The day I arrived at Zealand Falls Hut I had heard rumors of good weather to come from. Considering how much I had heard about the Whites, especially the Presidential range, having the worst weather in the country I decided to pull out my guide book and form a solid plan for the following day.

From Zealand Falls hut I would proceed towards Mount Washington along a smooth, steady trail for 6 miles until I passed Ethan Pond Campsite. From there it was a steep 2000 foot descent into Crawford Notch resting at 1263 feet, and then a 3000 foot ascent up a gradual slope to Mt. Webster over the span of 5 miles. From there it was 4 more miles to the Mizpah cutoff where I would pass a hut prior to entering the alpine zone. Another 5 miles of alpine hiking and 1300 feet up the trail from there was the Lake of the Clouds Hut, nestled near the base of Mt. Washington’s summit ridge at 5106 feet. I figured that if I woke up early I could make my way all the way to Mizpah by noon. That would give me plenty of time to assess whether or not I could safely proceed to summit Mount Washington with the option of posting up at Lake of the Clouds if the weather ended up being sketchy.

By 6:50am I was out the door of the hut. The weather was perfect for hiking, cool with a steady breeze to keep the sweating down and enough clouds in the sky to keep the sun from being a nuisance. Anxious to get going, I popped in the headphones and started making my way along the trail. Just as I was leaving one of the girls working at the hut ran out and gave me a full loaf of bread they baked the night before. I thanked her, ate half of it, stashed the rest, and continued on. As expected, the trail was smooth as glass (at least compared to the rest of the New Hampshire) and I made great time. I passed a sign that directed hikers towards a scenic waterfall about 1/3 of a mile off the trail. I decided to make the most of the day and head on over for a safety meeting.

I ended up booking it down to Crawford Notch where I ended up bumping into two NOLS alumni sitting by the road. They had done a just returned from a backpacking course in Patagonia and were headed out to hit Mount Washington in two days. They bid me good luck and I proceeded across highway 302 towards the Webster Cliffs looming high above me. The elevation profile in my guidebook ended up being very misleading as the trail wasn’t steady at all. In fact it was hardly even a trail. Instead it was essentially sections of rock scrambling connected by short segments of uneven trail among rocks and roots. Some sections of the scrambling were exposed enough to compromise the thru-hike if I were careless enough to slip. It was crushed nonetheless. I passed was a large group of French-Canadians who made less-than-tactful remarks as I blew their doors off. I made sure to rip ass as I passed.

I made my way to the top of the cliffs where I proceeded to have another safety meeting and knock out another big chunk of the bread Abby gave me. The day was starting to warm up, not to mention I was already sweating like a pig from the intensity of the 3000 foot ascent. I was feeling great regardless and looking forward to the rest of the day considering most of the steep stuff was behind me. I proceeded along a smooth, forested path to Mt. Jackson where I emerged upon a rock outcropping elevated above the surrounding trees. For the first time I was able to see Mount Washington. Surrounded by its sister peaks with its summit shrouded in clouds, the last major obstacle before Katahdin looked absolutely magnificent.

By then I was getting pretty stoked. It just around noon and there was plenty of time for the weather to clear up for a summit attempt. Worst case scenario, I was definitely making it to Lake of the Clouds that day. There was a group of dudes standing on top of Jackson enjoying the view as well. Like most people I’ve been meeting lately, they were completely amazed by the fact that I was a thru-hiker. The White Mountain National Forest receives a lot of visitors from nearby population centers like Boston and New York, most of them day or weekend hikers. Some of them have no idea what the Appalachian Trail is, and even the ones who do are quite astounded whenever they bump into us (especially this early). Earlier on in the hike, people would regard me as just another hiker passing through with plenty of miles to go. Now that I was over 1800 miles deep and proceeding through the hardest section of the hike a lot of the people I encountered treated me like a superhero… which to be honest was great because usually they’d give me food.

We chatted for a bit about where we’ve traveled and lived. One of the guys dropped that he’d lived in Breckenridge, Colorado for the past two winters. A bro-ment ensued as each of us looked at and understood the other. Understood that we had both waken up on a day off 2 hours earlier than we would for work when it dumped to get to the mountain first and shred first lines. Understood that we have both felt our hearts drop to the pits of our stomachs as we plummeted over a cornice into chest deep powder. Understood that we have both flown through the trees in the legendary glades of Breck known for their hidden pow stashes.

They bid me good luck and I continued on to the Mizpah Spring Hut to fill up on water and feast on some leftover pastries they had available for sale. There were reports that the weather would continue to improve for the rest of the day. Anxious to continue, I quickly shoveled everything down after having a brief conversation with yet another NOLS alumni. I quickly made my way up a 500 foot climb and emerged above the treeline. In accordance with my ritual I removed my headphones and allowed myself to totally zone into the powerful alpine world. The Presidential Ridge extended miles before me, a bare stretch of rock and alpine vegetation savaged by the region’s notoriously extreme weather. The ridge had seen much worse conditions than I had experienced that day. A mild breeze was flowing over the mountain range as the sun occasionally burst through the cloud cover, creating perfect hiking temperatures. The good weather and the weekend brought summer crowds, small specks of color peppering the ridge as day hikers made their way up the Presidential Peaks. Most of all, I was overjoyed to see that the summit of Washington had totally cleared up.

I was on fire. I passed group after group of hikers as I anxiously proceeded along the ridge and abandoned every care in the world. I briefly paused for yet another safety meeting when I approached a sign at an intersection, one path continuing along the AT, the other directing me an extra 200 feet to the summit of Mt. Eisenhower. I decided to bag an extra peak and proceed up the path to Eisenhower’s peak. The conditions couldn’t have been more perfect. Strong gusts were cooling the sweat on my body while the sunlight illuminated the alpine flowers around me. No words nor pictures could ever do such a moment justice. Every summit I have ever experienced reached has been an experience that can only be felt. Nothing can be said or shown to help one understand what is so glorious and rewarding about being in that moment. The experience itself and the challenge of getting there is something that must be obtained through the desire to be there, and I think everyone deserves that sort of experience.

Soon enough I was at Lake of the Clouds Hut, nestled in the saddle between Mt. Monroe and Mt. Washington at 5000 feet. A popular destination for tourists who drive to the top of Mt. Washington, the hut was crowded when I entered for a quick stop to hydrate and attempt to yogi (like the bear, not yoga) some food from the staff. They had no food to spare so I made my way back outside where I was greeted by an intense wind gust. Despite having already trekked 19 miles up 4,300 feet that day I was feeling pretty amped and at that point I had but one final push up a barren rocky slope to the summit. The last 1000 feet took no more than a half hour.

As much as I hate to say it, the summit was a bit disappointing. A handful of buildings catering to tourists and weather researchers had been erected all over what would otherwise be a quiet, desolate peak. There were people everywhere. Families with their screaming kids, Harley Davidson riders with their noisy bikes, clueless city-dwellers asking me to take their picture. I moved right on past all the riffraff to the north end of the summit. The wind was powerful, chilling my body and drowning out the noise generated by the tourists behind me. I was actually able to forget about the ruckus for a moment before one of the biker dudes offered to take my picture in exchange for me taking one of his buddies. I didn’t mind so much, so I snapped a quick shot of him before briefly explaining to him what I was doing. As he walked away shouting about it to his friends in utter disbelief I continued on my way.

The remainder of my hike was an enjoyable cruise over Mt. Jefferson to Madison Spring Hut. Thankfully the day was late and crowds had diminished. My legs were starting to feel pretty rough at this point. My knees rattled with every step downhill, and the skin on my heels were rubbed raw from so much friction through the day. I was absolutely beat by the time I pushed over Thunderstorm Junction and to much relief saw the hut nestled in the notch below. Thankfully I was the second hiker to arrive and the energetic caretaker was happy to allow me to do a work for stay. I took the time to talk to other hikers at the hut and met Cannonball, who had been just ahead of me on the trail for a couple days. I carried plate after plate of food outside the hut to feast with the hut staff, who were all incredibly friendly. Following dinner I polished some silverware before having one final safety meeting and crashing in the dining hall.

I stuck around for breakfast the next day before heading out to summit Mount Madison before the 3,000 foot descent into the valley below. I. Was. Wrecked. The previous 28 mile day over gnarly terrain over an accumulated 6,500 something feet of elevation gain had taken its toll. My knees were shit, my feet were raw and bleeding… I even got my first blister. I popped some ibuprofen and had a safety meeting to compensate though little could be done.

Madison’s descent was a steep, rocky scramble that would have sucked even on fresh legs. I had talked to Cannonball the day before about making our way 21 miles to a shelter in the Wildcat range. It was clear that wasn’t going to happen. After heading down 3,000 feet I made my way along a decently smooth path for 5 miles before hitting yet another steep, rocky 2000 foot uphill. I sucked it up and kept a slow, steady pace to the top of Wildcat Mountain. Shortly before my final descent down to Carter Notch Hut I bumped into a section hiker named Sam. We made good conversation as I knocked out the last 3 miles to the hut, a steep 1000 foot scramble to a pair of small mountain lakes. I was glad to have to company of Cannonball and the awesome hut staff that evening as I feasted on leftovers.

The following day was also pretty rough. It kicked off with a 1500 foot scramble up another insanely steep incline before a final 15 mile push to US 2. The last 3 miles were pretty stressful. Not only was my body falling apart, but I was relentlessly attacked by mosquitos and black flies to the point where music couldn’t even distract me from my misery. I didn’t bother stopping to rest when I arrived at the road. I headed straight to the White Mountains Lodge & Hostel where my mom had shipped a care package. The caretaker, Barstool, was nice enough to offer me a ride into town that I happily accepted. I headed to the library to hastily dish out what I could over the span of an hour before heading to the buffet down the road. I was considering heading back to the trailhead to stealth camp but elected to post up at the Hiker’s Paradise Hostel in town with Cannonball.

Even though we made a quick day of getting to town and I was able to get off my feet for an entire afternoon I couldn’t help but agree with Cannonball when he proposed we take a zero day. I mentioned that the White Mountains Lodge & Hostel where I picked up my mail appeared much nicer than the one we stayed at the night before. It also was located right on the trail, included free laundry AND breakfast. Decision made. We caught a ride back to the trail and made our way to the hostel where we were greeted by Marni and Molly. They checked us in and showed us around their lovely establishment. It’s safe to say it’s the nicest hostel I’ve visited on the trail. The bunk rooms are insanely nice (one is David Hasselhoff themed), the caretakers are amazing, and we are given full access to the house. Best of all, I’ve been provided several hours of computer access so I could dish out this 2500 word novel of a blog post before I head off to Maine tomorrow. If you’re hiking the trail definitely make a stop here if the Whites beat the crap out of you. It’s homey.

As I said, Maine tomorrow. It’s a bit surreal to be at the edge of the last stretch of the greatest journey I have ever embarked on. Ahead of me there is still a good 300 miles to dish out over the next 2 weeks and a lot of the terrain continues to be challenging. I also happen to be heading into Maine during its notoriously intense black-fly season. In any case, I’m confident about heading towards the finish line on fresh legs after an excellent zero day here at the hostel. Watch out Katahdin, here I come!

My last maildrop location has been updated, and you can probably expect one more update before I’m at the finish line. Thank you everyone for your continued interest and support, there are no words for how much I appreciate it.

– Crush