Our FINAL Day on The Presidential Traverse
Peaks Bagged so far:
Mt. Madison, 5,367
Mt. Adams, 5,793
Mt. Jefferson, 5,712
Mt. Washington, 6,288
Mt. Monroe, 5,372
Mt. Franklin, 5,001
Mt. Eisenhower, 4,760
Mt. Pierce, 4,312
It rained through the night. Call me crazy, but there’s just something I love about spending a rainy night in a tent. The small miracle of staying warm and dry with just a thin bit of fabric between you and the elements. This weekend, I’m more than happy to ride out our share of weather while we sleep. I’m honestly too tired to let it wake me up -- much. I pull myself towards the center of the tent to avoid the moisture from the walls, and fall back asleep. At one point in the night I wake up to the wind nudging at one side of my tent with strange force and sleepily wonder what it would feel like if a bear was brushing against the side of my tent. Zzzzzz…
It’s around 7am when we wake up. The rain has cleared and the campground is waking up around us. Dan disassembles his tent outside while I get ready for the day, packing my sleeping bag, pillow, pad, and gathering my things. Outside, I now have more than a sliver of a walkway as I emerge from my tent. I stand on the wooden platform and admire the pine covered mountains of yesterday in view to our left.
All around us, campers are in various stages of their morning routine. Some, making moves to hit the trail early, others groggily starting their breakfast in the food area or packing their things. Dan gets some water started for instant coffee and helps me shake as much water as possible from my tent’s rain fly. I packed a kitchen trash bag for this purpose, so I put it to use, packing the wet tent inside before returning it to my pack. Luckily, it’s the final day and we don’t have to worry about drying our tents out to sleep in tonight. One of the current mysteries to me as a newbie backpacker is how to dry out a tent over the course of the day while you’re on the trail (assuming you don’t have time to stop and lay it out or wait for it to dry).
The coffee tastes wonderful, as I sip from my little metal cup, and we start another batch of chocolate chip protein oatmeal. There’s no yoga this morning -- an unspoken decision either because we are eager to get on the trail, the wet ground, the close proximity to the other campers, or most likely some combination of these. We’re ready to get back on the trail and into the forest for a nice leisurely few miles out of the woods. We heard from another hiker that the couple we’d met on day one had pressed on to complete the last 2.9 or so miles last night before dark. We’re on the home stretch.
We finish breakfast and pack the last of our things - toiletries and cookware, having fun brushing our teeth in the wooded areas of the campground and blowing the spit out in a big cloud at the end to disperse the environmental impact of the toothpaste. We take turns using the composting privy one last time, and I try to read everything on the walls inside -- comics about the campgrounds, fun facts, and how composting toilets work in the mountains. I take pictures so I can finish reading later.
We hike out of the campground, stopping to fill our water bladders and bottles one more time at the spigot on the side of the Mitzpah Hut, and bid adieu to a few other hikers we’ve been crossing paths with. We’ve beat our start time from yesterday, it’s 8:45am as we find our path, happy not to have to retrace our steps back up the gnarly slides of rock we had descended coming into this area.
Into the woods we go, bright eyed, eager, and actually feeling a little sore today. I have a blister on the outside edge of my left heel that I padded this morning with a layer of moleskin under a layer of duct tape before slipping on my socks and boots. I’m hoping it holds, but I realize that it’s still pretty painful if I step my foot in a certain way. The path is pretty nice and flat, narrow with some rocks as we cut our way through the trees. We cross more wood plank boardwalks over muddy areas, and eventually up over a big marshy area with tall grasses.
I find a moose track in the mud and get excited...not that I want to walk up on a moose in the wild, but it would be amazing to see one at a distance. It has been one of the side goals of this trip since Thursday when we saw all the moose xing signs along the road. Now, as we walk along, I catch a few other partial hoof prints, and I’m anxiously expecting that around every corner we’ll run into a moose.
We don’t see a moose. It’s also not long into our morning stroll that we realize this won’t exactly be the leisurely walk in the park we’ve somehow psyched ourselves up for. I’m not sure where we thought the remaining 3,800 feet of elevation were going to disappear to, but I think being back below tree line must’ve messed with our heads just a little.
Instead of a direct down and out route, we find ourselves climbing...up, and up, over rocky walls and mountain balds, providing some amazing 360 degree views. It’s impressive, looking back and seeing the Mitzpah Hut, already far in the distance after only an hour of hiking.
We reach the cairn at the summit of Mt. Jackson, 4,052 feet just before 10am. There are a few day hikers that offer to take a picture for us at our final summit. It feels pretty epic. Even though Mt. Jackson is considered a bonus peak for the Presidential Traverse, our route didn’t feel complete without bagging it. We take a minute to soak it in, and talk to the other hikers, who say they want to complete the Traverse in the future. I strike my final yoga pose - a modified half moon with an assist from a trekking pole (at least it’s good for something), and we traipse back into the woods towards our well earned victory beers.
We’re at a crossroads of trail signs. The Mt. Jackson Trail down to Route 302 is two miles, where we know a there’s a road walk of at least a mile to get us back to the car. The Webster Cliffs route, following the AT is more than twice as long, but sounds more scenic, and will bring us out of the woods right at our car. Seems like a no brainer, right? “Should’ve bought a squirrel.*
This is where the fun really begins. The White Mountains throwing everything they’ve got at us. The trail turns to rock, and we’re traversing it in slabs and tumbles, slides and pitches. It sucks our time, punishes tired joints, batters my ankle, and has me wondering more than once whether we’re lacking some level of technical climbing gear. The stone obstacles force us to get creative, lacking a bit of our normal agility with our 30 pound packs. We’re using trees, butt slides, crab walks, and in one of my proudest moments a 180 degree swing shift to downclimb. With every butt slide or crab walk the ends of my unused trekking poles drag and scratch at the stone behind me, grinding like two little nails on a chalkboard to remind me of their presence.
By 11am we reach the summit of Mt. Webster, 3,910 feet and our lack of a timely descent is wearing on us. It feels like we’re making no progress on our route down, we’re at roughly the same elevation we started the day at. To top it off, views of Route 302, and soon the Willey House (just up from our car), taunt us. It’s hotter today, at lower elevation than the high peaks, the temperature rising as we descend and we apply sunscreen as we soak up the rays on the exposed path.
We stop at Mt. Webster for a good rest and lunch in the sun on the rocks. Flies circle us as we finish off the rest of the everything bagels with cheese and tuna, and some of my hiking mix with Sour Patch Kids for a sugar kick. We make some fun for ourselves by filming a quick review of our experience using the Sawyer Mini Water Filter.
There’s a little confusion getting back on the trail after lunch, not realizing at first that the trail continues on through the summit. At this section of the trail, we’re passing through trees and beautiful color splattered stretches of rock that wrap and descend, with exposed, jaw dropping views along the mountainside. Truly, this is a stunning stretch of the trail and one I would return to again and again as a favorite day hike route. I remind myself of this, taking pictures and trying to appreciate the moment, even through our checked out and exhausted mental state. We definitely set ourselves up, psyching ourselves out for an easy final day, “beers by noon-ish,” and it is clear now that this will not be the case.
My eyes are watching the Willey House as we line up to it and eventually pass it at an extremely slow rate. Reaching one huge final cairn, I wrinkle my nose and am #overit. These massive cairns typically mean something like “don’t miss this,” and this one marks the start of our final descent. It is around 12:40pm when we cut below treeline for the final time, but the rocks are unrelenting. Each mileage check on Dan’s Garmin InReach is less than reassuring, but following the white blazes of the AT, there is no question that we are on route. We notice the change back to deciduous, leafy trees as we descend further.
We pass many AT thru hikers that are making their charge up the trail and I’m wondering how quickly they’ll traverse this route (and how terrible it might be), for a moment forgetting that I’ve just completed a nearly identical route in reverse. One hiker we pass lets us know that the Leapfrog Cafe, famous White Mountain trail magic for hikers, is set up to serve hikers in the parking lot below. “The white van with all the stickers.” He tells us about the delicious variety of food in generous portions and throws in a tip that someone in the lot has cold beer. We ask what our ETA might be and he tells us 30-60 minutes.
“Let’s aim for 30,” I laugh to Dan in exhaustion. We’ve made the best of our difficult downclimb on the trail, reflecting on our 16 year friendship that started in a creative writing class in high school. We talk about our families, growing up, and Dan, in a moment of psychiatrist trickery chooses the time where I’m at my pinnacle of done-ness and misery, to talk about my Dad. I reflect on the trips I took with Dad to National Parks and growing up learning to travel and be adventurous, and I think about how much I miss him.
Today is definitely the day I’m collecting all my scrapes and bruises, and around this point, my legs fail me for a second and I scrape my shin on a rock, but hike on not willing to miss a beat, shrugging, “it’s just a flesh wound”. I’m beyond caring about anything but reaching the road, and soon we begin to hear the cars faintly in the distance.
On stretches of trail between anything too technical, we start to ruck it, running our way through the woods to shred the mileage faster. In a way, running is less painful than walking it. It’s not my pack that’s causing soreness -- it feels weightless, a part of me, other than a spot on my shoulder where my strap has been rubbing. We jog, slow down to navigate rocks, and run again.
We arrive at a sign that tells us we’re .1 mile from Route 302, and the bridge crossing the Saco River seems to glow in the sunlight. The feeling of relief and victory is so great as we cross that bridge and walk the final steps toward the road to cross over to Dan’s car, waiting for us in the parking lot. Today’s lesson: don’t ever, ever, ever doubt the downclimb. It is the part of the journey into the high summits that no one talks about. The toll you pay for traveling up. The only way up is down.
It’s minutes before 2pm as we cross 302 into the parking lot, almost exactly an hour after the other hiker gave us his ETA guesstimate. Sure enough, the van with the stickers is waiting. As inviting as the crowd surrounding the Leapfrog van looks, we have standing plans at Moat Mountain Brewing. We change out of our hiking boots at the back of Dan’s Subaru, slipping on sandals and stowing our packs as we celebrate sweet victory. On Friday we’d stashed two pint cans of beer in the car for our parking lot victory party, but it’s much too hot now, with the temperature in the 90s.
We pile, sweaty in our trail clothes, into the car and make haste towards Moat Mountain -- about 30 minutes away, but worth it! We crush the remains of a bag of Haribo gummy bears, a worthy hors d’oeuvres course, and I remember reading something a little funny about Haribo (sugar free) bears.
The patio at Moat Mountain feels like a sauna under our red umbrella in the afternoon heat as we toast to sweet victory with pints of Flavah of the Day - New England IPA, and adapt to life back at ground level. Pretzels and beer cheese, Thai chicken pizza and a chicken and mushroom sandwich with Cajun fries are all amazing fuel after a weekend on the trail. We can laugh at ourselves now for assuming that our final 6-ish miles on the trail were going to be easy. Today was definitely as difficult as the other, longer days.
Next month, Dan will solo hike the 100 Mile Wilderness in Maine, and I feel like this was a great, challenging training hike to prepare him. After lunch and grabbing a four pack to go, Dan drives me back to my car at the Appalachia Trailhead, where it all began. On the way, we pass Pinkham Notch at the base of the Tuckerman Ravine Trail on Mt. Washington, where I hiked and summited on a rainy day last August. It’s fun, here on ground level, seeing the high peaks and summits that we traversed over the course of the weekend. Still elated, we hug goodbye at my Outback in the parking lot, where I transform the inside of my car into a gear drying rack before hitting the road to my home for the night in White River Junction, VT, just under two hours away. Dan has a six hour drive back to NYC, and I know he’s eager to hit the road.
It feels strange driving away from the White Mountains, like I’m not ready to go. To experience and accomplish so much and then pack up and drive away. The feeling of knowing that some piece of me has been severed, left to live on in those mountains. A beacon to pull me back soon.
Later that night, I sit in a taco and beer bar called Trail Break Taps & Tacos with a borrowed yellow highlighter and my paper copy of AMC’s Presidential Range map, highlighting our route and calculating our mileage since Dan’s Garmin was inaccurate. We each do our calculation and I come up with 24.7, Dan counts 23 (I prefer my calculated distance).
It’s usually months to a year between time to catch up with Dan in person, so it’s nice that this time we’ll see each other at his and Naomi’s post-COVID wedding reception in September. I can’t imagine a better first backpacking trip, or a better friend to experience it with. Cheers, Dan, to a great adventure, our walk among the Presidents!
In the days after hiking the Presidential Traverse, I felt like my head was still floating somewhere at high elevation. It was hard to process the magnitude of all that we’d experienced over a weekend of backpacking. The fact that we got so lucky with good weather and endless views was a rare occasion that, at times during the hike, seemed like it was not going to turn our way. I like to think that somewhere my Dad was watching over us and somehow sending us good weather.
When my shuffling thoughts finally sorted and settled, I realized with some certainty that I had just lived one of the experiences that will forever hold a place in the highlight reel of my life. That’s a big trophy moment in a life of so many adventures, and I feel like it’s rare to realize the importance of an event like this at the time.
My first backpacking experience, on a personally important and challenging trail, with a great and supportive friend, after a year filled with so much sadness and defeat. For years I’ve intended to “get into backpacking,” but the process of selecting gear, researching trip routes, and finding friends backpack with stood like roadblocks in my way. It was great to finally break down the walls of excuses that were holding me back. To not just succeed in tackling the trail, but to also release expectations for the weekend and accept the determining factors like weather that are completely out of my control.
The Presidential Traverse was physically and mentally challenging, and so rewarding. I would do it again in a heartbeat, and next I’ve got my eye on the 30 mile Pemi Loop, the peaks of which we could see from our descent on Sunday.
I’m counting down the days until I pack my purple Kelty Zyro again, ready to sling it up onto my shoulders and utter the Backpackers Creed again, at the start of a new adventure. I don’t know when that day will be, what trail I’ll set boots on, or who I’ll have to share the miles with. But until then, Live Wildly!
*”Should’ve bought a squirrel,” a reference to the movie Rat Race, and a favorite line shared between my Dad and I when things got complicated or difficult. In the movie, Kathy Bates’s character offers incorrect directions to a couple of contestants in the race, leading them off course when they don’t buy a squirrel from her. If you haven't watched this 2001 gem, I highly recommend it!