The Whites are known to have weather conditions that turn on a dime, trapping unprepared hikers in cold, windy conditions. Worst of all is Mount Washington, the highest mountain in New England, which holds the record for the highest wind speed ever recorded on earth and a long list of casualties for those who thought they could better the mountain. From hypothermia to heart attacks from exhaustion, the mountain takes people of all ages and abilities. Warnings abound, telling hikers to turn around if there is any chance of bad weather. To be caught in a storm on open ridgeline could mean death.
Such was the day I set out to hike most of the mountain. There was a chance of storms in the afternoon, and the last four miles of the day would be above tree line.
Halfway through the day, fog was already covering the mountain tops. Dark clouds hung in the valleys. I pushed the pace and made it halfway up the mountain to a hut and asked the worker about the weather. She didn't seem too concerned about the impending storm, and two other thruhikers were planning to head into the mist and make for the next hut four miles away. I decided to go for it, but if I got above treeline and it was windy, cold, or rainy I would immediately turn around. I was paranoid about the weather, but as I broke treeline everything was completely still, the mountain floating in a cloud.
The fog gave everything an eerie appearance, and at times I could only see to the next cairn marking the path. I was walking through clouds. I could hardly enjoy the serenity of it though, for I was practically at a run the whole time for fear of a bolt of lightning, wind, or rain would suddenly decide to destroy me. I made it to a hut a mile below the summit of Mt. Washington and secured a work for stay spot. No storm came. No wind, no rain. The sun managed to break through the fog long enough to see it set behind some clouds.
I was the only one who had to do work in the morning which meant I was left to sweep out 6 rooms and fold 95 blankets alone. I finished up my chores and made the mile climb to the peak. It turned out to be a beautiful day, the summit popping in and out of the clouds while I trudged over bare rocks in the cool breeze.
As I crested the peak, the fog parted to a scene of chaos. Buildings littered the summit, towers and weather instruments crowded together like alien bases reaching for the sky, pavement replaced rock, the hum of electricity filled the air, vehicles squatted in the parking lot, and a swarm of people roamed about.
The people were everywhere; picnic tables were crammed, tired day hikers streamed down the paths, tourists poured out of the train like ants, the visitors center was a zoo, a line formed behind the sign on the peak, and a crowd had gathered for some sort of ceremony. I was immediately overwhelmed.
For those less adventurous or short on time, the mountain can be accessed via car or train. On the peak there is a huge visitors center, a post office, a dining area, gift shop, museum, and lookout platform. While all these amenities make it easier for a quick visit, I wonder if they do more harm than help. The immediate, easy access to the mountain creates a disconnection.
Attitudes turn into a since of ownership, rather than guests. Respect for the mountain is lost. Something once so majestic turns into a commodity. It seemed as if I was looking through a veil, as though the scenery of the mountains around me was fake and distant like on TV, a mere suggestion of the real thing.
I would have immediately continued down the mountain if not for wanting to charge my phone and wait for the others I had been hiking with. I impatiently stood in line to take my picture with the Mt. Washington sign. I had to wait for people who took a train up the mountain to finish posing with the sign that was probably meaningless to them, just proof the they had gone on an "adventure" to Mt. Washington. I was annoyed that I had to wait behind these tourists who did no work while I had hiked from GA to get there. I should be allowed to jump the line. (I'm sure my disdain for civilized places is apparent, though I readily admit I too have been a tourist at places such as this).
After meeting back up with Moose and Siddhartha, we made our way down the mountain, the stress of the crowds melting away behind us as we picked our way over the rocky trail.
The appeal of trying to get work for stay at another hut growing strong, and when we discovered Madison Hut was only seven miles away, my plans for a longer day vanished. The Whites have an elevation that looks like a heartbeat, so I was allowed (and even expected) to do shorter days, so seven miles was fine by me. We made it to the hut at the perfect time. They accepted all of us, and while we waited outside for dinner, Moose and Siddhartha entertained everyone around with guitar and drums.
I finished my morning chores at the hut quickly, for there was once again a chance of bad weather and we still had a few miles above treeline. I almost made it.
About a quarter mile before the trees it started spitting rain, mixed with small balls of snow. So this is what it's like to be inside a cloud as it rained. The wind nearly ripped my umbrella apart as I picked my way over the last stretch of rocks. There was no rushing over this terrain. The only thing worse than being caught in a storm wad being caught in a storm with a broken leg.
Finally, the treeline! Instant calmness settled around me as the trees took the force of the wind. Six miles later I was still headed downhill, and this time when the rain came pouring down the trees didn't help. I whipped out my umbrella and ran through the mud as my feet quickly got soaked through. Any idea of continuing further vanished as I ducked under the awning of the visitors center to join a crowd escaping the rain. "Hi, my name is Gandalf. I'll be your trail angel today. What do you need?" A man introduced himself. Wow. What a welcome. I ended up getting a lot of food and a ride into town, where Disco, Moose, and Siddhartha and I split a hotel. A Chinese buffet, sauna, and Olympics on the TV made for a fantastic end of the day.
It was rainy again in the morning. Deanna (my sister) and Kory (her husband) were going to come in two days to visit, as she was in the area for a wedding. I decided to be a wimp and take a zero to escape the weather, and managed to convince Moose to join me. We moved to a different hostel and spent the day eating candy and watching movies til I felt sick.
Deanna and Kory picked me up the next day, and I played tourist as we were conveyor-belted through a gorge, rode a gondola up a mountain to see the views, ate ice cream, and went back to a hotel that night. So for the third night in a row, I found myself in a cushy bed under a roof. I was getting spoiled. It was awesome to be with family.
I was antsy to get back to the trail and knocked out a 19 mile day before making it to the White Mountain Hostel where Firefly was staying. Because of all my lazy days she had caught up and then passed me. I needed little convincing to stay there with her in order to enter Maine together and finish the trail as we started. One more state line to cross. The end was so close!
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