The Slippery Slope

The Whites are beautiful, please don't get me wrong. For nearly the entire Presidential Range you are in an Alpine Zone, high above tree level with nearly 360 degree views of the surrounding valleys and mountains. It is truly stunning.  That being said, I'm going to rate my experience in the Whites to date at a 6 (granted we still have to slack pack the Wildcats today and from the looks of it the day will be beautiful). 

Above tree line, for all its incredible views, is exceptionally difficult terrain, looking like God picked up armfuls of boulders and dropped them haphazardly in an upside down "U" shape with the top of each pile forming the mountains. There is absolutely no rhyme or reason, with rocks jaggedly sticking up at odd angles, begging you to put your foot down just awkwardly enough to potentially slip and break ankle or two. Not only that but the rocks are all covered with a thin layer of lichen that, when dry, can cause the rocks to be slick and dangerous which is, to a person with a well established fear of heights, a nightmare, especially while climbing hand over hand with nothing behind you but a whole lot of air. Now add water. This terrain in a thunderstorm is like walking out into a tornado and asking the storm to give you all its got (read: scary, slippery and stupid). We had two and a half days of thunderstorms. 

We woke up in our tents relatively early after the night outside of Mitzpah Hut and began the climb up to Mount Washington. The day began in a misty fog, again moistening the rocks just enough to slow our pace, but we made decent time to the Lake of the Clouds Hut, just over Mount Pierce/Clinton, Mount Eisenhower and Mount Monroe, sitting squarely at the base of Washington about 2 miles from the summit. Though the fog had broken several times on our hike up, providing spectacular views of the valley, by the time we arrived at the Hut we were very solidly encased in a opaque cloud wall. After a quick snack break we began the actually fairly easy push to the top of the mountain, passing some fairly ominous warning signs regarding the weather on our way up. 

The weather in the Whites, especially Mount Washington is known for being volatile, with the highest recorded wind speed in the world being recorded atop Mount Washington at 231mph (it might have been even faster but the recording device broke). We learned the reason for this back at Mitzpah: every weather pattern follows a jet stream and, in the United States, nearly all of the jet streams converge in one place - in the Whites - causing unpredictable and violent weather here for the majority of the year. 

We almost missed that we arrived at the top with the fog as dense as it was. Huge buildings arose in front of us that we couldn't see until we were probably 75 feet away and even then they looked foreign - like aliens had landed on the mountain and set up base camp. The whole scene was scarily silent and shrouded in white. Of course, minutes later we walked up to the visitors center and were overwhelmed by the throngs of tourists waddling around enjoying their $3.50/slice pizza and checking the time for when the train would be back to take them down the mountain. And here I was, drenched in sweat, smelling to high heaven when I could have just taken a damn train to see the non-existent view. A bit frustrated, yes, but that I had worked to climb all 6,288ft of that mountain gave me a sense of pride that I knew none of the tourists could feel, nor could they truly appreciate the magnitude of the mountain. Not in the same way, at least. 

After scrambling to write a few letters home we headed out for what looked to be a relatively tame 6 miles to Madison Spring Hut which would put us there solidly between 4:30 and 5:00pm, just in time to get work for stay almost assuredly. The first three miles went by smoothly and we were keeping an excellent pace. But then the rain started and we must've gotten flustered because somewhere in there we took a wrong turn and ended up going around the outside of Mount Jefferson instead of flanking Tuckerman's Ravine as we should have. About a mile in we realized our mistake and desperately tried to figure out the best way back to the AT. It began to rain harder and I became terrified. This is how horror stories about people dying in the Whites begin and here we were. 

We eventually decided that the best way would be to go straight up and over Mount Jefferson (yet another gloriously jumbled pile of rocks). 

I was defeated. Here we were, adding another 4,000 footer to our day (the AT doesn't go over Jefferson - for once it gives you a reprieve and doesn't send you over absolutely every mountain), in the rain, over rocks. I wanted to scream at Red Knees in sheer frustration though I knew that it wasn't his fault so I kept it to myself, save for a few snide remarks that managed to slip by. Every step and every stumble I desperately wanted to give up: to sit down and just call 911 and wait for rescue. 

Though we eventually got back on the trail and made it to the Hut, every step was a struggle. When we saw another pair of northbounders ahead of us by about two tenths of a mile on the trail we knew that they would get the work for stay and that, had we not gotten lost, that would have been us. Thankfully, though they were full, the Hut allowed us to pay $10 each to stay there without the work for stay and we agreed in a heartbeat. 

Overnight the thunderstorms that had been promised the day before materialized in all their splendid glory. From my view by the window I could see long bolts of lightning stretching across the valley as the rain came down in sheets. I was thrilled to be inside. 

In the morning when we awoke it was still raining slightly but we decided to head out. Of course, as we arrive at the ridge line, again, the thunderstorms pick up and the rain fell in sheets, pelting us with what might have been hail but I was too focused on not breaking my ankles to tell for sure. It took us three hours to do the first three miles of our hike, hands down the slowest we have hiked to date. As the rain continued and we walked below the tree line the trail gradually turned from dirt and roots to mud and roots to a solidly flowing river, occasionally interrupted by hidden rocks and roots. The massive amount of runoff from the tops of the mountains also caused all of the rivers to swell violently and pick up pace substantially, going from babbling brook to intense waterfall. The rocks that we were supposed to use to traverse the  rivers were all tragically under water so time and again we had to literally ford the rivers, sacrificing what minute level of dryness (or at least not-squishy-ness) we had in our shoes. I was over it. 

We were supposed to go another 6 miles to the next hut but with an intense (read: dangerous) climb out of Pinkham Notch I threw in the towel and found a hostel near the trail that would come pick us up. We stopped briefly at the post office to grab my mail and then again at the general store to grab some beer. We spent the rest of the day doing laundry and relaxing, watching the rain fall in torrents outside and being glad for the roof over our heads and dry clothing. A few beers in Red Knees and I apologized to each other for being snippy because of the weather and general frustration and all was right again. 

Today we are going to finish up the Whites with a slack pack from Pinkham Notch up over the Wildcat range and back to this hostel in Gorham. The skies are clear with a nice breeze and I am hopeful - let's see how it goes.