepped out of the Elantra in the parking lot bereft of other cars except for a utility truck doing some kind of work, the beauty of the fresh powder on the trail and trees was intoxicating. We started on the Whitehouse Trail, 0.8 miles connecting the parking lot with the Liberty Springs Trail, at 10:30am. The weather was in the mid-20s (mild!) and more importantly, wind was absent. Outside of white hare footprints, we noticed just one set of human shoes on the trail as we trekked the mostly flat first two miles.
After crossing a stream and seeing what appeared to be the first long hill ahead of me, I stripped down to my base layer (just a longsleeve polypro). I had learned from day 1 and was not going to get to the point of sweating. As the grade increased, so did the level of beauty. Our surroundings definitively changed from openness to thick spruce trees cloaking both sides of the trail. Each of these small green trees was blanketed with the prettiest, purest snow I’ve ever seen.
I began stopping every 50-100 feet to lick snow off spruce branches. The snow was delightfully tasty, complementing the water in my still-unfrozen Nalgene bottle, and just the act of eating snow off branches is, you know, pretty cool.
We were in paradise. And we were still in the woods.
From past experience on this trail, my mindset was that it would take a good three hours for us to reach the summit. I thought each of those last two miles would seemingly last forever. And maybe it was that mindset that led to the opposite being true. Or maybe it was because each step, each bend in the trail, each lick of snow off the branches was so enjoyable. Whatever the case, we reached the Liberty Springs campsite — where I had camped with cousin Caitlin and her friends two and a half years prior — and decided to take our first real break, just 0.3 miles from the ridge trail.
We wiped off the snow from the first tent platform and sat down for some cheese and crackers (and a few of the espresso beans from the restaurant the night before, which I found in my coat pocket; what a surprise!). After a few minutes, I felt chilly for the first time all day. Also, the anticipation of what lay ahead dominated my brain. This was going to be spectacular. Otherworldly! The sky above us was mostly blue. Wind was nonexistent.
Upon reaching the ridge a minute before Dad, I noticed that the footprints we had seen all hike went to the left toward Mt. Lincoln and Mt. Lafayette, but not to the right toward our destination, Liberty. All I could see in that direction was a white powder trail skirted on each side by spruce trees. Incredible! The trees’ branches twinkled around us as we walked the 0.3 miles toward the summit. “Magic” is the word I would write in my journal that night to describe that section of hiking.
Upon reaching the ultimate scramble toward the peak, the sun to the southwest in the early afternoon sky poked through and shone directly on the snow-covered upper ledges directly above us. Behind us, brilliant, eye-capturing views of Lincoln, Lafayette, and, behind it, Mt. Garfield emerged. To the east, we could see the Bonds and other peaks but not quite the Presidentials.
Blue sky. Wispy clouds. The purest powder you can imagine. Paradise.
After a minute, I realized I wasn’t on the actual summit, as I gazed toward the higher point a couple hundred feet away. I took a step toward it, and my boot plunged down more than a foot in the snow. I had found a mini crevice between the rocks. This was a fair warning to me that despite the immense beauty we were in, the snow also created such dangers. I carefully walked alongside the spruce trees below the false summit Dad still stood on and the main one in front of me and then used my spikes to ascend the snow-covered granite to the top. I then took a seat and looked around.
And just like that, the sky was clouding over. Gone was the blue. The sun still peeked, obstructed, through the clouds. Lincoln and Liberty were somewhere behind Dad, but mostly gone. We had enjoyed our window, and now winter was taking over the ridge. Still, there was no wind. Conditions were incredibly comfortable. After a few more minutes, I made my way back over to Dad and we enjoyed part two of our cheese and crackers lunch (always so, so delicious on top of a mountain!).
Around 2:30pm, we decided that, yes, we should head down. Dad led the way toward the steep descent, and before I knew it he was on his butt, sledding the trail. Brilliant! I followed form, laughing as I went. I can’t say we were able to sled the entire trail, but there were a few places along the upper portions that were perfect for it.
We returned to the parking lot just before 5pm, the sky on the verge of darkness. We had a harrowing drive along the Kancamangus Highway to reach our hotel in North Conway ahead of us, but we also had a day full of unforgettable memories. Regardless of what the next two days would bring, we had experienced our impeccable hiking day.
Miles: 8.0
Elevation: 3,150
People seen: 0
Wildlife seen: None
Day 3 — Lowe’s Bald Spot via Old Jackson Road, then Raymond Path, to Huntington Ravine, to Tuckerman trail (6.3 miles)
Our third morning in New Hampshire was one of those tricky, difficult decision-making ones. On the one hand, the open, beautiful, views-giving peak of Mt. Hight (4,675 ft) beckoned. But it was also a 9-mile hike with 3,000 feet of elevation gain. It would be a haul, and we weren’t sure about the weather. It appeared the wind would take another day off, but clouds seemed much more likely. Also, we were coming off a pretty strenuous trek up Liberty. An easier day, especially for Dad, made some sense.
So we decided on a moderate climb to Lowe’s Bald Spot, an open peak on the slopes of Mt. Washington that on a clear day provides tremendous views of the northern Presidentials, Mt. Adams and Mt. Madison. When we parked at Pinkham Notch, we were thisclose to changing our mind and continuing north on Route 16 to do the Mt. Hight hike. But again we thought better of it.
During the first 5 minutes of the 2-mile hike on Old Jackson Road, a crazy thing happened: we saw another person! The woman slogging along in her snowshoes was the first human we’d seen on the trail in three days. Imagine that! After exchanging pleasantries, we continued via the moderately graded trail skirted on both sides by beautiful snow-covered spruce trees. The new-powder effect of the previous day was still with us.
It didn’t take us long to reach the spur trail up Lowe’s Bald Spot. True to the descriptions we had read, we had to ascend a steep rocky pitch — the granite covered with snow and ice — to reach the summit. This is where we really had to dig in our spikes in the ice. Dad’s microspikes weren’t as long as mine, so this proved a more arduous task for him. But he made it.
Views on the snow-covered summit were limited, but still beautiful. I walked to the eastern edge, gazing over trees toward where Hight and Carter Dome and the Wildcat mountains were. I walked back to the main summit and looked out into the whiteness where I knew Adams and Madison loomed. The wind had taken another day off (!!) and temperatures were probably in the high 20s, making sitting for several minutes and eating our sunbutter sandwiches quite pleasant. A light snow fell as we breathed in the limited but alluring view of Nelson’s Crag on the higher pitches of Washington.
Eventually, as is usually the case, I got a little cold. It was time to head down. After carefully navigating the descent of the steep, icy pitch (no easy task), we decided to lengthen our hike by doing a loop on the Raymond Path (to the southwest) and Tuckerman Trail (east). After an initial calves-burning pitch with much post-holing, the Raymond Path’s grade lessened and we enjoyed a mid-afternoon walk on yet another absolutely gorgeous trail. With the afternoon light starting to fade, we decided to cut off about 0.8 by taking the Huntington Ravine Trail to Tuckerman instead of continuing farther up the mountain to connect with the trail.
The half mile on the Huntington was my favorite section of the day, as we descended through maybe a foot of the granular snow, kicking through the powder with my boots. To our right there was a beautiful creek, some parts frozen and others running water — with waterfalls, too, and snow-covered rocks jutting out of the water. We reached a stream crossing and walked over a snow bridge that looked to have been untouched by anything living before us. I stared into a circular abyss of running water in the snow; it was as if someone had taken a knife and cut out the area. So cool.
Back on the Tuckerman making our final descent, the trail was so gradual and easy that we took off the spikes and slid our way toward the bottom, only stopping to take in the sight of a frozen waterfall, a 50-foot wall of ice (and in front of it, a gigantic icicle). We returned to Pinkham Notch a little after 5pm, thoroughly satisfied from our moderate 6.3-mile hike.
Miles: 6.3
1 person, a mouse, a squirrel
Elevation gained: 1,750
Day 4 — Mt. Jackson and Mt. Webster, 6.5 miles hiked
With Thursday our last full day in New Hampshire, I wanted to make it a full day of exploration. The conditions were not exactly ideal — single digit temperatures and windy. But after reviewing some trip reports, we agreed that summiting two high peaks, Mt. Jackson (4,052 ft) and Mt. Webster (3,911) was doable. There’d be some exposure to the wind, but we could always duck back into the trees.
After a longer-than-anticipated drive and a stop at the AMC Highland Center where Dad smartly bought the same microspikes I have (anticipating more ice and arduous hiking than the first three days), we left the Elantra at 11am. It was 11 degrees outside. Factoring in the formula that for every 1,000 feet you gain, the temperature drops five degrees, we figured it’d be about 0 atop the summits — before thinking of the wind.
As we started up the 6.3-mile loop, steady snowfall made the surrounding scenery incredibly gorgeous. About a mile in, I did a double take when upon reaching a stream crossing, from the other side bounded two dogs. Seconds later, a man — a human! — came out from the woods. Civilization! We had become so used to seeing no people, no dogs, that this sighting was a pleasant shock. This guy was clearly a veteran of winter hiking. As we neared each other, he looked us over, internally evaluating, it seemed, whether we were fit for winter hiking on this day. After talking equipment and our itinerary for a minute, he gave us a subtle nod of approval and moved on.
We were legitimate!
As crazy as this sounds, when we reached the fork where you either choose Jackson or Webster first, I felt just a tad hot with my fleece on and I stripped down to my base layer. Yes, I was wearing one layer in single-digit temperatures. Maybe a bit crazy. I didn’t continue like this for more than a half mile. A little farther up the trail, I noticed four gray jays making a racket flying from one snow-covered branch of the dense trees to another. We tried to stage them taking a bit of a Larabar from my hand, but they didn’t oblige. Oh, well. A guy, two dogs, and four birds — this was a happening place!
Once we thought we were approaching the summit, we stopped for a first lunch. I dropped the plastic bags of crackers and sliced cheese in the snow and we gobbled food down before our hands froze. Then it was back to moving, back to warming up. As the grade steepened and the clouds began to clear, I could hear the wind above us, whipping everything in its path around. Real winter weather awaited us.
The final scramble to Jackson’s open summit was a tough one, as we had to dig in our spikes, use any handholds available (hello, small tree stubs) and maneuver our way up — sometimes on hands and knees. Before emerging into the open, I had put all my layers on — base, fleece, down, outer shell, balaclava, goggles, and of course gloves and mittens (changing layers while getting owned by the wind is never a fun thing).
Most of the snow had been wind-whipped off the rocky summit, but some remained including crystallized, pure-as-can-be snow banks that I gazed at in wonderment. I’ll never cease to be amazed by how absolutely picturesque untouched nature is. Visibility was limited, but the beauty was not. Even on a socked-in day, Jackon’s summit had a magical quality. With the wind chill, we were probably dealing with -15 or -20. My routine for the next 10-15 minutes was as follows: 1) Snap a few photos on the exposed summit; 2) Walk into the small enclave of trees protected from the wind, ball my hands up, and try to warm them as much as possible; 3) Move back out into the wind! Dad was tougher — and his hands have much better circulation — as he stayed out in the conditions for our entire summit time, snapping photos. What a guy!
The climb up to Webster was short and sweet, an easy pitch setting us atop the summit. The weather was a bit tamer at 3pm, and the sun glowed in the white sky as a light snow fell. I spent a few minutes admiring the perfectly wind-crafted snow drifts — reminding myself that not everything needed to be photographed — and walked out to a few rock outcroppings overlooking Crawford Notch. It was still windy, but for whatever reason my hands didn’t feel as cold as they had on Jackson (they would become really, really weak on the descent, however). After about 15 minutes of paradise, we decided we better start descending to reach the trailhead by darkness (we had headlamps with us, but still it wouldn’t be ideal to need to use them). On the way down, we stopped in a beautiful creek bed full of about a foot of snow. We ate our second cheese and crackers lunch while gazing up at an ice waterfall.
It was 10 degrees when we returned to the car at 5:10pm. It’d been a frigid day, but an unbelievable one … an experience with sights we’ll never forget.
Miles hiked: 6.5
Elevation gained: 2,450
Seen:
1 person
2 dogs
4 birds
1 squirrel (dad)
Day 5 — Taking in the sights before the airport
A quick note about our place of residence for the final three nights of our trip, Merrill Farm Resort: It was absolutely perfect for a hotel (of course, we always prefer staying with friends and greatly, greatly appreciate Susan and Woodie taking us in the first two nights!). We had a huge room with floor space, couch, tables, etc. There was a hot tub I utilized every night to warm myself and my muscles. They had coffee in the morning for Dad. And it was conveniently located for our hikes and food options in North Conway. Our last two nights, we got takeout and then dined in at Cafe Noche, a really good Mexican restaurant in Conway. The veggie enchiladas were something else!
We left Merrill Farm around 11am Friday morning, all packed up and driving back south. We had a few destinations in mind before returning to the airport. We stopped first at Chocorua Lake, gazing out from a bridge at its southern end for views of the mostly frozen body of water set against its namesake, iconic peak. Then we continued into Sandwich to one of our usual summer spots, the pothole, which was a mix of ice and running water. The views from the bridge of this hodgepodge of winter battling other seasons were fun. And finally, we had to get a hike in so we walked up the 0.9-mile, hike-every-summer West Rattlesnake trail and enjoyed lunch on the summit as we gazed out on Squam Lake.
It’s a view I’d taken in dozens upon dozens of times, but it still felt new, fresh, and just as enjoyable, even if my hands were cold. That’s the thing about New Hampshire — this place, these mountains, will never lose their magic. And that’s especially true in winter.
Another incredible trip was in the books, and as I boarded the plane back to reality, I was already thinking about the next one.
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