The Sport of Self-Reliance (standard:travel stories, 4751 words)
Author: Rick	Added: Jul 22 2003	Views/Reads: 7440/3188	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Mike's car was the perfect cocoon for effortless transport. How ironic, he thought, to be so completely dependent upon this warm and powerful automobile to take him to the start of a long weekend wilderness hike that would have no such conveniences...

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the trunk.  The apartment building parking lot was now a beehive of 
activity with morning commuters heading out to work.   Jason closed up 
his apartment and they both got in the car.  Mike pulled out and headed 
back to the highway.  As they joined the now heavy traffic, Mike 
commented, 

“I am so ready to be away from all this.  The woods will be just the
thing I need to clear out the cobwebs in my head.” 

“Yeah, I know what you mean.  I've been working my tail off lately.  I
haven't had a good workout in weeks,” Jason replied. 

“Months, in my case,” Mike said, and they both laughed. 

By nine-thirty, the traffic had thinned out considerably as the highway
stretched through the rural New Hampshire countryside.  The drive north 
featured some of the best fall foliage of the season, and not a hint of 
rain either in the forecast or the blue sky.  At eleven AM, they 
finally pulled in to Pinkham Notch Visitor's Center, one of the major 
access points to the White Mountain National Forest and Mt. Washington. 
 They secured their parking sticker, had a quick lunch of sandwiches at 
the car, laced up their boots and hoisted their bulky packs onto their 
backs.  The moment had come to leave behind the comfort of the vehicle 
and begin to walk.  From now on, they would move entirely on their own 
power.  With bodies well-rested and nourished, they were ready to 
engage in wilderness backpacking, the sport of self-reliance. 

They set out on the Old Jackson Road trail at 11:30 am, a bit later than
they had expected, but still quite acceptable, given the good weather.  
Their plan was to hike into the Great Gulf Wilderness on the first day, 
set up camp along the West Branch of the Peabody River, and attempt to 
summit Washington on one of the middle two days of the trip when their 
load would consist of lighter day packs.  Other than the initial shock 
of carrying heavy backpacks, the early hiking was not difficult as they 
slowly gained some elevation.  The New England fall colors and the 
natural woods surroundings made for wonderful walking.  They attained 
their first milestone, Lowe's Bald Spot, which offered the first 
glimpse of the ridgeline, including some snow patches near the peaks.  
Other hikers were also paused here to take in the magnificent views of 
the White Mountains. 

After a few hours of walking, the day-hikers disappeared and they came
upon a sign announcing the start of the Great Gulf Wilderness.  Jason 
pulled out his map, stared at it for a moment and said, 

“Well, here we go.  The map's topo lines get closer together beyond this
point.  We should begin to gain elevation at a faster pace now.  How 
are you doing, old man?” 

“Not bad,” Mike replied.  “My cardio conditioning seems okay so far,
although the upcoming steeper sections should be a better test of that. 
 Feel free to forge on ahead if you like.  You seem to have plenty of 
energy.” 

“I'm tired, but I like to keep a steady pace,” Jason said. “I'll wait
for you at the next trail junction.” 

The two men now hiked independently.  Within twenty minutes, Jason was
far enough ahead to be out of Mike's sight.  By early afternoon, Mike 
had good reason to wonder whether he was prepared for the physical 
challenge of the next three days.  His legs felt like lead and he was 
beginning to feel pain in his shoulders from the fifty-five pound pack. 
 An old left knee injury was causing him some discomfort as well.  
Uphill sections of the trail required exertion on each step forward, 
making the top of each rise seem like a significant accomplishment.  
Having no idea how far he might be lagging behind Jason, he pushed 
through the pain continuing far beyond what was comfortable.  
Eventually, he saw the futility of trying to catch up and decided that 
taking a break to rest and re-hydrate was the wisest move. 

Mike let out a groan as he dropped his hefty pack on the trail.  He
rubbed his aching shoulders and stretched a bit before sitting down, 
leaning against a large pine tree.  He broke out a powdered 
Gatorade/electrolyte mix which he added to a quart of water.  As he 
drank, he took in the delicate beauty of the late-fall forest and the 
vastness of the wilderness.  Sunlight filtered through the yellow, 
orange and brown leaves dancing in the light breezes.  These deciduous 
trees were interspersed among thick stands of tall green pine trees 
spread over the steep mountainside.  Along with the rest, the solitude 
and natural surroundings helped him regain a sense of bliss unique to 
these hiking trips.  Such moments were one of the rewards for enduring 
the rigors of backpack hiking. 

Hoisting his pack again, Mike continued walking with a surprising energy
boost from the combination of the drink and the rest.  After a few 
minutes, he noticed the sound of rushing water faintly in the distance. 
 This sound slowly grew more definite as the trail gradually descended 
into a valley.   About thirty minutes later, he caught up with Jason at 
the junction of the Madison Gulf and Great Gulf trails, located on the 
West Branch of the Peabody River.  Jason was resting in a 
comfortable-looking spot on the river bank. 

“Ah, there you are.  I was just beginning to wonder if you were okay,”
Jason said. 

“Yeah, I needed to take a rest.  How long have you been here?” Mike
asked. 

“Oh, about fifteen minutes.  From this point, we will turn left up the
Great Gulf trail along the river.  Looks like we only have a mile or 
two remaining.” 

“That's good.  My shoulders are aching.  Onward, Captain.” 

From this junction, they continued along the Great Gulf trail which
generally followed the banks of the West Branch, offering views of a 
river of power and grace.  There were a variety of beautiful 
waterfalls, some crashing into lovely pools of varying size.  Leaves 
occasionally floated downstream like little boats, coming to rest in 
dams created by rocks and fallen trees.  The sun glinted off river 
rocks polished smooth from thousands of years of constant water flow.  
It was a magical and awe-inspiring section of trail. 

The trail now rose steadily and Mike again fell well behind Jason.  As
he approached their planned camping area near the Wamsutta trail, Jason 
appeared, walking back toward him along the trail without his pack. 

“Hi.  I scouted out a few camping spots and thought I'd come back to see
how you were doing.  Are you okay?” Jason asked. 

“Yeah, I guess so.  I have plenty of body pain, but my biggest problem
is that my cardio- conditioning is just not where it should be.  I 
guess I should have done some jogging or something to prepare for this 
trip.  I decided to take it real slow for the final stretch.  This is 
just Day One after all.  In any case, I've been enjoying the river 
views.  How are the camp sites?” 

“There are a few different options, but no obvious best choice.  I'll
show you,” said Jason as he gestured toward the trail. 

The two men walked on and within a few minutes they arrived at the
junction where the Wamsutta trail met the Great Gulf trail.  Opposite 
the Wamsutta, a small path led down to the river.  After some 
deliberation, they decided to set up camp on a dry clearing located a 
few hundred feet up the Wamsutta trail.  However, even this spot was 
not ideal; the tent sites were small, the river was a three minute 
downhill walk away, and the site itself offered little of interest such 
as clear mountain views of any kind or even a central fire ring to make 
things cozier.  In addition, the trees in this area were young pines 
which were poorly rooted on the bedrock and thus could not stand up to 
the stiff winds which howled through the Gulf.  Some of these trees had 
blown over into each other, leaning dangerously and making a creaking 
sound like that of a house which was about to fall down.  Nevertheless, 
they stayed because other camp sites didn't look much better and they 
had this one to themselves. 

With nightfall approaching, they went about the business of setting up
camp and making dinner.  Mike selected mac and cheese, a trusty 
camper's favorite, which was tasty as well as simple to prepare and 
clean up.  As darkness closed in, he finally settled his aching body 
into his sleeping bag.  Trying to fall sleep was made difficult by the 
chatter and scurrying of squirrels outside the tent.  In addition, a 
howling Gulf wind served as a haunting backdrop to the eerie creaking 
of the pine trees around their camp, made all the more noticeable now 
by the blackness of the night.  He eventually fell into an uneasy 
slumber. 

Sleeping in the woods was rarely a restful experience for Mike.  On
Friday morning, he turned over at seven AM, deciding that another hour 
was well worth it.  He finally pulled out of his tent at eight-thirty 
to find that Jason had already gotten a camp stove going and boiling 
water was available.  Mike made himself a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, 
dried fruit and a cup of hot chocolate into which he dunked a coffee 
bag.  As he finished up, he noticed Jason staring at the map. 

“Okay, Jason, I'm ready to burn a few calories.  What's our plan?” 

“Well, the Great Gulf trail goes right to the summit of Mt. Washington. 
I suggest we continue on the Great Gulf towards Spaulding Lake.  We can 
decide at that point whether to go for the top.” 

“Sounds reasonable.  Well, I better get these dishes cleaned up.  I
still have to organize my gear and load my day-pack.” 

Mike selected a combination of clothing layers and items for his
day-pack with a summit try in mind.  The day-pack was completely 
stuffed with water, food, camera, spare clothing and other gear, but 
still light compared to the full backpack he had hauled on the previous 
day.  He wore his heavy parka and fleece pants, figuring that they 
would be needed above tree line given the infamous unpredictability of 
Mt. Washington weather.  It was well-known that blizzard-like 
conditions could develop with little notice; many a hiker had been 
caught unprepared on this mountain. 

The air temperature was in the high forties as they headed out from
their base camp along the Great Gulf trail.  They again encountered 
spectacular waterfalls and cascades, but the going was slow due to the 
numerous boulders as well as some moderate snowpack which they had to 
plod through.  With the lighter pack, Mike easily kept pace with Jason, 
but he found himself heating up rapidly in his warm clothing which now 
had become more of a nuisance than an asset.  He shed the fleece pants 
and parka, wrapping them around his daypack and waist, respectively.  
The trail continued to closely follow the powerful cascades.  At one 
point, they had to cross a smooth boulder with a thin sheet of water 
running over it.  This required them to get down on all fours for 
maximum grip; one slip and they would end up washed down into the steep 
and rocky waterfalls.  It was a tense moment that might have been 
impossible with full packs. 

Eventually, they reached Spaulding Lake, a high body of water surrounded
by a steep forested rim.   Due to its elevation and stillness, the lake 
was partially frozen.  This calm scene was a marked contrast to the 
frantic cascades of the West Branch.  A high flat boulder overlooking 
the lake offered the perfect rest stop.  They soaked in the warm 
sunshine as they gazed at the lake accented with the mountainous 
ridgeline of the White Mountains in the distance.  They ate lunch there 
and enjoyed the magnificent beauty of their surroundings. 

“Man, this is excellent,” piped up Jason as he donned his sunglasses and
stretched out on his back, “I could lie here all day.” 

“Yeah, very nice.  Listen, Jason, the weather is cooperating and we have
at least five hours of daylight remaining,” said Mike, changing the 
subject, “I say we continue on this trail a little further.  According 
to the map, it gets a lot steeper from here on out.  If it looks like 
the summit is not in the cards today, we should plan to turn around by 
two o'clock.” 

“Good idea,” replied Jason, “Just give me a few more minutes of these
rays.” 

They left the lake and soon found themselves wading through fairly heavy
snowpack.  The trail began to climb more steeply as a sign ominously 
announced the beginning of the Alpine Zone.  As their boots stomped out 
three-foot deep postholes in the snow, their forward progress slowed 
significantly.  Mike felt his heart pounding in his chest and his legs 
turning into anchor weights.  After only five minutes of this effort, 
they were both exhausted and had to stop. 

“Whew, this is tough,” said Mike, “and we haven't even gotten to the
steepest part yet.” 

“Yeah, if the headwall is covered with snow, I doubt we will make it
over and still get back to camp before dark,” replied Jason as he 
looked at the map. 

“Well I certainly don't want to be negotiating a snow-covered trail at
night.  Damn.  I guess this means we're turning around now,” Mike said 
in a disappointing tone. 

“Look, Mike, we'll give it another try tomorrow.  We can try for the
summit by taking the Wamsutta trail right behind our camp site which 
crosses the auto road and leads to Nelson Crag,” said Jason. “From 
there it's a straight shot above tree line to the top.” 

“I suppose you're right,” replied Mike as he stared over Jason's
shoulder at the map, “and from the density of the topo lines, we would 
get the steep climbing out of the way first thing, which is fine by me. 
I always have more strength in my legs in the beginning of the day.” 

With the new plan in place, they returned to camp along the Great Gulf,
feeling resolve to once again try for the summit the next day. 

Dinner was a collaborative effort with an ethnic flair.  Mike prepared
rice pilaf and Jason warmed up two Indian style boil-in-bag dinners.  
They first mixed the rice with Madras lentils from the first bag to 
make a sort of “rice and beans” base and then topped this with the 
contents of the second bag which was saucy Jaipur vegetables.  It was 
incredibly delicious and deeply satisfying after the long day of 
calorie burning.  With aching muscles and full bellies, they crawled 
into their sleeping bags at seven PM. 

Mike slept reasonably well that night.  On Saturday morning, they rose
early, determined to get an earlier start for their Wamsutta Trail 
assault on Mt. Washington.  Water for breakfast was boiling by 
seven-thirty AM.  They both chowed down on oatmeal; Mike also made his 
cocoa coffee charger. 

What fantastic hiking weather: fifty degrees with sunny blue sky!  Mike
selected an entirely different layering scheme than the previous day.  
The essential elements were wind shell and head protection.  He left 
behind the bulky winter parka and relied on the zip-out vest only to 
keep his core temperature up.  He also left the fleece pants behind as 
well as some other optional items such as the camera. 

Refreshed and well-fed, they were on the trail by nine AM.  The first
mile of the Wamsutta was a blast.  Climbing up 4-5 foot high boulders 
on all fours, they gained about 1000 vertical feet in less than an 
hour.  Another bonus was relatively little snowpack.  They encountered 
only short distances of deep snow to poke through.  As a result, they 
made good progress and felt strong. 

After the boulder climb, the trail leveled out into a conventional
uphill path with occasional stretches of moderate snow cover.  The tall 
trees disappeared as they approached the tree line, leaving only short 
hardy scrub pines on either side of the trail.  They were momentarily 
surprised by the sound of motorized vehicles up ahead.  It was the auto 
road leading to the top of Mt. Washington.  With the trees gone, they 
could make out the tops of vehicles over the low scrub.  Another twenty 
minutes of steady climbing and they emerged from the snow covered trail 
onto the relatively smooth dirt road.  It was just after eleven AM. 

“I've never driven up Mt. Washington,” Jason remarked, “Seems like
cheating.” 

“The way I'm feeling now, I'm tempted to stick out my thumb,” joked
Mike. 

“Yeah buddy, just a little rest and you'll be fine.  I think the
steepest part is behind us.  I assume you're up for a summit attempt?” 
asked Jason. 

“Without a doubt.  I've come too far to wimp out now,” said Mike, “To
get back to camp by five, we should return to this point by, say, 
two-thirty?” 

Jason glanced at his watch, “Let's see...if we get going again shortly,
eleven-thirty, we will have three hours to get to the top and back to 
here.  I think that's achievable.” 

They rested on the side of road for a few more minutes watching the cars
rumble past and feeling a bit smug about using their own strength and 
wits to climb this mountain.   Mike made his powdered Gatorade and 
electrolyte drink.  His legs muscles were aching but the drink and the 
rest had once again rejuvenated his aerobic state.  He was ready to 
move again. 

They set out on the Nelson Crag trail which traversed a treeless exposed
face of the Mt. Washington massif.  With the exception of the constant 
wind and light grey overcast sky, hiking through this area reminded 
Mike of those famous photos of astronauts walking on the moon.  Rocky 
hillocks and scattered giant boulders dominated an otherwise 
featureless landscape.  The only obvious life forms in this tundra were 
a few brown grasses poking up in low areas between lichen-covered 
rocks. 

Sustained winds of 30-45 mph with frequent higher gusts now provided a
constant challenge to their footing and mercilessly bit into any 
exposed skin.  Each step required careful consideration to balance to 
avoid being knocked over.  The hood of Mike's windbreaker was loose 
fitting and made an annoying fluttering sound in his ear.  This 
fluttering along with the continuous howling wind made conversation 
impossible.  As a result, the two men now receded into their own 
thoughts, leaving them to concentrate on the physical effort required.  
Mike's balaclava protected his head but did not completely cover his 
face.  His exposed cheeks numbed into a leathery state.  He tried to 
focus on the act of walking and choosing foot steps that offered 
sufficient grip to withstand the force of the wind.  However, during 
the highest wind gusts he had to stop momentarily and turn his back to 
the wind.  In spite of the relatively modest rise of the trail, Mike 
noticed that his heart was pumping at a pace more typical of a steep 
uphill elevation gain.  He kept his head lowered against the wind, 
leaving his pumping cardiovascular system as the center of his 
attention.  He focused on breathing and moving forward to distract 
himself from the relentless and biting wind gusts. 

The inhospitable mountain weather conditions were matched with a
treeless, rocky landscape.  With little to look at and the wind bearing 
down hard, Mike lifted his head only occasionally to get a general 
sense of their progress.  However, at about noon, the irregular rocky 
shapes were interrupted by a tiny square on the horizon with short 
vertical lines extending from its top: It was the summit building and 
its antennae!  For the final thirty minutes, the two men had their 
destination in constant sight.  This seemed to make more manageable the 
biting wind and the physical exertion.  As they approached, the 
building loomed larger and details became clearer.  Cars and people 
could be seen.  The cog railroad chugged up the mountainside, spewing a 
lazy trail of black smoke into the air.  They crossed the railroad 
tracks, then the auto road, and finally traversed the last few hundred 
yards leading to the giant concrete and wood structure rising out of 
the moonscape, their first encounter with civilization in two days.  It 
was now twelve-thirty PM, which gave them about a half an hour to eat 
lunch and rest.  They stepped inside the warm summit building and were 
greeted with a culture shock. 

Inside was a cafeteria, a gift shop, rest rooms and a sea of humanity. 
A few people looked like they had hiked up, but based on the crowd's 
rather casual attire it was obvious that most had driven up or taken 
the cog railroad.  After several days in the solitude of the 
wilderness, this density of civilization was difficult to digest.  
Jason and Mike sat down at a table and rested.  It felt good to be out 
of the wind and sitting comfortably in the warmth.  The aching in 
Mike's windswept face gradually disappeared.  To divert his attention 
from the crowds of people, Mike pulled out his map.  Jason, on the 
other hand, was looking at the cafeteria menu board and said, 

“I think I'll get some chili.  Do you want anything?” 

“No thanks,” replied Mike, “I have my lunch in my pack.  Besides, I have
no interest in battling those crowds.” 

Mike could not avoid the stark contrast between this lodge and the
wilderness of the past few days.  For the most part, these people were 
transported here by way of internal combustion engines whereas Mike and 
Jason had engaged their own strength and perseverance.  Even the 
day-climbers had the promise of a restaurant and warm bed at the end 
the day.  Mike was not jealous, though.  His purpose was not only to 
reach this particular destination, but to tackle the challenge of the 
journey.  Sleeping in the woods and cooking over a tiny stove were 
integral parts of the adventure.  He relished the thought of returning 
to camp, muscles aching, and partaking in these rustic approaches to 
human necessities.  The sport of self-reliance demanded nothing less. 

They stuck to their half-hour time limit and left the summit at one PM. 
The howling wind was again their constant companion as they walked back 
across the tundra to the tree line.  Mike's old left knee tenderness 
flared up on the way down.  However, while descending the steep 
boulders of the Wamsutta trail, he managed to use his upper body 
muscles to take the pressure off his legs. 

They arrived back at camp at around four PM.  This gave Mike some time
to rest before dinner.  He climbed into his tent and stretched out his 
aching body on his sleeping bag.  He reflected on the intensity of the 
hike and felt satisfaction at making it to the summit and back.  The 
encounter with civilization at the summit building now seemed very far 
away and almost surreal. 

Mike needed only a few minutes to put together his ramen noodles with a
small can of tuna thrown in.  The meal provided plenty of hydration for 
recovery from seven hours of rigorous hiking.  It was a simple, hot and 
delicious reward for completing a challenging mountain climb. 

Mike woke up at dawn on Sunday morning.  He decided to do a cold
breakfast of dried fruit and trail mix so he could spend more time 
breaking down the camp and organizing his pack.  He knew that the final 
day's challenge would be to don that fifty-five pound full pack again 
for the long walk back to the car.  Mike's shoulders had had a few days 
rest, but were still sore and ached under the load.  He felt dull pains 
in his lower back, legs and the soles of his feet.  Unlike the previous 
day's monotonous moonscape, they walked through the wooded wilderness 
of the Great Gulf where they were greeted again by waterfalls and 
cascades of wondrous splendor as they had seen previously on this 
river. 

By early afternoon, Mike and Jason were back at Pinkham Notch, and the
car.  They threw their heavy packs into the trunk and settled into 
their seats.  Mike started the powerful engine and they cruised 
comfortably down the country highway towards the city.  They exchanged 
brief comments about the success of the hike in the face of the 
challenges presented by this mountain.  However, there was also 
unspoken gratitude for the invention of the internal combustion engine. 



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