1883.0 miles, 3,378,138 steps

Marvelous. Sublime. Austere. These adjectives come to mind when I reflect on my passage through the White Mountains. Dare I say, they’re even a notch above the majestic Smokies. My powers of description fail to fully articulate the wonder and awe that captured my heart. At a certain point, you have to walk it to know it.

Nonetheless, even a simple day-hike in the Whites is all one needs to taste the experience (after all, the most iconic spots were packed with tourists, especially around the holiday). But within the unfolding narrative of a through-hike, this is the climactic chapter. For five whole months, I’ve fought my way from down south all the way to this, the most intense section. I’ll do my best to bring you alongside me as we undergo the first half of the most strenuous area of the entire AT.

“The first half?” you may ask. Where the Whites “end” is a subject not without controversy. Theres a cut and dry start and end to the Smokies, but not so here. While there’s no doubt that Mount Mousilauke is the southern terminus, Wildcat Ridge or Carter’s Dome each have their supporters for the northern endpoint, and still others push it into Maine. The aggressive terrain that characterizes the region tapers off as you go north. Since Wildcat Ridge is the final multi-thousand-foot “big climb” in White Mountains National Forrest, I’ll take you as far as there this week. But don’t let this arbitrary distinction fool you into thinking things will be back to normal next week. But I’m getting ahead of myself, that’s a story for next time.

Compared to the last time I went above 6000 feet in GSMNP, the challenges are completely flipped. Yes, the Smokies were high and rugged, but switchbacks were ample and the path was soft dirt (or snow). Since it was winter, I was much more concerned with freezing temperatures and dodging a massive snowstorm than the elevation profile. I hit my first 20-mile day in the Smokies, when I was less conditioned, comparatively inexperienced, underfed, and hauling more bulk. Fast forward to where I am now in July, and the climate was positively gorgeous. I couldn’t have asked for better. Bright and sunny, but not hot. The walkway itself, now that’s another story. Whereas the Smokies soar to a 5000-foot ridge and don’t come down from that until you’re leaving the park, one cycles daily between base and summit in the Whites. Where I could push my miles in GSMNP, it was a snail’s pace for much of this week.

The final aspect I’ll introduce now is the hospitality.  In the national park, you bump into ridge runners and park rangers who are there to check your permit and call you out for eating food too close to the sleeping area. On the other hand, the trails in White Mountains National Forrest are operated by volunteers and staff from the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC). On top of the usual club duties like clearing fallen trees and maintaining shelters, the AMC runs several on-trail “huts”. These well-maintained lodges offer quality bunk houses, fully-stocked kitchens, and other niceties. Each hut is staffed with a “croo” , a summer gig for high schoolers or young adults, that performs upkeep and cooks the meals. Even if you don’t book a night, one can stop in to relax and purchase snacks. Aside from a small stock of energy bars, there are often leftovers or baked goods for purchase.

Given the highly-sophisticated operation, the AMC has to recoup the costs somehow. At one of the seven huts, a bunk with dinner and breakfast runs you $150-$200. The dozens of normal shelters and tent sites, which are only distinct from similar AT facilities in that they have a staffed caretaker, come with $10-$15 fees. Accordingly, I opted to “stealth camp” in random spots along the path rather than tank my weekly budget. I used the huts just as way-stations, purchasing a bar here or a baked good there, and only stopped at shelters to avoid pop-up rain. I got to enjoy all the benefits of the amenities without breaking the bank.

Day 131: Sunday, June 30

Jeffers Brook Shelter to Intersection with Gordon Pond Trail – 11.3 miles

Today’s task was getting up and over the southernmost of the White Mountains: Mt Mousilauke (Moose-eh-lah-key) (or Old Moosey, if you prefer). This mountain introduced me to several key features that would repeat and define this section.

First was the kind of climbs I’d be undertaking. The rate of ascent was 3500 feet over 6 miles. At face value, that’s not to bad, until you consider how the slope tends to increase as you get closer to the summit. For 3 miles, the ascent was a constant, heavy effort. The last half mile had me to a crawl, picking the way though jagged stones and hauling myself up steps 2-3 feet high. Highly demanding from a technical and physical standpoint.

Soon enough, the ground plateaued off for a time before the gentle rise to the very top. Here was my first “alpine zone”, a region above tree line. In the absence of trunks to blaze with paint, maintainers pile cairns to mark the course. The lack of shade is balanced by a near-constant breeze. Without branches and leaves to obscure sightlines, these views are astounding. To the south, the rolling hills of Vermont. To the north, the ominous ridges I would need to conquer. In all, the alpine zones are probably the most unique terrain I’ve encountered all-trail.

However, precaution is necessary. Camping is strictly prohibited in these sections. For one, it’s incredibly unsafe if big gusts or thunderstorms roll in during the day, let alone amidst the confusion of darkness. Additionally, given the limited square footage, the unique organisms that depend on these zones are fragile to human contact. A certain species of butterfly lays its eggs on the sedge carpet, and those can be crushed under tents or other gear. Stay on the path, for the safety of yourself and the wilderness.

Heading down I discovered that, surprise surprise, it was an even sharper slope. Descending the same 2-3 drops between footholds bears additional wear on the knees and greater likelihood of a tumble. Some of the boulders were tricky puzzles to crack, requiring carefully considered hand and foot placements to prevent a precipitous plummet. Creative solutions, such as gripping trees or using compression to cling to near-vertical surfaces, were often required here and on most of the slopes to come. I was very thankful to have trained my technique and grip strength at Virginia Tech’s climbing gym.

However characteristic Mousilauke was of all the Whites to come, it posses one unique feature. The path along the north face is parallel to a stream that quickly spills into a waterfall. The irregularities in the slope shaped the dance of the water. Outcroppings over the stream afforded dozens of prospects, each unique. Here was a narrow torrent, now a series of broad gentle fountain steps, now an obstruction to divide the flow into twins. I only photographed the most striking sections of the falls, preferring to just admire for a few seconds before pressing on. I saved the slow-motion video for a scoop in the stone that arced the stream into the air.

Halfway through the descent, I took lunch at Beaver Brook Shelter. My timing was perfect, since a pop-up thunderstorm rolled in not 5 minutes after I arrived and dissipated before I was ready to leave. When I called it a day, I covered half of the ground between Mousilauke and the next notable mountain.

Day 132: Monday, July 1

Intersection with Gordon Pond Trail to Cascade Brook – 11.9 miles

The biggest obstacle for Monday was the Kinsmans, one mountain split into two peaks. Not quite as tall as Mousilauke, it was a slight  reprieve from yesterday.

At the base of the Kinsmans, I had lunch in the Eliza Brook shelter. On cue, it rained just while I was under cover.

Atop the South Kinsman, I found a collection of stones arranged into a throne. It was quite a comfortable perch to observe the surroundings from. A passerby agreed to take my picture as I posed majestically on the chair.

On the way down, I came across a wild porcupine shuffling just a foot off the trail. Its movement was much more tortoise than hare: carefully placed feet, the load of quills swaying with each step. Upon detecting my presence, it stood on its hind feet, turned to face me, and stared me down. Its beady eyes and incessantly twitching nose seemed choreographed to draw my sympathy while assessing my level of threat. I met the creature’s gaze for several seconds, marveling at the chance to have an up-close look at a wild specimen. Then, in unspoken agreement, we each returned to our original courses.

I was feeling great after my first two days in the Whites. The climbs were rugged but rewarding. The alpine zones were novel and captivating. Already, I’d encountered a bunch of new wildlife. And it only gets better.

Day 133: Tuesday, July 2

Cascade Brook to Intersection with Gale River Trail – 13.9 miles

After a relentless, grueling, 3000-foot ascent past the Liberty Springs Campsite, I arrived at my second-favorite spot in the Whites. Imagine the terrain where the Great Wall of China stands, without the wall (see title picture). That’s the best way I can describe Franconia Ridge. Spanning a whole 2 miles above tree line, the ridge bounces between minor peaks. With Mousilauke to the south and the presidentials to the north, the vistas routinely provoked a “Wow!” from my lips. Further words do no justice, go look at the pictures. Hundreds (not an exaggeration) of day hikers were up on the ridge as well, though I managed to keep them out of the camera.

Late in the day was the comparatively short Mt Garfield. One the way up, a Ruffed Grouse let me get unprecedentedly close for an awesome photograph. The way down literally follows a rocky stream. Not alongside it, overtop it. The Appalachian Mountain Club has a real creative definition for the word “trail”…

Day 134: Wednesday, July 3

Intersection with Gale River Trail to Between Mt Webster and Mt Jackson – 19.2 miles

Today was a good day to get close to 20 miles. After just one brief climb over South Twin Mountain, I’d head entirely downhill until US 302.

I’d camped not too far south of Galehead Hut, so I stopped in around 9:00 AM. They didn’t have a any breakfast leftovers, but I was able to purchase a slice of cornbread and two Clif bars.

On the other side of South Twin was the Zealand Falls Hut, where I took lunch. I later learned this hut pulls hydroelectric power from the nearby falls. Here, the baked good for sale was chocolate cake with buttercream frosting, a scrumptious supplement to my meal.

Directly after the hut was a 5-mile flat section. I sped through it, so grateful to have a break from constant elevation changes. Eventually, I dipped down toward US 302 and crossed the busy highway around 6:00 PM.

The final task was vaulting the Webster Cliffs. By far, this ascent packed in the most scrambling of any of the Whites. Some spots I’d label as free-climbing, nearly vertical cliff faces from which to cautiously eek out holds. This was not novice stuff. Jamming a tow into a crack for a hold, leaping upward to pounce on a grip, and balancing on half-inch-wide ledges are key examples of the bodily awareness and confidence one needs to scale these obstacles. And don’t forget, I’ve a 30-pound monkey on my back.

However, the periodic bluffs provided fantastic sunset views. Finishing significantly after dark, it was an exhausting day. But I had to press miles to set myself up for tomorrow.

Day 135: Thursday, July 4 🇺🇸

Between Mt Webster and Mt Jackson to Halfway Down Mt Madison – 16.2 miles

It wasn’t until the beginning of the week that I realized I would be hiking the Presidential Peaks on the 4^th of July. I can think of few better ways to celebrate the founding of our nation than taking in the glory of its landscape while traversing peaks named after many of its famous Commanders in Chief. Mts Jefferson, Madison, Franklin, Pierce, Eisenhower, Adams, and the infamous Washington are packed into this imposing 14-mile alpine zone. You either knock out the whole shebang in one go, shell out your cash to bunk at one of two huts, or temporarily descend back to the trees to camp.  Naturally, I ended the previous day fairly close to the southern edge to give myself the best shot of making it all the way through.

I was already pumped for the coming events of the day when I slid into Mizpah Spring Hut. There I was able to score leftovers from last night’s dinner, a bowl of corn chowder with a slice of bread. And how could I turn down a hunk of “world famous” coffee cake? Admiring the stupendous weather and riding high on the extra calories, I had an abiding sentiment that today would be a great day.

In many ways, the southern presidentials were similar to Franconia Ridge. However, the AT shaves several hundred feet of elevation gain/loss by skirting the actual summits. Some hikers are very enthusiastic about surmounting every single one of the presidentials, but my philosophy is to be obedient to the path of the AT specifically. I was not disappointed to skip the true summits and very glad I conserved my energy. For me, it’s more about the drawn-out journey that spans the east coast rather than hitting every sideshow along the way. I’m sure many of the side trails are worth their while, and the AT may have well been routed thousands of different ways to include them, but when I signed up for a “through hike” those were not explicitly part of the mission. Yes, any RPG player knows it’s really about the side quests… but that’s what this whole endeavor is to begin with! I digress.

Immediately before Mt Washington was Lakes of the Clouds Hut. I’d though the name referred to the peaks appearing as islands in a “lake” of low cloud cover, but there are actual pools of water near the sight. As the largest hut, they cook tons of food and always have leftovers. Traipsing into the dining room, I was greeted by a tray of pancakes and pot of oatmeal— free for the taking! By now the oats were cold mush, so I turned to the flapjacks. I devoured five in one sitting and slid two into my bear can for a future snack.

Getting atop Washington was not as bad as I expected. There were more loose boulders to navigate than the southern presidentials, but the going wasn’t very steep. The summit is highly developed, affording both car and train access for guests who don’t wish to hike. A flock of tourists were enjoying the day off, things were quite crowded. In fact, I did not wait in the 20-minute line to take my picture next to the official sign.

A weather station, a visitor center, and a few radio towers occupy the space. I lounged in the visitor center for an hour, doing my best to catch up on writing while enjoying a slice of pepperoni pizza and a chocolate milk. Before heading out, I perused the small museum, which focused on early exploration of the area and the meteorological observatory’s history. Due to the elevation and wind patterns, Mt Washington produces some of the most extreme weather conditions known to man. Winds regularly above 100 mph, including a record-breaking 231 mph observation. This video is a good summary.

As much I wanted to take it all in, I had 7 miles left, and it was already 4:00 PM. Hence, I moved on from Mt Washington into the Great Gulf Wilderness, waving at a train that passed fairly close. The Great Gulf is a ravine walled-in by the northern presidentials to the north and Mt Washington to the southeast. The AT follows a crescent path north from Washington, east over the north presidentials, and due south until it crosses NH 16 and meets Wildcat Ridge.

Jefferson and the cluster of Adams-es were not terribly difficult, but fatigue was piling on. This was the most strenuous day of one of the most demanding weeks, and I was feeling it. Furthermore, I wasn’t looking forward to a meager dinner (as I had 7 days to pack for rather than just 5-6, my food supplies were stretched thin). A bit dehydrated and downcast, I staggered toward Madison Spring Hut. Here was a stroke of providence.

As I filled my water bottles at the spigot, a group of three other NOBOs showed up, some guys I’d seen yesterday and first met at Hikers Welcome Hostel. One of them was celebrating his birthday, so his friends entered the hut to see if they could get him anything special. I tagged along. The staff had great news. Not only would they give all four us us a free piece of coconut cake (that they had tried to dye patriotic colors with blueberries, but failed), but they also had copious dinner scraps that would otherwise be relegated to compost. We all took heaping plates of lasagna, corn, and salad and ate to satisfaction, yet there were still leftovers. A tremendous feast. The huts really know their way around the kitchen: every dish I sampled was positively delicious and packed with delicacies such as fresh veggies or baked bread. Taking into account all the items I consumed this day (in addition to my regular oatmeal breakfast), I ate spectacularly this 4^th of July.

Spirits lifted by a full stomach and good company, it was time to jump one last hurdle. Once over Madison and back in the trees, I could pitch at the first available spot and call it a day.

The top of Madison was littered with microwave-sized boulders. They were exceptionally well textured, with lichen covering the pockmarks in the near-black surface. Traction and steady footing were thus easily obtained, which could not be said for many of yesterday’s cliffs. I summited right before sunset with just a mile or so left. As last light gave way to my headlamp’s glow, a new challenge emerged. In the harsh LED light, the navigational cairns blended in well to the massive rock field I had to traverse before reaching tree line. Thus, I sometimes lost the chain of markers, tentatively following the correct compass bearing until I picked up the path again. The rockiness tapered off until, in a moment, my headlamp was swarmed with moths. I noticed the pines around me for the first time. I’d made it out of the alpine zone.

Swatting away the pesky bugs, after just a minute I found a suitable campsite. It’d be a tight fit, but I made it work by not pitching the fly and laying in the mesh tent body, bivy-style. Right before I closed my eyes, a handful of fireworks popped over the town below.

Day 136: Friday, July 5

Halfway Down Mt Madison to Pinkham Notch – 5.9 miles

I’d scheduled for this day to be a short one, affording flexibility if bad weather delayed me earlier in the week. The ground was easy, primarily downhill. Regardless, it was a slow day.

I allowed myself to sleep in given the two previous late nights, but sluggishness lingered well past morning. Many of my joints (especially my knees) ached from the harsh inclines. I took frequent breaks, lacking motivation to trudge on. I even took a wrong turn and went a mile off-trail. When I finally noticed the blazes were blue rather than white, I checked my map, groaned, and begrudgingly backtracked uphill. All told, it wasn’t until 3:00 PM that I covered the six simple miles. I relaxed the rest of the day away in my tent, catching up on both writing and — more importantly — sleep.

Day 137: Saturday, July 6

Shuttle into Gorham NH, The Barn Hostel

Rain came in today, so it was perfect timing to escape into Gorham. After catching an early morning shuttle, I lingered for most of the day at The Barn Hostel, which is attached to the Libby House B&B. I had lots of chores: laundry, retreating clothes with permethrin, and solving the logistics for the remaining weekends. On top of mass and a resupply run to the Dollar General, I hardly had time to draft a blog post.

Despite the disappointment of being yet another week late on posting, it was a refreshing day. It’s always a comforting feeling to be inside when the rain is pelting the roof. On my way back from mass, the serenade of a local guitarist covering John Denver floated across the lawn of the public park. I secured what “real food” I could from the DG. I sizzled eggs in the hostel stove while mixing in cheese and peas to concoct a hodgepodge casserole. I sorely missed cooking during the hostel drought, and it’s in the top five things I look forward to once I’m done.

Day 138: Sunday, July 7

Pinkham Notch to Carter Notch Hut – 5.9 miles

The hostel runs drop-offs nice and early, no exceptions. Still needing some recuperation, I decided to go a handful of miles and inquire at the next (and last) hut. There’s not too much to say about Wildcat Ridge. You’ve heard it all before: steep and rocky. However, there is a ski resort on this mountain. In the summer they keep the chairlift operational; apparently, you can pay $15 to ride one way. As I turned onto a side trail to reach the hut, it brought me past a placid point adorned with flowering lily pads.

It’s here that I need to inject another trail-term into the narrative. Work-for-stay, usually shortened to WFS, is an alternative method to secure housing. Instead of becoming a paying guest, you and the owner/manager arrange a bout of labor for you to complete in exchange for free-of-charge lodging. Policies vary from place to place, but they typically ask you to help with menial chores like groundskeeping, interior cleaning, or guest check-in. Those roles fill up quickly, so you’re more likely to secure WFS if you have a skilled trade. The low-margin hiker industry is always happy to fix up a minor electrical issue or carpentry need with free labor, and travelers are  tight on cash. Generally, it’s a win-win, and about 30% of them advertise the possibility. I like the collaborative spirit of this arrangement, but given how precious my weekend time is, I hadn’t pursued this option. Until now.

Given the well-organized nature of the AMC, the huts have standardized WFS procedures. Each day, every hut has two spots for through-hikers. In exchange for two hours of work, you get leftovers (after paying guests have their fill) from dinner and breakfast, on top of accommodations. If the crowd is low, you get a bunk. If space is tight, you set up on the kitchen floor. Either way, you’re under a warm, dry roof. Given the price of a typical stay, that amounts to an hourly compensation of $80-$90…

When I sauntered into Carter Notch Hut in the afternoon, the only folks around were a three-person croo: Abby, a middle-aged woman, who brought along one of her young daughters and one of the daughter’s friends. They were more than happy to have me as a WFS, since they were “fill-ins”. This means they weren’t the regular group, which is contracted for the whole summer. Rather, they were substitutes while the main croo took a three-day vacation. Fill-ins always have prior experience (Abby spun many tales from working the huts in her college days), but it’s still a bit overwhelming to jump back in, especially when you have two kids to supervise and entertain. They didn’t need me until 4:00 PM, meaning I had time to squeeze out the post you received last weekend.

My first task was to sweep out the privies and restock the toilet paper. If my time on the AT has increased my appreciation of anything, it’s my near-absent sense of smell. Afterwards, I set the table for our five guests, only one of which actually showed up! He was another through-hiker named “Average Guy”. I made some small talk to keep him company, and we decided to pick out a board game once my duties were fulfilled. Ultimately, we did have four unexpected visitors for dinner, all “just passing through”. This included two young men attempting a 24-hour hut traverse, whereby one physically touches all seven of the AMC huts in the Whites (essentially, accomplishing 75% of this post within a single day).

While our guests dined, I got a head start on the dishes. Here, Abby introduced me to some of the zany croo lingo. Once I tell you that dishwashing is known as “SCUBA diving”, you’ll quickly understand why knives are called “sharks”. I’d cleaned most of the bowls, plates, cooking implements, and utensils when the guests announced they’d had their fill. The staff and I inherited a fortune of leftovers. I savored the stuffed shells (one of my absolute favorite dishes), salad, and chocolate chip cookies to my heart’s delight, and there was more than enough to go around. I washed this down with a glass of lemonade, which is dispensed from a multi-gallon jug the croo replenishes every few days. A scrumptious banquet.

The kitchen was clean enough within a half hour of the leftovers being stowed away, so Average Guy and I turned to the pile of board games. We agreed to a game of Scrabble. As we unboxed the board and wooden tiles, we both mused how there are individuals in our families that absolutely crush us at the game, so at least one of us would get to taste elusive vocabulary victory. I won’t bore you with the play-by-play, but there were some moves I was especially proud of. We started evenly matched, with solid but equivalent advances. I imagined that Eric, the former liturgy minister for CCM@VT and one of my college roomates, would have been proud when I secured 11 points by a well-placed “alb”. I did gain a small advantage when I successfully challenged “privys”, but squandered that through small plays as I hyper-focused on a particular combo. When Average Guy punished my conservatism by securing several of the triple word and letter scores, I was hurting bad. That was, until I played my masterstroke of “quiz” on key bonuses to bag a whopping 64 points. As the duel and night drew on, we made smaller plays, but did manage to use every tile in the game. Average Guy double-checked our scores and burst out laughing. Sliding the paper to me, I chuckled as well. We tied at 282-282. Apparently, neither of us can still win a game of Scrabble,

Saying goodbye to the Whites, landing a temporary spot on a competent yet laid-back croo, the delectable dinner, and friendly bout of games all added up to my best day on trail. Settled amidst the grandest landscape of the whole AT and surrounded by good-natured folks I enjoyed the simple joys of life: honest work, good food, and shared laughter.

On the Horizon

Never before had I been so thankful I hadn’t quit and robbed myself of the Whites. But little did I know this was only the gateway to the land of most grueling circumstances. Next time, I’ll take you into the final state, which more than any other forced me to confront the thought that is a through-hiker’s worst enemy: “I just want to go home”.

Pebbles

New Birds: White-throated Sparrow, Broad-winged Hawk, Fox Sparrow, Bicknell’s Thrush, Canada Jay, Boreal Chickadee, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Swainson’s Thrush. Super pumped to sight my first bird of prey, even if it’s one of the smaller species. Also, this week brings me up to 80 total species since February!

Podcasts: Catholic Saints by the Augustine Institute is the audio equivalent of any physical edition of a “Lives of the Saints”. I find the episodes are just the right length and strike a fine balance between ultra-popular and forgotten individuals. The tales of bold piety, compelling sacrifice, and inspiring miracles simultaneously humbles one’s self-image and draws one to more perfect faith.

Audiobooks: Interior Castle by St. Theresa of Avila is a dense spiritual read. I took a crack at listening to this back in Massachusetts. Once I got into the description of the third mansion, I realized this dense masterpiece is best digested via a hard-copy. I’ll come back to it after the trail.

Songs in my Head: “Carry on Wayward Son” by Kansas

🎶 (Carry on) You will always remember / (Carry on) none can equal the splendor 🎶,

Maxwell “Oatmeal” Stelmack