The Whites

Posted On June 27, 2020

06.23.20 – 06.27.20

Bring it on, they did. Those mountains kicked our asses. Daisy and Frida had a blast, but often grew tired too soon for us to finish a hike.

We started off on Lafayette Trail. I’d like to say that it made such an impression in my memory that a mere 3 days has done nothing to tarnish my memory of it, but I must admit to having to review the photos to remember when we did what.

I do remember the waterfalls being plentiful and continuously blowing my mind. I remember feeling like I was floating along clouds beside myself because my mind just didn’t know how else to handle the constant, though welcomed, bombardment of awesome power and beauty.

The boulders, however, were becoming too much for the dogs. So, a mile or so from the summit, we stopped. Nick, having already summit these mountains, waited with the dogs near yet another waterfall, while I attempted a summit without them.

I had agreed with myself that I’d ascend for 15 minutes, and if I hadn’t reach a viewpoint by then, I’d call it quits. But when each step felt like I had just a few more before I reached the top, 15 was easily justified into 30 and then 45. Finally, after crossing paths with a hiking couple who were on their way down to the waterfalls, I learned that it’d be another hour before I reached the top.

I turned back around and joined Nick and the girls.

We were lucky (even during the Covid-induced emptiness of the forest) to find a campsite down a gravel road in which only 10 sites existed, with each site being a few hundred feet from each other.

While the day left me feeling elated, the evidence of tick bites covering the girls’ bellies freaked me out. I still have no idea how they got so covered when they haven’t been found with more than one tick since. Regardless, their flea and tick medicine had apparently taken care of each parasite that attached itself to them, and the kids are healing without hiccup.

The next morning was a stop at the historic Cog Railroad’s base, open for some 150 years, but closed due to covid, and a hike through the Ammonoosuc Ravine. It was as flat as any trail in the White’s could be.

We kept the hike short, for fear of overworking Daisy and Frida. The same would be true of the Rocky Gorge hike later in the day, where we found a small garter snake and I found one of my more risque peeing spots – the side of a fairly popular trail with only Nick’s watchful eye to keep me hidden.

Following our day of light hikes was a day of shopping. Nick and I aren’t really huge shoppers, especially now that we’re living in a van with no where to place anything. But I needed some flip flops, and Nick’s Merrell’s were running on their last miles.

The coronavirus is something always in the back of our minds while we’re hiking about and using campground restrooms. But going into town and shopping proves to be an anxiety-provoking event. And it’s hard to know if we’re doing enough to protect ourselves and those around us. In any case, we found what we needed and high-tailed it back to the safety of our beloved Nature.

Originally, the plan was to drive up Mount Washington on the Auto Road, as Nick is desperate to get me to the trees and other flora of the alpine zone. Unfortunately, our van is too heavy – a problem I expect will follow us.

The toll-house attendant first asked if the van was a conversion, then peaked at our cargo, and first seemed inclined to let us go, asking if we had a fridge and water-tank, and noting that the 1500 Promaster is a half-ton model–which isn’t exactly clear to us–but then said that it wasn’t safe to take on the grade. I think he expected us to object, but we had our worries prior.

So, we did what we do best: we hiked. Lost Lake trail was surreal. The vibrant shades of green that contrasted with the deep blues of the lake and light blues sky just had me momentarily frozen.
“Wow,” was about all I could manage.

At some point during hikes there’s a feeling that I’m sure you know (from hikes, songs, or art). It starts as a momentary dumbfounded numbness. It encompasses your whole body before turning into a cold chill that spreads through the under layer of your skin. Your breath catches in your mouth, and your head feels as light as the air around you. After you’ve regained the ability to think, you might wonder, “Am I high? Am I tripping? Is this real?” This is how it feels to bare witness to profound beauty – this is what it is to feel connected to Nature.

After experiencing this day after day of hiking, it’s no wonder that I couldn’t freely recall our traverse of Lafayette Trail just two days earlier – despite it igniting the same feeling.

Side note: I wonder what the brain looks like during these moments, as in comparison to those while tripping on LSD, as in comparison to the reaction of the sympathetic nervous system, as in comparison to an orgasm.

We took our time here, exploring every side trail. One such trail led to a tiny island that was divided from the mainland by a narrow muddy bog. Daisy had no trouble leaping over it and following me on stable ground.

However, Frida plowed right into it and couldn’t get herself out. I was reminded of those movies or video clips of animals trying to lift themselves out of the water of a frozen pond, but the ice around them keeps breaking under their weight. That’s how Frida looked, as she tried to use the mud that kept breaking around her to lift herself out. Nick was quicker to react, while I stood dumbly fascinated by the strength of the mud. Human intervention wasn’t need though, as she managed to break free of the bog’s sticky grip and jump back onto the more solid soil.

When we reached the end of the trail, there was a river crossing. If it were just Nick and I crossing, we likely would have done it due to the fun and challenging factor. Yet, with Frida’s earlier misadventure, we weren’t really willing to test our luck with carrying the dogs across.

The dogs have been a continuous reason for keeping it safe and turning back when we’d rather not, which is kinda a bummer. Totally worth it! But still a bummer sometimes.

As night approached, Nick had the desire to do a short hike to an AT Shelter along the Rattle River Trail. Despite the fact that I was exhausted and hadn’t gotten to nap once that day (the struggle), I agreed to it – mostly because it was his birthday the next day.

So we hiked along a bug-infested creek for a mile and a half. While the trail was pretty, with the typical paper-birch and spruce mix, what with the creek so close and several smaller streams of running water emptying into it along the way, the mosquitoes and flies were insane. If I stopped at all, they would instantly cover me. I marveled at how the people on Naked and Afraid made it longer than a night in the Amazon and how the people hiking the AT managed to press on for 4-5 months of this nonsense (though I also knew I was being dramatic).

It was a cute and sturdy shelter (or lean-to, as they call them hereabouts), and we managed to smoke out most of the bugs. The Rattle River was reduced to a stream (or brook, as they call them here) but its mica-speckled granite bottom was shining a silvery-white with beautiful bathtub-sized bowls. Too cold to use the tanks, as they call them in Nevada.

Frida, meanwhile, sat in carefully positioned spots, moving every five or ten minutes to a pre-chosen space, creating a circle around the shelter every half hour. She was the best guard dog all the way until she saw a chipmunk. Then she’d scurry after it for a while before returning to her post.

On Nick’s birthday (yesterday), we hiked back to the van and debated on what to do next. The amount of talking over and discussing various hikes we could take can often last us half the day. It’s difficult choosing a trail because we know all of them are beautiful. So it’s just, which one is the most beautiful, the most exciting, the most fun? This is a question that we both realize is silly to ask, yet we still do it.

We decided on a trail that Molly (Nick’s youngest) and he had hiked during her summer working at the Appalachian Mountain Club’s resort in Crawford Notch. It climbed up Mount Jefferson’s northwestern aspect, so is treed until the bald ridge line formed by Mount Madison to the east and Washington itself to the west. While the latter is almost seven thousand feet high, our trail started at Jefferson notch at around three thousand, on the highest public road in the state.

I had been eager to summit a mountain or, at the very least, to find a view of the White Mountains from high up, so I was ready (despite the fact that Molly had warned us against hiking it with the dogs). There was a time we had to pick the girls up and over a boulder-ed ledge.

But this hike was no worse that Lafayette. And let me tell you. The view. Was. Worth it.

I really wanted to reach the top of Jefferson, as we could now see and even hear the peeps up there, but Molly was right about the dogs not being able to finish the hike. The boulders were becoming too high, the cracks between them too wide. We turned around less than a few hundred feet after entering the alpine zone, where only mosses and lichen can hang.

It’s okay though. I’m more than grateful to have had the views we had without having to summit Mount Jefferson. I could never put into words how much of a high it is to hike, to be in Nature, and to have such views as we’ve had these passed few days.

After Jefferson, on the recommendation of Nick’s friend, Michelle, we headed to Burlington, VT.

We were hoping to be in Baxter State Park by now, hiking a part of Mount Katahdin. But Maine is almost completely shut down, requiring a 14-day quarantine for all visitors that is left vague on their websites. Baxter State Park, while open, won’t allow anyone on Katahdin until at least July 1.

So, we’re biding our time now, trying to figure out what’s next by staying in a hotel here and checking out the area while maintaining our distance and touching as few things as possible and using as much hand sanitizer and soap and water as needed.

Until next time!