The only way to start this entry is with a bit of poetry. Here are two "Odes to the White Mountains" (BTW, my tongue is squarely in my cheek).
First, a Haiku:
predictable? no.
i will always be surprised
like rainbow bunnies
And now, a Limerick:
A girl set out for two nights
to explore the beautiful Whites
She'd hike and she'd play
Got her ass kicked each day
as their ruggedness showed her their might.
Mike first brought me up to the White Mountains in NH in 2008. We went up to Franconia Notch and hiked up Mt. Lafayette. It was October and I remember the trip and how all the mountains and hills were a'blaze with color. It was love at first sight. I remember starting to hike and thinking, Wow, this is the most beautiful place I've ever been. The hike was long, we climbed high, and it was good and hard. I remember noting that the trail was relatively steep and that it was more like a ravine than a trail, but I didn't really think much of it. Since then, I've come to realize that at first glance, the White Mountains seem soft and warm and inviting, and you really just want to pet them. And then you start hiking, and before you know it you've been chewed you up, spat out, and coated in a heavy dose of tough-love and humility, but holy hell isn't that the most beautiful view you've ever seen?!
Here are a couple of differences between the Whites and other ranges I've visited. The most notable is that when it comes to distances, there is no such thing as "as the crow flies" because crows don't fly vertical. It's more like, "as the elevator flies" out here in the Whites- there is up and down and not much in between. Switchbacks must not have been invented when these trails were built. If the mountain goes straight up, the trail goes straight up right on after it. And if you are a lucky dog, someone will have drilled some rebar into the granite for a handhold or constructed a shaky ladder 100 years ago to help you up the rock-fall "trail", but otherwise you're on your own.
The ruggedness of the Whites doesn't seem to faze the natives. Mike grew up here and he seems to understand the range of possibilities when you're hiking in the Whites, much like I feel like I understand the range of possibilities while hiking in the Sierra. The secret to surviving the terrain and having a great time doing it is to do as Mike and his NH brethren do and just keep on walking no matter what you encounter, never flinching or questioning the situation along the way (like I do: "Well, surely this river has a bridge!"). Mike just gets it done and wades right on through ('cause more often than not there is no bridge, and he knows it).
The range of possibilities I've encountered is vast, so here are a few examples to give you an idea, as I'm not sure this horse is quite dead enough yet:
-A 3000ft climb up Mt. Tecumseh over 2.2 miles that literally equated to climbing 200 flights of stairs
-Summits with sweeping, vast views of…nothing.
-Summits with sweeping, vast views of the most beautiful country you've seen.
-Late evening visit by a red fox on Mt. Tecumseh. He checked me out. I checked him out.
-The broken record line of, "You've got to be kidding me!" and "Um, I don't think that's a trail. I think it's a waterfall."
-A useful shredded rope dangling down a rock face for you to pull yourself up with.
-"Easy" 4-hour hike turning into a "back breaking" 9-hour hike- usually the case with all hikes.
-Boulder hopping to the summit of Madison- ouch and ouch again.
-Creaky 100 year old ladder on Cannon Mtn. to climb- yes, it shook in the wind but at least the rungs were all evenly chewed up by that small creature.
-Ten or so 6x6 pieces of wood driven into granite to use as a foothold leading up a waterfall... I mean trail. How do they do get those stuffed in there?
-A mom and baby moose sprinting toward me in the woods
-A baby bear sprinting toward me in the woods
-Picking wild blueberries while swimming in a lake- at the same time. I swear to god I did this.
There is a "4000 Footers Club" of people who have hiked all 48 of the 4000+ft or higher peaks in the Whites, and yes, there's an "official application" to complete once you've done them all. Now this may seem like small (or short) potatoes to those of us that grew up in the Sierra or the Rockies, but you can bet your ass that each of those 4000 footers will give you a solid spanking at some point, which is why completing all 48 of them is something to be damn proud of.
"Bagging" all 48 peaks is a big deal, and I am totally into it! Actually, more than anything else, I just like to say the word "bagged". So suffice it to say, I've been bagging some peaks since I moved out. My first weekend out here, Jamie and I bagged Mousilaukie, adding to my Lafayette and Madison bags of 2009 with Mike. A week ago I bagged Cannon Mountain and then I bagged Tecumseh. And last Sunday, I got up early and bagged Lincoln and Liberty. I was feeling particularly grubby so I found a river and bagged that too. Actually, you can't really bag a river… it sort of bags you instead.
Now, in all seriousness, these mountains make me wonder how I managed to live 34 years without them in my life. Hiking here is like walking with a dear friend who all of a sudden, sticks out their foot and trips you, and then kindly picks you up and reassures you with a laugh that you'll be alright, that they were just kidding, and oh what a glorious morning and aren't we so lucky to be here together?! Before you know it you've forgotten about the bloody knee they just gave you and you're staring at the view.
The forests are inviting and you never want to leave them. The "trails", if you can call them that, are pure lunacy, and the only way out is to keep walking forward, keep your hands free and your mind focused, and laugh at your own sorry ass as it slips and slides it's way around these perfect mountains. If you trust the Whites and those who bagged them before you, they will scoop you up in their arms and show you the time of your life.
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