The Whites

Since the day I started the trail I recall other hikers saying things like, "If you think this is tough, just wait until you get to the Whites."

The "Whites," of course, are the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and I began hiking in them a few days ago. The White Mountain National Forest starts quite near Hanover, NH, and includes some fairly challenging summits such as Smarts Mountain and Mt. Cube. The word on the trail is that the Whites really begin at Mt. Moosilauke, near Warren, NH. I decided to stay at the "Hikers Welcome" hostel in Glencliff, NH, just outside of Warren to shower, do laundry and prepare to take on the Whites.

The Hikers Welcome Hostel was at more than maximum capacity. It would have been comfortable with 12 or fewer hikers, but because the weather had soured there were twice that number staying there. A single outdoor shower and toilet served all of us. I ran into some people I had met before on the trail, and some new people as well. Most decided to sit out Saturday the 9th because of the rain forecast, but some of us decided to press on. The hostel offered a "slackpacking" option that two retired guys from Virginia and I opted for.

Slackpacking means you leave your tent, sleeping bag, etc. at the hostel and get shuttled to a trail head farther north (in this case Kinsman Notch). We then hiked 10 miles south to the hostel. The next day (Sunday the 10th) we were shuttled back to the trail head to continue north. It was nice having a half-weight pack as the hike over Mt. Moosilauke was extraordinarily challenging, my toughest day on the trail yet.

The trail up Mt. Moosilauke was extremely steep, running along a cascading stream for several miles. It was raining, which further added to the difficulty. By the time I got to the top of Mt Moosilauke it was so cold and windy that I pulled out a pair of spare wool socks to use as field-expedient mittens. They worked quite well. I thoroughly enjoyed that 10 mile hike though, and when we returned to the hostel with exhilarated looks on our faces you could see the looks of regret among the majority of hostel stayers who decided not to hike that day.

Hostels are interesting places. This one was a very laid back place, run by a guy who is the rare "triple-crowner," meaning he has hiked the entire Appalachian Trail, Pacific Crest Trail, and Continental Divide Trail. That's more than impressive. The crowd at the hostel on the weekend I stayed there was a mix of younger and older hikers. It was enlightening talking to them around the campfire at night. Some were older hikers like me, including a doctor, an engineer, and several retired county workers (the Virginia guys I slackpacked with). Others were much younger, some having firm plans (starting nursing school or law school in the fall), and others searching, having no firm plans at all. One couple had met on the trail and married three days earlier.

On Sunday it was still raining, so many decided to stay at the hostel another day. Others, like me and the Virginia retirees, decided to press on so we were dropped off at Kinsman Gap again (the north side of Mt. Moosilauke), this time hiking north to Franconia Notch, over Kinsman Ridge. It turned out to be the toughest day on the trail to date. In fact, you would be hard pressed to even call parts of it a trail; it was more like a route, in the climbing sense.

More than a few times I had to stop and plan a route forward, be it an ascent or descent. The trail was so steep, rocky, and slick that any misstep could have very negative consequences. I recalled the German motel proprietor in Bear Mountain, NY telling me that when he had hiked the Whites there were times where he would just throw his trekking poles down a hill and climb down after them, since he needed to use his hands as well as his feet to climb down.  I found myself doing just that as well.

The rain was pervasive, and sections of the trail looked more like streams than trails. Some sections were completely submerged. While I could occasionally veer off trail to high ground, sometimes the woods were so dense that I had to walk through deep water. On at least three occasions I had to cross very swollen streams with no foot bridge. One of them required looking  up and down stream to find a place to cross, and even then getting soaked up to my knees.

I stealth camped that night at Franconia Notch State Park, and it continued to rain through most of the night. I was glad I seam-sealed my tent at the Lake.

On Monday I walked about 5 miles in Lincoln, NH to dry out and resupply. On the way into town the road paralleled the Pemi River. I stopped along the river to dry out my tent and saw some ducks in the water. One of them would occasionally break off from the group and run a length rapids, using his webbed feet to steer around rocks. They were quite good at it.

I saw a bear raiding a dumpster on the way back to the trail. Bear #4