Begging the White Mountains to Please Let Us Pass

(Days 108 to 120)

…and without any sprained ankles, please and thank you. 

(If that isn’t too much to ask, of course.)

It was finally that time of the thru-hike. For miles and miles and miles we had heard ominous mentions of “The Whites” – *cue sounds of thunder and children crying*.

The section of our nightmares loomed heavy as we departed from the Hikers Welcome Hostel into the shadow of Mt. Moosilauke, the first 4000 footer we would encounter. Filled with trepidation, we ventured into the White Mountains National Forest unsure of what horrors awaited us.

We weren’t sure how best to tackle this 100+ miles of the trail. Ever since the three of us had seen Inside Out 2 at the Warwick, NY drive-in theater we camped at, my hiking partners and I had gotten into the habit of personifying our feelings of anxiety and nervousness. Leading up to the Whites, there was no doubt that Anxiety was at the control board (if you know, you know. If you don’t, go watch Inside Out 2).

It didn’t exactly help that fear mongering was rampant:

“Once you hit the Whites, expect your mileage to cut in half”.

“Many thru-hikes have ended in the Whites”.

“Be prepared to climb”.

“Be careful – the Whites will beat you up,  steal your lunch money, and force you to name your first born after Mt. Washington”.

Okay, okay. I *may* have made up that last one (I have been told I have a flair for the dramatic), but you get a sense of the vibe we were facing going in. The White Mountains are a lot of things – breathtaking, challenging, wet, foggy, sunny, rocky, slippery, frustrating, menacing, beautiful, and empowering.

But what they are not is impossible. 

I didn’t think I could hike hundreds and hundreds of miles until I did. And just like that, we survived (and dare I say, even thrived in) the Whites.

As with most things on trail, we took it one step at a time. It took us about eight days, and there was quite a lot of “hand-hiking” as my boyfriend lovingly dubbed rock scrambling. Our average mileage did drop significantly, but once I shed the discomfort that came with slowing down, I thoroughly enjoyed the White Mountains. It’s a very special section of the trail. Even when we were walking through clouds with limited visibility, I found myself taken with the mountains. 

Sometimes Mt. Washington is even like “Fine, here is a view. Happy now?!”

After days of hiking in fog, the gods of the mountains, or whatever higher beings reign over the Whites, smiled down upon us when we ventured across the Presidential Traverse. I like to imagine that the Whites are like an exhausted parent, finally giving in and letting the kids have a little bit of candy just to stop the whining – even if momentarily. “And you can stop obsessively checking the weather now too. Geez, these guys are killing me”. 

That morning things were looking pretty grim at first. We stumbled out of our tents at 5:30AM to get on trail by 6AM as we had 15 miles of pretty challenging terrain to cover. For the first few hours of the day,  we shuffled through wind gusts and mist. By the time we got to the Lakes of the Clouds hut at the base of Mt. Washington, to say I was in a grumpy mood would be an understatement. I had many four- letter words tumbling out of my mouth, and they were certainly not “nice”, “funn” or “yayy”.

We shed our wet outer layers and nursed lukewarm cups of coffee, trying to muster up some enthusiasm to keep us going. We watched bundled up day-hikers venture outside, and then the most amazing thing happened. The door swung open to reveal what I thought I might never feel again – sunshine. And that’s the story how we enjoyed a rare, clear(ish) Mt. Washington summit. 

I’m convinced that the trail indeed provides. 

Now if it wasn’t already clear… it’s all about ME!

Of course, I mean Maine – the final frontier of the AT.

As I write this I can officially say that I’ve walked from Georgia to Maine. Even without summitting Mt. Katahdin (yet), that is a pretty spectacular feat in itself, but there are still about 250+ miles to go in this journey. We are out of the frying pan (the Whites) and into the next frying pan (southern Maine), starting with Mahoosuc Notch.

Mahoosuc Notch is nature’s jungle gym or the hardest mile of the AT depending on who you ask. Can you guess what so-called camp I’m in?

It’s one mile of climbing over, under and around boulders, and it’s rumored many an ill-fated water bottle has been lost here. It is also probably one of the few places on trail where my small size is actually an advantage. (You ever look at a picture of yourself next to other, normal-sized people and realize how tiny you are? No? Just me? I call it “small dog” syndrome.)

They say you’re not a true ultralight backpacker unless you can make it through the notch without having to take your backpack off a single time. While I’m certainly ultra-nothing, I now have the audacity to believe that I can call myself ultralight because I accomplished this feat. I wiggled my way through every little nook and cranny I could, and with a smile on my face too.

Now that’s two frying pans down. I hear it’s about forty more miles of climbs and then it’s flat to Katahdin… HAH. A little hiker can dream anyway.