Hike #8: Presidential Traverse
Elevation: 5,367 (Mount Madison), 5,774 (Mount Adams), 5,712 (Mount Jefferson), 6,288 (Mount Washington), 5,384 (Mount Monroe), 4,780 (Mount Eisenhower), 4,310 (Mount Pierce)
Date: June 15, 2013
Location: a big swath of the White Mountain National Forest, NH
Distance: 20.1 miles
Time: 16:53 (50:24/mile)
To recap part 1, we started off at 5:30 a.m., after our first setback of the day when we didn’t have the keys to the truck where we’ll finish the hike, and we had to backtrack to the hotel to get them. But it’s mid-morning, we’ve got Mount Madison and Mount Adams in the bag, and we’re doing well.
Leg 3: Adams summit to Jefferson summit via Thunderstorm Junction and Edmands Col; 2.2 miles, 800 feet of elevation gain (8.0 miles and 5,885 total)
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| The view of our next two mountains, from Mount Adams: Mount Jefferson (right) and then Mount Washington (left) |
Jay:
Leaving Adams, we stared at a barren landscape of rocks and boulders stretching for miles. The views were great, but it was clear that we would not be plodding along hardpacked trails amidst fragile flora. Instead, we’d be bouldering and rock scrambling for hours, since most of the route was above tree line and much was within view.
Given my love of rock scrambles, I fell into a rhythm. When I was in middle school, I lived about a half-mile away from the school. I sometimes walked home instead of riding the bus, and my route took me past an old, private school that had a rock retaining wall for much of the way. I’d walk on top of it, predicting how many steps each large rock would take to cover, and before I knew it I’d be within sight of my home. Now, picking my way through the debris field from Adams to Jefferson, I again lost myself as I transitioned from one enormous rock to another.
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| Plaque to Edmands, a founding AMC member |
The hang-up in this was that there was not an obvious trail, just periodic signposts and cairns scattered about and people hiking in multiple directions. Noticing where the majority of the crowd headed, we thought we could identify the route for the March of the Crazies. But at Thunderstorm Junction, we took a wrong turn, adding about a quarter of a mile to the trip. Once back on the correct route, we plodded along before Edmands Col established a more obvious trail.
Sara was bonking, and we allowed ourselves a breather. We ate, drank, rested tiring legs, and then resumed. We reached Jefferson’s summit and didn’t linger; we were beginning to lose the pace we’d had earlier, and the wind and chill gave us no place for cover.
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| I've got plenty of energy. Honest. Really. Eesh... |
Sara:
We made our way down the large boulders from the peak of Mount Adams. It was really difficult to determine the trail ahead...and we had the best conditions! It was sunny with bluebird skies on this day. The wind was brisk, and although a bit chilly, it kept the bugs at bay.
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| Rock scrambles for miles. And miles. And miles... |
I am very slow going down rocks. Jay kept jumping far ahead of me, but he was good about pausing to wait. As I ambled along rather far behind him, I thought of a good trail name for him. We had joked about some trail names for him before, but there was really nothing from hiking that had yet to stand out. I kept it to myself for a little while, wanting to mull it over before deciding on it.
We set out toward a signpost only to realize that we had taken a wrong turn -- and we had the best of weather! I can now imagine, though, how difficult hiking across the Presidentials is in bad weather - which is frequent up there! I can’t say that we were lost, but we were definitely heading the wrong way off of Adams. Wind blowing like mad, I briefly checked the map. There was a bit of frustration between me and Jay at this point, in part because it just was really hard to figure out where to go and the last thing we wanted to do is set out in a different but equally wrong direction. Time was ticking and it was dispiriting to think that we were needlessly adding miles to an already arduous hike.
We didn’t have much of a choice but to hike back up and over the other side of Thunderstorm junction and, as we did, I thought I saw the two girls we had seen at the Madison Hut, leaving me more confident that we were correcting ourselves.
We hiked over through Edmands Col without incident. I had been a little nervous from Goatman’s e-mail and I wasn’t sure how dangerous this would be. We started up to summit Mount Jefferson and, although I was very tired, I was thrilled to be hiking a peak that 10 years ago, during a backpacking trip through the Great Gulf Wilderness, I had vowed I would return to do. I put my head down and plodded towards the summit, with one singular goal at the moment: do not stop until you get to the peak of Jefferson.
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| On the peak of Jefferson, with our next target (Washington) looming in the background. |
Leg 4: Jefferson summit to Washington summit via Gulfside, Sphinx, Mt Clay Loop; 3.3 miles including the wrong turn, 1,321 feet of elevation gain (11.3 miles and 7,206 total)
Jay:
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| We're a whole mountain closer to Washington, but it seems like it's just as far away! Aargh! |
From our vantage point on Jefferson, Mount Washington, the highest of the New England peaks, seemed to be incredibly far away. I focused on moving from cairn to cairn, similar to a runner focusing on the next telephone pole instead of on how many miles remain.
It was still fun, and the 5-Hour Energy helped. I was in a groove with the rocks, at one point finding myself on a long rock starting to fall over, and casually riding it to its destination and stepping off just prior to its crash. Sara, too, was comfortable behind me. Normally nervous on rocky sections, the immersion seemed to have led her to get into the flow of it, with her hands outspread and fingers delicately positioned in the ballerina stance she used as a kid. She never realizes she does that, because it only happens when she’s a little worried about her balance and concentrating, but not freaking out. I took this as a good sign.
As we continued on, rock after rock, she declared that she was ready to give me my nickname. All serious hikers wind up with trail names not of their choosing, which are bestowed by fellow hikers. They are to be earned, not given gratuitously like soccer trophies for kids. As a guy, we live for nicknames, sometimes having or using multiple. A bad nickname is like a scarlet letter, other guys docking you Man Points. We don’t want generic and insulting nicknames such as Ace, Dude, or Slick. We wince at ones given because of an embarrassing back story: Strikeout King, Balcony Puker, or Captain Acid-Washed. My previous thought was that I’d inevitably hike someday to a hut, sleep on a wooden platform, have gas in the wee hours that would reverberate off the wood, and henceforth be known as He Who Thunders in the Night. Luckily, this particular reality had not materialized, but we’d see what I’d inherit.
“You love the rock scrambles. You lose yourself in them and have a blast. You move faster in them than on normal trails,” she explained. “You’re Rock Hopper.” Baby’s all growed up! I liked it, I could go with it and it made total sense. It also had a way better ring to it than Tripper, Mud Slipper, Chronic Faller, or Slip-n-Slide. Rock Hopper it is!
My new name, the credit it took to get one, and my 5-Hour Energy fueled me on towards Washington. Amazingly, the rocks switched to a fairly normal path for a bit, and we were making good time. We could see the toll road and railroad tracks to the summit, but as we approached it was like a bad movie scene where the perspective changes and some object close by gets stretched back as if it’s an eternity away. We plodded on, as the Mount Washington Observatory kept backpedalling away from us. At least we were passing some people, showing some indication that we were actually moving forward and not on an enormous hamster wheel, working furiously and pointlessly. Finally, we summitted. It was a weak high five, and the place was mobbed. But we’d arrived on New England’s highest summit.
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| Peak #12, and the highest of New England's 4,000-footers. |
The cool part was that there was a hikers section on a lower floor of the visitor’s center. We had it largely to ourselves, using the break to wolf down a bunch of beef jerky, energy goo, and a sandwich. I changed my socks, which felt nice. And I pulled out my insoles, which had turned sideways from all the hiking. Sara seemed fine, which didn’t surprise me as she has an endless reservoir of endurance. I, conversely, was really hurting, and didn’t feel good about only being about halfway through the hike, with the 3:00 p.m. time showing we were continuing to fall off a pace that would allow us to finish before dark. I worried about becoming an anchor on her trip, possibly robbing her of a bucket list hike through my own physical failings. Not good.
Sara:
My descent down Jefferson was the second lowest point for me on the trail. My feet were aching and Mount Washington appeared so far away.
Between Mts. Jefferson and Washington lay Mount Clay (or Mount Reagan, as named by the state of NH). We had decided, even prior to this traverse, that we would skip Mount Clay as it is not named after a President (by the USGS standards and Appalachian Mountain Club), nor does it count as one of the 48 4,000-footers in NH. Many consider Clay to be a peak along the Presidential Traverse, however, we felt comfortable omitting it, especially if not doing it gave us better odds of completing all of the true Presidential peaks.
Now it was my turn to ask to stop. I croaked, “Can we stop for a second?” Jay willingly stopped so that I could eat a bar. My appetite disappears during hiking and I tend to opt for quick energy through gooey syrups and gummy blocks, but I knew I needed more sustenance. I forced down a Clif bar and felt much better.
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| Trudging towards the Mount Washington Observatory and Visitors Center |
A few of my hiking friends had commented that they were disappointed to reach the top of Mount Washington. I can understand this sentiment when you consider that hiking often entails a sense of remoteness, with the accompanying solitude that that brings. The top of Mount Washington may be remote, but solitude is elusive there.
Amid the crowds, I spied a sign: “Hiker bathrooms downstairs”. Yay! I found a bathroom without a line! Jay and I headed downstairs to use the facilities and then spread our stuff out along the long, cafeteria tables in a room that was just for hikers. This is what Goatman had talked about in his e-mail! It was a great spot for a quiet break and the crowds stayed upstairs at the snack bar and lookout spaces.
We took an extra long and well-deserved break on Mount Washington. While we were falling behind book time, we knew that breaks were going to be key if we were to finish. Although Goatman had referenced seeing sunset on Pierce and hiking out the Crawford Path by headlamp, at this point, I was still optimistic that neither would occur.
OK, we’re now at the half-way point. Instead of putting out an eighteen page novella, we’ll take a time-out here. Stay tuned for Part 2!
See you on the trail,
Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper
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