My White Mountain Emotional Rollercoaster: Part Four, Jackson

Note: This post describes events that occurred on August 6, 2023.

After a short day that included a quick jaunt to town for resupply, I woke up at a stealth site near the Webster Cliffs, which offered breathtaking views. I hoped to begin my Presidential traverse that day. This traverse extends from Mount Pierce in the south to Mount Madison in the north. It is an exposed section of trail that is above treeline for several miles. I knew this stretch of trail would be tough. In terms of elevation gain, it isn’t that bad because the AT does not go over all of the peaks in the Presidential range, only passing over the summits of Pierce, Washington, and Madison. But the trail is rocky, which makes progress more slowly, and there would be a steep descent down Madison that I wasn’t looking forward to.

I was also a bit worried about being able to stay at my intended destination for the evening, the Lakes of the Clouds Hut. There was room there for ten thru-hikers to stay. There is the infamous Dungeon, an emergency shelter space where you can stay for $10, which has six bunks. And since this is the biggest hut in the Whites, there are four work-for-stay slots. But since everything is first-come, first-serve, space is never a guarantee, which was stressful for this slow hiker. I decided to take it moment by moment and do my best.

I set out and summitted Webster and Jackson. I again found myself engaged in some tough hiking with rock scrambling. This required some creative maneuvers, like stepping onto a scrubby tree and ungracefully heaving my body onto a boulder, which I scrambled up haphazardly. I also found myself employing less creative, but effective, solutions like butt scooting down steep rock slabs. I arrived at Mizpah Spring hut around 1:00 p.m., with around five miles left to Lakes of the Clouds. I wasn’t physically exhausted like I was when I had arrived to Galehead a few days before, but my motivation was waning. With all the logistical considerations of the Whites, hiking was starting to feel like a job, which was an unfortunate feeling. The weather that day was perfect, which is unusual in the Whites. I knew it wasn’t the “right” decision to stop for the day, with so many daylight hours, physical energy, and good weather going to waste. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing out on something I wanted from this experience. Slow wasn’t slow enough. I just wanted to stop and appreciate the unique environment I found myself in.

So I did the “wrong” thing. I stopped for the day after only five miles. I ate some soup and spent time resting and looking out the window before exploring the hut. I discovered that there was a small room designated as a library, unlike the other huts, which had bookshelves in the dining area. One of the things I miss most about my pre-thru-hiking life is spending time in the library and reading. I went to find a book, and lo and behold, there was the Field Guide to the New England Alpine Summits! It was the book recommended to me by the alpine steward on Moosilauke. I was thrilled to find this and even more excited after I began reading it.

In the field guide, I learned about the history of alpine botany in the White Mountains. The Crawford path leading up to Mount Washington from Mizpah Spring hut was cut in the 1800s. There was a keen interest in the flora and fauna that had adapted to survive such harsh conditions above treeline, where it is exceptionally cold and windy. Many pioneering women made discoveries in alpine botany and hiked this difficult trail to collect specimens.

I learned, too, about the different zones at various elevations. The first zone is at low elevation, the hardwood forest. This transitions to spruce and fir forest, then balsam fir forest, and finally the alpine zone as elevation increases. In the alpine zone, there are small trees that are bush-like in appearance due to the extreme wind stunting their growth. They can grow thickly together in patches called krummholz or tuckamore. It is extremely difficult to walk through these low but dense trees, and bushwhacking through the krummholz to cut the Crawford path was an incredibly labor-intensive effort.

I had read about tuckamore before. In the book On Trails, Robert Moor talks about how he once went on a trip where he hiked without a trail. He described walking across fields of tuckamore as absolutely maddening. I remembered his account and had a new appreciation for the trail I would soon walk upon, that would allow me to pass through patches of krummholz with ease. The AT takes the Crawford path to Lakes of the Clouds Hut, so I would soon be walking upon this historic trail.

I realized that because the late afternoon hours were approaching, it was time to secure a spot at the nearby Nauman tent site. I stopped my study and went to set up camp. I was so glad I had stopped for the day and uncovered some historical context about where I was walking. Still, I wondered what the consequences might be for the next day.

I prepared dinner in the cooking area with other hikers. One thru-hiker asked where I came from that day. I hesitated, but then answered truthfully that I had only walked five miles. He was a bit bewildered, having done about 20 miles himself. I was floored. Some people were continuing to do 20-mile days through the Whites. It was unthinkable to me. He said he was definitely tired and it was hard. But still. He did it. He planned to go to town the next day. The road crossing was about 20 miles away. We spent the rest of our meal in silence. I felt so distant from him and other hikers who are sailing along with such speed. He hadn’t even known that there’s a cafeteria at the summit of Mt. Washington. He commented that I knew a lot about the area. To me, that was the point of walking the trail, to learn something about the places I’m visiting. But that takes a lot of time, time that could be spent walking.

That moment at dinner wasn’t the first encounter of its kind. I had begun to feel a bit out of place, like maybe I didn’t have so much in common with most other hikers, especially those who started in Georgia and were so close to the finish line. I was still wanting to take my time and take it all in. The Georgia starters were more likely to slack off down in Pennsylvania, but now that we were almost to Maine, it seemed like the dynamic shifted, and they were not slowing down for anything. Everyone seemed to pass me in a blur. I felt like I was more on the outskirts of this community than a real part of it.

As I made my way to my tent for the evening, I tried to focus on the concept of hiking my own hike, doing what feels right, and staying true to myself. I reflected on all that I stand to gain by doing so. Reading the field guide was an investment of time that I found deeply enriched my experience. I was happy, but a bit isolated, and found myself reflecting on my mixed feelings as I drifted off to sleep.