As I began the second-to-last state of my trip, I felt like an experienced hiker who has seen it all -- from the lofty ridgelines of North Carolina to the hidden valleys of southern New England, the incessantly rocky to the straight-up muddy, the biting cold to the sweltering heat. Though I've heard many accounts of the White Mountains of New Hampshire being steeper and rougher than anything I've experienced thus far, I received the most ominous warnings from southbounders who had just gotten out of the Whites, having completed about 400 miles of the trail. Though novices in our book, many greeted us with a pompous sense of achievement hidden behind cautionary statements such as, "Just wait 'til the Whites, you don't even know." Obviously, many northbounders gained a sort of resentment toward the nerve of southbounders calling us the novices, but I decided to take the Whites as they came.
Before I even got to them though, I had to cross the western portion of New Hampshire, and I found myself on that first chilly New England evening sitting on the porch of 90-year-old Bill Ackerly's house munching on an even chillier ice cream bar. This lifelong woodsman who had built his house from scratch passes the time offering each thru-hiker he meets an ice cream bar, followed by a sharing of his wisdom and a very unevenly matched game of croquet. Having experienced so many years of life, he was a joy getting to know, and his sense of humor was highlighted by a sign placed on the trail to reel in hikers, parodying the song "My milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard." He even offered me to join him in singing the original version, which I couldn't resist! As nobos and sobos alike set tents up in his yard, the night was capped by even more singing, which turned into a jam session led by a very musical sobo picking at his very weathered and well-used guitar, which I feebly tried to accompany with my humble ukulele.
The next day brought me up Smarts Mountain, which was topped with a dilapidated fire tower covered in signs warning hikers of a hefty fee if caught up there. As this would be my first proper view of New Hampshire and the Whites and the fact that I couldn't waste such a beautifully clear day, I took my chances and was rewarded with spectacular views of the easy mountains I had done previously in Vermont and the monsters that awaited me ahead. Hearing footsteps coming from below, I promptly headed down only to find a fellow thru-hiker who wasn't afraid of fines either, so he checked out the tower as I played "watch for the ranger." I ended the day picking my weight in blueberries over the bald summit of Mt Cube and camping at a maple sugar farm that according to my guide book "sometimes offers more." Excited over the vague prospect of free maple sugar products and wanting to wait out some rain, I gave myself a slower morning but ultimately didn't receive more, but I was still glad to miss much of the rain. From there, I made a short day to Hiker's Welcome Hostel in the not-so-much-a-town of Glencliff, NH. Being the first decent place to stay after the Whites for sobos and an ideal spot for nobos to wait out any bad weather before heading in, it was a great hangout spot with a staggering collection of DVD's, which me and some other nobos took advantage of in order to start the Whites in better weather the next day.
Mt. Moosilauke, the first ascent of the Whites for nobos, required nearly 4000 feet of continuous elevation gain, which wasn't as hard as I expected due to a steady rise as well as smaller rocks dominating the terrain. As the summit opened up above treeline, layers upon layers of mountains stretched out before me emitting an eerie mist speared by persistent beams of sunlight under a mostly cloudy sky. I had always traditionally preferred to be on top of mountains during clear days, but I was glad to have received a majestically threatening view that morning. However, as I headed down, the rain returned and I finally felt like I was thrown into the ring with my first formidable opponent of the Whites. What laid before me--or should I say straight below me--was a trail so steep and wet that descending seemed to feel like a string of reluctant suicide attempts. I lowered myself down cliff after cliff, occasionally having to slide down and put my trust in whatever was waiting for me at the bottom. Fortunately, wooden blocks had been secured to the bedrock of some of the most extreme sections, but I made it down with the slowest pace I think I've ever had on my entire trip--about 2 miles in 3 hours! Waiting at the bottom of the mountain was an older Estonian woman by the name of Mary (she thinks that trail names are a cop-out for owning your thru-hike). Possessing an unsettlingly total lack of fear, she told me of how she had run out of daylight on Moosilauke's summit, set up camp during last night's rain, and didn't sleep because she had to hold her tent town all night to keep it from flying away in the high altitude winds! As if I needed any more reminders to take the Whites seriously...
As more nobos made it down, some of us decided to slackpack the next day's section by staying in the nearby town of North Woodstock, hitching back to the trail, hiking 17 miles, and hitching back into town afterwards to our not-at-all-missed packs. It went down without a hitch (actually, it did, and a couple of them even got one from the local police sheriff!), and we braved the thigh-deep mud (my friend Yankee tested that by slipping off a bog bridge) and the impossibly steep rock scrambles to recuperate in the pool at our motel. Despite the following day calling for thunderstorms, I headed up by myself to Franconia ridge and was rewarded with incredibly clear views (showing just how accurate weather reports can be in the Whites), then over to Mt Garfield where I braved another trail/stream down to Galehead Hut. There are eight "high-elevation" huts run by the Appalachian Mountain Club all located near the Appalachian Trail through the Whites (limited amounts of thru-hikers each evening are allowed to do work-for-stay in order to avoid having to pay $150 dollars for rugged luxury). However, this is where the similarities of these two entities abruptly end. Despite the hut's and the AMC's mission to serve hikers, we thru-hikers generally felt pushed to the side due mainly in part to our nerve of not going through the Whites with loads of money. Finding shelters or even camping without fees was very challenging, and the AT was consistently unmaintained and poorly marked in comparison to most other trails we saw.....but at least the huts serve great homemade bread.
The next day, I had wonderful views from South Twin Mountain and headed over the broad alpine summit of Mt. Guyot, which had a very Scottish feel. From there, it was a very gradual and easy trail to Crawford Notch, right before the Presidential Range. Finding free camping was pretty hard, but I found a stately pine grove right near a river. The next day was a steep and exposed ascent up Webster Cliffs, and I made it a short day to Mizpah Springs Hut to account for bad weather they were calling for the following day (pushing on meant I'd have to go over Mt. Washington in the ugliness, which is not worth the risk, in my opinion). The next day, I slogged through cold wind and rain to the base of Washington at Lake of the Clouds Hut at 5000 feet, where I played board games and saw friends that I had not seen in a while. The next morning cleared up, and I summited Washington with incredible views to the west and a sea of clouds stretching infinitely to the east. The rest of the Presidentials were foggy unfortunately, but we made it Pinkham Notch where we got picked up by the Twelve Tribes community to stay at their hostel near Gorham (I have not converted, I swear). The next day, we slackpacked an absurdly hard 21 miles over the Wildcat and Carter ranges, where we got caught in a 15 minute torrential rainstorm (if anyone is wondering why I haven't connected with them in a while, my phone only has about 30 minutes of battery life thanks to said storm, oh well) and a valley with an incredible echo. After playing in nature's echo chamber for a while, we rolled into the parking lot right before dark. And that was when we conquered the Whites. Surely it will get easier from here, right? RIGHT?!
