Saturday: Pinkham Notch - Wildcats - Carter Notch
(7 hours hiking)
After breakfast, we headed south along a river's banks for a while until we turned left, up towards the first peak of the Wildcats, now following the Appalachian Trail. It got steeper and steeper, and in places was quite slippery. Look at Irwin clambering up that icy rock.  As we gained height, the sky cleared and Mt Washington came into view.

We trudged on and on. Snow everywhere. One peak after the other. The two chickens in my backpack seemed to grow heavy. Twice I slipped. We stopped for lunch at the top of the Wildcat Mountain ski lift. More 4000-ft peaks. At last we saw Carter Notch, 1000 feet below.

But it was not over. Irwin bounced ahead while Gregg and I made our way down the steep trail, full of boulders hidden by the deep snow. At last we came to the refuge of Carter Notch, bustling with hikers and fireside warmth. We were cold and totally soaked -- our clothes, our boots, everything.

Over dinner we discussed our plans with fellow hikers. Our original plan started to look pretty silly. In these conditions we would never make Mt Washington's summit via the Great Wilderness trail. For most of the hikers, Carter Notch itself was sufficient destination. We decided to return to Pinkham Notch, and see whether we could take a more direct route.

We'd neglected to bring sleeping bags. The lodgekeeper kindly lent us blankets, but the huts are not heated and the night was cold. 

Sunday: Carter Notch - 3-mile Trail - Pinkham Notch - Tuckerman's Ravine - Lion's Head descent
(8.5 hours hiking)
Up early, a bit of breakfast and off into the bleak white forest. Our first destination was the parking lot at Route 16, three miles down a winding trail that followed a pretty stream. Snow and rocks slowed our progress. I hurried ahead, and reaching Route 16 managed to hitch a ride in a forest service truck back to Pinkham Notch, where I retrieved the car and drove back to the parking lot to pick up Gregg and Irwin. Returning to Pinkham Notch for hot chocolate, we rearranged our gear and set off up Mt Washington.

A long, wide forest trail that seemed to go on and on and on took us higher and higher toward Tuckermans Ravine. We passed several hikers, all going back towards Pinkham. Several were carrying large packs -- they had camped out near the refuge at the base of Tuckerman's Ravine. One young woman, accompanied by a shaggy dog, had already ascended Tuckerman. Conditions had been okay, she said, but we wondered -- a light snow had been falling most of the morning, and looking up we could see visibility deteriorating.

We stopped for a snack at the Lion's Head turnoff. Later we passed the hut that preceded the trail into Tuckerman. Not too steep, but long and covered in deep snow. Irwin pulled ahead of Gregg and me. 

Now we were near the bottom of the steep part of Tuckerman's Ravine. I caught up with Irwin, who was not sure whether we should go on. We could not tell where the "trail" was up the menacing slope: all was rock and snow. I saw yellow paint marking the route, and urged Irwin on. "We can always turn back if it gets tough," I said. We'd clambered quite a way up by now, and could not see Gregg. Then we saw his figure, waving to us. He seemed to be urging us on, but he was making his way back. I was not sure why, but Irwin and I forged ahead. Some parts were steep and slippery. Vertigo clutched my heart but Irwin had gone ahead and I dared not turn back. The snow got deeper, the valley further below.

At last we reached the lip of the ravine. All was white. We were doubtful as to whether there was enough daylight to reach the summit. Irwin opined that he just wanted to get the H-- back before things got any worse. Okay. Rather than retrace our ascent we chose to go around the edge of Tuckerman and take the Lion's Head route down. Longer but less tricky, I thought.

Now we could see little. It was cold and the snow drove horizontally across the plateau. One could make out the shapes of scrubby, alpine vegetation.All was white, several feet deep; no trail was evident. Fortunately the path was marked by large cairns, pyramidal piles of stones. We saw a hiker in the distance, briefly. The spectacular valley fell off below us. We could only imagine where Pinkham Notch must be, way down in the far-off distance. Finally we rounded the promentory that gave the route its name, and scampered down a switchback trail, sometimes sliding on our buts as we clutched pine branches.

Reaching the main trail, we realized that we still had miles to go, and the day wasn't getting any brighter, so we moved fast, bouncing down from rock to rock. When finally, in the day's last glimmer of light, we arrived exhausted at Pinkham Notch, Gregg came hobbling to meet us. He'd twisted his ankle in a hollow between boulders in Tuckerman's Ravine, and made his way slowly, painfully, back on his own. Indeed he had not arrived much before us. I cursed our carelessness in not making a plan for such an eventuality, which could have turned out worse. We should have stuck together, or at least carried whistles. Gregg, normally well equipped, had borrowed my lighter backback before setting off that morning, and we were too hurried to transfer his gear.

We'll be back to make the summit, we assured one another. On a nice summery weekend.
 

Day 6 - Back to New York
 (6 hours driving)
A clear day. Irwin drove all the way back to New York, getting us home in record time, despite a detour past Bretton Woods caused by a "Road Closed in Winter."

Useful Links: Mt Washington Dot Com Mt Washington