Hardwear Sessions

Mt. Katahdin (5267ft), located in Maine's Baxter State Park, is about a six-hour drive from Boston, and was designated as our first hike/climb. Fortunately, my sister-in-law Lisa lives in Boston and offered her car and driving services. After a stop at Bob's Clam Hut, we rolled up to the state park gate at midnight. It was closed. Turns out, on a peak weekend in New England, like the Columbus Day weekend on which we were there, you have to line your car up on the access road hours before the gate opens. By 3am there were cars lined up further down the road then I could see. What ensued at about 5 am, when the gate opened, was the most chaotic hiking experience of my life. People were literally running to their cars in their pajamas carrying sleeping bags and pads to secure one of the 34 trailhead passes that morning. It reminded me of a scheme from a disaster movie where everyone is trying to get out of town before the storm hits. I wasn't expecting an adrenaline rush at 5 am, but we used it to our advantage and once we made it in the park we headed up the 10 mile r/t trail by headlamp.

Because of time restraints we didn't get the chance to hike the Knife Edge trail instead opting for the quicker Saddle Trail. Due to its latitude and elevation, the summit of Katahdin (the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail) sits in what is considered alpine tundra. From the summit the views did not disappoint; we could see hues of orange, yellow and red for miles. I wish we could have spent more time there but we had to get to New Hampshire. On the descent we ran into a very large bull moose doing his thing.

Probably my biggest regret from the trip is that we didn't have time to climb Mt. Washington (6288 ft), New Hampshire's highpoint, from the bottom. Instead we took the historic Auto Road that winds its way to the summit of New England. Great views, high winds, white out conditions, and bluebird skies, all on the same visit. Luckily we were there early in the morning before a thousand tourists arrived to remind us that we had driven to the top. Actually, the Montrail flip flops I was wearing were a sufficient reminder.

We had heard that Columbus Day weekend can be a bit insane in New England with all the leaf peepers. This was most evident on the drive from New Hampshire to Mt. Mansfield, Vermont (4393 ft). Every quaint little town along the route to the Stowe Ski Resort was having a bazaar or autumn festival. How much maple syrup can a person buy (for us it was about $50 worth)? On the summit of Mansfield we finally realized that there were more French Canadians in New England that weekend then Americans, which made sense when we realized Montreal was only a few hours away. Mansfield provided more outstanding views and great weather.

The drive from Vermont to Lake Placid, NY became somewhat frantic as we raced against the setting sun to climb Mt. Marcy (5344 ft) on our second day. That plan was foiled by an unexpected ferry ride across Lake Champlain. Actually, the trip across the lake ended up being very enjoyable. By the time we reached the trailhead to Marcy it was officially dark and the last stragglers were packing up in the parking lot. Brian and I were going to do a night summit to stay on our trip pace, but that went out the door when I saw a very large sign referring to the "very" active bears in the area, and the caution to "please stay of the trail at night." That proved to be true as a black bear sniffed around our tents that night. Lisa and her friend Christina huddled in their tent with the car keys threatening to set off the panic alarm on the car. I'm so glad that didn't happen. So are the rest of the people that shared a campground with us that night.

At 4 am we threw on our rain gear and started up Marcy. What ensued has since been designated as our (yes, we both agreed) single worst hike ever. Within 30 seconds of starting on the trail we had our first downpour. I assume it was rain, but I never looked up to see if it was someone continuously pouring buckets of water on us so I can't be 100% sure. That lasted all morning; really, all morning. This was my first experience scrambling up wet boulders in a downpour by headlamp; it felt more like climbing up a river than a trail. Once we left the tree line it got even better with high winds that blew us off the summit within minutes after arriving at the top. It was quite miserable. There were no views to be had of the Adirondack Mountains.

By 11 am on day three we were trying to dry off at Adirondack Loj and regroup knowing we had 36 hours and 8 states left to finish in order to meet our goal before flying back to Portland.

Part 2 to follow.