The Winter Yurt Trip

February 2, 2006

PhDs on the snowshoe hike up Table Rock

Chronicle by Dave; (mostly...)

The plan was so well thought out and well executed that you could tell what time it was by what you were doing.   If you were at the summit of Table Rock in Grafton Notch it was 2:00.   If you were taking your snowshoes orf, heading back to the car it was about 3:30.   Nothing left to chance.   Perfect plan, perfect execution.   But, I’m getting ahead of myself.   Let’s start at the beginning:

Around 5:30 AM Thursday February 2, 2006 all PhD’s were on the go.   The Western contingent heading East, the Southern groups heading North.   All converging at the Blue Hill parking /gay pickup parking-lot in Canton MA.   Some small criticisms about the southern contingent being a few minutes late, but time easily made up by taking the HOV lane into Boston.   Passing Gillette World Shaving Headquarters, two cars wove their way in and around the traffic on the busy expressway, soon the Zakheim Bridge behind them, Route 95 north to NH and ME opened up; clear sailing ahead.   Both cars were packed solid with camping equipment, snowshoes, cross country skis, downhill skis, food, coolers, and soon brown paper bags full of New Hampshire purchased wine and some syrupy exotic looking gold-flake schnapps.   A quick stop for breakfast at a Friendly’s; most all packed it on with a huge multi-meat breakfast, many cups of corfee.   Satiated, the trip to central Maine continued without a hitch, almost.   A couple of passes at the Portsmouth Package store saw both cars traverse a circuitous route a few miles off the beaten path.   The detour strangely had them pass two bookstores appealing to one’s more prurient interests; this didn’t go unnoticed by the ever-alert PhD’s.

No time to browse, we had alcohol to buy.   Wine, Goldschlager Schnapps and a pit stop, then orf to the North Country.   Some concern about the lack of snow, but no one complained.   We’ve been here before; flatlander conditions do not reflect mountain conditions.   Soon our greatest hopes were fulfilled.   As we passed by the Sunday River Ski area, snow started to consistently show up at the roadside.   Moving further into the hills, gaining elevation, real roadside snowbankings appeared.   The squalls that past thru New England the night before blessed this area with about four inches of nice fluffy white stuff.   Heaving a collective sigh of relief, the PhD excitement was palpable.   The parking area for Table Rock was empty (a good sign), what to wear was the next big question.   All of us had brought a varied selection of clothes; virtually all of us headed orf over-dressed.   A few furlongs into the hike saw most everyone shedding at least one layer.   Charlie was being watched very carefully as he was not only snowshoeing for the first time (as all but one of us were); he was also hiking on a knee only 5 months old!   Stepping gingerly along, careful was the word of the day for him.

The Plan suggested, “snacks” for lunch. The huge breakfast sustained most, a few power bars here and there supplemented when necessary. The day was spectacular. Twenty-eight degrees, blue sky, no wind, fresh snow.  A tracked trail from someone who had hiked up and back before us, so the trail was well marked. The trail proceeded upward at a fairly constant rate, punctuated by stream crossings, partially hidden by the snow. Challenging, but quite doable, we all arrived at Table Rock about the same time. The view was super, and the wind was brutal. Wind chill was probably in the area of minus one hundred and fifty degrees Fahrenheit. Certain death from freezing or hypothermia would result if one were not careful. A few tentative steps to the rocky, ice-covered edge at the summit, snowshoes not offering the most stable of platforms, each defied death for the enjoyment of the view. Edging even closer to the cliff-edge revealed a complete view of the road below the stream that bordered it and the notch to the left and right. Awesome!

On the descent, dangers emerged. The steep knoll near the summit, featuring stone stairs designed for hikers on a snow free trail, became a life threatening challenge for snowshoe encumbered novices. The butt slide technique used by Borb & Charlie was effective for short distances, but nearly led to disaster on longer stretches, where the momentum & lack of hand holds led to out of control free falling down the embankment. Sheer luck was the factor in surviving this phase of the trip.
Side trips to The Moose Cave and Mother Walker falls where the conflugerance of two mighty flows merged; now frozen in time.   Beautiful sites, easily accessible, brought a variety of events into the mix that were fulfilling and worthwhile.
Borb’s state of fatigue & cramp potential recommended non participation in these side trips. As is customary in PhD culture, we heaped slander & embarassment on him as we left him behind at the car. A few minutes later, as we arived at the Cave, we were elated to see Borb hiking up from behind, joining the group. Thus it is; the often harsh unwritten code of membership in the group forces each of us to push ourselves & each other, to accomplish what any of us alone would otherwise not choose to do.
Now orf to the Yurt.

A private road runs north on the East side adjacent to the Androscoggan Rapids at the Route 16 Bridge in Errol.   A foreboding sign warns most orf with statements about restricted access and closed in winter, but this didn’t deter the PhD’s.   Following the road to its end we had to double back and send Matt orf thru the woods on foot through the snow in search of our abode.   After a few minutes Matt gave the high sign that he had found it. We all hiked in, Charlie found a snow shovel and was busy shoveling a path between the Yurt and its outhouse.   The outhouse had seen better days, and all agreed that it should be retired, as it not only had a door that barely worked, hanging on by one hinge, it was full!   Yes, an ugly picture comes to mind when one tries to imagine an outhouse made obsolete because it was full!   This person is writing this from second hand information but the descriptions were consistent, and graphic.   Enough said about this except that with the broken door we did imagine someone staking out outhouse activity in hopes of kidnapping or some other equally absurd situation.   The discussions of future archeologists investigating ancient civilizations, taking core samples and coincidently boring into this mess.   How puzzled they’d be when discovering, of all things, flakes of gold!   This would likely be the topic of more than a few technical papers in an Archeologist Digest of the future trying to explain the gold in the Errol shit samples near the Androscogan rip.

All contributed to getting the stove fired up. Dry wood was located and, forming a human chain, a sufficient amount of wood was quickly brought in and stacked, warm and dry in the Yurt. Torm purchased some newspapers at the unfriendly convenience store in Errol. Wood was split for kindling, and soon the stove was cranking. Concerns of freezing to death, in our sleep were quicky erased. A few complaints were actually registered about it being too hot. Huge slabs of snow sliding orf the unique round and slanted roof of theYurt indirectly confirmed this.

A variety of the methane producing humus, sweet fresh onion, soy crackers, sharp cheddar cheese were being served as snacks. With the light lunch, this was happily received. Buckets of snow were being gathered for melting on the wood stove, the gas Coleman cook top in process of being fired up. It was starting to look like home. (Someone’s home anyway).

Matt was preparing his Laotian Chicken, wine bottles opened, a toast to us, and dinner was served. Copious amounts, with ample for seconds Matt saw to it that no one was going hungry. A wonderful dish of food, piping hot. Cookies for dessert topped it all orf. Cleanup was soon in progress. Dave, the non-chef organized the cleanup: One washing, one rinsing, one drying, one putting things away. A marvelous scene of organization and cooperation. Soon a clean table provided room for multiple bottles of wine and Goldschlagger Schnapps. Stories got more outrageous; remembrances of the snowshoe hike earlier that day were discussed, all in all a great conclusion to a great day. A brief discussion of the events for the next day, much rummaging around with sleeping areas being prepared, headlamps blazing, teeth brushed, faces washed, pajamas donned, [pajamas??], stove fed and adjusted for an all night burn, ear plugs appropriately installed, everyone sacked it in. Anticipation of the next day’s events, memories of today’s events, sleep was soon upon us. The PhD’s were down for the night.

Matt tended the stove in the wee hours of the morning with encouragement from Dave also awake, contemplating the same trip Matt had just concluded to the south end of the Yurt. Most everyone made this trip during the night, except Charlie who brought along an appliance I’m sure we’re all going to covet as the years roll by. We had to discourage him from explaining all the detailed attributes of this device later in the trip. Way too much information!!! We all awoke around 6:00 am, to find fresh snow falling. The fire in the wood stove was quickly revitalized, warmth returned to the hut. More complaints registered as to how hot it was during the night. This was pretty much silenced with a “yeah, but that beats freezing to death!”
Breakfast Burritos were the bill of fare. Torm had prepared a feast for us; Fresh Vermont cheese, warm tortillas, scrambled eggs, salsa, chicken-chourise, and baked beans heated in a pan on the wood stove, hot corfee, orange juice: Fabulous! A Bean-throwing ceremony was observed in remembrance of “all the Shinto’s that have preceded us”. Evidently February 3 is a Shinto holiday that is apparently observed by the throwing of beans. Dave and Torm did the honors orf the West side of the deck (the South side was orf limits by now).
Two cars, two destinations. The Balsams at Dicksville Notch was the ultimate goal. True to form, and true to Torm’s plan we arrived in a few short minutes. Splitting up, one car with Borb and Charlie stayed at the hotel surroundings, the center for cross county skiing and snowshoeing, while Dave & Matt were dropped orf at the ski lodge by Torm. With the four inches from the day before, and with the blizzard like conditions in place the surface conditions were ideal for downhill. Matt got this skis from the nearly empty rental area, Dave wandered around and was enticed into purchasing a pair of goggles by a woman who he proclaimed to be the most beautiful woman within a 50 mile radius (later judged by all to be a fat-chick). Strangely, and uncharacteristically, Dave was at a loss for words.

Charlie snow-shoed, Torm and Borb cross-country skied. After an unsuccessful attempt at waxing their skis so the snow wouldn’t stick, Borb & Torm retreated out of the blizzard into the lobby. Torm was successful in cajoling the cross country pro into professionally waxing his skiis. He returned to the blizzard thinking I’m going to get my $12 worth after all. Borb decided to make the best of a bad situation and put his feet up, with afghan on his lap on the warm cushy sofa in the hotel lobby. He passed the time quietly sipping his hot chocolate and offering advice on conditions to the Balsams clientele while waiting for the arrival of the Boston Globe. Torm braved the environment, as did Charlie. Torm later returned with a beet red face describing the weather conditions as some of the most challenging he had experienced. Charlie, and his new knee, combined with the blizzard and challenging terrain, fell more than once. He fell while completely alone on a remote snowshoeing trail, in a blizzard where no one else was likely to pass anytime soon. Flailing about like a turtle on his back, he finally righted himself only to fall again and again. Gimpy knee, extreme conditions, aging and out of shape, he miraculously made it back. Charlie nearly died. He thoughtfully remembered to record his near-demise with digital photos.

Meanwhile, Dave and Matt found a super bargain: lift tickets were only $30 and today being a weekday was two for one! Although the light was flat, and the wind and snow ferocious, Matt & Dave had many runs. Each run saw the terrain and snow conditions change, earlier in the morning, the change was the snow depth, building from the two-inch per hour snowfall. Untracked and ungroomed. Wonderful. As the morning matured, sleet worked its way into the mix, the surface conditions changed yet again. With the inherent dangers associated with alpine skiing, Dave and Matt also faced death-defying conditions. Both had a blast until the snow turned to rain. Soaked, they eventually had to call it quits.

They all met for lunch. Soon Borb and Charlie went in search of Sunday River land, Torm cross-country skied a little more Dave and Matt skied just a little more. The weather was rapidly changing. The snow, which earlier in the day arrived as a squall line blizzard, was now changing to a hard blowing freezing rain mix. The road conditions in the high notches became unpredictable. On the drive south to Bethel, Charlie & Borb encountered sheer ice on the road descending Grafton Notch, and experienced a brief loss of vehicle control. Only the driver’s great composure in the crisis prevented total destruction of the vehicle, and certain injury (or worse!!) of the occupants. Later in the trip, we encountered a less fortunate duo of travelers who had lost the battle with the fickle fates of nature & had crashed into the woods after sliding out of control on the ice. The journey continued, the temperature continued to rise, the storm became all rain; and the crises passed. All were headed back to the Yurt in time for snacks, revitalization of the wood stove fire, and the set up of clothes lines for wet outerwear drying. Dinner preparation was soon in full gear.

Torm prepared “empty the kitchen Jambalaya” using an Emeril Lagassi recipe. Everything went in to this. It was fabulous. Similar activities as the night before. Except a friendly game of hearts commenced, never really gaining any steam. Full from dinner, dishes washed, tired from their days activities, stove not so full, yurt warm enough, each of the PhD’s (one pajama clad) nestled into their bunks, 9 pm and lights out. After all, rest was necessary to provide enough energy for packing up and traveling home the next day.

That morning, Borb, up early, fired up the wood stove, (little to no help from anyone!), and commenced to prepare ormlets. Accompanied by tomato juice, pan fried ham, whole wheat bread, and spray butter-facsimile, everyone enjoyed his offerings. A flurry of washing, packing, a once over policing of the area, cars refilled with equipment, the PhDs were on their way home.
The return trip followed a different route than our arrival. Tracing the long, winding ice free Androscoggin along its quiet stretches, with the conifers on the banks reflecting in the mirror like water, contrasting with the rougher parts of the river, with its occaisional class 2 icy rapids, the road took us west 7 south, through a somewhat unfamiliar & empty northern New Hampshire. Most of the few vehicles we encountered were all headed north, & pulling snowmobile trailers. Some kind of sporting event was their destination, despoiling the silent wilderness with noise & exhaust pollution.
We passed ice fishing villages, with whole communities of shacks & trucks parked out on the frozen lakes, in some cases with open water a few hundred feet away. The winter was mild, & a shortage of snow was noted even at this latitude. One of Percy Peaks near Groveton, a round top mountain with a snowy summit was trailing a cloud of vapor into the prevailing wind, looking just like a volcano. We came alongside the Ammonusuc river, and followed it down into the White mountains. The Presidentials & the Franconia ridge were snow covered, but the snow was thin, or even absent in the woods, even as high up as Echo Lake in Franconia Notch. After that, the long ride south brought higher temps, and increasing traffic. By the time we rejoined at the Canton parking lot, it was in the low 50s, with not a hint of snow for a hundred miles. It was almost hard to believe our trip was a snowshoe/skiing event. A good time was had by all.