New Hampshire 2016 trip: 13 hikes in 13 days

9.25.16 New Hampshire 

When it comes to hiking in New Hampshire, it’s taken several years but I think I’ve found a happy balance — a good, relaxing and yet ambitious summer hiking plan involves an array of hikes with relatives as well as solo hikes.

That’s exactly what I did in 2016. On the one hand, I wanted to knock off as many hikes from my “52 With a View” summit list. On the other, I sought to share mountaintops with relatives, to see my two-year-old nephew Nathaniel scale a peak, to make the most of my only summertime vacation with the family.

The successful result was 13 consecutive days of hiking, which sounds crazy — and maybe even masochistic – on the surface, but in actuality wasn’t because the tame, short tromps through the woods balanced out the tough ones. Here’s a brief summary of my two weeks in my favorite place.

Hike 1 — No peace atop Rattlesnake
After a long day in the car from DC, I arrived in Sandwich, NH, just a bit after dinner the evening of Saturday, July 30. I ate a bit and then the Dad, cousin Caitlin and her boy Jake (great name, by the way) joined me on a leisurely hike up West Rattlesnake for sunset. What followed was one of the very few disappointing experiences I’ve ever had atop a mountain. The problem: West Rattlesnake has gotten so popular and is such an easy walk that it’s become a casual-people, non-hikers “hangout.”

When we arrived atop the summit, it didn’t take me long to sense trouble. I took a short side path into the woods to relieve myself, and I stumbled upon a keg. Yes, a beer keg on a mountain. I was amused, but I also knew what it probably meant. Moments later, as we settled on the sloping granite rock overlooking Squam Lake, I couldn’t help but notice the large throng of kids maybe in their late teens or early 20s on the other part of the summit, red solo cups in hand. At first, the volume level wasn’t too bad, but as dusk descended on us, what’s usually a peaceful place transformed into a cacophony of loud conversation and artificial music. I couldn’t take it anymore. Our night was ruined.

Mental note: No more weekend nights atop West Rattlesnake.

MILES HIKED: 1.8

Hike 2 — Peace atop Eagle Cliff
Thankfully, the masses haven’t noticed another local gem of a short hike. On Sunday morning, Rose’s family including Andrew and the kiddos, Nathaniel and Grace, arrived. The kids weren’t quite ready to take to the trail, but Andrew joined the Dad and me for an afternoon jaunt up the 0.5-mile trail to Eagle Cliff. From its summit, we enjoyed the never-get-old views and chatted with a friendly group of men. As is customary after Eagle Cliff hikes, I jumped in Squam Lake to refresh. Perfect Sunday afternoon.

MILES HIKED: 1

Hike 3 — Time to go solo, get them miles
Monday didn’t look like an ideal hiking day (overcast, rain in the forecast), but I couldn’t let that stop me. After two days of warmup hikes, I was anxious to begin chipping away at the 30-plus “52 With a View” peaks left on my list (side note: Once I’ve completed this list, I will have essentially climbed the 100 tallest/most interesting mountains in New Hampshire; not bad).

What I originally planned as a 6- to 8-mile hike became a 14-miler. Oops. With bumper-to-bumper traffic heading into Conway, I instead opted to take a left on the Kancamagus and knock out Paugus and Square Ledge. What I didn’t realize at the time was the length the hike would entail. It was a good 6 miles before I even reached Paugus, and another few miles to Square Ledge, before completing the loop with a descent. Through it all, I encountered:

0 people
1 decent view
Infinite rain drops

Having changed my itinerary and with no phone service, I knew I needed to be extra careful. A fall and serious injury could mean spending a night (at least) in the woods by myself. But I had no issues, and even ran several of the trail’s flat and down portions. I had zero slips, so of course when I stopped along the Kanc to soak my feet on the drive back I lost my footing on a rock and went down hard. My butt would be sore for three days afterward.

Still, worth it.
MILES HIKED: 14

Hike 4: The little guy’s first hike
On Tuesday we were back to West Rattlesnake but under very different circumstances. I harbored no illusions about tranquility nor solitude atop the uber-popular peak. Rather, I only cared about watching the nephew Nathaniel on his own two feet climb a mountain (and the 11-month-old niece Grace get a lift up one). And Nathaniel was something else, sports fans. I say this with pride — the little guy needed no help the entire way up. As we passed dozens of fellow hikers of all ages and dog after dog after dog, Nathaniel kept powering up on his little legs with his hands always at the ready to assist him with the next step.

We came to a sub summit of the mountain off a spur path, and I watched Nathaniel climb up a rock with ease. He’s a natural, I thought. Wow. Minutes later, our team made the final push to the summit where he lingered for several minutes among the masses, soaking up the Tuesday morning sun. Nathaniel enjoyed a well-deserved snack for his efforts on the mountain. He got a little bit of assistance on the descent, but not by choice. I’m positive he could have easily walked all the way down with no issues. My man! We cooled off at Bearcamp Pond in the afternoon, including taking the kayaks out on the lake. It was a perfect family day.

Hike 5: Two-hike Wednesday
I combined family and personal hiking on Wednesday and knocked off another summit in the process. In the morning, the family took the Mt. Cannon tram up to the summit of the 4,000-footer while I got my heart racing and sweat pouring by hustling up the 2-mile steep trail. I didn’t beat the family, but I wasn’t all that far behind them either. On top, I got the little man Nathaniel to walk up the stairs of the fire tower summit with me — his second climb to the top — and we posed for some photos with Franconia Ridge in the clear behind us. The descent was tricky as I navigated slippery rocks and roots, so it was no surprise that when I reached the parking lot, the parents were chilling at the little cafe waiting — they had been there for a while.

I was set on bagging a new peak during the afternoon, so we compromised and decided that while I hiked the 1.7 miles up Mt. Pemigewasset they would do the Flume Gorge trail. Neither of us had done either hike before, and we both enjoyed the experiences. While Pemigewasset is usually a very popular hike because of its ease, length and accessibility off of I-93, I did it late enough in the afternoon that I encountered just a few people. When I emerged from the forest and gained the ledges of the summit, I took in commanding views to the west and then I walked around to the official top that offered a through-the-trees look at Liberty. I joined a group of maybe five 20-somethings and their dog; not bad company before a quick descent and back in the parking lot a bit after 4pm.

MILES HIKED: 7.6

Hike 6: Let’s get serious
The Friday before my trip after a November Project workout, I was discussing weekend plans — so, of course, New Hampshire — and a friend of mine, Katie, overheard. “You’re going to New Hampshire?” she asked. I learned that she would also be in the state, and actually the same region, for a few days. Katie being very much into the outdoors, she and I made tentative plans to do a hike together in the Granite State. (Note: While I have several friends in DC who are into hiking, I’ve never found people my age either in NH or who want to/can come to the state to join me on my hikes. So it was really nice to have a non-family member hiking companion possibility.)

Initially I considered a hike that would net me a new 52 With a View peak or two in addition to Mt. Isolation, a 4,000-footer I’ve only done once (I’m also trying to get through the 4,000-footers for a second time). But when I learned that Katie, while she had done some hiking mostly in the Albany area where she stayed, hadn’t done the Presidential range and Mt. Washington, New England’s tallest, I decided our hike needed to include that. Plus, the forecast was perfect. One should never assume, but it at least appeared that the high peaks would be out of the clouds. I decided on a 12-mile loop that would include a summit with a really neat top (Mt. Monroe), an AMC Hut (my fave, Lakes of the Louds), the big guy (Washington, 6,288 feet), and miles upon miles of walking out in the open and breathing in the coolest widespread views.

Everything turned out as well as I could have hoped for. Katie, in as good hiking shape as me, pushed the pace, we had a nice balance of conversation and just enjoying the scenery, and weather was unseasonably balmy. I never even put on more than a longsleeve shirt, which is crazy for that region at any time of the year. I stood outside the hut in a T-shirt. Katie picked up quickly on what the coolest parts of such hikes are (the summits to yourselves; Monroe), the lakes by the hut (which were also crazy warm), and the open-air walking, and what’s not so great (the tourist-crowded summit of Washington, which we departed after a few minutes and a photo).

On the way down we stopped at Lion’s Head and its rocks that jut out into Tuckerman Ravine for a second cheese-and-crackers lunch. We had enjoyed the hike so much that we were behind schedule to get Katie back for her 6pm dinner, so we scrambled down the steep trail from Lion’s Head to Tuckerman and then jogged the rest of the way back to Pinkham and the mile on the road to the Glen Boulder trailhead where we had started the day. We were a little late, but Katie got her dinner and we both got one helluva an adventure. I’d done it before, but it never matters — every NH hike, every experience feels fresh and is equally enjoyable even if it’s my 10th time up a mountain.

MILES HIKED: 12

Hike 7: All by ourselves
A day after climbing the flanks of Mt. Washington with dozens of others, and then being surrounded by tourists on top of the behemoth, the Dad and I somehow found a new mountain to climb on a Friday afternoon that we had completely to ourselves. This hike demonstrated to me as much as any in New Hampshire that it’s not too difficult to get in a great trek without the crowds. Our hike was a 5.6-mile round-tripper up Mt. Tremont (3,371 ft), another on the 52 With a View list. We got a late start around 2pm, and climbed through the quiet woods up 2,600 feet until we emerged onto a small sloping summit.

The first thing I noticed up top was a spot nestled among the trees just below the rock with widespread views to the west. Can you say “Perfect Camping Spot?” Don’t tell anyone — thankfully, readership of this is nonexistent. I’ll be back to camp soon! It was a hot late Friday afternoon, so we just basked in the sun, eating and enjoying another great mountaintop view. Nothing spectacular happened on this hike, but it didn’t disappoint in any way either.

While Rose, Andrew and the kiddos left early Friday morning, concluding a really fun visit, reinforcements arrived in the evening in the form of Mom and Dad’s friends Charles, Allison and her granddaughter Ayla — new potential hiking partners. One week of hiking was in the books, and another beckoned.

MILES HIKED: 5.6

Hike 8: To the firetower!
Knowing Katie was still in town, I decided to try to maximize the potential of a fast hiking partner for another day. Katie was in for an afternoon hike (after her morning family tramp, because who doesn’t enjoy a two-hike day?), and we decided on Mt. Kearsarge North — another 52 With a View one. I spent the morning at the one spot in Sandwich with decent Internet, the cafe that had reopened under new ownership during the summer, catching up on some work and then headed back toward the Conway area in the early afternoon (side note: I put some serious miles on the Civic this trip, driving over two hours for the majority of these hikes).

Kearsarge was a fun hike. Over 3.2 miles, we gained 2,500 feet so it was no joke to reach the 3,268-foot peak. During our climb, we came upon a big black dog and a golden retriever. Their owner offered me M&Ms. This was going well! We didn’t stop besides that the entire ascent and I’m not sure Katie even took a sip of water. The summit was cool. The old firetower is sealed very well and, fun fact, you can sleep there without a reservation — it’s simply first-come, first-served. So this is another place I’ll surely revisit. We enjoyed another cheese and crackers lunch, snapped a bunch of photos, and then cruised down the trail where we ran into yet another I-want-this-dog dog, a border collie that looked groomed for the mountains.

Katie was a great hiking partner, and I look forward to hopefully being able to do this again. After dropping her off in Albany, I returned to Sandwich and got in a beach swim before a huge spaghetti dinner.

MILES HIKED: 6.4

Hike 9: Singing our way down the mountain
I didn’t wake up Sunday with huge expectations, because it’s good to have a day when you just let things develop — at least every now and then. Thankfully, a hike was in the cards. My streak could stay alive. More Ann Arbor friends, Tom and Linda, had arrived Saturday, and they were ready to hit the trail. So our whole crew made the trek up East Rattlesnake to the much-less popular but equally beautiful summit that provides views of Squam Lake. On top, we met a nice group of German guys (side note: Germans know how to hike! Later in the month, I’d encounter dozens of them hiking in Alberta, CA) as we snacked and enjoyed another sunny New Hampshire morning. The crews, always musically inclined, started singing songs on the descent.

I forget where, but I ended the day at a beach somewhere. I had plans laid out for some ambitious hikes to make a real dent in the 52 With a View category. My biggest mileage days were yet to come.

MILES HIKED: 1.4

Hike 10: Three ascents, five peaks
10:06am — Leave the Red House
11:38am — Begin hike up the Sugarloaf Mountains north of North Conway
12:53pm — Down from about 3.5-mile loop hike over two peaks with tremendous views of Presidential range, to the north (ran all the way down)
1:13pm — After drive, start 1.8-mile hike up Black Mountain trail, see no one
1:53-2:04pm — Spend 11 minutes on mostly wooded top with obstructed views (of note, views from the lodge that sits 0.3 miles from the top and can be rented out weren’t bad, including a really cool perspective of Washington)
2:26pm — Back down
2:48pm — After steep, rough drive up dirt road, reach trailhead for Iron Mountain. Immediately blown away by scenery and views from meadow of Mt. Washington.
3:22pm — Reach the summit, but not before gazing out in awe from viewpoint along the way of one of the best views of Washington I’ve ever taken in from the south.
3:35pm — Get to my turnaround point, the south cliffs, and look out across Route 302 at the range of mountains including the previous Friday’s destination, Tremont.
4:30pm — With a stop back at my favorite spot included, return to the car.

MILES HIKED: 10.1

Hike 11: The biggest day
Don’t let how Tuesday started fool you. Yes, I began the morning cruising a pontoon boat in Squam Lake. It was relaxing. It was lazy. It was glorious. And I could have enjoyed the boat, the water, the perfect temperatures, nice company, good food and drinks, and more all day. But c’mon, that’s not me! So after my boat fix of about 90 minutes, the Dad and Tom dropped me off at the Sandwich boat dock when they picked up the rest of the crew and I returned to the Red House to get my hiking stuff. I had a big day — in fact, my longest-mileage day — ahead of me.

My plan was to summit four 52 With a View peaks to really cut into my remaining list. Originally, I had planned on doing it as a camping trip, but A) I left my camping stove at home in DC; and B) It’s really hard to pass up a thought of going back to the Red House for big meals and a bed (I told myself I’d save all my camping for my upcoming Banff and Jasper trip in the Canadian Rockies).

I started the hike on the Mt. Davis Trail and covered the 2.3 miles to the Crawford spur in great time. It was one of the hottest and stickiest days, so I was sweating buckets by the time I scrambled up the granite and gained the widespread views of mountains left, right and in front of me. Mt. Crawford’s not surprisingly a popular destination, as I saw several groups up top. After a quick snack and getting my photo taken by a nice man from Vermont, I headed back down away from the crowds. I was just getting started.

The 1.5 miles between Crawford and the Mt. Parker trail was almost entirely flat, easy, and with openings that offered more views. In other words, you can’t ask for much more. When I reached the spur, I decided to continue on for the 1.3 miles to Stairs Mountain before coming back for Resolution and Parker. It was a climb, but the grade never got too ridiculous. And the top of Stairs was pretty close to what I imagined, with two or three campsites tucked just inside the canopy of trees and a ledge with tremendous views to the east and south. The one thing Stairs lacked that Crawford had was the viewpoint of Washington and the Presidentials.

To give you an idea of how fast I was moving, I left Stairs at 2:36pm and was on top of Resolution by 3:07pm. So 1.8 miles in 31 minutes. I knew I had a lot of ground still to cover, and I had realized I forgot to transfer my headlamp from my overnight pack to my day pack. From Resolution’s summit, the real challenge of the day, especially from a mental perspective, began as I descended into the woods for the 2.4-mile trip to Mt. Parker. From the get-go I could tell the trail got little if any use. I busted through cobwebs, stepped over many fallen logs, and generally felt like I was in the middle of nowhere and no one was near.

This is hard. Hiking alone when you’re still technically “hiking away from your destination,” I’ve found, is one of the toughest challenges of being out in the woods. Your mind wanders. You push the pace. You have to catch yourself and remind yourself to slow down, that everything’s going to be fine. You have to remind yourself to soak up the fact that it’s a Tuesday and you’re in the middle of a forest while most people are slogging through another workday inside.

I emerged from the woods sooner than I anticipated, and I was genuinely shocked when I saw two women atop what I assumed had to be the summit of Parker. People! I was even more taken aback when one of them said to me, “Hey, didn’t we see you yesterday?” I stumbled to find the right words, but yes, these were the same two women I had seen at the beginning of my Iron Mountain hike. Go figure. Crazy world! They informed me that they were continuing east and camping at a site on the Mt. Langdon Trail. They had come from the same direction as me. I scrambled down the trail a way just to make sure there wasn’t another ascent soon after to a real summit, and there wasn’t. I had made it much faster than anticipated. As the women took off for their destination, I allowed myself to sit for a bit and soak in impeccable views of the shrubs in front of me serving as a foreground for Mt. Washington in the late-afternoon sky.

Just as surprising, with some jogging included I gained Resolution for a second time 42 minutes later at 5:10pm. By then the lighting in the sky was tremendous and I spent 10 minutes snapping photos and laughing at how incredibly beautiful it all was, and how I had it all to myself. So lucky, I was. I jogged a good portion of the way down to complete my 15.8-mile circuit, finishing up around 6:40pm. In all, the hike/run took me 6 hours, 27 minutes. And as if it wasn’t enough, I completed an epic Tuesday by enjoying all of the colors of a standout New Hampshire sunset at the town beach as darkness finally enveloped me and my gorgeous surroundings.

MILES HIKED: 15.8

Hike 12: Charlie’s muddy faces
The original plan for Wednesday was to hike the famous, always-stunning Franconia Ridge — me, the Dad, Charles, Allison and their friend. However, mother nature had other ideas, sending us an iffy forecast. And the last thing you want on that ridge is moody weather. So we decided to wait it out a day. I wondered, for all of a minute, if I would break my days of hiking streak. Of course not! Instead, after enjoying Old Home Week’s traditional book sale and a brief coffee shop break, I convinced the others and Charlie the Pomeranian to join me for a 52 With a View Hike up Mt. Roberts (2,582 feet).

The weather was still iffy and the sky started sprinkling on us as we began the hike. However, that soon dissipated and we simply hiked under cloud cover on an easy-grade path. It was so awesome having not just the Dad, but Mom and Charlie (and Charles and Allison) along on a non-Rattlesnake hike.

After about a mile in, we emerged from the woods and much of the rest of the hike was somewhat open. Of course, we couldn’t see anything so we didn’t know what views existed (or not). Everything was muddy and wet, which slowed our progress and also turned Charlie’s face into a wild mass of fur and dirt. Hah! It took us a while, but we gained the summit at 5pm and enjoyed a rest and a snack. On the descent, as is often the case on hikes — because hikes are the best, and amazing things always happen — the clouds suddenly lifted and with the evening light shining, created an absolutely beautiful sky in all directions.

The trickiest part of the descent was remembering to focus on each step on the slippery surfaces as opposed to looking at Lake Winnipesaukee and the remaining slivers of clouds lingering in the sky. We stopped at a spot where on the way up we couldn’t see a thing, but now we could almost see the Red House. The light crested brilliantly above Red Hill and Eagle Cliff to the west. What had turned out to be a fun walk through the woods with no views (better enjoy the conversation!) had turned into an absolutely gorgeous outing.

We got down at 7:11pm, Charlie’s face was somewhat clean again, and we walked past a field with horses who gazed at us longingly not wanting us to depart. But alas, we were hungry. We found a Mexican restaurant in the small town of Moultonborough we had never tried before, and it turned out to be a great decision. The delicious, filling meal capped off an unexpectedly great hike. Mt. Roberts, we will be back!

MILES HIKED: 5.0

Hike 13: Franconia Ridge
I finished off 13 hikes in 13 days in style with a classic — up the Bridle Trail to Greenleaf Hut, then to the top of Lafayette, before taking the ridge over Mt. Lincoln and then to Little Haystack, and down the Falling Waters trail. The Dad, Charles and Allison joined me, and the weather was superb — if even a little hot. But in New Hampshire when you’ve got great visibility and you can walk that ridge in a T-shirt, there’s no complaining. That’s for sure. I’ve now done this hike a handful of times, but it never gets boring.

The views emerging as you gain elevation on the winding Bridle Trail. The soup we got to fuel up at the hut. The ascent out in the open to Lafayette, the peak that never seems to get closer. The swarms of people on all parts of the summit, lounging here, napping there. And of course, the ridge and its incredible views. Clouds prevented views of the distant Presidentials, but everything else nearby was in sight. Cannon. The Kinsmans. The Bonds. Everything to the south. We were hiking late enough in the day that once we got about half a mile past Lafayette, the crowds thinned.

My favorite moment from the hike was taking the big step out on the rocky outcrop between Lincoln and Haystack, something pictures make look more difficult than reality (which is always cool). The descent was a long slog (3,000 feet in three miles), but we made it without any big injuries and soaked delightfully in the waterfalls toward the bottom. A girl with her friend whom we crossed paths with who was clearly experiencing the trail for the first time whooped in unadulterated joy in seeing how huge the biggest waterfall and its accompanying pool were. Very cool. Nature!

We finished the loop at 7:50pm, with still some light left in the sky, fully satisfied and tired. When we returned to the Red House after 9, Mom had soup on the table and Charlie greeted us at the front door. What more can a group of hardy hikers ask for?

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And that was it. My knees were telling me to take a break, and I was content to comply. So on my final day in New Hampshire’s paradise, I settled for our annual trench-cleaning morning of work and then Bearcamp Pond in the afternoon. We all enjoyed watching a storm move in over the pond and then ran into the water when it was clear the thunder and lightning weren’t around anymore. It was the perfect soak to cap off a well-balanced, activity-packed two weeks in New Hampshire.

Mountains remain on the 52 With a View List (in fact, double digits). And of course, there are dozens of others I’ve done that I’ll enjoy just as much next time. So suffice to say, 2017 should be equally wonderful.

Until then.

— Jake

New Hampshire winter hiking 2016 — Comfortable in a cold paradise

3.10.16
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 1.1 miles between Mt. Jackson and Mt. Webster was probably my favorite section of hiking during our entire trip. We slid down pitches on our butts, tromped through 6- to 12-inch snow drifts, and gazed up at snow-encrusted spruce trees lining both sides of the trail. I loved the simple act of kicking my boots into the fluffy powder.

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.

New Hampshire 2015: 12 hikes in 13 days

I made the drive north from Washington, DC, to New Hampshire a week earlier than usual this year. The reason? More family time. Last year, I came up and only had a week with family before everyone left. Sure, it was nice, in a way, to have a week completely to myself. It was also hard. Being alone, even in this age of technology, is really difficult — especially in a place as quiet as here.

So while I loved that week in 2014 — comprised of my first solo overnight camping in the Whites followed by a three-day trip to Acadia — I yearned for a more balanced experience this year, a trip that would offer me every day the opportunity to both spend time with family and go off on my hiking excursions.

Throw in the fact that I’ve been dealing with my first real knee injury this summer — an ailment that made June and much of July two of the most difficult months I’ve ever had — and having a balanced New Hampshire experience made sense. I wouldn’t be running off into the mountains for 20- and 30-mile day hikes to the detriment of my body, as much as I love such adventures.

Now, 11 days into my time here in New Hampshire — as I sit on the Red House porch during an impeccable, cloudy and sunny Wednesday afternoon — I begin my day-by-day recounting of another wondrous summer, or small part of the season, in this magical place.

Sunday, July 26 — An initial taste 

Here’s how alluring New Hampshire is. After a nine-hour day in the Civic, I didn’t just want to unwind at the Red House, enjoying a delicious dinner and a large glass of wine with family. No, I wanted to do all that — but after a hike. The last two years now, I’ve taken to the woods before even unpacking. The mountains are that irresistible.

So it was that around 6:30pm, I parked in the near-empty West Rattlesnake lot and walked the easy 0.8 miles to the open summit and its expansive views of Squam Lake. I had the usually popular open ledges to myself, and basked in the views of the cloud-shrouded lake beneath me.

It was as if I were experiencing the hike for the first time, not the 20th!

MILES HIKED: 1.6

Monday, July 27 — Must I go down?

The other hike I do every summer without fail is Eagle Cliff, a 0.6-mile jaunt up a steep trail to a breathtaking view of, you guessed it, Squam — overlooking the Sandwich town beach (and much more). After a balanced day that included a delicious Italian lunch in Center Harbor with family friends (I even cheated on my gluten intolerance with a slice of pizza), I couldn’t imagine the day concluding sans a climb…

So after knocking out 90 minutes of work from the lawn of the Wentworth Library (most reliable wireless in town!), I drove down Bean Road, past the beach, and parked the Civic at the Eagle Cliff trailhead a bit after 6pm.

When hiking alone, I rarely, if ever, take breaks — particularly when doing climbs so short. Thus I was on top of Eagle Cliff after 15-20 minutes, seated on the sloping granite and gazing at the lake below. I pulled out my book — a novel about a woman overcoming tragedy and self-despair in Alaska — and worked my body into a comfortable reading position. Every chapter or so, I looked up from the pages to assess the changes in the light hitting the smooth water below.

I would have stayed up there until dusk, but I knew a family and a top-notch meal prepared by Aunt Sallie at the Red House awaited me. I hustled down the trail in semi-darkness (the woods are always so, so much darker), jumped in Squam at the beach for my evening shower, and headed back to town and up Diamond Ledge Road for that dinner.

On the menu: Beef kabobs and vegetables paired with a rich Malbec. There’s no way I could ever be a year-round vegetarian with Sallie’s cooking. Yum!

MILES HIKED: 1.2

Tuesday, July 28 — That sunset!

This year, after a two-summer hiatus, we rekindled our “hut hike” tradition. The basics: Almost ever year from when I was in my early teens to my late 20s, a group of family members varying in size went on a hike in the White Mountains just to the north of Sandwich that involved staying in an Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) hut one, if not two nights. The first year in 2000, it was just cousin J-bo, my dad, Aunt Sal and I. The hut hike peaked in 2007 with nine people.

The hut hike is great for a variety of reasons. I’ll name a few: 1) You spend a night or two high up in the mountains surrounded by incredible scenery; 2) The food served at the huts is ridiculously delicious (and you don’t have to carry it up yourself!); 3) The “Croo” that runs each of the eight AMC huts is fun.

For these reasons and more, I was excited for this year’s hike to Mitzpah Hut with Dad, Sal, cousin Caitlin and her boyfriend Jake.

It involved a pretty easy hike of just 3 miles to the hut on the Crawford Path, allowing us to dump what we didn’t need for the afternoon hike in our eight-person (I think?) dormitory room No. 7. Caitlin, Jake and I hiked ahead of the older folk, arriving in less than two hours. We quickly made that transition and jumped on the bridges-laden trail toward Mt. Jackson. We stayed entertained with another hut-hike tradition — guessing the number of wooden bridges on the trail.

Answer: A LOT.

We kept recalibrating our guesses, as the number rose above 100, then 200, to, finally, a total of 260 for the day.

The top of Jackson was perfect. The bare rocky summit afforded views of nearly the entire Presidential range, including Mt. Washington, New England’s zenith that wasn’t in the clouds (not a common occurrence). As is always the case, the sky was made all the more spectacular by the puffy clouds that broke up the blueness. We took photos, we ate, I read, I even dozed off for a little.

Pure bliss.

Back at the hut, we were in for a bit of a surprise. To give the “Croo” a couple-day break away from the hut and together, a fill-in alumni Croo — people who had worked in the huts 15-20 years prior — was in charge. They were nice and served us a delectable lasagna dinner (after the soup, bread and salad, of course), but they didn’t match the infectious energy of the usual college-age Croo that mans each hut. This was the only negative we could possibly take from the experience.

Our appetites more than satiated, we strapped back on light packs and worked off dinner with the 0.8-mile tramp up Mt. Pierce for sunset. After about half a mile, we came to a clearing that afforded our first view west and the bright orange sky catalyzed by the sinking sun. We were very tempted to stop right there, but pushed on at a hearty pace, instead. We reached the summit and its lower reaches offering the premier views just as peak sunset had arrived.

You can guess how the next half an hour went. There were plenty of “Beautiful” exclamations, dozens of photos were snapped, and I gazed around in wonder. Question: Can an incredible sunset ever get boring or repetitive? Answer: No.

The descent in the dark was pretty cool, too. We were able to go without our headlamps for quite sometime. But back in the woods for the final half mile walking down slippery rocks and over protruding roots, they were necessary. We made it back to the hut at 9:26pm, just four minutes shy of lights-out time.

Needless to say, we were all ready to conk out.

MILES HIKED: 8

Wednesday, July 29 — All about “The Ridge”

The Crawford Path is the oldest continuously maintained footpath in the United States. The first part up Mt. Pierce (formerly Mt. Clinton), which we hiked for the second time Wednesday after departing Mitzpah, was cut in 1819 by Abel Crawford and his son Ethan Allen Crawford.

That piece of history, alone, would make walking the trail pretty neat. The fact that the trail offers arguably the best views in all of New Hampshire’s White Mountains makes it legendary, in my book. I’ve walked it now at least a handful of times, and each experience feels fresh.

We parted ways with Dad and Sal at our sunset spot of the night prior, them planning to head down the Crawford Path to Sal’s car later in the afternoon while our trio would descend the Edmonds Path off the shoulder of Mt. Eisenhower. Once we split off, summits were on the mind.

It’s hard to explain, but when I’m within a mile of a peak, I want it — and I want it now! This isn’t to say that the journey isn’t enjoyed, that I don’t glance around every few footsteps and breath in — heck, smile in — the surroundings. I do all that. But I also want that peak, and don’t stop much before gaining it.

That mindset took us to the summit of Eisenhower (4,670 ft) — a solid 500-foot climb from the col between it and Pierce — and its enormous peak-marking cairn, although it looked a bit squashed (probably from people sitting on it for photos). After a brief snack, we continued on the ridge, now completely in the open with nothing but views of the ever-changing landscape as clouds moved in and out.

(Note: The Presidentials are prime territory for time lapse photography, because no vantage point rarely stays the same.)

Even though I’ve hiked the Crawford Path several times, I’m far from having it memorized. This couldn’t have been clearer as we tried to help a couple locate the barely marked summit of Mt. Franklin in between Eisenhower and Monroe. You see, Franklin is not an official 4,000-footer (or part of the 48) because it is simply a mound along the ridge and doesn’t drop off “200 ft. above the low point of its connecting ridge with a higher neighbor.” In other words, Franklin (5,001 ft.) would need a dropoff of 200 feet between it and the upslope of Monroe (5,384) to be official. Sadly, that’s far from the case.

Anyway, I had a hard time remembering where the side path to Franklin’s off-the-beaten-path summit was. We eventually found it and took a short break there, before continuing on and looping around Mt. Monroe (more on that in a minute) to a pit stop at Lakes of the Clouds Hut (5,012 ft), easily the most popular of the AMC hut destinations.

LOTC hut sits just 1.4 miles below Mt. Washington’s buildings- and tourists-dominated summit, so it’s a popular stopping point for those hiking to the mammoth peak from the west. For us, it was the perfect turnaround spot and a chance to enjoy a couple of their midday baked goods and play a game of cards.

Then we headed back outside, showed Jake the two “lakes” adjacent to the hut that serve as its namesake, and began the short 0.3-mile ascent of Monroe from the east. Monroe’s summit, as is wont in the Presidentials, didn’t disappoint. We were hit by mild winds and watched as a dark, ominous cloud took over the summit of Washington, wiping out the views of the buildings. It was perfect.

As I sat on the peak, I thought back to 2000 and my first time on Monroe’s summit with cousin J-bo, Dad and Sal, crouched low in a tiny space between rocks that saved us from 50-mph winds. That was the day when J-bo and I, 16 at the time, kept begging Dad and Sal to continue going toward Washington even though we had to return eventually all the way down the Crawford Path to our car.

That day, quite possibly, was when a seed was planted for me becoming so passionate about hiking.

This time around, there were no 50-mph winds, but the summit and ridge were just as enjoyable. And it was equally difficult to leave the openness as we reached the Edmands Path just shy of 3pm and began the 2.9-mile descent to the car.

MILES HIKED: 9.5

Thursday, July 30 — No hiking? OK, I’ll bike!
You might not understand this, but I have a very hard time not hiking every day that I’m in New Hampshire. A day sans a hiking trail almost feels wasted, like, ‘What am I doing in this hiking utopia sitting around, not climbing a mountain?’ I used to be really bad at this. I’ve gotten a little — emphasis on little — better.

So was the case the day after the hut hike, when I took a break from the trails. I was OK with that, but not with an inactive New Hampshire day. That was my compromise. So I settled on a 14-mile round-trip bike ride to the pot hole, our resident cold-water wonderland in Sandwich.

The 7-mile ride there provided ample hills to power up and then zoom down, and very few cars (that’s a staple up here, the only place I actually enjoy driving, too) and ended with the perfect place to soak in cold water, before remounting the bicycle. Oh, and the ride back concluded with the 1.5-mile up-up-and-up ride on Diamond Ledge Road to our Red House, which sits on top of a hill with a never-gets-old view of Squam Lake.

As I made the final push up the hill, rain began to fall and then got harder, pelting me but also cooling me on the rather hot late July afternoon. As soon as my bike reached the porch, I exchanged it for car keys and drove the 2 miles to the town beach for my absolute favorite non-hiking New Hampshire pastime.

Swimming in the rain.

Sadly, the precipitation ceased by the time my toes touched the sand, but the swim was refreshing all the same.

Back at the house, I proudly grilled, with Sal’s assistance, hot dogs to perfection and we ate dinner on the porch while the sun set over the lake through the screen windows.

Not bad for a non-hiking day.

MILES HIKED: 0

Friday, July 31 — The hike-alone mentality
There was no doubt Friday would be a hiking day. One New Hampshire day off from the trails is feasible; two is asinine. I knew, too, that it would be a solo day since Jake and Caitlin had other plans, and the Dad wasn’t ready for another hike.

This was both exciting and challenging.

Hiking alone is not easy. I’ve done it more than most people from New Hampshire, to Maine, to the Adirondacks, to Colorado, to Utah, to Yosemite, to Arizona and so on. Despite all those experiences, it remains difficult.

You have no one but yourself to push you. The mind wanders and even plays tricks on you (ask me about the faux bear on the Presidential Traverse hike). The woods mess with you. Time passes slower.

And usually, I hike much faster.

That was certainly the case as I took on the Baldface circle hike, a 9.8-mile loop over the Baldface peaks on the very east side of the state, southeast of the Presidential and Wildcat-Carter ranges.

The hike was about 3.7 miles to the South Baldface summit, but I emerged from the woods before hitting the 3-mile mark, not stopping a single time until I reached the ridiculously steep granite pitches. Once out in the open, regardless of the terrain or the grade of the trail, everything is easier.

The reason for this is basic: When you can see everything, even for miles, you don’t feel trapped, you don’t imagine the worst. Rather, you feel free. And more than that, you feel oh, so ALIVE!

I also began stopping — pausing, actually, is the better word — every few feet because blueberry bushes were ubiquitous on both sides of the trail. Hundreds upon hundreds of delicious blueberries. Out of the woods, eating blueberries, and scrambling up rock ledges that offered better and better views in all directions made the solo hike that much easier.

Amazingly, I had both summits to myself. The peaks — South at 3,570, North at 3,610 — offered impeccable views in all directions: The Presidentials and Wildcats/Carters to the northwest, Maine’s mountains stretching out as far as the eye could see to the northeast and east, and more of the Whites to the south and west.

I soaked it all in, ate some more, and then continued the loop hike. I didn’t relax for too, too long on the summits because A) That’s just my modus operandi when hiking solo; and B) I had an event in Sandwich with the family to attend in the early evening.

The trail was out in the open for a good four miles, an incredible amount of top-of-the-world hiking for a New Hampshire trail not the Presidential or Franconia ridge. Then it was 3 miles of easy, walking-on-leaves, mellow-grade tramping back to the car.

My mind wandered all over the place, but the most common thought was, ‘Wow, another incredible hike. This place never disappoints.’

The evening brought balance to my day. I was back with the family, and we all enjoyed a charitable dinner and auction (both silent and live) in support of the local childcare center. I even picked up a person-sized framed piece of artwork for $20 at night’s end.

I’d call that a well-rounded Friday.

MILES HIKED: 9.8

Saturday, August 1 — Hiking with Charlie the Pomeranian

People are nice, but having a dog on a hike is even better (provided no bears show up). Such was the case Saturday morning when the parents and the Pomeranian Charlie joined me for a short hike up the Teady Trail, an alternative way to ascend Eagle Cliff.

Once we were safely in the woods away from the road, Charlie was unleashed and away he went. OK, not really. Charlie isn’t exactly one of those dogs who runs 50 yards ahead and then back to you (like our former Golden Retriever Copper would do). Rather, he might go up ahead 20 feet, look back to check up on Mom, and then hang out for a minute to allow her to catch up.

Or he’ll bring up the rear.

As we ascended the trail through the woods, we discussed bear scenarios. As in, a bear could eat Charlie in exactly one bite. As in, if we were to see a bear, we’d need to scoop him up and hold on to him for (his) dear life.

Thankfully, no bear surprised us and we enjoyed a peaceful 1.1-mile jaunt to the cliffs.

On top, a family joined us and a boy fell in love with the lounging Pomeranian in the shade, petting him and rolling him over for several minutes. Charlie basked in the attention, dreading the minute when the boy would leave and we’d head back down the mountain.

Saturday evening was about family — and an incredible sunset. I always enjoy dinners at the town beach, and this one was especially gorgeous. As we ate, the sky’s colors gradually changed, with the waning sun above the Squam mountain range reflecting off the still lake spread before us. After eating, Caitlin and Jake joined me for an annual tradition – bocce ball on the sand.

As the light disappeared from the sky, it cast a glow over the lake. Perfection.

MILES HIKED: 2.2

Sunday, August 2 — My favorite naptime
If you ask me what I enjoy most on a mountain, I’ll answer, “Everything.” This includes plenty of things you don’t experience during normal life (ascending a trail, the views, wild blueberries, etc.) but also plenty of normal society activities.

Such as naps.

And what better way is there to awake from a nap than by gazing out at blue sky dotted with mountain peaks and puffy white clouds?

That’s exactly what I found myself doing Sunday afternoon atop Potash Mountain (2,681 ft) after a 2.2-mile mostly mellow ascent with the Dad. With tremendous open views, especially to the west, spread out in front of me, I laid on my back and read for awhile before dozing off.

When I awoke a few minutes later, the scenery was no less spectacular. The blueberries picked from ample trailside bushes were no less delectable, either.

After descending in the late afternoon, we found a new post-hike soaking spot at Lower Falls along the Kancamangus Highway. The large area of pools and short cascades is quite popular — the parking lot was at capacity earlier in the afternoon — and for good reason, as we enjoyed exploring the pools (carefully) and I stuck myself under a white water shower and then rode the current downstream.

Feeling refreshed from an action-packed day, we drove back to Sandwich and another impeccable Aunt Sal-cooked dinner.

Hiking. Swimming. Great food. Family.

That’s what this place is all about!

MILES HIKED: 4.4

Monday, August 3 — The thrill never gets old

That moment. That thrill. It could never possibly get old, become stale, feel dull.

As I clambered up the final rock pitch of Mt. Morgan (2,220 ft) and the view of Squam Lake and myriad white clouds opened up below me, I grinned in silly wonderment. Here, I had ascended this mountain at least a dozen times before. Heck, I had done it less than a year ago.

No matter. That moment and that view was all I needed. The beauty instantly made the 2.1-mile slog that I’d done without stopping, pushing hard the entire way, more than worth it.

It always is.

I couldn’t believe I had the summit during the mid-afternoon all to myself, so I sat and soaked in the scenery for a few minutes before moving on to the 0.8-mile ridge trail and the summit of Mt. Percival (2,212 ft), where another breathtaking view awaited me.

I couldn’t wait.

Never gets old.

MILES HIKED: 5

Tuesday, August 4 — A lesson in kayaking
I had to take a leak.

That was the painful truth as I sat in the kayak on Bearcamp Pond surrounded by lily pads and gazing at the mountain landscape of Chocorua, Whiteface and Sandwich Dome.

The scenery was incredibly beautiful and peaceful. My urge to take a leak was not. And we were far from the middle of the lake’s island — and even farther from the sandy shore where Dad and I had begun our journey.

I kayaked around the near shore, delaying and allowing Dad to take more photos of the lily pads, mountains and photogenic dragonflies. Moments later, pictures taken, we rendezvoused and I told him I was jumping in. It helped that the mid-morning sun made the water all the more beckoning.

Dad made some good point about the island only being a 2-minute kayak away. I ignored it and jumped.

My kayak tipped over.

I moved quickly to flip it back over with none of its few contents (water platypus, sandals, bug repellent) lost in the water. No big deal, right? Except that when I attempted to pull myself back into the boat…

The kayak tipped over again. And filled with more water.

I tried once more. Same result. And now, it was getting heavy from water.

I tried going underwater and lifting the kayak above me to dump the water, but my upper body isn’t strong enough. No chance. We were probably a couple football fields away from the island, but Dad kayaked there and dropped off his camera (no risking that!) before coming back to help pull me and the kayak to shore where we could dump the water..

Lesson learned: Jumping out of a kayak without capsizing it is easier said than done.

In the afternoon, I returned to an activity I have a hard time erring in — hiking. My day feeling incomplete sans a hike, I returned to the trailhead of two days prior to do the 4.8-mile loop over Hedgehog Mountain (2,532 ft).

I enjoyed a catastrophe-free hike that included dozens of awe-inspiring views (sound familiar?) and followed it up with a soak at the Lower Falls.

Day complete.

MILES KAYAKED: 1.0
MILES HIKED: 4.8

Wednesday, August 5 — I can’t just sit here

The time was 4:07pm and I sat on the beach. I had just been informed that there wasn’t room on the small motor boat for the ride of Squam Lake my parents and Sal had won at the previous Friday’s silent auction.

The sky was exploding with puffy clouds. A slight to moderate wind made the weather as pleasant as can be.

Yes, it was late. Yes, we had an 8pm dinner reservation at The Corner House, the one eatery in Sandwich. Yes, I had hiked every other day except one.

It didn’t matter. I jumped in the lake quickly to refresh myself, dried off in record time, and fast-walked to the Civic. The craving was back. The craving for a hike.

And as always, it was a great decision. I fast-walked and trail ran up Mt. Wonalancet (2,787 ft) and Mt. Hibbard (2,945), which offered a limited view to the southeast of the nearby peaks and oh, those freakin clouds!

It was as much a workout as it was a leisurely hike, as I pushed the pace throughout the 5-mile loop, determined to get back in time for dinner. I also had that drive. It’s hard to explain, but when I have it, no pitch is too steep. I just throttle right up it.

Out of the woods, I stopped at the pot hole on the drive back toward town and had the cold-water palace to myself. I soaked for five minutes, something I’m sure the knees appreciated. And then I ate well at dinner, feeling deserved of a big meal after the hike.

Good decisions all around.

MILES HIKED: 5.0

Thursday, August 6 — NATURE! And kids!
Nature is all you need. This sounds simplistic, and maybe it is. But when you’re standing atop a mountain peak with views in all directions, you don’t feel the urge to reach for your phone, or to talk to someone (although the right company can be nice). You just bask in the beauty, in your surroundings.

Thursday morning, the Dad and I planned on hiking Mt. Pemigewasset in Franconia Notch, a short hike to a summit with great views. However, as we walked from car to trailhead, we noticed a group of about 50 kids coming our way.

Nothing against kids, but the idea of sharing a small summit with them wasn’t exactly appealing. Think NOISE. So after a couple hundred yards, we made the difficult but correct decision to turn around and find a new hike.

We drove northeast to the Sugarloaf loop trailhead for an easy 3.4-mile loop of the North (2,310 ft) and Middle (2,539) peaks. For some reason, there isn’t a south Sugarloaf. The hiking was easy, and there weren’t 50 kids. And despite seeing some people on the trail, we ended up having both expansive summits with myriad views to ourselves.

After shooting some photos, I found a flat, smooth rocky surface and settled in for some reading while the Dad did a more comprehensive photo session. On the Middle peak, I dozed off after awhile.

It was a perfect, mellow afternoon.

As we were driving back south to Sandwich, Dad came up with the idea of doing a sunset hike up West Rattlesnake — hopefully with everyone. Genius! We had an early, rushed dinner and then piled into the Prius, Charlie the Pomeranian included!

Sitting atop Rattlesnake watching some of the coolest, most colorful clouds slowly darken, we were joined by a young Slovenian man who was working at a nearby camp and planned on traveling the entire east coast down to Florida this year. We were also joined by a group of five kids ranging in age from about 9 to 19.

At first, I was a little suspect of the kids. The peacefulness of sunset on the mountain would be broken; it’d be hard to enjoy what we’d come for. One of the kids belted out incorrectly upon arrival, pointing at a distant short peak, “There’s Mt. Washington! It’s 7,000 feet tall!”

Man, was I wrong. These kids were amazing and precocious. They were effusive in their love of simply being on top of this peak at sunset, of the views of Squam Lake, of Charlie the dog. They stayed on top with us for about 45 minutes, asking Aunt Sal questions about her painting, chatting with the Dad about his time lapse photography, and enjoying their surroundings.

There was no music playing, no texting, no Snap Chatting. They were in the moment, soaking in nature.

Because it was their first time on the mountain, the kids — Kelsey, 19, who was some sort of nanny for the others; a girl named Montana; a boy named Cooper; and another boy, Mr. Mt. Washington, and girl — asked if they could join us for the way down in the dark, and we gladly accepted their continued company.

Everyone enjoyed the decent through nature all the way to the cars at the bottom.

MILES HIKED: 5.0

Friday, August 7 — The ending

There was no epic culminating hike. In fact, there wasn’t too much of a trek at all on the final day — just 0.8 miles to the summit of East Rattlesnake, ensuring me the summit of all the local usuals this year.

But as I sat on the beach at Bearcamp later in the afternoon — an epic in its own right cloud-filled sky glimmering above glistening, calm water — I couldn’t help but think, as I turned the page of my vacation’s third book, ‘This is still pretty darn good.’

Heck, a vacation with just these lakes, family and delicious meals — returning to my DC cooking will be rough — would be a good one. Throw in, of course, all the mountains and hikes, and New Hampshire is a requirement on my calendar every year.

And always impossibly difficult to leave.

Maintaining a summer-only house 125 years old is never easy and requires plenty of processes at the beginning and end of each season up here, so that work consumed Sal’s and the parents’ mornings, and I even chipped in with some work. Then came the hike combined with reading and a final evening at the beach before returning to the house for the last supper.

(Side note: As I sat at Bearcamp reading my book, I overheard two boys down by the water talking about the San Antonio Spurs. My ears perked up. Basketball talk by a couple of kids in August? This couldn’t be! And yet it was. Twenty minutes later, they were discussing NBA trade scenarios, so I couldn’t help myself. I walked over and clumsily inserted myself into the conversation. Some 15 minutes later, one boy had to leave but the other kid, maybe 11, kept going. He matched me comment for comment. Now that I can RESPECT! Hoops junkies for life.)

If anything, this summer I learned that:

A) Any hike is a great hike. I only walked more than 5 miles on three days, but hiked on 12 of 13. Every single one, regardless of length, was memorable.

B) Getting a grill ready for cooking is easy!

C) Having family here the entire trip is great, although it does make leaving for long hikes harder (only because I don’t want to miss a dinner!).

Leaving won’t be easy tomorrow, but the fact that Alaska beckons in three weeks makes this easier. At least a bit.

Until 2016, New Hampshire.

1.19-22 — Winter hiking in New Hampshire

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.

-----------------------------

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.

We turned a corner on the trail and, just like that, the gusts hit us. Quick, Ian said, put on those layers and get that full-face mask and goggles on. We were in the midst of probably 40-50 mph winds whipping around falling snow.

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.

Judging by the calm weather, I decided when we returned to the junction that we could go an extra 0.4 miles and climb Mt. Field (4,340 ft) as well as Mt. Avalon (3,442 ft) for a three-summit day! The nine tenths of a mile to Field was wonderful. The grade was mild, a light snow fell on us, and I never tired of looking at the trees lining both sides of the trail. As I walked up the final 100 feet to the summit, I pulled out my phone and took a video – I wanted to, as I best I could, give people at home on their couches just a sense of how magical this place was.

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.

Stop 3 was the pot hole, but not after we ran into old friend Tom Fleischmann on the way. We talked for several minutes then continued on to a destination that each August is our cold water fun spot. During the summer, we visit the pot hole on the hottest days to jump into the icy water and sit in the attraction's namesake, the pot hole. On this January day, the parking lot was not plowed — clearly, this wasn't a winter destination.

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.