Mountain Dog — Last Hike to the Hut

For my last fall hike to the Hut , I decided on a scenic route. Instead of a casual 4-mile hike from the North, I decided to hike directly from Pinkham Notch, south of the Hut. A 7-mile stroll that builds in difficulty, finishing with a steep climb up the headwall of Madison Gulf, just Espresso and I. 

We have two hiking modes together. One with him in front, leading the charge on four legs, and another with him on my heels. For the most part, he lets me choose which. If the terrain is easy and there's a chance we may run into some wildlife, I keep him on my heels. On steep, rugged terrain, I let him go on ahead. Even in his old age, he can out climb me any day—I wouldn't want to hold him back!

A bit before noon we headed up the Old Jackson Road, not a road at all, but part of the Appalachian Trail. It wasn't quintessential hiking weather; sporatic light rain, hissing as it hits the newly fallen leaves, fall light filtering through the bare branches and that distinct crispness to the air,  combined to make it perfect enough for me. Espresso stayed at my heels. Every so often something would crash through the woods along side us. We'd stop. Look. I put my camera away for this hike. Stowed my cell phone (off) deep in my pack. Whatever it was, there'd be no pictures. I wanted to enjoy it all completely. Was it a moose? Bear? Deer? My imagination?  Knowing you're not alone, the reminder that these woods aren't yours, makes you feel that much luckier to be a guest.

We crossed the Mt. Washington Auto road, it's highway-wide gash cut through the forest heading up hill. Fresh, jet-black black pavement. The road is closed for the winter, but parked at the crossing was the Observatories giant Bombardier snow tractor, with it's tank-like tracks and passenger compartment on the back. Wilderness? Edward Abby definitely had a point. Monkey Wrench Gang? Where's Hayduke when you need him.

Espresso's Taped Toes

From there, it was into the Great Gulf Wilderness and up Mad Gulf. Espresso and I had hiked the route before, an approach for our first trip up Mt. Adams and one of the only hikes where he ever needed assistance—a lift up steep rock slabs or over boulders that are too tall or too close together. At times the trail borders on vertical and that trip wore Espresso claws to the point of bleeding—they had just been trimmed at the groomer—and I had to do some patch-work doggy first aid in the tent that night.

Once we got into Madison Gulf I let Espresso pass and he took off like a puppy, bounding over boulders and up steep rock slabs before I even got within range to see how he was doing it. He'd be waiting for me at the top of technical sections with his "Let's Go, Let's Go!" grin.

He's nine now, nearing senior status in dog years. After a long hike I can tell he's sore, but on the trail, you'd never know. He still has the bounce in his step, and is always ready to go. If we stop to rest, or to enjoy the surroundings, he'll take the break. But if I sit too long, he'll start crawl into my lap with muddy paws, wagging his tail, eventually bouncing around and barking, wanting to keep heading up the trails. Typically a low-key dog, on the trail is the only time he'll show such a level of excitement. 

Espresso's leading the way on a previous hike up Madison Gulf.

Heading up Madison Gulf, one of the more difficult trails in all the White Mountains, his age was merely a number. He charged ahead with more confidence and speed then he had showed two years before on the same trail. He'd climb, and wait, then bound up another steep stretch. On steep slabs or short, near-vertical sections, he'd follow cracks, gripping granite with his claws, even pulling himself upward with his front legs. A rock climbing dog.

We crested the headwall of the Gulf, and made our way through Madison Col, across patches of snow and ice to the hut. The weekend crew was on its way out. Soon, we had the place to ourselves. I lit a fire in the wood stove, put a wool blanket on the floor for my pup, and changed out of my hiking clothes.

Espresso laid down, and quickly fell asleep. His typical post-hike routine. I made some dinner, and settled in for the night in front of the wood stove. Home.

In all, Espresso spent four weeks at the hut with me and they were by far my most enjoyable. The first month I was there, he stayed with my parents. I knew he could handle hut life, but the job was new to me, and I felt it was best to not have the added variable. I loved hut life, but there was something—warm, furry, brown, four-legged and gives hugs on command—missing.

When my Mom hiked to the hut, Espresso came too. I said he'd hike down with her, but I knew he'd stay with me. I moved my sleeping area from the bunk room to the small attic loft above the kitchen. It was a dark, damp and dirty area that I couldn't even stand up in, but I put an extra bunk pad and wool blankets beside mine, and Espresso and I had our new home. He'd ride up the ladder on my shoulder every night for bed, or sometimes even climb the ladder himself. In the morning, I'd get on the ladder, and he'd put his paws on my shoulder and crawl up on it—fireman's carry down, ready to work for the day.

Whether sleeping in the hut, under the stars, camping in my tent, in the back of my truck, on someone's floor or couch, Espresso makes it homr. Once he was up at the hut with me, I didn't head back to Maine for three weeks. Why bother? We'd hike down from the hut and live the life of nomads. One weekend we ventured to a party in Plymouth. Espresso worked the room in his typical fashion, and even joined us in the sauna, sitting up on the bench and soaking up the heat. From -20 wind chills to a 150 degree sauna.

On one late night hike from the hut, Espresso proved his worth. Matt and I decided on a route that took us on the Parapet Trail, around the summit cone of Madison to the Eastern side, opposite from the hut. From there, we'd climb the Osgood Trail over the summit and back down to the hut. It wasn't an extreme adventure, but there was fresh snow, wind and darkness to contend with. Plus, the Parapet Trail is notoriously difficult. It doesn't have any significant changes in elevation, but cuts a bouldery traverse over scree and through krumholtz. It can be a tough trail to follow on a nice summer day, and under the conditions we were hiking in, it was going to be difficult to borderline impossible. With Espresso, it was a synch. We just followed his tracks and they led from cairn to cairn, marker to marker. He'd occasionally wait for us, and then forge ahead, leading us along the entire mile of the Parapet to the Osgood Junction. I'm not sure if it was by memory (we've hiked it twice before), by smell or pure instinct. Either way, he's a mountain dog like no other.

Espresso and I enjoying the weather outside the hut. 

The End? Just the Beginning.

"Aim above morality. Be not simply good, be good for something." Henry David Thoreau

All good things come to an end, or at least they get put on hold for the winter. Madison is shuttered—closed for the season.

Now I'm forced to confront the question I've been avoiding. What next? On the surface, it's back to the grind. Setting my alarm, rolling out of a comfy bed into a heated apartment, a morning routine without alpine views or blizzards. Driving to work. Driving home. On the surface, it's lacks what I've loved about Madison so much.

But there's been a lot more to Madison than just the routine. By separating from so much: Espresso, my job, a relationship, technology, a bed. I know more of what I can do without, and what I truly can't. The challenge now becomes maintaining—not falling too far back into the routine of "normal" life—remembering what has made this special and seeking more.

So what's next? Short term, more hikes: A winter Presidential Traverse, soloing Katahdin in winter (it's now allowed) and finishing the New Hampshire 4000-footers with Espresso. Longer term goals: A road trip West, a job on Antarctica, and any other adventure that comes my way. If Madison has taught me anything, it's to go. Take the adventures. You won't regret it. When I was deciding whether or not to take on Madison, I asked my friend Pete "How can I afford it?" Pete's response: "How can you afford not to?"

And on a side not. I am going to keep this blog going. If all goes as planned, there will be more to write about.

Airlifts

For the first month of the project our day-to-day work was dominated by the weather. Everything seemed extreme, even the nice days. We'd have warm temps, sunshine and crystal clear views. On lunch breaks we'd sit outside amongst the rocks soaking up the sun. The next day we'd have torrential downpours, hurricane winds and 33 degree temperatures. We'd put on our rain gear and hoods, doing out best ignore the weather and simply focus straight ahead, and work. We'd come inside to eat, and then go back out. We'd become robotic to cope with the weather.

Our second month has been dominated by the weather as well, but in a different way. The weather had much less of an affect on our day-to-day work, but had more of an effect on our progress. The roof was on, giving us dry work space. We'd still work outside a lot, but we'd have the shelter of the new hut to setup tools and work. Compared to the previous month, it was luxurious— even if the weather was no better or worse. The weather's main affect was on our airlift.

Our airlift was originally scheduled for Monday the 25th, set to deliver us materials, food, another new air compressor, a second wood stove, three hot water tanks, shutters to close the hut for the winter, cement and other items, while at the same time flying out trash, unneeded tools, etc. We knew a mid-fall airlift above tree line would be greatly dependent on the weather, possibly delaying it by a day or two, but the way it unfolded put a drag on the crew. At times we were left wondering if we'd have to shut down for the winter all together. No airlift meant no work.

On Monday the 25th the forecast indicated we might have a chance to fly, but the weather never cleared on time. On Tuesday, we had a clear weather window almost all day. The entire morning we prepared for the lift. Organizing trash, preparing out loads, clearing areas for new materials and taking out window sashes so we could move materials inside. But the helicopter never came. It was late in arriving to Dodge (where it would fly to us from), and the weather window closed. Wednesday was a washout. Thursday was clear, but winds made it uncertain. The helicopter flew up to drop us off a top crew, but was unable to land due to winds. We waited by the radio and eventually received word that the pilot thought he could possibly land a few loads to our south at Star Lake, a quarter mile away and slightly uphill. There, the wind was still moving up hill. The first load was a net full of 80lb cement bags. It was a struggle and he set the net down hard, breaking a few of the cement bags which were wrapped in a tarp.

The video doesn't do the event justice. It was clear another attempt wouldn't be in the works. We used our search and rescue liter to carry the bags of cement, still wrapped in the tarp, back to the hut. Still, no airlift.

Our rescued bags of cement

The weekend crew didn't have any better luck and we began the next week still waiting for the airlift. I hiked up alone on Monday, and it was decided to not send the rest of the crew until we got the lift in. We had very little work without the resupply of materials and food was getting scarce as well. We were down to our last pound of butter (an essential).

Tuesday, we finally had perfect weather. A top crew was flown in, Everett hiked up, Steve flew up, and we got over 20 loads in and matched most with out-loads.

An airlift approaching

Sending up an out-loud 

The project can go on.

Hiking with Mom

The only thing better than doing what you love is getting the chance to share it.Three weeks ago I got to do just that when my Mom hiked up to the hut with me for the beginning of my shift. 

She invited a few friends to come along and met me at Pinkham Notch Monday morning. After shuttling my car to my usual parking area in Randolph we headed up the Valley Way trail from Appalachia. Mom, Betsy, Shelley and Athena had gotten a head start up the trail while Don and I moved my truck, but we quickly caught them. Well, everyone but my Mom.

Mom had left the parking area ahead of her group and had already taken a wrong turn in the maze of RMC trails. Luckily, cell phones work in the area and we quickly got her back on track. No more hiking alone Mom! 

Mom wouldn't let me hike with her though. She wanted to keep her own pace and not worry about holding me back. I was willing to hike any pace just to be with her, but let her have her way. Leaving her with Shelley and Betsy, along with a map and instructions, Athena, Don and I blazed ahead. 

In a blatant overuse of technology, Mom and I kept in touch via text message. I would text her from a trail junction with instructions for her to text me when she reached the same junction. This way, I could make sure they were on the right trail, and also make sure they were still keeping a reasonable pace for the trip. After the first junction, they were already 40 minutes behind. I was worried, but I sent Mom a few pep-talk texts and kept heading up the trail. 

I voiced my concerns to Athena, who knows the relationship between my Mom and I as well as anyone. I had confidence my Mom would have no problem turning around if she needed to— she is smart like that. Athena reminded me though, that while my Mom knows her limits, she will also do anything for her sons and she knew how important this trip was to me. 

At the next junction, with my Mom's group over an hour behind, I sent Mom another text, telling her that I was proud of her whether she makes it to the hut or not. And reminding her that if she needed to turn around, I'd do the same and hike down with her. Still, she kept plugging away. 

My Mom's slower pace on the easier terrain worried me. The Valley Way trail only gets harder, with the final 1000 yards being infamously rugged. However, as the terrain got difficult her groups pace stayed the same. Slow, but steady. She was doing great. 

I reached the start of the final 1000 yards, which had a smattering of icy spots for the first time this fall, and headed up ahead of Athena and Don. I wanted to warn outgoing hut crew, particularly the cook who oversees our tight quarters, of my groups upcoming invasion. Athena and Don arrived 30 minutes later after me. While Athena got warm inside, Don headed up Mt. Madison and I nervously waited for my Mom. She texted saying she was at the bottom of the 1000 yards and heading up. I waited another 45 minutes or so and began hiking down to meet her. I found her just below tree line, plugging away at the steep, icy, rocky stretch that burns the legs of even the strongest hikers. She was going to make it, and with a smile too!

Madison Col had been thickly frosted with rime ice the previous night giving it a sparkling but chilly appearance. I wanted to show my Mom around the Col, but figured she needed a break. Nope. We headed right by the hut and up to the Starr Lake and the Parapet, the alpine lake and scenic overlook a quarter mile up hill from the hut. 

Having my Mom up at the hut with me made my whole experience on the project seem that much more real. I knew both she and my Dad were proud of what I was doing, but having her there, and seeing that she shared a bit of my awe for the area meant a lot. Even before the hut project, Madison Col was a special place to me. And after the project is done, I hope to continue bringing friends and family there so they can experience it for themselves. Mom will always be the first though, and I couldn't be more proud of her for it. 

Mom and I in the Col between Mt Madison and Adams. 10-11-10. 

Construction Update

The building of the hut is moving ahead at a steady pace.

We started by knocking down two-thirds of the old hut—the old dining room and crew room. We left the subfloor and floor framing from the old dining room, but demoed the floor of the old crew room. The old stone bunk rooms and bathroom were spared. All the demoed materials were sorted. Pressure treated and painted wood was flown out; gnarly derbies with too many nails or odd shapes were burnt outside and cleaner materials were cut to size and stacked to be burnt in our wood stove. The old wood flooring makes really good kindling while the rafter timbers function as nice logs.

The old Hut, as of early September.

The new Hut as of late September. Almost all the new walls are up in this shot

except for the new kitchen, which is in the area with the blue tarp.

We've expanded the foot print into the court yard on the Madison side of the hut, setting the additional framing on newly dug sonnet tubes that were set in place by some lunatic members of the Construction Crew (Junior, Stitch, Everett) over the summer. They had a smorgasbord of rocks, boulders and scree to deal with trying to get the 12 inch round holes dug as deep as possible.

We've have all the exterior walls built and stood, with the new kitchen wall facing Madison being the last to go up— the new kitchen is in the old court yard, with one of its walls being the stone wall of the Madison-side bunk room. Most of the exterior walls are sheathed, using 1x12 pine boards.

The new hut has multiple roof lines, valleys and pitches and is so far proving to be the most complicated part of the addition. The dining room roof, from the outside looking almost exactly like the old, is framed and sheathed with 2x6 tongue and grove sheeting, which is extremely beefy considering I've typically used 3/4" plywood on ordinary projects. The new entry way (much like the old) and Adams's side roof are almost completely shingled (thick cedar shakes). The new dining room will be an impressive sit from the inside, stretching the full length of the old dining room and kitchen combined. The ceiling will go all the way to the roof, with the timber rafters and trusses, along with the steel collar ties, exposed. Huge new windows will face North into the valley and West towards John Quincy Adams and the Airline Trail.

Kate and Curtis roofing the dining room. At this point the nail guns were still working— and the sun was still out.

The framing for the roof over the new bathrooms and crew room is done and will get sheathed over the weekend. The new bathrooms are in the area of the old crew room. The bathrooms were moved to accommodate the new direct deposit (waterless) composting toilet system. Yes, I think direct deposit is a weird yet appropriate name for it, I mean, my paychecks are direct deposit. The old bathrooms were on the uphill side of the hut and didn't have the space underneath to fit the large stainless steal bins needed to accommodate all of the shit waste. The new bins are set in place on the downhill side of the hut and are ready for pooping use. The old bathrooms were be gutted and become a new bunk room, however, the hut will still sleep 52, no more than the old hut. They'll just be a bit more space around the bunks, which is very much needed.

The framed roof of the new bathrooms and crew room.

The north facing side of the new hut, with the composting toilet bins visible on the left. 

Considering the location and the weather the building progress has been as smooth as possible. It's a treat to work a full 40-hour week, leave, and have another 40-hour week's worth of work done when you get back— the joy of running two crews. We've had some generator-compressor issues over the last week with neither of our propane generators wanting to power either of our compressors. The majority of this week's work was done hand nailing, including the roof shingles. 

A new gas powered compressor (which we will eventually convert to propane) is ready to head up. Unfortunately, we don't have an airlift anytime soon. The compressor will be taken apart and packed into loads (around 50 lbs) which some poor bastards we will carry 4-miles up at the start of our next ship. Even the gasoline. 

Not much is slowing us down. 

A-Typical Day (Part 2)

(Click here for Part 1)

As I turn to leave the summit of Madison the wind knocks me in the face. My first few steps are a drunken stagger as I get my sea legs. I hike downhill but its like trying to paddle a canoe upstream. I have to watch my feet to get good footing against the wind, which leaves me periodically wandering off the trail. The steady wind eases slightly as I descend, coming more in gusts than the constant head-out-the-car-window hurricane I enjoyed on the summit. I can see the hut, my home, my work, 500' below as I make my commute and between gusts I can hear the piston-banging sound of the propane generator we use to run our power tools. The crew is getting ready for work. I hustle the rest of the way down and walk into the hut at 7:25.

I walk to my bunk, under which I store all I own at the hut, and pop a few ibuprofen and Tylenol, a therapeutic combination that helps combat the achy trio of bunk sleeping, hut building and mountain climbing walks. I hang up my jacket, pull on my thin work gloves, cinch my tool belt, holstered my hammer and walk out the door, over the waterline trench, passed the old steel door and into what will be the new hut. 7:30. On time and time to work.

I gather a few tools and get to work setting roof trusses with the crew. Steve and I climb to the top of the scaffolding, even in height with what will be the peak of the new roof. I take a 3'' by 8'' truss from Tristen on the Adams (West) side and match its peak with truss Steve got from Curtis and Kate on the East (Madison) side. We add steel brackets, some bolts, washers and nuts, fighting to get all the holes to align. Then, we add the giant steel collar-tie, which stretches from east wall to west across the dinning room, bolting that to the truss and then set another pair of trusses that get bolted alongside. Confusing yes. Basically, it's a wood, steel, wood sandwich that will hold up the roof of the new dinning room.

Tristen and Steve add a steel bracket which will help carry the ridge

There will be no ceiling so the trusses and steel will be exposed to all the hikers who come through. Someday, on a rainy hike, I'll be able to walk inside and see the very nuts, bolts and nails that we worked on this week, holding up the roof which is keeping me dry.

After our 10 a.m. coffee break Tristen and I get to work setting rafters, which attach to the ridge which has been bolted between the trusses. I work along the ridge off a ladder while Tristen mans the wall. I hold my end up while he sets his. Then, I nail mine into place. I add hangers and hurricane ties and then move onto the next. Once an area between two trusses is almost full, my ladder will no longer fit and I nail sketchy wood cleats to the tops of the rafters and climb them to the ridge, leaning down to receive the next rafter and struggling to lift it to the ridge.

Trusses and rafters all in a row

We continue setting rafters the rest of the day, taking lunch at 2 p.m. and heading in for dinner at 6 p.m. Both meals are ready for us when we go inside, Bethany, our cook, is great about that.

Tonight the moon will be bright. I think, I might head out for another hike...

To be continued again... maybe.

A-Typical Day (Part 1)

I had already woken up a few times early Wednesday morning, but each time I couldn't hear the wood stove crackling in the kitchen or Tom milling about and I'd burrow back into my sleeping bag. Tom is the early riser. If I hear him, I know it's time to get up, which usually makes me the second to rise.

The wind had been hammering our stone hut all night. I got up to go to the bathroom and saw that someone had tied one door shut and used a step ladder braced against a wall to barricade another— fire codes be damned. Our doors blow open in high winds, which if fine during the day, but a bit of a nuisance in the middle of the night. Adding to the disturbance was a random bunk rattling slam. With earplugs it wasn't too loud, but it still shook my bunk as if the wind was blowing boulders off the summit of Adams and sending them bowling against the hut.

Trying to sleep on a construction site with hurricane force winds blowing outside can be noisy business with tarps flapping, wood falling over and buckets and trash barrels blowing around. You can try and secure everything at the end of each day, but that is all you can do. Try.

Eventually, I hear the wood stove begin to pop and know it must be around 6 a.m. I carefully slide out of my bunk, avoiding the ladder to the uppers, and negotiate the 5 foot drop to the wood planked floor. Without any light, working only by feel, I pull on my work pants, the same ones I wore the day before. I slip my wool IBex shirt, the same one I wore the day before, over my head, along with my wool IBex hoody, the same one I wear everyday. Finally, and without much grace in the tight space between my bunk and the next, I pull on my wool socks, which I think... are the same ones I wore the day before.

Working at Madison you dress for function. Warm, warmer and warmest. If it's dry it's clean and to clean something you dry it.

I walk out of the bunk room where there is still snoring going on and slip through the wool blanket hanging in the doorway and into the kitchen. Tom, old-fashion hut building Tom, is sitting on the Madison chair in front of the wood stove, sipping coffee and reading, using the kindle application on his I-Phone. The Madison chair is a coveted piece of furniture. A leftover salvage from the demo, its tall and narrow, about the shape of a child's high chair, with "Madison" written in the back rest with nail heads, kind of like sequins but with the points of the nails sticking out and folded over on the other side.

Sitting on one of our wooden benches, I rub my eyes and begin to shake the morning fog from between my ears. Getting up early means first dibs on the skillets and I'm reading to take advantage. I grab three eggs, half a dozen slices of prosciutto, four breakfast sausages, slice some jack cheese and some butter, grab the medium size skillet and throw a match at one of the propane burners on the stove. Breakfast scramble.

One by one the rest of the crew emerges from the bunk room as I cook. The breakfast free-for-all begins with everyone gathering their own ingredients along with coffee and tea. The morning chatter centers around the wind and the mystery hut shaking slams in the middle of the night. Everyone has there own story. Bethany would be on the verge falling back asleep when, BOOM, she'd be startled back awake. Tom, who barricaded the doors thinking they were blowing open and slamming shut, sat awake in the kitchen in the middle of the night, trying to discover the cause. Of course, it never happened while he was up, it waited until he crawled back into his bunk. Everett  however knew the culprit, he could see the leaning stack of plywood out his bunk window. He'd watch the wind blow it slightly off the wall before slamming it back down with 70 mph gusting wind force. With no other solution possible until morning, he'd lay awake and glare at the plywood, hoping to scare it into submission.

After breakfast I lace up my work/hiking boots, pull on a jacket and slip out the backdoor of the bunk room before the 7 a.m. weather-radio call. It's 6:41 and I don't have to be working until 7:30. I step over the trench we've dug for the waterline, scramble over the rocks we've moved to make room for the addition, walk around the thick steel storm door from the old hut and passed the coals from our burn pile. Finally, I swing my leg over the yellow rope that marks our job site and step onto the Osgood Trail, part of the Appalachian Trail.

The hut and the summit of Mt. Madison

I climb. For the first minute I'm surrounded by low trees, but then I'm in the clear. Nothing but a big pile of rocks between me and the summit of Madison. The wind, still extremely gusty back at the hut becomes more sustained the higher I go. It begins blowing me up the mountain, giving me a boost from behind with each step. At 6:59 a.m., 18 minutes after I stepped out the door, I am standing on the summit.

Morning sun from the summit of Mt. Madison

The sun has been up for a few minutes when I reach the top, a glowing golden ball over the Carter-Moriah Range with Maine beyond that. The summit isn't as peaceful as the photos make it look. The wind is steady at over 60 mph (probably more) and even sitting I need to steady myself to keep from being blown off my granite seat. My hood gets blown over the top of my head, snapping and flapping in my ears until I grab it and tuck it into the neck and down the back of my jacket. Still, I sit on the summit and enjoy the view for 10 or so minutes and can't think of anywhere I'd rather be. Or any better way to start a day. 

Morning from Mt. Madison

(click here for Part 2)

Mountain Misadventure—Live and Learn

As you spend time in the mountains they begin to shrink. The awe remains, but you know they can be conquered for you have conquered them— or at least you think you have. You've traversed their ranges. You've climbed them at night. You've stood on their summits in the middle of winter. When you live in the mountains, work in the mountains and begin to call the mountains home, they shrink even more. Instead of hiking in them, you go for walks on them. Strolls. Escapes.

Working and living in Madison Col can become confining. Your entire world, while at the freedom of 4800', has a 500' radius encompassing your kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, work place, commute and social life. You can get stir crazy. Thursday night Everett and I decided to head out for a walk after dinner. The weather was deteriorating, fog had rolled in, it was raining lightly at times. The wind was picking up too, but we needed an adventure.

We layered up. I wore wool long johns with shorts over them, a wool base layer on top, along with a wool hooded sweater and hooded rain jacket. I grabbed my head lamp and stuffed my pockets with candy bars. Everett did the same.

We headed up the Star Lake trail for a surreal ascent of Mount Adams. A cool blue light (moon? last remains of the sun?) made the fog glow. Madison Gulf to our left dropped into a blue hazy abyss of darkness and the summit cone of Adams was a black silhouette above. We scrambled over boulders above tree line, losing the trail, but not caring as we plowed on to the summit above us. We even enjoyed a beer toast part way up, proud of our adventurous little escape. We were damp from the mist in the air, but completely within in comfort zones.

The Summit of Mt. Adams on a clear night (KBW Photo)

As we topped the ridge a few hundred feet from the summit the wind picked up. It threw us a bit off balance, but we reached the summit signs with relative ease.

We decided to follow the Airline Trail down, a more gradual decent that still required boulder scrambling and the finding of cairns (stacks of rocks) to follow the above-tree-line trail. Going down Airline we began having more and more trouble finding the cairns. The rain and wind picked up and more fog settled in. We lost the glow we had from the sky and were now in total darkness other than our headlamps. Soon we couldn't find the trail at all.

Now the Airline is a pretty straight forward 8/10's of a mile to the Gulf Side trail which leaves another 3/10s descent to the hut. I had navigated the stretch with relative ease after sunset Monday in clear weather without a headlamp. The mountain had become bigger though. Huge actually.

Looking up the Airline Trail on a Previous ascent of Adams (KBW Photo)

We forged ahead in the general direction we knew the hut to be, but soon become disoriented. Repeatedly hitting dead ends of krumholtz (thick gnarly shrubs) and boulders to large for scrambling, we had no choice but to head back up hill, eventually hitting the summit to reorient ourselves. The weather had deteriorated a few more notches. The winds were over 50 mph and the rain fell in huge, driving, horizontal downpours. Even when yelling we could hardly hear one another from feet away. Our visibility was confined to a 10 foot area lit by our headlamps from under our hoods. The scene seemed more underwater than above. Later we'd find out that the wind chill was below freezing— around 28 degrees.

We decided to follow Lowes Path to the Gulf Side trail. Lowe's took us away from the hut, but we knew it to have better, more consistent cairns, and was only 3/10s from GulfSide, which is part of the Appalachian Trail and would be much easier to follow to the hut given the conditions. We began hunting cairns on Lowes Path. With one person staying at the previous cairn while the other hunts for the next pile of rocks that mark the way. The leader would stumble and scramble until he found the next cairn, at which point he'd SHOUT back to the other who would join him. The process repeated itself over and over until the leader could no longer find the next cairn, at which he'd return to the previous point and the roles would switch. It turned into a game that kept us focused, but it left the trailing person standing in the wind and rain, cold and exposed, but marking all we had, the last known sign of the trail.

Lowes Path and the Summit of Adams on a previous hike (KBW Photo)

Eventually, it become too slow. We weren't getting down fast enough and we couldn't find the next cairn even though most were less than 20' apart. Things were quickly going from tense to scary and teetered on the edge of worse. We were tired, cold and soaked to the bone. The situation was deteriorating in exponential clicks that were getting faster. We were still working as a team though, and made the decision to forget the cairns and Lowes path. We set a corse in a direction we knew would intersect the Gulf Side trail and crossed our fingers that we'd know it when we crossed it (or else we'd stumble into the abyss of King Ravine).

As we went down more quickly the conditions improved (a relative statement). We spotted a cairn as we crossed a foot path and hoped to hell it was the Gulf Side trail. It was. We turned right (towards the hut) and picked up the pace, spotting its well made cairns at a higher rate than we head been on Lowes and the Airline. With each cairn or trail maker the leader would yell "GOT ONE!" as the follower rejoiced with praise and we forged ahead. It was another mile of fog, rain and high winds before we ran into the sign marking the Airline Junction, or safety shoot to the hut. We headed down and 100' from the door, finally saw the glow of the hut lights through the fog.

The hut was quiet with two crew members still stirring about glad to see we were back safe. "A bit wet out there" they said as we walked in the door, not fully realizing the extent of our 3-hour ordeal. Everett and I humbly began to share our story, admitting our multiple mistakes and acknowledging our good fortune. We threw some wood into the stove and began to strip wet layer after wet layer, wringing them out and hanging them dripping in front of the wood stove. Everyone else went to bed, but we stayed up for awhile contemplating what had just happened.

We were dumb. We had been cocky. We paid no attention to the weather and the hostility of the area we were heading into. The mountains can always throw more at you.

Eventually we crawled into our sleeping bags, as the wind and rain picked up even more, blasting so hard that it pushed the smoke from out stove down the chimney, filling the hut with a grayish haze. 

My first two days...

I had heard in the past that Madison Hut Croos grow to loath the Valley Way Trail, considered the easiest and most protected route to the Hut. It is not an overly difficult trail, but it's protection makes it a bit monotonous as it builds in difficulty with little reward, gaining about 3500 feet in elevation over 3.8 miles.

I hiked up alone, meeting Tom, the job supervisor, at the hut. He had hiked up the Airline Trail, which is similar in distance but follows the more exposed Durrand Ridge. I will likely use this trail for my commute from now on. Eric Pedersen, the AMC Huts Manager, along with the fall Hut Croo (George, Everett, Margaret, Dorothy and Tom (another Tom), were at the hut packing everything that needed to be airlifted out; old signs, blankets, food, tables, benches, books, memorabilia. Bethany, who will be the cook for our crew, got to the hut and began helping a little while later.

Disposing of gone-bad potatoes with a cricket bat. Photo by KBW

Tom and I got to work taking apart bunks in the old Adams side bunk room, which would eventually become the CC's kitchen. The bunks were four high, with the lowest bunk basically being on the floor. Tom had assembled the bunks at Madison in 1978, one of his first tasks with the AMC. 

Taking apart old bunks in what is now our temporary kitchen. That's me in the foreground. Photo by Eric Pedersen

That night was the last for Madison's Fall Hut Croo. Tom, Beth and I enjoyed a celebratory dinner with them. Later we all (minus Tom who went to bed) turned out the lights and enjoyed a rousing came of hide-and-seek through the old hut. This may stick a one of my fondest memories of this whole endeavor. 

In the morning the Fall Croo finished packing up and headed out, leaving just me, Tom and Beth. Beth kept organizing while Tom and I began preparing our new living quarters. I enlarged a few doorways so we could move appliances and hacked a hole in the side of the old dinning room to function as a new doorway during destruction. The rest of the crew began arriving one by one and we all went to work demoing the old hut, starting with the croo room and kitchen. 

By the end of the day, the roof and three exterior walls of the croo room were gone, leaving only the floor, which our supplies were landed on when the helicopter made its first drop that evening. We had six drops (food and personal items) that evening and sent five loads off packed old-hut items back down. I had carried up my essential items but was happy to see my personal things (tools, rain gear, beer) show up in one of the nets. 

Photo by KBW

The airlifts were remarkable. 800 lbs dangling in a net below the helicopter set carefully just outside our door.  Beth put together a great food order for us. We will be eating very well while working on the hut. 

It was a good thing we got those six airlifts in when we did because the weather window closed and the helicopter was unable to fly the remainder of our shift. It looks like today (Saturday) will be good for flying though, and our 30 to 40, 1600lb loads of materials and tools should be received by the weekend crew. 

We do have a bunkroom and bunks available to us (thankfully) but Tuesday night I laid my sleeping bag out on the floor of the old croo room (now with no walls or roof), enjoyed the stars and one perfecting shooting star over Madison. The sky was clear, but I eventually I began to see faint flashes and light flickering through the windows on the other side of the hut. I thought it was a hiker descending Adams towards the hut via headlamp and waited for awhile to find out. Eventually, I leaned out over the edge of the hut, peaking around to the Adams side and saw lightning, flashing away to the west in the valley. I watched it for a bit and eventually packed up my sleeping bag and quietly headed into the bunkroom. 

Wednesday was more demolition.... 

Thursday and Friday was more demolition, with lots of wind, rain and temps in the high 30's. 

 (Photo by KBW)

The First Hut and Dedication Hike (1888-1889)

The first hut in Madison Col was built in 1888 by the AMC and at the time it was considered the largest single undertaking of the young club.

(AMC Photo)

All Packed...

...And ready to go.

Unfortunately, the stowaway has to go. 

Trail MIx

A random mix of news and notes.

Between last night and this morning I watched the documentary 180° South which retraces a 1968 journey to Patagonia by Yvon Chouinard and Doug Tompkins. Two lessons I took from it: Adventures don't begin until things go wrong and the best adventures answer questions you never knew you had. 

Madison Tragedgy— A Good Lesson

Twenty-four years ago today a man died of hypothermia on Mt. Madison. It's a humbling story, one that should give any hiker pause when planning for a hike, no matter the time of year.

Why a Hut Here?

I confess, I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with the AMC Huts.

How did I get here?

And what have I done? I've quit my job for a short-term gig, taken a hefty pay cut, severed a personal relationship and committed to my longest stretches without my best friend (Espresso) in his nine years.

If all goes as planned (which it surely won't, so lets say even if it doesn't) the above list will end up a footnote in the story, buried at the bottom of a blog filled with much better stories than this one.