My White Mountain Emotional Rollercoaster: Part Seven, Madison

Note: This post describes events that occurred on August 10, 2023.

After falling on some wet rock close to the summit of Washington, the rest of my descent was thankfully uneventful. I was mindful of taking breaks, but since I was headed toward Madison Spring Hut, I kept the trail breaks short in order to save more time for relaxing at the hut later. As I walked, the fog burned away and I enjoyed nice views.

As I made my way to the hut, I was passed by several thru-hikers, some of them decades older than me. But that’s okay, I’m used to being the slow one by now! I enjoyed a nice moment where I saw a rare butterfly that can only be seen in the Presidential range and nowhere else in the world. That was pretty special.

I arrived at the hut around 2:00 p.m. My feet were sore from walking on rock all day, and I was feeling generally uncomfortable from my fall in the morning. I fell a couple more times before I arrived at the hut, and it was apparent that I had maybe very mildly sprained some small muscle in my ankle or foot that was making me less steady. Thankfully my subsequent falls weren’t serious, but they were demoralizing. I wished more than anything that I could just stay the night at the hut. Unfortunately, given the weather report for the evening, I knew it best to press on. I had a long, steep descent awaiting me after I summitted Madison, and I didn’t want to negotiate that on wet rock if I didn’t have to.  It wasn’t ideal to keep walking, but it wasn’t unsafe.

I enjoyed some leftover lasagna at the hut and took a rather luxurious hour-long break. I heard that it took most hikers about three hours to get to the tent site I wanted to camp at. For some reason, I didn’t factor into my expectations that I am slower than most hikers, and reasoned that since I was heading out around 3:00 p.m., I’d probably arrive to camp around 6:00 or 6:30.

I climbed Madison and found it slow going, not because it was any more challenging than the Washington climb, but because it was the end of the day, I was banged up, and I didn’t particularly want to be walking anymore. I felt chronically toasted by this terrain.

At the summit of Madison, I met a couple who was thru-hiking. To my surprise, they were also flip flop hikers. I hadn’t been meeting many other flippers lately. And to my even greater surprise, they had also started at Harpers Ferry, but before I did. I was heartened to discover that there were some other hikers making as slow of progress as I was.

There was another hiker at the summit who had done this stretch of trail before, but was currently thru-hiking from Georgia. He was a man in his 50s or 60s and pointed out the Wildcat and Carter mountains we would soon be hiking over. I found myself a bit overwhelmed at this point, seeing the looming, intimidating peak of Washington so far in the distance behind us. Ahead, the mountains that we would reach so soon seemed terribly distant. I still hadn’t gotten used to the scale of this feat I am engaged in. I was used to being in the trees, not really seeing the reality of my situation. I felt tired just looking at Wildcat and Carter dome. I needed to get off of Madison and get some sleep.

I let the other hikers go ahead of me, and the older gentleman commented that I’d probably pass him. I didn’t. I had to carefully negotiate each footstep through the steep descent over boulders large and small that made my feet ache. My trekking pole tips had worn off and I knew I needed replacements, but access to an outfitter on trail was infrequent. My poles were a false sense of security as the lack of tips gave them no traction. They slid on the rocks, impeding my progress and further frustrating me. Before I even got below treeline, I was so done. At one point, in tears, I hollered, “I hate this!” It was so sad to me that I hated it so much. I was exhausted and challenged by this tedious terrain. To make matters worse, storm clouds were beginning to form and I heard a low grumble of thunder. I could not possibly outrun a storm over these rocks, and I felt so vulnerable and exposed. Rain began to fall just as I approached treeline. I was so grateful for the safety of the fir forest around me. But I still had a ways to go to my campsite for the night, and the going was less rocky but still steep.

When I finally got to camp at 7:30, I was at a low point. I hadn’t brought enough water from the hut. I drank and drank to relieve my mild dehydration. I was frustrated by my lack of skills, that I still never really knew how much was the right amount to carry. I had underestimated the time it would take to get to camp.

I found a tent platform and started setting up. It had been raining off and on since I reached treeline and the platform was wet. Worse, it was slick with algae. With every step, I slipped and feared I would fall at any moment. But much worse, my trekking poles would not stay put on the platform. I had successfully set up my trekking pole tent countless times before, even on wooden platforms, but never on one so slick. The poles kept falling and I felt hopeless. Would I have a shelter tonight in the rain? I walked around the tent platform trying to think of a solution through my fatigue and frustration. I would try to put a bandana under my trekking poles. It seemed like it was working, but as I was walking around trying to finish setting up, I tripped over one of my guy lines and the stake popped out, knocking down my whole tent. At this point, I couldn’t help it. “Fuck!!!” I screamed. Some hikers on another platform hollered out of their tent, “Are you okay?” I recognized the voices as the couple from the summit. I apologized, saying I was fine, but I was having a bad day. They asked if I needed help and I declined, just saying I was tired, and that I’d be quiet now. I couldn’t even vent my frustrations properly.

With a bandana under one trekking pole and a pack towel under the other, I managed to get set up. My tent was not pitched properly for the impending rain, but at this point it felt so precariously positioned that I was afraid to touch it for fear it would come down. And I was EXHAUSTED. I ate some chips and went to bed, thankful that my lasagna earlier probably counted for dinner just fine.

Before I could fall asleep, a deluge burst forth, complete with lightning flashes followed by booming thunderclaps about three seconds later. I was grateful the lightning seemed a safe distance away. I imagined that it was striking the summit of Madison. It was around 9:00 p.m., and some hikers arrived in the rain and began setting up beside me on the platform. The stomping of their boots was loud and shook the platform. They eventually finished, and the thunder and lightning subsided, but I was still unable to sleep. The rain was splashing up under my tarp that was not pitched low enough to the ground. Everything was getting soaked. I was thankful that the weather wasn’t cold, or I would potentially be in serious trouble. My quilt was very wet, but I didn’t do anything because I was still mostly dry inside, and simply did not have the energy to care. Eventually, as the rain calmed to a drizzle, I drifted to sleep.