Mt. Moosilauke
NH
Erk and Dave
2002.02.16
Topo Map
112 - AT intersection, (2040')
Beaver Brook Trail
Mt. Moosilauke (4802')
Beaver Brook Trail
112 - AT intersection, (2040')
Total: 7.6 miles, 2800', 8:00
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- Erk used crampons for the ascent again.
- Dave had enough traction without.
- The Beaver Brook Shelter now seems to be 1.5 miles from Hwy 112 after the cascades (not before them).
- From the shelter on up, snowshoes were helpful.
- The trail has been re-routed climbing higher on Mt Blue, then crossing the saddle farther west and
meeting the Benton Brook Trail.
- The summit was covered with at least and inch of ice.
- After the wind blew us across the slope on snowshoes, we switched to crampons.
- The wind was probably blowing 35 or 40 mph.
- I would guess the temperature was around 10°F.
- Erk needs better mittens and a shell to cover them.
- I need anti-fog something for my sunglasses (and goggles).
- I practiced my tele stance sliding down the trail on snowshoes :)
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Last updated:
© 2002 David Crosby
dave@snowyrock.net
Erk's Version:
Moosilauke.
That hike was quite an adventure. I've had some really busy days
between now and then, and the story continues to pop into my head,
vividly. Interesting sometimes to wonder what it would be like
to have a transcript of your conversation. Well, this time I
do. Sarah caught me on Instant messenger just as I got home on
that grueling, amazing, jeuvanating day. Dave had driven me
home from their house, about a half mile away. Usually I walk;
my legs, despite repeated stretching, were still not ready for that
yet.
We had chili when we got back. Dave had made it the night before, I
had advised from beyond the couch. Half a container of chili
powder, whole jalapeños, big chunks of tomato, tobasco,
hamburger. They got me a one gallon container of tobasco
sauce. Now I have to figure out what to do with it.
Was really good chili to come home to after that day.
We got up early that morning, around 6. Headed out by 7. Got
to the mountain, up the ice-snowy back roads of New Hampshire, by
9. This was the mountain that had conquored us the last
time. We had one small mistake, at this point, that neither of
us yet realized until the day after. I'd been on many
hikes before, and hikes with Dave. But this was only the second
time I'd ever tried a real hike in winter. Both times were on
this same mountain. Dave had thought I'd done more. I'd
heard a lot of stories; I'd put together my own knowledge. What
I didn't have was actual experience. Just keep that in mind.
I start with links to what Dave. I continue with the transcript
of mine and Sarah's conversation; partly to jog my memory, partly to
do it justice. If you're not used to AOL IM, every line gets
labeled for who wrote it. Mine are read, hers are blue.
Actual screen names have been changed to protect the guilty.
I've elaborated on what was there. Most significant additions
are on lines by themselves, with no label. She caught me when I
was tired, eyes open, body slowing. When I started, I didn't
think I'd be able to form the sentences, be able to type. I was
wrong. But I had to edit a lot of it in the beginning to make
it understandable to anyone but Sarah, who'd been pulling broken word
parts out of me for a good 3 minutes already. :)
So imagine you're there, in small and cozy room. It's night.
I walk in through the door, slowly. Careful gait, I look
drained. Sarah's sitting by the computer, a desk lamp the only
light in the mellow darkness. She turns in her chair, and
smiles, and says, "How was the trip?" and I mumble
something incoherently...
Sarah:
How was the mountain?
erk:
My legs are sore. I can't describe it.
Sarah:
...
Sarah:
Can you try anyway?
erk:
It was an awesome hike though.
Sarah:
i'm sure.
erk:
I can try some. I'm very tired. how are you?
Sarah:
i'm alright
erk:
It was very different looking. The first time we were there, it was gray,
and cloudy, and snowing. Like a wonderland.
erk:
This time was wetter; not as much snow on the trees at the start. The snow on
the ground was glazed frozen with a hard, crunchy skin.
Ski poles wouldn't poke through it. It could support a
lot of weight, before you broke through into the softer stuff
below.
erk:
I wore crampons the whole way up.
My sorrels, though nice and waterproof, and pretty warm, have
no traction. It's like trying to climb a mountain with
snowpants tied to your feet.
We realized this last time, when I had so much more trouble
than did dave. It's not that he's not in better shape than I,
particularly for this. He is. But I have a history of
being able to keep a reasonable pace behind him. I
wasn't. But the two-ince steel spikes strapped to my feet
changed all that. We crunched on.
This part of the trip took the longest. I still can't
really describe it. It was like climbing up to Phu'kra'dueng
national park in thailand, the mesa where the elephants live on top
but no one knows how they got there. Only it wasn't that
steep. It was just.. constant, and winding, and in the snow
unsure of footing. It *was* steep, don't get me wrong. We
took most of our elevation in less than a mile's distance. I
kept misjudging the distance at this point and jokingly arguing with
dave. "We hit four miles yet?" "No, we're still
working on the first 3/4." "Up, maybe, but actual
distance traveled?" "Hey erk, look at that
mountain." Dave was good at distracting me. Partway
up, about the distance we'd made it the last time, we had some views
of the surrounding area. Mountains across the way looked so
large, and foreboding. I think Moosilauke was taller, but from
on its side it didn't seem so. The trees all around and the rocky
brook frozen in it's ravine beside us blocked a lot of our mountain
from view. Snow was everywhere, still. But more than
that; there was quiet, the trees looked heavy, standing solitary, as
if on guard.
We climbed a few spots. Easy spots. We ducked
under branches and trees, whapped our packs on things, stopped
periodically so I could catch up and we could just look around.
We bantered some. We saw the tree line, slowly approaching from
above. First a line of white painted across the trees and the
mountain, then, above that, the trees disappeared, washed away, as
if, from an unseen force. I could feel the exercise. I
was at points, plodding. I felt so slow. It was
strange.
erk:
Near the tree line, the trees were all pines, and frozen white and coated with ice.
erk:
They creaked in the wind, looked heavy. the sky was so blue.. I've never seen such a thing.
Sarah:
erk:
Soon it was like we were swimming; slight wind, white coral trees all around, white
ground like sand, blue sky like crystal ocean.
erk:
the trees got shorter.
erk:
the wind got stronger.
erk:
but then we went down a saddle and back up the real peak.
erk:
here the trees got shorter faster.
erk:
the higher we went, the more coated they were with layers of heavy and hard ice.
Sarah:
I got tired of feeling so slow, of feeling so worn out. It wasn't
right. Dave and I've been exercising together; I'm usually just
behind him. I'm not this much more beat by the same
workout. I noticed my snowpants were kinda loose, and I was
coming dangerously close to tramping on them with the crampons.
I stopped, resigned to catch my breath, and pulled them up.
There was a string, I hadn't tied it. I tied the string, up
high, so it wouldn't fall down again. Tight. I took a
step and I felt so free like there wasn't @#$% snowpants holdin' me
back with every darn step, making me take twice as many as I normally
would, making everything seem harder, 'cause the fool things were too
loose and the crotch had been suspended midway down my thighs nearer
my knees.
That was embarassing to figure out. I caught up, and
keeping up wasn't much of a problem after that.
erk:
we broke the tree line with little rock-looking ice-covered somethings. Could
have been bushes, could've been rocks, could've been dwarves. they looked like stalagtites,
kinda, made sideways, and clumpy. Or branchless coral, again.
I think dave got a picture, though it won't do it justice; this is a
landscape unlike one I've ever seen. They say that frost giants
are so tall, that where they live, they tower above the trees, and
their beards are full of snow.
We walked quietly through a hillside of frost
giants.
erk:
the wind whipped up strong.
erk:
I'd sweated so much, my mittens were soaked through. Much of the trip I wore no
hat. It was too warm; my grandfather's winter coat kept my chest toasted like a furnace.
I had worked hard to that point, even wearing snowshoes.
It was getting to be time for lunch.
erk:
10 feet out onto the barren hilltop, a gust of wind blew me across crust-ice ground as
if I were a sail.
erk:
I watched dave save himself from a back-flip gust, then he fell over up ahead.
He got back up and kept going. He was much more
proficient with snowshoes; and this whole section he'd been up about
20-30 feet ahead, as I'd periodically trip over my own now oversized
feet trying to get around obstacles or push past rock-solid frozen
branches. He heading for an ice-covered
outcropping.
The wind roared up around us.
erk:
Not even seconds later, my mittens, my arms, my body began looking like the
trees all before; white caking on, rime ice growing all around.
I felt like my warm still eyes were looking through the frozen shell of
one of the clumps of frozen coral. I didn't move, but the air
did.
erk:
my mittens froze solid.
Sarah:
oh dear.
erk:
I learned quickly the snowshoes were no help up here. the wind made it so cold.
erk:
and it was 20° colder up here than way down below.
Close to 10°F real temp. Not bad. Windspeeds
close to 30 mph, maybe more. Wind temp... what you feel when
you're standing there wet in the wind, was down below zero. I
began to freeze.
erk:
we were above 4000 feet.
Sarah:
!
erk:
I slid a little, purposely.
To pick up my feet would mean to have them carried away.
erk:
I made it over to dave, where he'd dove down by some ice covered rock things; shelter,
some, from the wind.
Sarah:
this is all mountain shallow enough to *walk* up?
Sarah:
I find that amazing.
erk:
Just staying upright, I was so tense; my muslces so worn, my left leg twitched,
and the muscles almost pulled. I could see the summit, not fifty yards away.
Big snowshoes strapped to my feet, I dropped on all fours,
and used my clenched fists to dig into the ice-covered ground and
climb over to a clump of frozen things, where dave had found shelter
from the wind. It was easier that way. It wasn't
far. But it was amazing the difference it made to be out of the
wind. This however was predictable.
erk:
Dave suggested, obviously, no snowshoes; wear crampons. I dreaded the switch.
I told him I'd narrowly missed pulling a muscle. I stayed. He went up the
rest. I put 2 inch metal spikes on my boots, my fingers turning visibly red. I
had to repeat what I wanted them to do for them to obey. Part of that was the wind,
howling at my back.
It was an interesting study in human psychology.
erk:
Dave went to the summit. I waited. I should have gone down into the trees
right away, but didn't want to lose sight of him. I stood in the wind, and rose by one of the frozen
crags. shielded, I could feel my fingers were cold. Unsheilded, I could feel nothing.
There was an ache starting in the tips of my fingernails that was undeniable. while clutching
snowshoes so they wouldn't blow away, I shielded them as best I could. I did try for the summit, once,
but the cold and my leg muscles weren't cooperating. What must it be like on everest?
erk:
Dave began stride-stumbling back. When I knew he could possibly see me, I turned and
single-mindedly began heading back. Foot then foot. Get out of the wind. Must warm hands.
erk:
I came down into the protection of the trees ahead of dave, who wasn't much
longer. I'd realized by then my fingers weren't well; I'd almost pulled muscles in my left leg four more
times. Pulling them on the mountaintop would have been a really bad thing. I'd stood in the roaring
wind defiantly and roared right back. It's amazing the strength meer obstinance can give you.
erk:
2 inch spikes can help you withstand a *lot*, too.
Sarah:
this is starting to remind me of "to build a fire"
Sarah:
*roar*
erk:
Dave caught up, I tried to warm my hands, but to no avail. My mittens were too frozen.
This was the experience point. I'd thought -we'd
thought, my mittens were good. and they were. But
they needed shielding, which we didn't have, and I didn't realize
that my backup pair would suck.
I refused to put on the snowshoes which would tense my legs when the
slid; the drifts here were unwittingly up to my hips at times, I
learned what the snowshoes had done, but the switch, between fingers
and precarious legs, was to be avoided. Eventually we stopped
in a well shielded spot for lunch. I used my grandfather's
coat's pockets to warm them a little. They stopped getting
colder, at least. Dave gave me a pair of his backup mittens,
'cause none of mine would do.
We hiked on. I was still fairly determined to get down
as quickly as we could.
erk:
His didn't help either, it seemed.
erk:
I tried moving, moving on, moving to make warmth. They still ached, felt oh so cold.
Sarah:
*please tell me you have all of your fingers*
erk:
A little farther, I was psychologically getting desperate. (I'm typing, eh?)
erk:
I tried putting them under my coat, oh so warm.
erk:
long coat. poles strapped to hands. no go.
erk:
tried down my pants.
erk:
too complicated.
erk:
shoved them in my coat's pockets.
erk:
nothing happened.
it takes time to steal heat from your surroundings.
erk:
seconds later, they began to warm.
oh so finally.
erk:
it was excruciating.
erk:
I had spent the last twenty odd minutes and the next 5-10 creatively keeping all my
fingers just this side of frostbite.
erk:
full warmth and blood returning to them really really hurt.
erk:
but once there, all was well.
erk:
my legs warmed up, pulled less.
Crisis was over.
erk:
though on the way down, began almost pulling muscles in both. Ended up butt
sliding again, a lot, mainly to keep tension from my legs.
Funny what things will save you when things go
wrong.
erk:
managed not to pull any muscles until I tried to get out of the car at home.
erk:
very good trip.
The things we saw were beautiful.
There is a certain joy in the quiet, determined desperation
that allows a man to stand
and
look down the winding path that lead him up this mountain
and
realize he can't walk down
and
that his only practical choice
is
to clutch his gear to his chest,
sit
down humbly on the snow-lined trail
and, feet first
hope for the best
and
pray that he just doesn't find a stump
with his crotch.
There is a beauty in learning to steer with slight tenses in
your hiney
There is an exhiliration, in pausing, and thinking, when I go
over the edge of that side, I'm going to flip over, and catch myself
on that tree, and I won't lose either pole, or either snowshoe, or my
pack.
There is a simple glee that comes
from sliding down a mountain to save strain on your
over-tense legs
from knowning you have to have fun.
That's its faster this way, and easier.
And
in the end, knowing
That you did make it up
But
you had more fun comin' down.
Sarah:
erk - 1, mountain - 1
erk:
a bit .. well.. ok. I need new mittens.
Sarah:
*until* you got out of the car?
erk:
yeah.
Sarah:
...
erk:
I'd been siting so long the muscles suddenly yanked when I moved them to get out.
only in one leg. I relaxed it. It hurt, then it stopped. I stretched some more.
erk:
that's the short version.
erk:
the landscape was oft so beautiful; so striking, so, wow. amazing.
erk:
wallking through the frozen trees.
erk:
feeling that roaring wind pick you up.
erk:
dashing on snowshoes, racing on snowpants down snow-lined corridors, kareening
over embankments and down into the fathomless drifts lining the stream, climbing, slowly, with
crampons, with fists in snow, with snowshoes.
erk:
I'm done.
erk:
time for bed. soon.
erk:
I wait, let you talk.
Sarah:
Sarah:
I'm just caring for a sick roommate.
Sarah:
I make tasty grilled cheese for the needy.
erk:
Sarah:
nothing so fascinating.
Sarah:
although I did find $50 i wasn't expecting today, so that's wonderful!
erk:
lots of things are fascinating. other things are exciting. *that* sounds exciting.
-erk.
--
"They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety."
--Benjamin Franklin, 1759
http://www.NLS.net/mp/Unicorn
unicorn@orcpit.com erk@mac.com
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