New Hampshire: Hanover to Crawford Notch (July 26-August 2)

July 26.

I started the day by hiking out of the town of Hanover and further into the state of New Hampshire.  This was also the first of several days of hiking with another thru hiker, Newt.  I had last hiked around her back in Pennsylvania, and had been hoping to catch up with her again before the end of the hike.  In the days to come, I would often be grateful to be hiking with a friend as we started into the rugged terrain of New Hampshire, where we often laughed and exclaimed at the nearly vertical climbs and boulder scrambles we faced in our path ahead.

On this day, we eased into the New Hampshire hiking, with nothing too terribly challenging as compared to what we had already hiked over.  We looked out over hazy views in the late afternoon, and had good enough phone service to figure out that the haze was from wildfire smoke from Canada and the western U.S.  It’s always ominous to see that- smoke impact from so far away.

The funniest moment of the day was when we reached a tenting area already occupied with many tents.  I could see flat spaces near another tent, and we both walked up with me saying, “I see a lot of good spaces over here”, then we both said, “hey”, to the hiker laying inside his tent.  He stared at us darkly without saying anything.  He didn’t seem to want us camping nearby.  We’d laugh at that reception different times in days to come.  It’s the nature of the trail that you might be camping closely with other hikers, if you choose to camp by a shelter.  

We were both fairly quiet neighbors, but all three of us were in for much noisier companions overnight.  In the middle of the night we woke to a screeching sound from high in the pines above.  It wasn’t easily identifiable for someone who hadn’t heard that before- I even thought it could be a bear.  It was reassuring to see Newt do the same as me, and shine a headlamp out from within her tent, to try to see what it was.

The bird app (merlin) on my phone really came in use that night- I turned it on and the sound was identified as coming from a barred owl.  It was a harsh sound that I hadn’t expected- perhaps coming from juveniles, as would later be suggested.  It was neat to hear something new and have the resources to uncover that mystery, at 0200 in the morning!    

July 27.

In the morning, in the light of day, Newt and I packed up and laughed about the barred owls calling out in the middle of the night. 

We started the hike up towards Smarts Mountain, a long climb of 7 miles.  From a nearby mountain we could look over and see our destination, with a fire tower marking the summit.  We groaned a bit about how far away it still looked.

But, it was a day of neat New Hampshire views, as we often hiked over rocks slabs surrounded by stunted pines, through the always admired spruce-fir forest, and among abundant mosses, mushrooms and lichens.  It was fun to hike with Newt, a hiker educated in biology, and note the birds and plants on the way.  At this point in the hike, I had started to tune out the birdsong and familiar plants, but her shared interest made me listen and look around more closely again.

It was a long hike up Smarts Mountain, and once we finally reached the peak, I sat at the base of the tower and ate multiple snacks.  It was a popular hike, with multiple day hikers also enjoying the view there.  

I climbed up the fire tower steps, lifted the heavy trap door at the top of the stairs, and stepped up into the room above.  It was a pretty scene up there, thankfully not hazy on this day, and with views of the Green Mountains of Vermont and the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

We hiked up Mt Cube in the afternoon, unique for having open quartzite rock ledges at the summit.  It was neat to look back on Smarts Mountain crowned by the fire tower, from a new angle.

July 28.

We hiked the first 8 miles of the day relatively easily, up Mount Mist, which reminded me of Mount Rogers in Virginia in that it offered no viewpoint, and even had a sign saying something like, “Blink and you might miss Mt Mist!” and “Elevation 2230”.  We continued on, eventually reaching Route 25 where we turned and hiked a short distance to the Hikers Welcome Hostel.  After many days and hours of reprieve, it had been a buggy walk, with mosquitoes biting frequently, and I was glad to get down to the road and hike towards the hostel.

Hostel employee Patience greeted us at the door and oriented us.  Hostels can be chaotic, but he did a lot to maintain a sense of order there, somehow keeping an eye on everything.  Newt and I sat at a big table and kept pulling out more priced snacks from the fridge, like a small miracle, from sodas to hot pockets.  The hostel also offered a room full of hiker foods, so we were able to restock our food without making another trip into a town with a grocery.  We rested, then restocked, and chatted with a few hikers before heading out on the trail again.

Most of the Appalachian Trail in New Hampshire runs through the White Mountains, known as a particularly rugged and steep section of trail.  Every southbound hiker I had met recently said the same thing, “The White Mountains were beautiful, but also very hard.  I’m so glad to be out of them and on to easier hiking.”  Sometimes hikers exaggerate and call a climb “vertical”, but here it’s fairly accurate that the trail climbs up and falls straight down the mountains.

Mount Moosilauke ahead was like a gateway into the tough hiking through the White Mountains, the first climb of this new type.  Newt and I enjoyed our break at the Hikers Welcome Hostel, then started the long climb up Moosilauke.  We laughed at first at the gradual ascent along a road, then into the hardwood forest, but sure enough, our steps grew more labored as we climbed into the spruce-fir forest and steeper path strewn with small boulders.  The surroundings were beautiful and pristine, quiet and mossy, and we both noticed the abundance of flowing water across the trail from multiple streams and springs. 

After an hour of hiking I felt I had to stop to eat or I wouldn’t make it much further.  Newt said she felt the same way.  We had been working hard, and were feeling a little dizzy.  Hiking here was no joke, and I thought to myself that maybe I’d need to start carrying more food now.

After a lunch break right on the trail amongst boulders and roots, we started hiking again.  The final mile was more vertical and required stepping up large rocks in the path.  My thighs and arms soon felt fatigued, as if I’d been doing high-knees repetitions for a while.  I had to keep taking breaks as we climbed.

This would become a new norm, but on this first day it all hit as unique and new.  We were relieved to reach the ridge finally and see beautiful views ahead through the spruce-fir.  We hiked through a tunnel of trees and over to an open climb up to the summit.

The views from the summit were beautiful, 360 degree views of surrounding peaks and mountains upon shimmering blue mountains, including Smarts and Cuba and upcoming Franconia Ridge and the Kinsmans.  We spent a long time sitting up there, catching our breath, snacking, and taking photos after the long climb.  A young man who had been sitting at the summit with a wooden board titled “Alpine Steward” beside him named other peaks in the view, when I asked him where different mountains could be seen.  We laughed when he left for the day with the “Alpine Steward” sign tucked on top of his backpack, carrying his job title with him, bringing to mind the “hang out your shingle” expression.

The weather was perfect, with sunny skies and a cooling breeze.  We felt really lucky to be up there in those conditions.  It was a good introduction to the White Mountains.

We were sore after the long climb, but only had a couple more miles to descend to our shelter for the night, Beaver Brook.  I felt like a wet noodle.  It was good to reach our final destination that evening.

July 29.

I typically chose not to sleep in the shelters along the AT, instead opting to set up a tent in the camping space nearby, but this shelter rested on a mountain slant and had no tent spaces left.  This would be my one night spent sleeping in a shelter on this thru hike.  

It was a full house, with five of us sleeping inside that night.  One hiker (a cool cucumber!) made a quiet noise of surprise, “hmm”, in the dusk as he stood right outside the shelter floor, and said that a mouse ran over his shoe.  We all groaned and prepared for a long night ahead.

Fortunately, other than the sounds of skittering feet in the rafters as we were falling (or trying to fall) asleep, I didn’t hear any other running or loud chewing noises overnight.

I didn’t sleep well.  Three of us tossed and turned throughout the night, and the other two barely moved, seemingly sleeping just fine.  I had zipped up my sleeping bag so that no mice would run over me, a stuffy and constrictive strategy.  It made me look forward to sleeping in my tent again the next night.

I was glad when the day dawned.  I sat up and looked out the front of the shelter to see a pretty sunrise, pink through blue clouds, through a tunnel in the trees.

Soon nearly everyone began their day’s packing up, around 0600.  Newt and I started the day’s hiking.  

We left the shelter and continued down Kinsman Notch, beside Beaver Brook Falls.  That was our first taste of the kind of acrobatic, fully-body climbing that was ahead.  Many times the trail descended steep rock, though the descent was made easier due to wooden steps that had been rebar-ed into the rock.  Nonetheless, we laughed and slowly crept our way down the rocks.  I appreciated hiking with Newt, who refused to hike too quickly for fears of hurting herself over this very tricky footing down large boulders or rock faces.

We enjoyed the views of the waterfall beside the notch.  Everything was moist and green with many kinds of moss and mushrooms along the path, covering trunks and rocks like a moist fairy land.

We made our way to the parking lot, then climbed up towards Mount Wolf.  That climb was long and at times tiring with steep sections and boulders.  Mt Wolf offered no views, and was more like a long, indistinct connection between Kinsman Notch and the Kinsmans than anything else.  

Our challenging climb of the day was the Kinsmans.  True to the elevation profile, after an initial approach, it became a steep, at times nearly vertical climb to the top.  It was a full body workout, a mix of hiking and climbing, requiring arms, legs, hands, and mind, to pull oneself up, over or around boulders and slabs.  It was both taxing and fun, for being so different and challenging and fully engaging. 

 We often looked at each other and laughed about how challenging a current obstacle looked.  Newt said that we sounded like old women because we were grunting and groaning and saying, “Good Lord” or “Oh my gosh” or “Wow” so much.  

It truly was a grueling climb, and we were relieved when we finally reached the summit of South Kinsman.  We had climbed up into misty clouds, due to ongoing moist weather.  Though not open to surrounding views, the one view was pretty with mist swirling and rolling over the summit of stunted conifers.  

We gradually made our way to the peak of North Kinsman, which also offered no views due to ongoing mist.  We started a long descent down North Kinsman, with ongoing climbing challenges.  We marveled at the fact that we were hiking an average of 1 mph in this section (compared to 2+ mph), what with the slow going and snack and rest breaks.  Newt exclaimed, “These are climbing holds that I’m using to get by, like ‘the mantle’.”  

With the passing of much time, we made it down to Kinsman Shelter area, where we stopped for a late afternoon snack break.  It was pretty by Kinsman pond there, with lily pads.  We met a caretaker who had cleaned the privy (we thanked him) and a group of teens who were friendly.  The girls made me laugh when I saw that three of them walked to the privy together, and two chatted on the steps while the third did her business inside.  I noticed this as I waited in line to use the privy in a timely manner.  Teens!  So precious and also so comical and ridiculous.

We slowly gathered ourselves for the final miles of the day, then hiked down to where the trail paralleled Cascade Brook.  Our original plan was to camp further down, but we stopped higher up along the brook as it was starting to get dark and looked as if it could rain at any minute. 

 We set up our tents and ate dinner in the dusk that turned to dark.  I was happy to crawl into my tent beside the white noise of the brook and lie down.

July 30.

I slept like a rock until 0100, then the booms of thunder, drops of rain and flashes of lightning woke me.  It rained for the next four hours.  I worried about the brook rising, but felt too tired to get out of the tent and go check on the water status by headlight.  When I tried to remember how far below the bank the creek was, I decided it would have to rise several feet to get close to me.

I didn’t sleep well, annoyed about my sleeping bag and gear getting wet in the puddle that was collecting in the depression around my tent.  I also thought the brook was either louder now, or I was being paranoid.  I started packing everything up around 0530, stuffing the wet sleeping bag back in a sack, trying to keep things from falling off my sleeping pad into the wet.

I stepped out of the tent and stared in wonder at the brook.  Though it wasn’t dangerously close to me or my tent, it had risen several feet and was now a raging brown torrent, whipping over large boulders, whirlpooling, all with great velocity and volume.  I continued packing up, then walked over to Newt’s tent and unzipped her rain fly.

She said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do today”, and I asked her if she had already seen the brook.  She said no, and then I realized that she was still planning to hike ahead, and just wasn’t sure how far to hike.  I said, “Wait til you see the brook!”  When she came out of her tent she said, “Oh.  My God”, and took a video of the brook raging.  We had crossed the brook to look around for campsites the night before, relatively easily rock hopping, and it was wild to reconcile that brook with this one.

We couldn’t imagine crossing Cascade Brook like that and surviving.  Coincidentally, I had been in this area last year with a friend, and knew that a trail that we’d passed yesterday could lead us down to Interstate 93, so that we wouldn’t have to cross the brook.   

We back-tracked towards that other trail, telling a few hikers along the way about the brook ahead.  Most decided to go see it for themselves. 

I had been planning to go in for a town stay anyway that day, and Newt changed her plans, given the bad weather forecast (lightning) for her hike up Franconia Notch ahead.  We left the AT and hiked the Lonesome Lake trail to the parking area.  Newt remarked on the nice grade of the trail, her first blue blaze (taking a different path than the AT).  “This is why people blue blaze”, ha. 

The morning and afternoon were spent settling into the hostel and doing all the things- choosing a bunk, finding loaner clothes, checking in with staff, showering, laundering, visiting with other hikers.  Many other hikers showed up at the hostel after us, also driven there by rainy conditions and forecasts, and high creeks.  We heard a lot of stories about how others had been affected by the hard rain.  Some who were behind us had crossed a different raging brook, then climbed up the Kinsmans with a waterfall-like stream running down it.  Climbing up the Kinsmans in dry conditions had been hard enough- it was hard to imagine climbing those rocks in slick weather.  Weather and dramatic weather events always shape a hike, and had even greater effect in a state where the trail was often a rock scramble and crossed creeks.  

Everyone was talking about the weather and asking when everyone else was headed back to trail, given that the weather forecast didn’t seem good for the next few days.  I reserved my bunk for a second night, then wondered if I was being too hasty.  In the end, it was very satisfying and restful to spend that second day in town, particularly when rains poured down.

August 1. 

After the two rest days in town, I started hiking again today.  Sadly for me, but nice for her, Newt was not starting back on the trail with me, as she was spending the day with her visiting partner.  I was glad that we’d been able to hike the last few days together at least.

This day began with a long climb up epic Franconia Ridge, with open, high peaks that broke 5000 feet.  A light rain fell as I climbed towards the ridge, fortunately only a passing shower.  Though my time up on Franconia Ridge would be mostly cloudy, at least I wasn’t hiking through rain, thunder or lightning, which was the best you could hope for on some days.    

The trail climbed up a boulder strewn, steep path among the spruce-fir and moss.  It was misty and pretty.  I was glad the climb and following climbs of the day involved less technical climbing compared to the Kinsmans.  It gave my arms a break.  

All the same, it was tough hiking, and I stopped for a snack break with 0.4 miles left to get up to the ridge.  I thought about how 0.4 miles in most places along the AT is very different from 0.4 miles in the Whites, which can involve multiple hundreds of feet of ascent.

I ate well throughout the day, from the large stash of food that I was carrying.  I ascended to the ridge, caught up to another hiker named Wanderer and took another snack break with her.

We hiked together the rest of the day.  We hiked up and over a misty Franconia Ridge, neat in the mist with no distant views but still pretty for being above treeline and for the rocky path winding ahead to the next peaks.  We hiked a few miles above treeline, often pausing to look around, then descended into the trees again towards Mount Garfield.  After another snack break and steep hiking, we ascended Mt Garfield and went out to the viewpoint there, along an old foundation.  The summit there was a bit clearer and offered views of Galehead Hut ahead, nestled in the mountains, and many other surrounding mountains, some with neat rocky features.

Primitive shelters are mostly replaced by huts in the White Mountains, complete with kitchens, dining areas, bunk rooms, bathrooms.  They are serviced by seasonal staff and are quite pricey to stay in, but are open for anyone to stop by during the day and buy a snack or rest a while at a table.

On that day I didn’t hike much further before setting up my tent at the Garfield Ridge Campsite, eating an early dinner and calling it a day.

August 2.

Leaving Garfield Ridge Campsite, the trail steeply descended from Mt Garfield, often falling down steep rock slabs (this time without rebar or steps) that required careful maneuvering and controlled lowering.  The rocks were also slick from a small waterfall that literally ran down the trail.  I was scared of falling, and moved slowly.  Often you could see where hikers had worn down a trail beside the main trail, among trees that were loosening from frequent grabbing and moss worn down into slicker mud.  Sometimes I chose to skirt the rocks on a side trail, at other times the rock descent seemed less dicey.  There would be many tough descents to come, but I’d often think of this descent from Garfield as the toughest.

Thankfully, that descent was relatively short, then the hiking of the rest of the three miles to Galehead Hut was much smoother.  I enjoyed a great break at the hut, putting down my pack and walking inside to get coffee and chocolate cake, then eating on a bench on the front porch.  Other hikers milled around, one pointing up to South Twin Mountain, a visible climb of 0.8 miles ahead. 

 The views up on South Twin were pretty, with mountain peaks shimmering and Franconia and Garfield visible through wispy clouds, and stunted tree cover everywhere. 

The afternoon was spent hiking down towards Zealand Falls Hut, and then further down to Crawford Notch.  There was a five mile stretch of trail that was flat, which hikers talked about and looked forward to all day.  After a few days of tough hiking, it felt great to stretch my legs there and move forward at a steady pace without working too hard.

I continued from that flat stretch down to Crawford Notch, where I camped with some other hikers. 

This series of days in New Hampshire marked a change in the trail, to markedly more rugged scenery and terrain.  Though I had experienced this before, the physical challenge of hiking here had either been less for me, seven years ago, or had faded from my mind with the passing of seven years!  It was good to refresh my memory on what hiking through New Hampshire, and then Maine, meant: incredible views that came at the price of great physical exertion and fatigue!  What an adventure, from rising brooks to technical climbs and descents!  I might not choose it again, but I valued the chance to experience it at least once more, and come away with refreshed knowledge of the trail in those states.