Traverse of the Northern Presidentials

October 2004

Laughing at Death on the Forced March

Coarse topo of Presidentials (200000:1)

Medium topo of Presidentials (with path)(100000:1)

Fine topo of Presidentials (50000:1)

Read the Mt. Washington Death List

Chronicle by Torm; (mostly...)
(Requiring torturous extraction by the other PhD’s because he likes the hikes, not the writing)

The northern Presidential Range of the White Mountains forms a high elevation ridge that stretches for several miles above tree line.   While small in comparison to the major mountain ranges of the world, by New England standards this is practically Mt. Everest.   Our planned route would ascend from the Cog Railway base station area via the Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail as far as the Lakes of the Clouds Hut on the first day.   The destination for day two was the Madison Springs Hut.   Our route would take us along the open ridge via the Westside trail, Crawford Path and Gulfside Trail.   If the weather cooperated we would have unlimited views for the entire time passing over or near Mounts Clay, Jefferson, and Adams.   We would wrap up on the third day with a descent to Route 2 in Randolph, NH by the Valley Way trail.   Tom had dreamed up this itinerary.   He’d contemplated this route for years but he had never been able to delude anyone into joining him on this quest.   The years were accumulating and 50 loomed on the horizon.    The idea was tossed out to the PhDs.   Predictably, the responses varied.

Charlie, when initially advised of the “Forced March” a year earlier, responded: “I wouldn’t have done that when I was 17!”.  Rapidly degenerating knee joints limited Charlie to short walks and low stress bike rides.   He gimped convincingly to demonstrate his infirmity.   He was granted a medical exemption and encouraged to consider total joint replacement, preferably using the superior implants made by the fine company that employs most of the PhDs.
Borb, when initially advised of the “Forced March” a year earlier responded: “No thank you and I hope you enjoy it”.  He concluded that with his previous experience of cramping on top of Mount Washington that he would surely die if foolish enough to attempt this.
With the passing of time and the hike approaching Borb capitulated after analyzing the mileage and elevation profile for the contemplated route in exhaustive detail.      He did conceive of an abbreviated program that just might be survivable and committed himself to a shorter version of the hike, that for him, at this stage of his life, required extensive training. This training incorporated 15-degree workouts on the treadmill, cycling extensively, the infusion of V8 juice with loads of potassium, a temporary loss of 10 lbs., and a pre-hike up Mt Monadnock.
Dave thought, “Cool, when can we start”.    He had recently become aware of the 4000 footer club of New Hampshire whereby a person gains recognition, (in the form of a little cloth patch), if he is able to climb all of the N.H. peaks higher than 4000 feet in elevation.   Always the purpose-driven member of the group, he latched on to this goal and saw our hike as a way to bag several peaks.   He was blissfully unaware that there are approximately forty-six of these 4000-foot hills and that we would only be climbing four or five of them during this trip.   No need to burst his bubble.
Matt signed on with the naïve faith that is his hallmark.    His marathon training and a tough-it-out attitude would surely be sufficient preparation for any challenge that might come his way, (he thought).   He prepared himself physically and mentally for the rigors ahead by helping with heating system installation at Dave’s house the entire day before the trip, followed by consumption of considerable amounts of food and beverages that night.   Apparently there was a case of bad ice in the drinks that night as evidenced by Matt’s absence of cheerfulness the following day.

After a long roundabout drive to spot cars at the start and finish points of our planned route, we arrived at the trailhead and started to gather ourselves to set off. We looked up from our preparations to find that Borb had disappeared up the trail. Without explanation, he’d bolted off ahead of the pack. This was a surprising move since he’s known for maintaining a sedate pace to avoid becoming “wrecked”. The rest set off up the trail in pursuit. It took a sustained effort to reel him in. He attributed his newfound prowess to the power of potassium present in V-8 juice. Considering his amazing transformation, we encouraged him to become an official spokesman for the product.

The trail continued steadily up past beautiful waterfalls and onto open ledges with views to the north and west. We emerged above tree line and saw the Lakes of the Clouds hut in the distance. We arrived, checked in and deposited our stuff on bunks to claim them as ours for the night. With some free time before dinner, we poked around the place. It was completely full including some Appalachian Trail through-hikers with long beards and about 0.1% body fat. These guys resembled young rabbis with backpacks.

Mount Monroe is a just a short scramble up from the hut. It was one of the peaks on Dave’s list and we had nothing planned in the 30 minutes or so until dinner. Borb decided that there was a limit to how much one can accomplish in one day even when fueled by V8 juice and passed on this extra excursion.
The Lake of the Clouds Hut is fully exposed at 5200 ft on the mountain to some of the worst weather in the world. Borb amused himself by resting and viewing the quite awesome sight of the clouds funneling up the Ammounousic Ravine then over the peak of Washington.  The remaining three enthusiasts bolted up the peak as fast as three middle-aged men can bolt, arriving at the summit just ahead of the sunset. We took a quick look ‘round and scampered back down so as not to be late for dinner. Surely this intrepid trio broke round trip records on the accent and decent; dinner is a great motivator. In PhD lore this hike forever after has become known as the “Monroe Scramble”.

One of the benefits of staying at an AMC hut is that someone else does the cooking. The meal was filling if a bit unremarkable. Unexpectedly, a beagle belonging to a couple that we had passed on the way up somehow had wandered away from his owners and returned to the hut. In the area around the hut, the poor dorg eerily retraced the steps of its owners. He lingered where they lingered, he enthusiastically sniffed and traversed back and forth over the same paths they had trod. An AMC staff person kinda took responsibility for the lorst dorg, and radioed down to headquarters reporting the find, presumably hoping the owners would check through AMC channels. It’s ultimate fate was unknown to us.

The PhDs engaged in a little card playing to pass the time. Widely disparate opinions were expressed concerning whether a level of interest in gambling is a valid indicator for risk-taking tolerance. It’s suspected that one of the PhD’s continues to consider themselves a taker of risks because they go to Mohican Sun every now and then.
We met a group of guys from Alabama who were on a similar adventure as our own. They were a good-natured bunch of friendly guys who would prove to have one significant fault. Two of them were world-class snorers. When they drifted off, they commenced a snoring duet at a decibel level that should have been OSHA reportable. Sleep was hard to come by. The bleary-eyed PhDs arose the next morning to find that clouds had moved in restricting visibility to a few feet.

After breakfast, Borb set out solo on the return route down the Ammounousic Ravine.   He bid the ridge party good bye and headed down. In hindsight, this was a good decision because not 200 yards down the steep trail he had category five equipment failure. His hiking boot, which had served him well for 17 years, started separating at the heel. At first, it was just a small slip, but rapidly proceeded to a ¾ separation. Lacking the most important of camping gear (duct tape), he made the best of it proceeding on one boot and one flip-flop. It took him nearly three hours to get down not encountering a soul, not even the owners of the dorg. Had he proceeded with the others on the forced march over the ridge he surely would have perished. As it was, he tossed the boots then proceeded to drive home comfortable in the knowledge that he had accomplished what he said he would do.

The rest of the group set off for a truly manly adventure. As we walked along, the clouds began to lift and views started to open up. We passed the yellow sign at tree line warning us that we were sure to perish at any moment and that it was sheer folly to continue.src Undaunted, we continued to a trail junction where we had the choice of going over the summit of Mt. Washington or to skirt around it via a less challenging route. The decision was put to Matt, since he was the only one among us who’d never hiked to the top of this worthy mountain. Perhaps feeling the delayed effects of his pre-hike libations, Matt passed on the opportunity to summit. The trail passed under the trestle of the cog railway track. The area around the track was strewn with discarded and broken timbers, disgusting black soot and coal dust that polluted the otherwise pristine surroundings. An AMC-led tour group happened by at about the same time. The obviously brainwashed leader of the tour was spouting a party line about the particulate from the smoke-belching train being of such a size that it didn’t actually contribute to air pollution. Even the PhDs didn’t fall for such a lame misrepresentation.

The sky cleared as we approached Mt. Clay. We were presented with a second opportunity to choose between going over or around a summit. Dave advocated for taking the high road. Matt agreed, but enthusiasm seemed lacking. The summit of Clay provided unparalleled views into the Great Gulf. The trail descended to a col between Mts. Clay and Jefferson, passing over terrain that Tom, Borb and Charlie had hiked back in the mid-80s. As we approached Mt. Jefferson, the choice between going over a summit and taking the easier circuitous route presented itself for the third time that morning. Dave and Tom’s zeal was undiminished, but Matt’s demeanor indicated that second thoughts had begun to creep in. The vote was two “ayes” and one grumbling comment. The “ayes” had it and we set off for the next summit.

Steady progress brought us to the summit in time for a lunch break. We hunkered down between the rocks and grabbed some nourishment. Matt tried to catch a quick nap during the stop, but before he could slip into unconsciousness he was prodded back into action. We boldly set off again headed for Mt. Adams, our highest summit yet. The trail wound downhill until it reached Edmunds col, then began the sustained uphill climb toward Mt. Adams, reaching Thunderstorm Junction, our last decision point of the day. From here we could either descend directly to Madison Spring Hut, our journey’s end for this long and arduous day, or we could keep ascending to the summit of Adams. It is believed that it was at this point that the phrase “forced march” was first uttered. By this time, Matt had given up any hope that Tom and/or Dave would ever display good judgment when presented with such choices. He reconciled himself to doing it the hard way and we scrambled up the steep rocky slope to the summit.

Descending again, we worked our way around the side of the mountain and eventually spotted the hut in a deep fold between Adams and Madison. Matt’s eye’s misted with joy as an end to his ordeal was now in sight. We arrived and found this hut to be perhaps the most pleasant of any of the AMC locations we’d visited. It was small as huts go and situated above tree line with a commanding view of the nearby peaks with the northern New England countryside in the distance. The hut crew was a friendly group and there was hot soup available at a reasonable price. Matt and Dave ordered a steaming bowl but were bitterly disappointed to find that it resembled a clear watery broth more than the hearty stew they had in mind. Matt and Dave presented Tom with an official Madison hut T-shirt to commemorate the day, a gesture that was deeply appreciated. Tom set off to explore the area around the hut while Matt and Dave rested comfortably. A small alpine body of water called Star Lake was located a short distance behind the hut. Next to the lake was a ridge called the Parapet that had striking white bands of marble running through it. The top of the Parapet afforded views toward the south and east across the Great Gulf with Mount Washington and the Wildcat range framed by the nearby shoulders of Mts. Adam and Madison. This was surely one of the best views in the White Mountains, especially as the sunset cast a reddish glow across the scene. Tom scurried back to the hut to try to rouse Matt and Dave to join him in appreciating this truly awesome vista. After some grumbling, they roused themselves and agreed that the small effort was worth the great reward.

We returned to the hut where Matt expressed a previous unrevealed aversion to the menu item planned for that evening, beef stew. It seems he may have been overexposed to this innocuous dish during his youth. Fortunately, the hut chef didn’t actually know how to make a proper beef stew. He prepared something that bore a closer resemblance to beef in barbecue sauce and Matt was mightily relieved. The hut crew announced plans to break with their standard approach to breakfast for the next morning. The AMC hut menu is generally family style with one standard offering. One of the crew was a frustrated short order cook and had decided that they would offer made-to-order breakfast items from a menu. Choices included French toast, bacon, sausage, eggs, pancakes and other items. This was the last weekend the hut would be open and apparently they wanted to clean out the pantry rather than schlep stuff back down to the valley. The PhDs ordered mass quantities and looked forward to a hearty meal to start them off the next day. After watching the last glimmers of the setting sun fade over Vermont, the exhausted adventurers settled in for the evening, ready to call it a day. It happened that the snoring guys from Alabama had followed the same route as we did that day and would be sharing the bunkroom with us again that night. It was hoped that our level of exhaustion would overcome the level of noise and sleep would be ensue.

The next morning, Tom awoke early and returned to the Parapet to watch the sun rise from this singular vantage point. He returned to the hut as breakfast preparations were underway. Some of the folks with early breakfast orders were already digging in. Some insight into the quality of the fare was gleaned by observing one patron graciously offer several pancakes to his hiking buddy as he arrived at the table. Tucking into our own breakfasts, we discovered the reason for his generosity. The pancakes were leaden and just about tasteless. The hut rule is take all you want but eat everything on your plate, since there’s no easy way to deal with garbage in this remote location. As we forced down our hungry-man portions we regretted over-ordering the night before. We suspect to this day, more than one pancake made it out of there in someone’s pocket!

Before we started our descent, one more peak-bagging opportunity offered itself. The summit of Mt. Madison was about a 45-minute boulder scramble from the hut. By now, there wasn’t really any question whether we would go for the summit or not. We made the quick hike up, took a look around, and then back to the hut. Nothing but a huge pile o rocks. We packed up and headed down Valley Way trail in an uneventful descent and the end to our excursion. After several days of maximum exertion and minimal attention to hygiene, the PhDs had an air about them. We thought a quick swim and change of clothes might improvement the situation. We drove off in search of a pond with a swimming area thought to be nearby. Not able to readily locate it, we stopped at the Randolph, NH town hall and Dave ran in to ask directions. Apparently, a voter registration drive was about to begin and the assembled town fathers thought Dave was an important state government official just arrived from Concord that morning. Considering Dave’s appearance after three days without a shower, it didn’t say much for important NH government officials. We found the pond and took a refreshing plunge into the bracing water, then set off for home.

All told, a very rewording adventure indeed.