A steady, light rain greeted me at daylight making for a sombre awakening. It was a quick downhill to the road crossing at Crawford Notch, but a steep, slow and careful ascent/rock climb up to Webster Cliffs/Mount Webster. Once at altitude, the going was much less strenuous as I hiked through spruce forest on long stretches of exposed rock. Another short ascent from Mizpah Hut up to Mt. Pierce put me in the alpine zone, above the safety and protection of the trees. The winds here were fierce, whipping past me, ripping at my pack cover and driving the cold rain horizontally into my face. Visibility was cut to 50 feet as I was now walking through fiercely driven clouds rushing over the peaks. I was actually making pretty good time, but I was becoming chilled, so it was with some relief, when through the swirling mist, I saw the outline of The Lake of the Clouds Hut. With the wind howling in my ears, I pulled hard to open the heavy door and, once inside, it slammed shut behind me.
I took a seat at an empty table off to the side and tried to determine what the best course of action would be. It was another seven plus miles to Madison Hut over the highest points in the Presidential Range, all of it above treeline, so there would be no shelter. Outside the weather was brutal: 35 mile per hour sustained winds, stinging rain/sleet and only rock cairns to guide you over the granite. Mulling over my options, I slurped down a bottomless bowl of potato soup, which was the hut's special of the day.
I'd arrived at 1:30 and an hour later I found myself still sitting there working on my fourth bowl of soup. Looking for any sign for a break in the weather, there was none. With each new arrival coming through that heavy door, my resolve to push on ahead shrank. The look on their cold, red faces told the whole story. Like captains that had expected their ship to be swallowed in the raging storm, yet somehow miraculously finding safe harbor. It didn't take much for Bill, one of the members of the croo, to convince me it would be best to stay.
As the only thru-hiker in the hut that night I was offered the work for stay option, which I was eager to accept. Actually, I'd been hoping to have the opportunity to experience this just once, having read all about it in the Thru-Hikers' Companion. Due to the extenuating circumstances, I now had my chance.
I spent the greater part of the remainder of the afternoon washing dishes in the kitchen. The hot, soapy water felt nice on my hands and the croo in the kitchen were thrilled that they wouldn't have to deal with all of the dishes that had piled up since lunchtime.
Chores complete, I started reading excerpts from a book, Not Without Peril, that I'd pulled off the shelf. It described the deaths and near death experiences that had happened in these mountains over the last several decades. The story that caught my attention was one about a father, his son and a German exchange student that was staying with the family. It happened in the summer on a day trip up to Madison Hut. Once above treeline, they had experienced the same conditions I had encountered: 35 mph winds, driving raining, and poor visibility. Struggling onward, they felt that they would be able to make it to the hut despite the awful weather. Unfortunately for them, as they pressed on, the storm intensified and before they knew it the winds had increased to 70 mph making walking extremely difficult to impossible. The rain turned into sleet then ice, chilling them to the bone and shutting down their motor function. Leaving their dad, who was incapacited, the two boys fought their way toward the hut, at times crawling hands and knees along the trail. Only the German exchange student managed to make it. Severely hypothermic, through slurred words, he managed to give the croo an idea of what had happened. Organizing a rescue, with a heroic effort, they managed to save the son, who was not too far from their help. Tragically, because of the severe conditions, nobody could reach the father until the next morning, but by then it was too late. These mountains are not to be messed with or taken lightly!
Finishing my reading, I wondered what I would have done had the weather further deteriorated. Would I have pressed on to Lake of the Clouds or retreated to Mizpah Hut? I know I was better equipped than they were, but would I have survived in similar circumstances? Questions floating through my mind, I went over and listened to a presentation that Bill was giving about all of the environmentally friendly systems that the hut employed, from the generation of electricity to the breakdown and disposal of human waste. He also helped me understand much better the mission of the AMC in caring for these unique mountains.
At dinner time, the hut was close to maximum capacity, some like me having made an extended, unplanned stop at the hut and now looking forward to a crowded overnight stay. Margaret's dinner of split pea soup, mashed potatoes, mexican-style corn, beef tips and peanut butter/chocolate chip squares for dessert, was absolutely fantastic. I didn't know they could cook like that with what they had at hand. While eating, I met a lovely couple from Suffolk, Massachusetts and two great families from Michigan who were at my table. We spent some time talking about what had brought us to that point tonight, a chance to enjoy the great outdoors, a family vacation and a thru-hike respectively.
thru-hikers had not arrived at one of the huts as scheduled and there was some concern that they were stuck on the mountain. Not good news! I've come to the conclusion that if things have not improved by morning, I'll be blue-blazing it to Pinkham Notch. I must admit, the story in that book had shaken me a little. When lights out was called at 9 p.m., I had the dining room to myself, bedding down on the floor between the wall and a side table. As my eyes grew heavy, I could hear the wind moaning outside.
Sign at Crawford Notch
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