THE ONLY WAY UP IS DOWN, PT. 1

Backpacking Adventures on the Presidential Traverse

It’s Thursday afternoon when I meet my friend Dan at a small AirBnb cabin in Intervale, NH. Just 20 or so hours before we plan to hit the Appalachia Trailhead for a weekend backpacking the Presidential Traverse in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. This 22(ish) mile route summits eight 4,000+ foot peaks in the Presidential Range, including the crown jewel, Mt. Washington, second tallest peak east of the Mississippi at 6,288 feet (just behind Mt. Mitchell, NC at 6,684 feet). We’re headed into a weekend of hiking with 30+ pound packs on our backs, ready to tackle 9,000 feet of elevation gain. Those are the numbers and stats.

We hug it out in the driveway. Reuniting with my old high school friend always makes me happy. We’ve shared some camping and road trips over the years, but this is certainly our biggest adventure to date. Dan is a newlywed and his wife Naomi was set to hike with us, but got called into work for the weekend at the last minute. We tour our digs for the night, heavy on wood paneling and moose/woodland paraphernalia. The perfect place to relax and pamper ourselves for the night before a weekend of “roughing it”. The collection of VHS tapes offers up Buns of Steel 2000, which I think might be an interesting way to pregame for the Traverse, but we opt to load up on calories instead, with beer flights at Ledge Brewing Company and a gourmet dinner at White Mountain Cider Company. We're back at the AirBnb early enough to lounge around a fire in the fire pit and toast with a beer, trying to communicate with the owls as they call out, "Who Cooks for You?".

I’ve been training for this trip since January, and awaiting my first backpacking experience for much longer. We are physically ready, but the weather has been toying with our emotions all week, showing storms and rain. In this high elevation area, specifically the 17 miles of completely exposed alpine zone trail on this route, weather is a dangerous, determining force. We’ve been loyally watching the Mount Washington Observatory higher summits forecast all week, and it has shown increasingly clear and favorable conditions over the past few days. We’re hopeful, keeping our fingers crossed and waiting for the rest of the weekend to appear. In the meantime, we review and refine our gear, trail plan, and hype ourselves for what’s to come.

Friday morning, before 7am, I’m awake and can’t resist a peek at the forecast. Chances of rain and storms, today and tomorrow, with winds up to 65mph. I deflate a little but start preparations for the day with a stretchy leg focused yoga freestyle in the cabin’s great room. I do a little research on wind speed and what the experience of strong winds might feel like using the Beaufort scale and an article on a blog called She Dreams of Alpine, which will seem a little off after the fact. My research leaves me fearing us, mountaintop, in a high winds situation, having to “hit the deck” and army crawl with our packs to shelter and safety. Thankfully, this is not the reality.

We discuss the forecast and our options, including 1) an all out bug out and a weekend of local hikes and dodging raindrops, or 2) our wind route, the 30 mile Pemigewasset (Pemi) Loop, another challenging White Mountains backpacking route, but decide, persistently, to 3) stay the course and attempt the Traverse.

It rained through the night, but the weather begins to clear as we pack up the cars and head out for pre-hike breakfast at the very awesome Sunrise Shack, where we nosh on monster sized breakfast sandwiches. Next, we drop Dan’s car at our end point, the Appalachian Trail (AT) trailhead at Willey Station Road and Route 302. Pile into my Subaru, and we’re headed for the Appalachia Trailhead and the Valley Way Trail to begin the first leg of our Traverse. We’re in for a full day of climbing, with a total elevation gain of over 5,000 feet.

We take some time to prepare ourselves at the trailhead, shifting into the backpacking frame of mind. I’ve rocked sandals and socks for the morning, putting off lacing up my hiking boots -- and the choice between my ankle supporting Ahnu Montara eVent III boots, or my Danner Trail 2650 “trail slippers”. The Danners take the win, I’ve trained in them, and more importantly the Ahnu’s had flooded my feet in the wet weather during last year’s back to back summit days in VT and NH. If we have to face wet weather this weekend, I know the Ahnu’s have no chance of drying out.

Down parking lot from us, a couple of hikers are poking a hole in the ozone with an intense and extensive bug fogging routine, clouding themselves from head to toe in a spray of the type of protective chemicals that I tend to avoid as much as possible (even though yesterday I panic bought Natrapel picaridin insect repellent after receiving warnings about black flies). We decide to holster the spray in my pack until proven necessary -- which it isn’t. Throughout the weekend, we’ll periodically contemplate, “I wonder where “the foggers” are now?”.

Our packs find their way to our shoulders, and a silent “Backpackers Creed'' is cast, bonding us to our packs for the duration of the weekend. There are many like it, but this one is mine. We step onto the trail, forested, a hug of green and humidity, warming us up and allowing us to make adjustments to our packs as we follow Snyder Brook and stop to marvel at waterfalls that cascade over tumbles of rocks.

It doesn’t take long before we’re sweating, climbing the rocky terrain that I know will only get rockier. We’re gaining elevation, stopping occasionally for short breaks and to hydrate. Dan and I both chose the Sawyer Squeeze Mini water filtration system for our backpacking kits, and although we discussed and planned to both use disposable liter bottles to filter from, last night I changed my plan, electing to use and test the more compact 16 ounce pouch that comes with the filter.

We climb and climb, gaining intermittent views and passing a couple that had set out before us. We make good time to the Valley Way Tentsite less than three hours into our hike at around 1:30pm. Although many others including the couple are stopping here for the night, we use the campground as a lunch spot and, with the advantage of good weather, continue on. This means there are two peaks to summit and more than a few miles before we rest for the night. We wonder how the Valley Way campers will pass the rest of this beautiful day, hoping that someone packed a pack of cards to keep them busy.

It doesn’t take long for us to reach the Appalachian Mountain Club’s (AMC) Madison Springs Hut on our way to tackle the half mile summit route to the top of Mt. Madison. It is my idea to stash our packs along the rocky path leading towards the summit route, marked with cairns, and we smartly shed our weight, temporarily, allowing the alpine zone winds to air dry our sweat drenched clothing. The scramble to our first summit takes time, and this will be the only time we have the luxury of shedding our packs. For Dan, this is his first experience with the rockpile mountain summits, although I tried my best to prepare him for the difficult terrain leading up to the trip.

At the summit, a tarnished metal spike, surrounded by nails, bored into the rock is our only summit marker, and I celebrate the occasion at 5,367 feet by striking a Crow yoga pose. We stand, delighted and in awe of the clear, breathtaking mountain views, and the luck of good weather conditions. On our descent, we pass a trio of men hiking and singing surprisingly well for the challenging climb. They continue to hike and sing after sharing a quick greeting.

We retrieve our packs at the base of Madison and spend some time at Madison Springs Hut. We’re anxious about the weather and trying to get an updated report. One knowledgeable worker tells us that the weather looks clear for the night, as he sets out for a pre-shift hike. The rest of the staff are as kind and as helpful as possible, but honestly admit to us that yesterday was the Hut’s opening day -- the first since the COVID-19 pandemic. We graze on snacks and rest in the sun on the hut’s stone patio, deciding to splurge $2 each for the self-serve tea station and split a $3 slice of carrot cake, slathered in gooey icing. A high elevation tea party!

The break is well deserved, but we have to keep moving. Looming ahead is Mt. Adams, and three Adams summits in the map area confuse us into thinking we are hiking towards the summit of Mt. Sam Adams of beer fame, rather than Mt. John Quincy Adams, President. We pass through stunted evergreen garden mazes, and beautiful patches of white flowering groundcover and purple azaleas, making our way toward the summit route. Anxious of time and energy, we pause at the trail marker (“It’s a Sign!”) and briefly debate bypassing the peak. Then we remember, it’s day one and we’re here to climb peaks! Having the weather on our side means there are no excuses. We climb for the summit, discussing beer in honor of “President” Sam Adams, and lamenting our decision to not each carry a pint sized victory beer in our pack (our decision to not carry beer wasn’t for fear of the added weight of the can, but having to tote the crumpled cans for the rest of the weekend, since all trash must be packed out by hikers).

Toward the top, amid wind and the most amazingly clear views of Mt. Washington summit, I chant, declaring, “You made it! We’re glad you’re here, if you’re standing at this spot, pour yourself a beer!” We snap photos at the summit spike in gusty high winds at 5,793 feet, and somewhere between my Warrior 3 with trekking poles into the wind, and placing a red Sour Patch Kid at the Mt. Washington summit for an “in the event of bad weather” photo op, Dan’s trusty khaki colored adventure hat is gently but permanently whisked away as an offering to the weather gods. We look for it briefly, battling the wind, but know it is gone...on to new adventures.

The descents from the summits are brutal and time consuming. I’m using my trekking poles for the first time (another last minute panic buy), and while they seem helpful, they are also causing me to get stuck between rocks and slowing my pace. It is a constant, exposed game of leapfrog, planning each step and foot placement from one rock to the next, occasionally landing on an unsturdy rock and wobbling a bit. At the base of the summit, it feels otherworldly -- rocky and expansive with burnt-looking brown grass and a large rock cairn near the trail signs. It feels like we’re lost between worlds, as we march on, along the AT, towards Mt. Jefferson, across the rocks. Eventually, I give up on the trekking poles as Dan gains a significant lead on me, stowing them permanently for the rest of the trip.

It is a long march to the finish as we near the turn off for the Israel Ridge Path that will take us down to the Randolph Mountain Club’s (RMC) The Perch Tentsite. The majority of hikers we’ve passed today seem to be AT thru hikers, except for the few we met at the first campsite. Most have been friendly, excited and motivated, but now we can see the drain of the day mounting for some. For me, the mark of a good hike or run usually means you’ve gone at least a mile or two beyond when your mind starts telling you to quit -- the mind is always ready to quit before the body is. Today, we definitely hit that point, with the long, gradual descent to get below the treeline to our campsite.

We make it to The Perch at 4,313 feet just before 7pm, with a large 3-sided lean-to shelter that gives me comfort in the event of bad weather. Four wood planked tent platforms climb the hill, and we get the top one that feels like it’s saved for the cool kids, the crow’s nest, after the other campers tell us about it with a bit of a wistful tone, wishing they had noticed it before starting to set up. We climb the final steps to our home for the night and shed our packs, laying flat in sweaty, victorious glory to gaze up past the tree tops to a ring of blue sky. We sprawl for a moment and I admire the sweat stain my back leaves on the wood. The platform isn’t big enough for both of our tents, so we assemble my Mountainsmith Morrison 2, and prepare camp with Dan’s double Klymit sleeping pad. I unpack and toss in my new Nemo Disco 30 degree sleeping bag, and Nemo Fillo Elite inflatable pillow.

We snack, I change into dry camp clothes and dance, feeling light on my feet with no pack as we boil water for our dehydrated backpacker meals. I pull out my Heather’s Choice Smoked Sockeye Salmon Chowder, boasting 54 grams of protein, and hope that it transforms me into The Incredible Hulk overnight. Dan, an omnivore, opting for vegetarian meals from Outdoor Herbivore is cooking Cheddar Mac. While we wait for our meals to rehydrate, we visit the nearby stream that is the water source for the campground. The stream’s cold waters cascade down the mountain, and we are treated to the most gorgeous sunset views. I use my Sawyer water filter for the first time to fill up my Nalgene. On the way back to camp, we stop at the bark composting outhouse. In the glow of sunset, even the privy looks beautiful.

As we feast on our dinners, pure exhaustion from the day sets in. I pray to the smoked salmon king to give me strength to conquer more mountains tomorrow. Dinner is delicious, and so will be sleep. We have been looking forward to stargazing from our crow’s nest camp at The Perch, but when we settle into sleeping bags at 9:30pm, the stars aren’t even out yet. I chuckle to myself about eating 3 protein shakes worth of protein just before bed, as I begin to doze.

During the night, the winds kick up and I can hear them howling and whispering through the valley below. I’ve heard that when you first enter the wilderness, it can be common to experience a sense of panic on some level. I lay awake for some time, panicking about the wind, weather, our remoteness and safety (we are actually around 2 miles down mountain from a Trailhead), and had to repeatedly assure myself that I was fine, safe and nothing was wrong. Little did I know that at the same time, Dan was awake worrying about his Ursack bear bag, containing all our food, stowed just under our platform at the suggestion of our campground’s caretaker. When she came to collect our $15 per person fee for the night’s stay, she said there is no generally no problem with bears at this location. It’s funny how even in exhaustion, the mind likes to worry.

Check out the next chapter of our weekend backpacking The Presidential Traverse! And always, Live Wildly!

In between worlds, hiking toward Jefferson & Washington