8.9.12 — Mt. Moosilauke
On Thursday, it was time to get back on the hiking trail. I was able to persuade Dad to accompany me on a hike up Mt. Moosilauke (4,802 feet), which would be my second ascent up the beautiful mountain in the southwest corner of the White Mountains range. We planned to tramp up the Benton Trail, which was described as the easiest -- yet very scenic -- route up the mountain. It would be a 3.6-mile climb, gaining 3,100 feet in elevation. A lot of climbing, but steady all the way.
After a 90-minute drive, we were slowly navigating the gravelly road to the trailhead in the Prius when we were startled to find a gate blocking our way still 1.6 miles from the trail. As we would later find out, the road had been closed last year after damage caused by Hurricane Irene. We were stuck and not, exactly, in the mood for a bland walk on a dirt road before even reaching the trail.
Our only other option was to drive back down the Kancamagus Highway to the Beaver Brook Trail, which had been my ascent up the mountain three years ago when I'd tackled it with cousin J-bo as part of my epic summer of completing New Hampshire's 4,000-footers. That ascent, of course, had been the second of a traverse day that included four summits and 20 miles of hiking. This time, I felt fresh and had a light pack for the ascent up alongside beautiful waterfalls on the slick rock. I had warned Dad of the steepness, but he was ready for the trail.
The weather was perfect -- maybe in the 60s, although humid. We knew there was a chance of late afternoon thunderstorms, so we kept that in mind as we hiked. Dad didn't have his camera, which made a big difference in our hiking speed. The trail was steep, but we were helped considerably by the wooden blocks drilled into the sloping rock. They made for perfect steps as we climbed. Water is low this year, but there were still several beautiful cascades that ran down the rocks just to the right of the trail. It was a challenge to keep my eyes glued to the difficult steps I had to make and not be distracted.
After 1.9 miles of steepness, we reached a junction, turned right, to the west, and the trail became considerably flatter and easier to walk on. We passed a group of three women, each with a dog; we wondered how the dogs would do on the waterfalls. Later, on our descent, I noticed a dog paw print and figured they had fared just fine. To pass the time, Dad asked me to give him a description of the Harlan Coben mystery I was reading. By the time I had run through all the characters and subplots, we had passed the intersection with our first trail of choice, the Benton, and had emerged from the treeline to make the final ascent, among large, iconic cairns, to the open, widespread summit of Moosilauke.
The weather couldn't have been more ideal. There was little wind even out in the open, and the sun shined, but not strongly, on us as we passed grassy fields in all directions. Near the summit, we passed by several man-made rock shelters that could, potentially, serve as nice, little escapes from the wind. They weren't necessary on this day.
We sat at the top and enjoyed an amazing cheese-and-crackers lunch (my favorite summit meal!). As we ate, we noticed, a few hundred feet down the mountain, a woman running up it without stopping. When she reached the summit, and had time to catch her breath (which she hardly seemed to need to do), we asked her how far she'd run.
"Oh, just about three miles," she said.
Nothing.
She went on to tell us that she lived in Durango, Colorado, and did 15- and 20-mile trail runs on the regular. When I told her I was coming to her home state in a couple weeks, she mistakingly thought I was visiting her city and recommended a 20-mile hike with 7,000 feet in elevation gain. Ambitious! As we descended later, Dad and I surmised about her age. I guessed late 40s. He thought she was younger. Whatever the case, she was probably the most in-shape middle-aged woman I'd ever seen on a mountain.
Yeah, Colorado is a fit state!
As we were making our way down the mountain, we ran into an AT hiker, "Lone Duck," and joined up with him for the final couple miles. He was a heavyset man with a huge beer belly, a far cry from fit Colorado lady. But he was doing the Appalachian Trail. Props to him. He told us that this was his third stint on the trail. The first one had ended in New York when he became very sick. He had returned to the trail this past May only to be dumped on by a week of rain and swarmed by black flies. He returned to his home just outside Milwaukee. With his wife's approval, though, the former firefighter -- tough guy! -- was making a third and final attempt at completing the trail. He wasn't far from doing just that!
But he scared Dad, that's for sure. As we were in the midst of conversation, Lone Duck slipped and fell twice while going down the trail adjacent to the cascades. He was OK both times, saved by the padding provided by his pack, but that didn't ease Dad's anxiety. Lone Duck told some great AT stories, including the one about a mother bear who rushed toward him only to stop when her cubs emerged between her and him. That was a close call, he told us. He had also seen a bobcat and several snakes during his journey.
When we reached the bottom, we gave Lone Duck a ride into the town of Lincoln, where he planned on staying at a hostel for a couple days. I'd say that was a smart call, what with he faced in the upcoming days -- the hardest part of the New Hampshire range. Before we parted ways, he bestowed upon us the moniker tagged to people who help those trekking the AT -- Trail Angels.
It had been a day of changing plans, making the most of a hike, and hearing great stories. Oh, and the summit was incredible.
Not bad for a simple day hike.
NUMBERS
Miles hiked: 7.6
Summit: Mt. Moosilauke (4,802 feet)
Weather: 60s, partly cloudy, no rain
On Thursday, it was time to get back on the hiking trail. I was able to persuade Dad to accompany me on a hike up Mt. Moosilauke (4,802 feet), which would be my second ascent up the beautiful mountain in the southwest corner of the White Mountains range. We planned to tramp up the Benton Trail, which was described as the easiest -- yet very scenic -- route up the mountain. It would be a 3.6-mile climb, gaining 3,100 feet in elevation. A lot of climbing, but steady all the way.
After a 90-minute drive, we were slowly navigating the gravelly road to the trailhead in the Prius when we were startled to find a gate blocking our way still 1.6 miles from the trail. As we would later find out, the road had been closed last year after damage caused by Hurricane Irene. We were stuck and not, exactly, in the mood for a bland walk on a dirt road before even reaching the trail.
Our only other option was to drive back down the Kancamagus Highway to the Beaver Brook Trail, which had been my ascent up the mountain three years ago when I'd tackled it with cousin J-bo as part of my epic summer of completing New Hampshire's 4,000-footers. That ascent, of course, had been the second of a traverse day that included four summits and 20 miles of hiking. This time, I felt fresh and had a light pack for the ascent up alongside beautiful waterfalls on the slick rock. I had warned Dad of the steepness, but he was ready for the trail.
The weather was perfect -- maybe in the 60s, although humid. We knew there was a chance of late afternoon thunderstorms, so we kept that in mind as we hiked. Dad didn't have his camera, which made a big difference in our hiking speed. The trail was steep, but we were helped considerably by the wooden blocks drilled into the sloping rock. They made for perfect steps as we climbed. Water is low this year, but there were still several beautiful cascades that ran down the rocks just to the right of the trail. It was a challenge to keep my eyes glued to the difficult steps I had to make and not be distracted.
After 1.9 miles of steepness, we reached a junction, turned right, to the west, and the trail became considerably flatter and easier to walk on. We passed a group of three women, each with a dog; we wondered how the dogs would do on the waterfalls. Later, on our descent, I noticed a dog paw print and figured they had fared just fine. To pass the time, Dad asked me to give him a description of the Harlan Coben mystery I was reading. By the time I had run through all the characters and subplots, we had passed the intersection with our first trail of choice, the Benton, and had emerged from the treeline to make the final ascent, among large, iconic cairns, to the open, widespread summit of Moosilauke.
The weather couldn't have been more ideal. There was little wind even out in the open, and the sun shined, but not strongly, on us as we passed grassy fields in all directions. Near the summit, we passed by several man-made rock shelters that could, potentially, serve as nice, little escapes from the wind. They weren't necessary on this day.
We sat at the top and enjoyed an amazing cheese-and-crackers lunch (my favorite summit meal!). As we ate, we noticed, a few hundred feet down the mountain, a woman running up it without stopping. When she reached the summit, and had time to catch her breath (which she hardly seemed to need to do), we asked her how far she'd run.
"Oh, just about three miles," she said.
Nothing.
She went on to tell us that she lived in Durango, Colorado, and did 15- and 20-mile trail runs on the regular. When I told her I was coming to her home state in a couple weeks, she mistakingly thought I was visiting her city and recommended a 20-mile hike with 7,000 feet in elevation gain. Ambitious! As we descended later, Dad and I surmised about her age. I guessed late 40s. He thought she was younger. Whatever the case, she was probably the most in-shape middle-aged woman I'd ever seen on a mountain.
Yeah, Colorado is a fit state!
As we were making our way down the mountain, we ran into an AT hiker, "Lone Duck," and joined up with him for the final couple miles. He was a heavyset man with a huge beer belly, a far cry from fit Colorado lady. But he was doing the Appalachian Trail. Props to him. He told us that this was his third stint on the trail. The first one had ended in New York when he became very sick. He had returned to the trail this past May only to be dumped on by a week of rain and swarmed by black flies. He returned to his home just outside Milwaukee. With his wife's approval, though, the former firefighter -- tough guy! -- was making a third and final attempt at completing the trail. He wasn't far from doing just that!
But he scared Dad, that's for sure. As we were in the midst of conversation, Lone Duck slipped and fell twice while going down the trail adjacent to the cascades. He was OK both times, saved by the padding provided by his pack, but that didn't ease Dad's anxiety. Lone Duck told some great AT stories, including the one about a mother bear who rushed toward him only to stop when her cubs emerged between her and him. That was a close call, he told us. He had also seen a bobcat and several snakes during his journey.
When we reached the bottom, we gave Lone Duck a ride into the town of Lincoln, where he planned on staying at a hostel for a couple days. I'd say that was a smart call, what with he faced in the upcoming days -- the hardest part of the New Hampshire range. Before we parted ways, he bestowed upon us the moniker tagged to people who help those trekking the AT -- Trail Angels.
It had been a day of changing plans, making the most of a hike, and hearing great stories. Oh, and the summit was incredible.
Not bad for a simple day hike.
NUMBERS
Miles hiked: 7.6
Summit: Mt. Moosilauke (4,802 feet)
Weather: 60s, partly cloudy, no rain
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