The New Hampshire Division of Parks and Recreation has one of the greatest rackets going. In order to secure a campsite on one of their bucolic campgrounds for a holiday weekend, campers must book more than a month in advance. Payment is due up front and is nonrefundable, so even if the weekend’s forecast is rife with thunderstorms and only 20% of campers actually show, rest assured that the park’s coffers are still full and all those park rangers are living the life of Riley.
Rain is so endemic in the Northeast this summer that canceling never occurred to us. Besides, we’re so cheap that losing our $29/night fee would just burn. Most importantly, we’re determined to finish off our remaining 18 or so White Mountain 4000 Footers by the end of 2009 (an ambitious goal that will require better luck with the weather as well as a loosening in our social and professional obligations).
On Friday, we knocked off Mount Waumbeck, a straightforward 4-hour hike that actually afforded us some rays of sunshine. On the way out, we stopped and snacked with a loquacious hiker who is attempting to hike “The Grid.” The Grid is hiking each White Mountain 4000 Footer in each month of the year. For instance, hiking Mt. Washington in January, February, March, April, May, etc., hiking Mt. Liberty in January, February, March, April, May, etc… So there are 48 mountains and 12 months, meaning that one must hike 576 mountains to complete The Grid, a number which belies the difficulties and dangers of hiking many of these mountains in the winter months. Only 9 people have ever completed The Grid, and our acquaintance estimated that in 3 years, he will be among them. Here is his website.
Summit of Mount Waumbeck, July 3, 2009
On Saturday, we decided to hike Mount Cabot, the most northern 4000 Footer. We choose Mount Cabot because our campground was nearby so it would save us some driving. Mount Cabot’s most accessible trail is closed due to a landowner asserting his rights, so we drove to an alternate trail in Berlin, NH, near the town’s fish hatchery. About 2 miles from the trail, we passed a gate with a sign saying that the gate was only open from 8am to 4pm daily. Fearing we would be locked in, we decided to park outside the gate and hike the extra 2 miles to the trailhead, which would bring the day’s total to 13 miles.
On the way to Mount Cabot’s trailhead, it started to rain and we donned our rain gear. The guidebook had described our route as a “wet” trail even in dry conditions, so the rain effectively turned the trail into a stream. At first we took great pains not to get our boots wet, but my socks were socked 30 minutes in, and Mr. Pinault’s soon after. Despite this, I found tramping through the muddy puddles and streams to be a unique experience. Ever since starting to eat the caveman diet, I’ve been more thoughtful about how our ancestors lived before the dawn of agriculture 10,000 years ago. They would not have stayed in the cave during the rain, nibbling food from the pantry. No, they would have gone out in the rain and foraged. Perhaps cavewomen fashioned ponchos out of animal skins.
At Mt. Cabot’s False Summit, 1/4 mile from the True Summit
Luckily there is a small cabin at the top of Mount Cabot to provide shelter for hikers in inclement weather. We decided to have our lunch in the cabin and met 2 gents around our age who had planned on camping at a nearby lake but then decided to spend the night at the cabin. They seemed relieved when they found out we weren’t planning to stay the night, but then, faced with spending the next 16 hours alone in the tiny cramped cabin, they didn’t want us to leave. It was great to sit and talk with hikers who were as crazy as we were.
Lunch in Mount Cabot’s Cabin, Soaked to the Bone
On the way back to the car, with only 1 mile to go until the road, we reached the most difficult water crossing of the day, a brook raging with rainwater about 3 feet high, with no options to cross except via a fallen tree. And while stepped gingerly across the tree, I slipped and fell into the brook.
Before I fell into the river, my only dry piece of clothing was my underwear. So, when I emerged from the river completely dripping wet, I took some consolation in the fact that only my underwear had really gotten wet. More upsetting was my left arm, which was covered in scratches and bruises.
I thought falling into the river would be the last bad thing that would happen to us that day. But no, the kicker was when we walked 2 miles on the road back to our car at 6 pm and found that the gate had not been shut at 4pm like the sign warned. It was open.
So we returned to the campground and felt immeasurably better after taking hot showers and changing into dry clothes. The weather cleared up a bit for the evening’s Fourth of July festivities at our campground, and Mr. P got to play with his first-ever sparklers!
Mr. P’s Sparklers’s
