I Made it to 68 Years Old and Threatened to Hike Mount Washington
I Did It and Lived to Share the Results With You
On July 25 I posted an article declaring my ambition to hike my 68-year-old self to the top of New Hampshire’s Mount Washington.
In that article, I shared (obnoxiously, some say) that my health and stamina at 68 years old is excellent and that I am not yet a victim of the Pharma Lobby. I credit this fortunate situation to avoiding the SAD (Standard American Diet), a commitment to fitness training and random outdoor activities. I also gave a shout-out to the value of quality Scotch and an occasional cigar.
Overwhelmed with enthusiasm for my hike, I threatened to report out to my anxious reader(s) updates about trip preparation, training, conditioning, provisioning and other stimulating subject matter. Also declared was an intention to provide scintillating details about past hikes to provide a basis for comparison to my Mt. Washington odyssey.
I skipped the preparation and physical conditioning updates, as I couldn’t find a way to write them that didn’t put me to sleep. Ditto for sharing old stories about other hikes that, laid out in print, sounded like the miscellaneous ramblings of an old man (which they are).
Essentially, I was publicly challenging myself to this hike to see if I am as fit and healthy as I feel.
Well, I made it up and down Mount Washington via the Tuckerman Ravine Trail/Lion Head Trail Loop. Further, I did it all by my ownself, sans assistance from EMS personnel or alpine rescue helicopters.
Distilling my Mount Washington adventure down to three overarching impressions is easy. I list them below.
1. Rain
2. Rocks
3. Everything Else
Let’s start with Everything Else
The 550 mile drive from Lower Slower Delaware to my off-season room at a quaint Inn in Jackson, New Hampshire was pleasant enough. On my way north, the overhead digital signage on I-95 in New Jersey exhorted my fellow drivers and me to be aware of terrorists and report suspicious activities immediately to the nearest authorities.
I checked with local and national news sources on the FM dial several times while keeping my eyes peeled for suspicious vehicles. I am pleased to report that my section of northbound I-95 was terrorist activity-free.
Apparently, terrorist prevention alerts are a thing in New Jersey. New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut and New Hampshire highway messaging leaned toward helpful notes about traffic flow and work areas as well as reminders to the motoring public of the fines associated with a failure to buckle up for safety.
I transitioned from the interstate highway system onto two-lane state roads once I crossed the Massachusetts state line into New Hampshire, where it was raining in a manner that would make Seattle proud. Speed limits on these rural roads were on a sliding scale, ranging from 25 mph to 60 mph. It was weird how almost every 25 mph sign was posted right next to a local police cruiser.
Other Random New Hampshire Factoids:
· New Hampshire was originally named North Virginia by English Captain John Smith in 1614.
· By 1765, nearly all of the tall pine trees had been harvested and sent to England.
· By 1850, the New Hampshire economy was agriculture based, losing over 70% of its forest in the process.
· Over time, farms and ranches were abandoned as the population shifted west in search of more fertile lands where something other than rocks could be grown.
· The forest rebounded; New Hampshire is 85% forested today, second only to Maine at 90%.
· New Hampshire is also a national leader in BSPV (Bumper Stickers Per Vehicle)
I made it to Jackson around 4:00 PM, cruising past the requisite speed limit sign/trooper combo as I entered town. Siri suggested that I turn right and proceed to my lodging destination in a quarter mile. I followed her advice. The turn took me across a red, semi-quaint single lane covered bridge. From there Siri assured me that the destination was a half mile ahead on the right.
Right where Siri said it would be, the whitewashed Inn glowed in the rain-muted late afternoon light. Perched on the side of a forested hill, it overlooked both Jackson and the rain clouds that obscured Mount Washington.
Appearing to date back to colonial times, the two-story Inn sported a covered verandah that ran the length of the building, supporting a number of comfy Adirondack rocking chairs and various rustic flower planters. If we stop right here, we are left with a mental image of a warm, homey country Inn worthy of a New England Travel Magazine cover.
WARNING: If you care to preserve this idealistic image of a perfect-picture country Inn for future reference or fantasy, DON’T LOOK UP.
Oops, now you’ve done it. I told you not to look and you looked. Now you see the weathered, 1980’s era air conditioning window units jutting at various angles from random 1780’s era second floor windows. If you squint a little bit, these haphazard protuberances resemble a mouthful of beige and gray snaggle teeth. Crowning the second floor was a tired roof with a saggy middle, reminiscent of a swaybacked pack mule at the end of the trail.
Being a value shopper (tightwad), I paid for my midweek stay in advance, choosing this Inn from a number of alternatives based on website quality and customer reviews (and price). Turning into the driveway, I parked in one of the four spaces provided for guest check-in. My eyes dropped from the dental nightmare of the second floor to a sign in front of my parking place proclaiming a 15-minute parking limit for Loading and Unloading Only.
It went on to say in finer print that hotel guests MUST park in the paved highway cutout across the state road from the hotel. The sign font became smaller still as it explained that the management is not responsible for anything whatsoever and that scofflaws who violate the house rules, posted or otherwise, assume all risk and expense associated with remedial actions.
Me-thinks thou dost post too much. Me-also-thinks that the local tow company may be on the kickback program with the Inn management.
Resigned to my prepaid fate, I hauled my gear from the car and up the six rustic plank steps to the covered verandah in the relentless, driving rain. The spring hinges of the homemade screen door screeched a twangy protest to being propped the door open with my gym bag. Stephen King’s brain would vapor-locked with story ideas if he ever heard that screen door’s voice.
I bent to move my loaded daypack and suitcase into the lobby. Grabbing my gym bag from the maw of the protesting screen door and straightening up to my regal 6-foot height, I thumped my head on the less than regal 5 foot 10 inch tall overhead doorframe.
I soon discovered that the period architecture throughout the Inn was scaled for the comfort of Hobbits, leaving those humanoids who forget to stoop while passing through the Inn doorways at risk of a few cranial lumps and bumps.
The Bow Tie Guy behind the check-in counter was too tall to be a Hobbit, as evidenced by the knots on his forehead. He welcomed me in an antiseptic, prepackaged way. Bow Tie Guy did warm up a little bit as he shared with me the penalty fee associated with a lost room key. I felt confident that I could avoid a penalty situation, as the key was anchored to a hard plastic artifact the size and shape of a moss-colored roof shingle.
I startled the bitchy screen door springs once again on the way back out to the car, in a hurry as I had broken the 15-minute Loading and Unloading Rule. After nosing the car onto the paved turnout, I hustled back across the highway, successfully dodging the hurtling logging truck but getting drenched in its rainy, hissing backwash.
A few more points about the Customer First Experience at the Inn and then we will move to Mount Washington.
· Despite a nearly full house at the Inn, dinner and cocktail service was dark on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday each week. This is not a big deal if there are a few restaurants within walking distance.
There aren’t.
· Breakfast is available each morning by reservation only, with the first seating at 7:30 AM.
7:30 AM? Being an early riser, breakfast is in the rearview mirror and I’m already mapping out lunch ideas.
· The gym and the pool/hot tub open at 9:00 AM and close promptly at 9:00 PM.
9:00 AM? Half the day is already gone and I am ready for a little nappy.
· Painters closed off most of the Hobbit lobby on Tuesday and Wednesday. The workaround route to the second floor rooms reads like the directions on a buried treasure map: “Follow the Path from the Reception Area through the Dining Room, into the Kitchen, out the Back Door, left of the Dumpsters, bear right up the Hill Behind the Inn, tread lightly over the Spongy Plywood Bridge onto the Roof of the Kitchen, then onward across the Roof to a Warped Wooden Door, into the Second Floor Hallway and there you will find Your Room”.
I shit you not.
Now we get to the Room at the Inn…
At check-in, the painters were not yet an obstacle to progress. I was able to use the Hobbit lobby staircase to the second floor. The stairs were canted at a steeper angle than anything I would encounter on the Mount Washington hike, but they were narrow. Feeling like a Sherpa in a doll house, I high-stepped my pack and a week’s worth of gear up the stairs and down the hall to my prepaid, cozy second floor suite. By suite, I mean cell.
I pried open the sticky suite door with the assistance of the key shingle as a wedge. As I beheld the luxuriant splendor of the 10x10 multipurpose space that is Suite 9, I was nearly overcome with (insert adjective here: my choice is despair). Suite 9 was somehow able to accommodate a queen bed, a chair and a miniature highboy dresser all at once.
A 10-inch flat screen was affixed to the wall just below the 7-foot ceiling and somewhat off center of the amazing miniature highboy. Accenting this opulent, decadent aura of country chic was one of the grey beige window a/c units that only partially obscured my view of the Kitchen Rooftop portion of the Amazing, Buried Treasure Trail Map.
The decadence didn’t end there. There was a cozy ensuite bathroom where, as I sat on the pot, one shoulder rubbed the wall while the other rubbed the sink. The shower was of such a unique size and design that, when it came time to wash my back, I merely stepped out of the shower, turned around and stepped back in. Making up for the absence of clear floor space, the spacious queen bed enabled me to store my gear on the unused side, further accenting the cozy ambience while providing me with convenient access to my things.
The final unique feature of this space was the ease with which any item that might accidentally be dropped on the floor could be located, as everything dropped would roll downhill to a marshalling point behind the ensuite toilet and calmly await retrieval.
The overall ambience was reminiscent of the master bedroom suite in a hoarder’s singlewide trailer, without as much room to walk about.
Rain ticking and pattering on the sore tooth a/c unit, fellow 2nd floor guests filing by on the kitchen roof on their own treasure hunts, logging trucks belching and farting on their way to wherever belching and farting logging trucks go; it was somewhat less than a restful, customer-centric experience. The marketing staff at the Inn began peppering my email with customer satisfaction surveys on the first night of my stay and have continued to request my valued input over the month or so since I escaped. They should be careful what they ask for.
Although I didn’t try, I believe I could have hit the ensuite toilet from the bed……
Tuckerman Ravine Trail- Mount Washington
Tuesday, September 12th dawned gray and cloudy in Jackson, carrying a 40% chance of rain. I chose this day for my hike, as AccuWeather felt the odds of rain escalated each day for the balance of the week.
I was in the car and leaving Jackson for a quick uphill commute to the lodge at Pinkham Notch by 6:30 AM. I figured I would grab a cup of coffee and get a feel for the mountain before setting off on the Tuckerman Ravine Trail.
The first thing I learned was that using weather forecasts for local foothill towns to gauge potential conditions on Mount Washington is not a productive use of time. Jackson was as dry as a bone when I left. Within two miles, a light drizzle set off the automatic windshield wipers. By the time I turned into the Pinkham Notch parking lot, the windshield wipers were working overtime to tear fleeting holes in the sheets of water cascading from the sky.
Tis but a momentary cloudburst, said I, congratulating myself on bringing a rain repellent hiking jacket. My feeling of genius was somewhat tempered by a regret that I didn’t pony up for the GOR-TEX option on my Salomon trail runners. I soothed myself as I slogged across the parking lot toward the lodge by noting that it was at least a warm rain.
The coffee at the lodge was strong and tasty. For a moment I eavesdropped on a handful of gossipy employees as they laid waste to the killer breakfast buffet in the spacious dining area. Drip drying in the corner while dunking my oatmeal raisin Clif bar into my coffee, I resolved to have lunch at the lodge when I returned from my wilderness experience.
After giving the torrential downpour a little time to tone down its enthusiasm, I slipped on my rain resistant hiking jacket, shrugged on my daypack, tugged my trail hat down tight on my lumpy head and headed out to the rear of the lodge to the trailhead.
The trail led me up a gentle grade and around several bends in the first few hundred yards. With every step, the white noise from the trail-adjacent Cutler River rapids and falls became more and more prominent, finally erasing any sounds of humanity and machinery coming from the lodge. The dense, leafy cover of maple, birch and beech trees shielded the trail from some of the rain. This was gonna be the easiest hike ever.
As I gained altitude, I noticed that the leaves merely delayed the arrival of the rain, acting less like umbrellas and more like little water saucers that would tip their collection of raindrops onto my head at the first hint of a breeze. Oh well, it’s a warm rain, right?
One moment, the trail surface was smooth hardpack sporting random tree roots. The next moment, it was as if a rock-strewn creek bed had been elevated to forty degrees from level and re-labeled as a hiking trail. I was now climbing a narrow corridor of slick, mossy granite rocks of all sizes and shapes strewn on every surface not already occupied by a tree.
After the hike, I asked Siri where the hell so many rocks came from, as there seems there is NFW in nature that so many slick rocks could be stacked up so deeply and at such random angles. It turns out that this chunky granite nightmare was laid down eons ago by a glacier with a devious sense of humor. Overlaid with wet, slippery autumn leaves and kept sopping wet by the incessant rain, this Pick-Up Sticks rock jumble was a twisted ankle or blown out knee waiting to happen.
In many places the trail doubled as a stream, shepherding rain runoff to the river from higher elevations. I wondered again why I hadn’t signed up for the GORE-TEX option for my trail runners. Looking down. I concluded that it likely didn’t matter, as the runoff overtopping my shoes would have overwhelmed any attempt at waterproofing anyway. I also noticed that my rain resistant hiking jacket had surrendered to the pelting rain and recast its mission in life as a sponge, as had my Kuhl baseball cap.
The footing improved once I got above the tree line and out into the open. I made the final waterlogged push toward the summit and Observatory, hoping I didn’t miss it in the fog and the rain.
The downhill leg was pretty much a rinse-lather-repeat exercise.
Special Note: Hiking poles for stability are your best friends on this type of descent, as Gravity joins with the Slippery Rock Team in an effort to tip you over at every step. Even with the hiking poles and laser focus on foot placement, the legs tire, the attention strays, the backpack shifts off center for an instant and you still slip or fall. I say this as one who slipped a few times despite sticky trail shoes and judicious foot placement. I only went down once, hard enough to encourage me not to do it again. Never forget that Nature is the Home Team.
What did I take away from this hike?
· I dislike rain, warm or otherwise
· I dislike granite rocks in any size, shape or quantity
· I still have the health, physicality, stamina and reserves to make it intact through a challenging hike
Most importantly:
· The spring in my step is sprung
This last, sad realization was underscored repeatedly throughout the hike.
I was the first one on the mountain that morning and had been moving (plodding) for about an hour or so without sight or sound of anyone else on the mountain. The silence shattered when I was hailed from behind by a flock of fleet, rock hopping 30-somethings on their way to the summit. All were clad in running shorts and t-shirts and were playing a game of “Dodge the Raindrops” as they bounced and pinballed their way uphill on the slippery granite hellscape that was the trail.
The worst part is that they summited and hippity-hopped by me on their way back down while I was still on the uphill slog.
Weighted down with a day pack, a sodden raincoat and 68 years on-planet, all I could do was nod and smile as they pelted by while mentally shaking my fist at them.
Goddamn kids.
The lunch at the lodge was pretty good.
