Until this year, I wasn't particularly interested in winter hiking. Seriously.
If I could experience the mountains all summer, with some spring and fall hikes mixed in, that was enough. Why go through the hassle of preparing for the winter chill? Why risk losing limbs, getting frostbite, dealing with hypothermia. Why? Why? Why?
Then this past November, I began looking at photos from a Facebook group I'm in called "Hike the 4,000-footers." The shots of New Hampshire in the winter — of the snow, of the rime-encrusted trees, of the way the sunlight shines on the spruce trees — were absolutely stunning. I've seen unbelievable beauty hiking in the state's White Mountains each August, but nothing compared to what I was seeing — and just in photos.
I needed to experience this. It was time to winter hike.
I got in touch with Susan, my aunt Vicky's friend, who graciously offered up her house in Holderness, NH — an hour or so from most of the area's hikes — as a base. Then I casually mentioned my planned trip for mid-January to Dad. Having just retired, he was intrigued. Then he was in. I had a hiking partner.
That was a good thing, because Dad brought a cautious approach that I lacked. When I told him I planned to hike 4,000-footers, he came back with a skeptic answer. Did I know how fierce the weather was up there? Had I forgotten that Mt. Washington had recorded, until recently, the world's harshest winds atop its 6,288-foot summit?
During the next two months, Dad and I had countless phone conversations. We talked boots, coats and crampons during Thanksgiving break. We had about 23 conversations about layers when I was home in Michigan for the holidays. I bought a pair of winter boots, crampons and new pairs of wool socks, and Dad gifted me a base layer, and a new fleece.
Dad also suggested using a guide on our first day in New Hampshire who could show us how to actually approach this winter hiking thing. One of the things I've always loved about hiking is being free from society, from following someone's instructions, but I couldn't argue with Dad — as good of a hiker as I consider myself, the winter is a different beast.
Finally, we were ready. I packed more for this four-day trip than I ever have before. I checked two bags at the Southwest counter (free bags!). I was headed north. All my friends shook their heads when I told them about my "vacation." Going north and hiking? Are you crazy?
Well, yes. I am crazy.
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Sunday, Jan. 18 — The scariest day of the trip
We didn't hike 100 feet on Sunday. It was also the scariest day of the trip. By far.
It was freezing rain in Manchester, NH, when our flights arrived. And it wasn't stopping. All day. We had what is usually about a 75-minute drive to Sue's. It would take much longer.
The "compact" car we were given was a neon-yellow Kia Soul. Amazingly, I've rented about six cars in my life, and two of them have been neon yellow! I think the rental companies are trying to tell me, Jake, you need to be more salient. Stand out!
Anyway, we got on the road going between 30 and 40 mph on the highway. Soon, we were in a traffic jam. We stopped at a rest area and while I futilely tried to find a gluten-free nutritious food offering, I got an alert on my phone — Caris LaVert, Michigan's stud basketball player, was out for the season. Oh, what a crappy Sunday!
We got to the healthy grocery store in Concord where we planned to buy our food for the week. After walking over 50 feet of ice, we came to the front door — "Went home; closed for the day" was the gist of the paper taped to the door. Great! Thankfully, there was a Hannaford nearby, where we stocked up on our breakfast, lunch and snack foods for the week.
After many more SLOW miles and a Google Maps route that somehow navigated us away from the main highway, we arrived at Sue's around 6:30pm, some four hours after our flights had landed. I was even able to gun the Soul up the ice driveway.
We made it. We ate a delicious soup and bread dinner. The rain continued to fall. It wasn't stopping anytime soon. We called it a night early, hoping conditions would allow for our introduction to winter hiking the next day.
Monday, Jan. 19 — Navigating Mount Washington's slopes, about 6 miles hiked
I woke up Monday around 6:30am to the soothing lack of raindrops. Sometime in the middle of the night the freezing rain had ceased. We had a clear, unseasonably warm MLK Day on our hands. Eating breakfast and packing our bags took longer than expected, and we were on the road a bit late. After the 90-minute drive, we arrived about 20 minutes late to the Eastern Mountain Sports store in North Conway.
Upon entering, we were greeted by a slender, fit-looking man who introduced himself as Ian. We would later learn that Ian lives in Portsmouth, NH, on the coast with his wife and holds down a sales job with an equipment supplier. During down periods, he travels inland to Conway to guide hikes and climbs while staying with a friend in town. Sounds like a pretty good life!
Ian immediately suggested doing an ice climb that would get us experience using ropes. That, it seemed, was his favorite thing to do, but we had no interest in ice climbing, as cool as it sounds. We made that clear, and he was very amenable to changing the plan to a hike up the slopes of Mt. Washington — something he had done with groups the previous two days, too.
Then, it was gear inspection time. I'm proud to say that we graded out well. Ian approved of my boots, crampons and layers. He was initially skeptical of Dad's boots, but not after the Dad explained that he'd been testing them in sub-0 degree temperatures in Ann Arbor and they'd done fine. All Ian provided me was an ice axe — my first ice axe! He hooked Dad up with some crampons, we repacked our bags, and we all hopped in the Kia Soul to head north!
After arriving at Pinkham Notch, I quickly made my first no-no — putting on my crampons while seated on the wooden porch of the lodge. Ian gave me an appropriate scolding, and we began hiking up the famous and wide Tuckerman Ravine trail — the most direct path up Mt. Washington. Of course, beginning at 10:30am and with our lack of experience, I only had a very small inkling in the back of my mind to go for the summit. Our stated goal was to reach Lion's Head, a cliff on the upper shoulder of Washington nine tenths of a mile from the top.
On the trail, we passed and were passed by numerous hikers who had skies on. Washington's eastern side is world-famous for its ski slopes — separate from the hiking trails — and people routinely hike up the main trail and then ski down. What a fun workout! I also peppered Ian with questions. After all, we had to get the most out of our guide, right? Things I learned: The importance of shedding layers while ascending to make sure I don't sweat; how to use the ice axe for self-arrest; how critical it is to put on the down coat during breaks; and that insulated water bottle carriers are good items to have.
The Tuckerman trail wasn't the most scenic, but when we turned onto the path toward Lion's Head, things got more interesting. The snow got deeper, and I found my cramponed feet sinking more with each step. It also started snowing, making things much more wintry. My hands also started to get cold, and I learned a lesson that would help me the next two days — always just wear mittens, not gloves. I don't have very good circulation — I knew this by comparing my hands to Dad's, which never get cold — and it's hard to warm really cold hands.
As we got close to emerging from the spruce-lined trail into the open and could hear the wind above, Ian alerted us to have our masks and goggles in easy-to-access pockets. I loved the fact that my new backpack has about five outside pockets in which it's easy to stuff such gear. I was wrestling, though, with my layers. I had just my base layer and outer shell — a rain coat — on and didn't want to put on my fleece and start sweating as we ascended. At the same time, I was getting cold. It's a difficult balance I would learn more about in the ensuing days.
Winter at its finest!
I didn't bother to take my outer shell off, instead putting my down coat over it. I also put my balaclava and goggles on and quickly got my mittens back on. My hands were freezing!
With ice axe in hand, I brought up the rear as we slowly made our way up the deep-snow path. Visibility fluctuated between 20 and 100 feet, with occasional glimpses of the snow-covered slopes above us. Dad and I had no idea where we were going; we just followed Ian.
It was crazy. It was cold. But I loved it!
At 1:23pm, we stopped and Ian took some photos of us. I could tell that he was ready to call it quits. He had let us know that the EMS turnaround time was generally 1:30pm. He told us it was pointless to continue onward. We wouldn't be able to see anything. But my thirst for Mt. Washington hiking hadn't been quenched. Not yet. We convinced Ian to give us another five minutes of stumbling up the snow drifts. After passing a group of descending — and very cold-looking hikers — we were all alone in the mid-afternoon fury.
Then it was time, sadly, to turn around. Descending was pure fun. Unlike during the summer, I didn't worry about falling, because the soft snow was harmless. My steps were awkward. I stumbled. I fell a couple times. It was glorious. My hands were near numb, but I managed to click my camera a few times and capture just a tad of the madness. Then we were below tree line with no more need for the masks or goggles, and we enjoyed a calm, if not exciting, descent.
Overall, I wouldn't say Ian was the greatest guide of all time, but Dad and I agreed that Dad's investment — a Christmas present to me — was definitely worth it. After the experience — and Dad's purchasing of microspikes at EMS afterward — we felt ready to tackle our own adventures.
Tuesday's forecast, though, called for winds of 90-plus mph on the high peaks (which we would later learn referred to Mt. Washington). Would we get blown away without Ian by our side?
Tuesday, Jan. 20 — A 7-mile loop in a winter wonderland
I woke up Tuesday with my mind set on summiting Mt. Pierce, the most accessible peak in the Presidential range at 4,311 feet. But over breakfast while looking at different weather reports, Dad — always the smart one — convinced me Pierce might not be the best idea. The high peaks called for blow-you-over winds and sub-0 degree temperatures.
We settled on driving to the same spot in Crawford Notch and hiking on the other side of Route 302 up the Mt. Avalon and A-Z trails, where there were a few peaks we could chase. It was cold — probably in the low teens — but once we got moving, we warmed up. And there was no wind in the woods — none. Using the lessons learned from the previous day, I started the hike with just a couple layers and my mittens. I was warm but not sweating. The woods were incredibly beautiful. The path was mostly packed down and easy to follow, and the snow-covered spruce around us glowed in the morning sunlight.
Early on, we were passed by a solo hiker who seemed as excited as us about the weather. He told us he had hiked all 115 4,000-footers in New England and the Adirondacks — a goal of mine; I'm about 30 away — and was now trying to get in as much winter tramping as possible. Amen to that.
After 2.8 relatively easy miles, although it got steep the last mile, we reached the junction with the 0.6-mile spur up Mt. Tom. We placed our packs down in the snow and grabbed lunch. As I was taking the first bite of my delicious sunbutter sandwich on toasted raisin bread, I was nearly scared out of my boots — and crampons — by a bird that had swooped down, having smelled my sandwich. The little jay and its partner were relentless during the next 10 minutes, flying from perch to perch around us. I shielded my food as I ate, always on the lookout. We had some fun with it, too, as Dad held out a piece of his sandwich and I photographed the bird swoop in for the freebie. Dad's such a magnanimous fellow.
As we were about to begin up the Mt. Tom (4,052 ft) spur, a burly gentleman emerged from the woods and greeted us heartily. Turns out Tom was the 40th of New Hampshire's 48 4,000-footers for him and he hoped to do a few more during the winter. He was also an avid photographer like the Dad and took a couple great photos of us before we parted ways. People are always so friendly in the woods!
Then it was time to ascend our first winter 4,000-footer, as too much standing around had my hands and feet cold. The 0.6-mile climb seemed easier than the memories I had of ascending Tom twice during the summer. There was a thin coating of soft powder on top of the packed down snow, and the trees only got more beautiful as we climbed. Just before the summit, I emerged at an outlook with a view to the southwest — a first winter landscape view.
How to describe it? I'll use two words: Winter Wonderland.
Upon continuing to the tree-covered summit, Dad remembered that there was supposedly an opening to the northwest and we followed faint footprint through the snow and trees until we came to a parting in the spruces and an incredible view toward Franconia Ridge, the Twin mountains and more looking west. All around us, spruces were coated with a snow that glistened in the early afternoon sunlight. Everything was amazingly still — the wind having forgotten to wake up on this perfect Tuesday.
We took it all in. I couldn't stop smiling. Then we continued on.
Mt. Field's summit reintroduced us to the wind. Maybe 20-mph gusts hit me as I put on my balaclava, mask and goggles. It was cold, but far from unbearable. A very short path to the left through foot-deep snow led to an impressive view of the Presidential range across Crawford Notch. There were also tremendous views to the north. After a couple minutes without my mask, I felt a couple eyelashes freeze but I didn't care — spectacular scenery can make you forget about such things.
To complete our loop, we next hiked to Mt. Avalon, and boy were we glad we were going down. The trail was one of the steepest I've ever been on, which is really saying something. Of course, descending a snow-packed trail is A LOT of fun. On several pitches, Dad got on his butt and got some good momentum sledding down on his waterproof rain pants. I tried this too, but something slowed me down. I'm not sure if it was my pants, crampons (which I thought were off the ground) or my larger pack. I settled for some minor glissading and, simply, really easy and fast hiking.
After a mile and about 900 feet lost, we had just 100 yards uphill to Avalon's top, which offered the best views of the day. From the small peak, we had a grand view of the Presidentials, Mt. Washington standing tall and grand before our eyes. I gazed at Pierce and dreamed of gaining its summit the next day. But mostly, I just thought of how blessed we were to be experiencing such beauty and having it all to ourselves.
Wow.
On the final mile or so of the descent, I took my crampons off and just hiked in my boots. Immediately without the tightness of the metal, my feet felt warmer, not to mention lighter. I slid-walked out of the woods as lightness waned in the January sky. We arrived back at the notch around 4:30pm.
I finished an impeccable day with some delicious Thai food, a Michigan win over Rutgers, a little State of the Union watching, and a mug of peppermint tea courtesy of Sue. And with a great forecast for Wednesday, I dreamed Tuesday night of another winter wonderland to experience.
Wednesday, Jan. 21 — Another world atop Mt. Pierce, 6.6 miles hiked
When we woke up Wednesday morning, there was no doubt about the forecast — it was a good one. Sure, we knew from experience hiking in the summer that anything can change at any moment in the White Mountains. However, this day was shaping up nicely. The 'High Peaks,' meaning Mt. Washington, had projected winds of 25-45 mph. Even if that's what we experienced atop Mt. Pierce, we wouldn't be blown away. We'd survive.
As I drove the Soul along Route 302, Dad leaned toward me to shoot photos of the Presidentials, getting a head start on photography for the day. The first 1.8 miles of the trial wasn't as beautiful as the previous day's. There wasn't as much snow on the trees and it didn't seem quite as wintry. Still, it was beautiful.
Then, after passing the Mitzpah Cutoff intersection, where a right turn would have taken us to the closed Mitzpah Hut, the scenery became downright gorgeous. It was very cold — maybe 5-10 degrees — but sunlight danced off the tall spruce trees above us and found patches of the snow beneath our feet. When we stopped for a lunch break, I found one of those islands of light and was able to stay warm while stationary by basking in the sun's warmth — at least for 10 minutes.
My hands and feet, though, started to chill, so I began up the trail again and turned around after maybe one tenth of a mile to return to the Dad. I felt like a dog, racing up ahead on the trail and then back. Anything to warm up.
As we approached the summit, the scenery became breathtaking. To our left, views began opening up of the Presidentials and there were a couple spots where we could see the summit of Mt. Washington framed perfectly between two trees. On the right side of the trail, the larger spruce trees were magnificent to look at as they featured a heavy coating of rime ice and snow. I gazed at one after another, wondering how such thick layers formed. The answer, I guess? Winter!
After passing the guy from Kentucky on his way down, we emerged in the open and it was spectacular, a winter wonderland. There was no wind. The sun was bright. And it was so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop. We had all of this to ourselves.
Unbelievable.
I was mesmerized by the trail signs at the intersection, which during three seasons are wooden. On this day, there was only a small patch of the sign that was naked. The rest was coated in about an inch of snow and rime ice. We walked up toward the summit, following faint footprints on the hardened snow surface that cracked under each step. Some steps, my foot sank in a bit; on others, they didn't.
I couldn't believe the summit of the 4,311-foot mountain — it was completely still and warm. I could have laid down and taken a nap. I didn't even have my down layer on. After several minutes exploring the top of the exposed peak, we walked back down and started walking on the Crawford Path toward Mt. Eisenhower. Quickly, it became apparent that this was one of those need-snowshoes trails. Every other footstep, my crampons broke at least a foot through the snow. The going was possible, if difficult, but I felt more guilty about postholing and making the trail tougher for those with the right equipment. So after maybe two tenths of a mile and taking some photos, we turned around.
The descent was uneventful, and I went the last 1.8 miles without my crampons, allowing me to somewhat slide down parts of the trail although my new boots' good traction didn't allow too much of this. We arrived at the car after 4pm and headed back to Plymouth, where we enjoyed a delectable dinner out at the Italian Farmhouse with Sue and Woodie (gluten-free bread and pizza!). What a day.
Thursday, Jan. 22 — Places around home, 1.6 miles hiked
Thursday, sadly, was our last day in the winter paradise. We packed up everything quickly and said our unworthy thank yous to Sue and Woodie (they had been so, so good to us!) and got on the road early. We had a lot to experience.
Each summer, we congregate on the Red House in Center Sandwich, NH, for a couple weeks. Three things we do every summer are hike West Rattlesnake, visit the pothole, and go to the town beach several times. The Dad and I planned to do all three this winter morning (minus the "several times" part).
We began at West Rattlesnake, where the parking lot was empty and an ice rink. Surprisingly, too, the trail — which is incredibly gradual and easy during the summer — was the iciest we had experienced in four days. The crampons were absolutely necessary. It was weird — walking up the 0.8-mile path, nothing felt familiar. The twists in the trail, the scenery to my left and right ... it all felt vastly different from the summer. The trail felt longer, too. The views from the top, though, were the same except that we were looking down on a frozen, still Squam Lake instead of one crawling with boats and water skiers.
We had the summit to ourselves, and I found a patch of snowy rock that was as comfortable as my bed back home and settled in for a short nap while the Dad took photos. It was that relaxing. When I woke up, I joined Dad in gazing at the beautiful patterns in the ice some 800 feet below us. We also noticed the patch of the lake where ice had been cut out and removed, Dad said, to use for summer refrigeration in the area.
After what seemed like a long 0.8-mile descent, we got back on the "Curvy Road," as we've called it forever, and wended our way toward the Red House. In downtown Sandwich, what with its one blinking yellow light, I made that familiar sharp left onto Diamond Ledge Road and hit the gas. The road clearly had been plowed and the 1.5 miles or so to the house were a breeze. When we reached the Red House, it looked like, well, the Red House. The non-winterized house was beautiful cast against the white surrounding it. Across from it, we enjoyed gazing down at the lake, the view that's never been old year after year.
Well, it should be.
We spent probably close to an hour enjoying an incredible scene — a combination of thick, beefy, safe-to-walk-on (but be careful!) ice chunks, which sat atop beautifully shaped icicles, which dangled above running water. In the pool that we jump into during the summer, there was a large chunk of ice that seemed attached to the main fortified area of ice. Late during our stay, I decided it was safe enough to step onto. I did just that, and laid down to, naturally, pose for some photos that I'll add to my modeling portfolio. Only as I was laying there did I notice that water was starting to creep onto the edge of the ice and that maybe it wasn't so strongly attached to the mainland. I quickly moved off of it.
It's hard to describe how magical the pot hole was. You'll just have to take my word for it (and view Dad's photos).
Sadly, our time was running short, but we had one final stop to make on our visiting-summer-spots-during-the-winter tour — the beach! And like we've done on so many August evenings, we enjoyed a picnic at the Sandwich town beach, which had a plowed parking lot and even two other people (although they were fishermen sitting in their truck). We busted out the cheese and crackers and sat at the picnic table, gazing out at the dozens of fish huts that dotted the frozen lake. Before we left, I walked out on the ice to the spot where the swimming dock I dive off usually is. Then I walked back in, probably at a pace slower, even, than my breaststroke.
On the drive to the airport, I thought of how incredible a trip we'd had. What's amazing about the seasons is that something you may have experienced dozens of times during one season seems completely new and fresh in a different season. This truly was a new experience for us both, and one I can't wait to repeat.
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