Hike #4: Mount Hale
Elevation: 4,054 feet
Date: May 25, 2013
Location: Bethlehem, NH
Distance: 4.60 miles
Time: 3:34 (46:31/mile)
Man, this was not what I expected! We planned to spend Memorial Weekend hiking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, staying at AMC’s Galehead Hut for a night and hitting Galehead, Garfield, South Twin and North Twin. But as the weekend approached, the forecast kept worsening. As a newer hiker, I’m not fully geared up. So I bought waterproof pants to go with the waterproof jacket. I also endured the calls and texts from my mom, with foreboding warnings and lots of advice aside of being sure to bring plenty of clean underwear. Since I’m not a middle school boy with poor hygienic habits going to summer camp, I trusted that I could prep appropriately and persevere.
That Friday, we got up to the Above the Notch motor inn. We spent the evening packing and re-packing the backpacks, ruminating about whether to have the instant Caribbean or Indian dinner at the hut, and transferring the wine to a plastic bottle before turning in for a good night’s sleep.
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| Gonna be a wet one! |
The next morning, we awoke before sunrise to a commotion. After opening a bleary eye, I realized that it wasn’t pre-dawn. It was just unusually dark because of pouring rain, which also explained why it seemed like a drum corps was performing outside my door. Peeling back the curtains and studying the enormous raindrops falling against my truck’s windshield, my first thought was, “oh, crap”. Well, that might not have been the exact wording, but you get the picture. Hiking in the rain is one thing. Hiking in a total downpour is something else. Maybe I should build an ark. Oh well, not all hikes can be on sunny, low humidity days, right?
As soon as we got under the canopy, it became deafening, with fat raindrops smacking off the leaves. Since I also had my hood on, any conversation with Sara was along the lines of:
Sara: “mumble, mumble, blablabla, haba dalooly bragadish.”
Me: “WHAAAT?!?!”
A mere tenth of a mile into the woods, we arrived at a river crossing, which explained the helicopter-like din we’d heard over the rain. There was no bridge, and no way across unless we either walked through, meaning we’d have soaked shoes for the next two days, or took them off to step across, which seemed a hassle. So we scouted upstream, searching for a dry route. The best option was a four-inch wide tree laying across most of the river. The water was a couple of feet deep but mostly whitewater. I knew Sara was unnerved so I volunteered to go first. Testing out using my trekking poles for balance, I realized the current was strong enough that I needed to plant them a couple of feet upstream and push down quickly in order to get them planted where I wanted. It took five minutes for a mere twenty-five feet, but as I leaned my forehead against a tree trunk on the other side to prep for the last step, I felt pretty studly with my accomplishment. Once safely on the other side, I did my celebratory JayJay’s Awesome dance.
Sara then started her own crossing. As she focused intently on every step, I prayed she didn’t notice the small tree that hurtling by under this makeshift bridge, realizing it wouldn’t help her anxieties. Suddenly, a woman appeared, with a guy and dog in tow, and Sara gladly stepped back off the log to see what was unfolding.
Turns out the woman is a caretaker at the Galehead Hut, on her way out after being relieved of duty. Over the thunderous rain, she yelled an explanation that it would be a lot worse if we continued: two more river crossings with fast water, the next one up to our chests. If we took an alternate route up the Garfield Ridge Trail, we’d have a prolonged descent in a waterfall, making for treacherous conditions. She warned that if this crossing seemed intimidating at all, it would only get worse; a lot worse. She then moved on, her hip waders keeping her dry and her dog playing in the water.
I looked back at Sara, who bore no resemblance to the confident, experienced hiker she normally is. I remembered the parable from an old West Wing TV episode about the man in a flood who knew that God would protect him. He dismissed the warnings and rescue offers from the police, a National Guard boat, and a helicopter, before drowning. He asked God why he’d been ignored, and God pointed out all the chances he gave the man to save himself. I looked at the Galehead caretaker as my National Guard warning. Unfortunately, this meant crossing back over the log.
I got my trekking poles out again and re-set them for the crossing. This time, I was angled downhill, so I worried about slipping. Inching my way across, I hit the halfway point when my upstream pole slowly sank into the mud, leaving me hunched over. Only, I realized when I pulled it out to re-plant it that I had not tightened it all the way, so it had collapsed on itself and was now just two feet tall. This isn’t making life easier! I finished my crossing with some oddly yoga-like positioning and a visibly trembling left quad before stepping back onto terra firma. I filled Sara in on the caretaker’s warnings and we agreed to take a timeout to re-evaluate.
We hustled back to the truck to take stock of our situation. Both of us are prone to tunnel vision. But, given the conditions (and the book Deep Survival by Laurence Gonzales I’d just finished, about patterns of outdoor survival and deaths, and how refusing to change your plans can contribute to dying), we were comfortable adjusting our itinerary. Flood warnings and a forecast of continued downpours sealed the deal.
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| We're happy. Really. Really? |
We opted for a day hike of Mt. Hale and another night at a hotel. With new resolve, we drove the short distance to Hale, detached the top of the backpacks to use as fanny packs, and set out.
Hale was as short and mild of a climb as we could find, and judging by the fairly full parking lot, we weren’t the only ones taking this approach. But Hale still had a couple of challenges. Shortly after starting, it revealed its own river crossing. An eclectic group of hikers on the other side helped guide us to the easiest route across. They were beginning a hike for the third time, trying to find one that seemed safe in the weather, and were contemplating quitting in the face of rising water levels. Since we never saw them again, we know that they called it quits at some point, even if not right then.
We felt much more confident, as there were no chest-deep whitewater crossings to contend with, so we soldiered on. Besides, if it’s gonna flood, where better to be than a mountain summit?
A little while later, we learned that the first crossing wasn’t the river crossing referenced on the map. It was a small creek crossing rendered intimidating by all the rain. The real river wasn’t feasible to cross via the trail and had a steep, waterfall-like pitch above and below the trail. But we were determined to spend the day climbing something, so we risked life, limb, and a good soaking, and leaped (flailed) across, with me using a tree to brace my landing.
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| Mt Hale's underwhelming summit in the snow |
Continuing on, we encountered other hikers, including some college guys clearly not dressed for the weather; cotton T-shirts are rarely the recommended clothing for a wet, cold hike. Speaking of which, it started getting worse as snow began mixing in. Snow was never in the forecast, so this surprised us. By the time we summitted Hale, a dusting layered the peak and I guessed locusts or cats and dogs would be next. I looked around in disdain. This is it? This is the summit? Dude… It’s a small clearing with no view, and a pile of rocks and detritus where a lookout tower once stood. We quickly downed sandwiches in the falling snow and began the descent.
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| Survived the day's last river crossing. Top right corner is either Sasquatch or a nervous hiker. |
We made pretty good time, although the cold was really getting to our hands. Back at the river crossing, a family with two younger girls successfully navigated their way across. A for effort! Once Sara and I finished our own crossing, two women in their twenties arrived and scouted for their way across. We offered options and assistance, but they continued to agonize. We finally moved on, leaving them to debate in private. They worried that the water would continue rising and make their return impossible. It appeared the weather would claim another couple of victims.
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| Camping at the hotel |
We returned to the truck, cranked the heat, and drove back to the motel which thankfully had a vacancy. After hot showers, we climbed into bed to finish warming up. Dinner was as planned: rehydrated Indian and Caribbean food, and the Ghost Pines red blend we’d planned to celebrate with at Galehead. Seeing the snow beginning to accumulate on my truck’s windshield, we knew we’d made the right call for the day. Of course, when we’d gotten back to the hotel, Sara had retrieved a voicemail from AMC which said, to paraphrase, “if you try hiking up to Galehead, you’ll probably die, so you should not come.” So we already had enough affirmation. AMC also credited us for the reservation, to be used by the end of the year, so I guess we now have no choice but to get an otherwise unplanned hike in at some point this year. Umm… OK! Thanks!
Drifting off to sleep that night, I had to wonder what the next day’s hike would entail. But that’s another story for another day.
See you on the trail,
Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper
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