The New Hampshire Division of Parks and Recreation runs a remarkably efficient system. To secure a campsite at one of their bucolic campgrounds for a holiday weekend, reservations must be made more than a month in advance. Payment is due up front and is nonrefundable, so even if the weekend forecast is full of thunderstorms and only a fraction of campers actually arrive, the park still comes out ahead.
iley.

Given how endemic rain has been in the Northeast this summer, canceling never crossed our minds. Besides, at $29 a night, it felt too modest a sum to surrender outright. More importantly, we’re determined to finish our remaining eighteen or so White Mountain 4000-footers by the end of 2009, an ambitious goal that will require not only better luck with the weather, but also some flexibility in our social and professional lives.).

On Friday, we knocked off Mount Waumbeck, a straightforward 4-hour hike that rewarded us with rays of sunshine.

On Saturday, we decided to hike Mount Cabot, the most northern 4000 Footer. Our campground was nearby so it would save us some driving. Mount Cabot’s most accessible trail is closed 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.

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.

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.