Fog and Granite

Mount Washington, at 6,288 feet, towers above the other "Presidentials" (Mts. Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Jackson, Eisenhower) in New Hampshire's White Mountains. It is the tallest mountain in New England. And yet, for us Westerners, its elevation appears laughable -- Oregon and Washington are dotted with snowy volcanic cones ranging from 10,000 to 14,000 feet. Colorado alone boasts of fifty (50!) peaks over 14,000 feet.

Nevertheless, the mountain is a challenging, non-technical climb, as I discovered Sunday. After leaving Doug's wedding a week earlier, I spent a number of days driving about Maine, and found myself spending the night just across the state line in Gorham, N.H. I discovered that Gorham was only eleven miles from Pinkham Notch, the Forest Service trailhead for Mt. Washington, where you can also find a large Appalachian Mountain Club lodge that provides accommodations and three meals a day to passing hikers

What the heck, I thought. Who knows when I'll be in Gorham next? I crammed several layers of warm clothes into a daypack, together with a convenience store sandwich and a couple of Snickers. Thus prepared, I set out at 9:00 a.m. for a 4.2 mile hike to the summit, a climb of 4,270 feet.

New Hampshire calls itself the "Granite State." Guess why? The trail for the first two miles was unlike any typical Western dirt trail. It was more like a jeep track heading up a rocky creek bed. I danced my way uphill, from rock to rock. At the two mile mark, the trail became seriously vertical. Portions were what I would call rock scrambles, where both hands and feet were required. At this point, I became somewhat concerned about the descent.

About a mile below the summit, I reached Lion's Head, a rocky outcropping that provided excellent views of surrounding peaks and valleys. Pinkham Notch could be seen far below. Lion's Head marked the end of anything I'd consider a "trail." From that point until the top, I was boulder hopping steeply upward, my route guided only by large (5 or 6 foot high) rock cairns or, occasionally, a splash of paint on a boulder. Lion's Head also marked the end of what I would consider "visibility." Last Sunday, at least, the trail from that point to the summit and back was through a dense fog. I didn't worry about a view. I worried about finding the next cairn through the gloom.

Finally, the summit.

I've climbed Mt. Rainier. At the summit, you feel yourself in a special world, far removed from the lives of non-climbers. I've now climbed Mt. Washington. At the summit, you feel far removed from anything you feel at the summit of Mt. Rainer. First -- suprise -- there is a road to the summit that runs up the other side of the mountain, which is totally invisible until you struggle up the path and into the -- into the parking lot! Second, there is also a cog railroad to the summit, an antique device that has carried tourists to the top since 1869. (Wikipedia claims that hikers have a tradition of "Mooning the Cog." I knew of no such tradition, and the icy wind and dense fog would have eliminated any enthusiasm on my part for such a practice even had I known of it!)

Third, and as a result of numbers one and two, the exhausted climber stumbles upon a large modern lodge at the top, similar to a ski lodge, where he can sit down, exchange stories with fellow hikers, smirk at the tourists, and eat wonderfully hot chili, sandwiches, and coffee. Hmm. In some ways, those effete Easterners aren't so dumb. I tossed aside my 7-Eleven sandwich, and dug into the chili.

The hike down was no anticlimax. I recalled that Everest climbers are warned that the climb isn't over until they get back to base camp. I was wearing light, low-top hiking shoes, which I would never have worn if I'd been planning for such a climb in advance. Every step down onto a damp boulder threatened me with a sprained ankle. From top to bottom, step by step, there was no room for daydreaming -- each step required thought. Even so, I had several painful ankle twists, but no real injuries.

My guide book suggested a round trip time of 8.5 hours. I was back at Pinkham Notch 7.5 hours after I set out, including an hour at the summit.

Coincidentally, I had been reading Bill Bryson's Notes from a Small Island, his humorous commentary on life and travel in Britain. He discusses how tiny even the most famous British physical features are, compared with national parks, mountains, etc., in other, larger countries. (The entire Lake District in England, for example, the subject of countless travel essays over the years (not to mention half of Wordsworth's poetry), and the destination of many tours, occupies less area than does Minneapolis-St. Paul.) And yet, a person accustomed to the scale of life in England derives the same pleasure from English scenery as we do from, say, the Grand Canyon. Bryson discusses the struggles he confronted in climbing a 2,960-foot "peak" in the Lake District. His point was that the mountain does not have to be huge to be challenging.

New England is, not surprisingly, like England in some ways. Its mountains are not huge, the distances are not vast, its "wilderness" is not really wild (but beware of moose!). But I know now that I could live in New England and enjoy as many opportunities to hike and climb, to commune with nature, as I would care to take. I met a guy at the summit, with his wife and three children. He has climbed Mount Washington with one or more of his kids every year for 15 years. Every year is a new challenge, every year he tries a different approach. He was a dedicated conservationist, and as enthused about the outdoors as anyone you might run into while hiking the Pacific Crest Trail.

Adventure is where you look for it. New England is cool. So was Mt. Washington.