Me On Madison: 4/1/11

April 10, 2011

My First Madison Trip

"When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold on to them. They are the life boats for the darker times, when the vastness of it all, the incomprehensible nature of life is completely illusive." One Week (a really good movie)

To say this will be a bitter-sweet week on the mountain sounds a little too dramatic. I will, however, reflect a little more than usual. Take some extra time to think, consider how lucky I am to enjoy the life I live, the place I am in and to have experienced the people I have met along my ways.

Monday will mark the two-year Anniversary of my first trip to Madison—my second and final hike with Brooke. It's what started all this.

Me on my first trip near the Madison Hut (99/365*)

It was Easter weekend and I had no clue what I was getting myself into. Brooke and I crawled out of the back of her Pontiac Vibe Saturday morning, packed our gear and snowshoed up the Daniel Webster Scout Trail. I had a dozen or so NH 4000' peaks checked off my list, but I had never hiked over 5000', or done any peak in winter conditions. While the calendar said early spring, it was still winter high in the mountains.

Above treeline, without crampons, winter boots, ice axes and only a 3-season tent (the missing season being winter) we were unprepared at best. Undeterred, we summited Mt. Madison by mid afternoon and slid our way down the West side into Madison Col. With clear skies and low winds, we decided to camp near the hut, which was closed for the winter. Brooke wasn't feeling well, so she curled up in her sleeping bag in the tent, while I buried the base in snow for warmth and explored the Col.

Brooke and I's tent in Madison Col (100/365*)

The temperatures dropped and winds built throughout the night, bottoming out around 5 degrees with winds upwards of 60 mph. My tent wasn't built to stand in such conditions, and it would succumb to the winds in a Utah dust storm later that year. It survived this test though, and at day break we began packing our gear. It was tough to pack given the conditions, so Brooke and I teamed up. She stayed in the tent, stuffing sleeping bags and rolling sleeping pads while I shuttled the gear to the South wall of the hut, where we were sheltered from the fierce North winds and better able to pack.

That hike with Brooke is one of my fondest memories of her. The sense of adventure. Her blind exuberance and anything can be done attitude. The hike out was treacherous, with high winds, icy snowfields and trails. Brooke slipped and slid a short distance down a snowfield early on, giving herself a decent scare (we should have had ice axes and crampons). From that point on, she slide down every steep section on her ass, destroying her pants. I thought she was crazy. She was having fun.

Brooke approaching the summit of Madison, Osgood Ridge in the background (101/365*)`

I thought Brooke was crazy for leaving for Africa when she did. How could she afford it? What about medical school? What about me? In reality it was only two months. In reality, it was an opportunity of a lifetime. In reality, how could she not go? In reality, it was an adventure tailor made for Brooke.

I faced a few of the same critics when deciding to take part in the Madison project. And I also had incredible supporters, including Brooke. Sometimes I wonder if I'd be doing this project without her. Without discovering Mt. Madison with her or without the lessons she taught me about life, and death.

*I didn't take any photos this weekend, these old ones are filling in photos of the day.

April 9, 2011

The Commute

The clouds beginning to open Wednesday night, a sign of the clear weather to come. (97/365)

What am I doing here? Alone. My skis on a sheet of ice that's rippled like sand on a beach, but solid, slick and peppered with boulders, sloping away in front of me, disappearing as it rolls over the lip of Tuckerman's Ravine, the sun behind me getting low, casting my long shadow over the edge, into the abyss.

The weather had been up and down all week. Fog, blowing snow and high winds, the elements bottled us into Madison Col and wouldn't let us out. We hunkered down and worked, logging 35 hours in three days. Thursday morning, getaway day, the end of our shift. We'd work until lunch, pack our bags and head home. As the sun came up it was clear, this day would not be like the others. The lid had lifted. Cloudless skies and snow covered mountains, blue on white, squinting in the glare at the peaks above and valleys below, the pull was irresistible. Adventure.

Madison hut under clear blue skies Thursday morning (98/365)

The idea had been discussed. A traverse of the Northern Presidential Range to Mt. Washington and then a ski run down to Pinkham. Up and out of Madison Col, along Mt. Adams to Thunderstorm Junction, around Sam Adams and over Adams 5 to Edmands Col, up the snowfields onto Mt. Jefferson, around the summit cone to Monticello's Lawn, down into Sphynx Col, skirt the summit of Mt. Clay and then up, across the cog railroad tracks and the home stretch to the summit of Mt. Washington. Strap on your skis, point them off the summit, carve some turns to the top of Tuckerman's Ravine, drop in and hold on, ski it to the floor of the ravine, hit the Sherburne trail and ski your way home, a 4,200 vertical foot ski-run home to Pinkham Notch. Work week over.

By our 10 a.m. coffee break I was committed. The others were wavering, but I was in. I called the front desk at Pinkham and got the avalanche report for Tuckerman's: moderate danger, natural avalanches unlikely, human triggered possible, Left Gully and Hilman's Highway were the safest routes down. Later, from the top of Tucks, I could see Left Gully and Hillman's, both untracked and filled with snow. They didn't look good.

Leaving the hut Thursday.

Still surveying my route, a gust of wind blew from the west, hitting my back and sending a river of snow racing along the ice, hovering just off the ground, moving like water and pouring into the ravine. Was there a reason no one had skied the Hillmans or the left Gully while the entire right side of the ravine, to my left, was tracked with ski turns? I trusted my instincts and ignored the report I had gotten earlier in the day, opting to ski the rightside of the Ravine.

My legs long since exhausted and my pack yanking at my shoulders, I unweight my edges, allowing my skis to cut a traverse to my left and slightly downhill towards the darkness of Tucks. They chattered as I dug my edges in, avoiding a premature slide over the edge, hunting for a safe place to drop in and commit to a route.

That morning I had finished up some work and ate lunch before heading out the door. Ryan, the caretaker at Gray Knob had hiked over to say hello and decided to hike along with me for the stretch to Edmands Col, where he'd have to peel off and head back to his hut. I had my usual load of pack-out gear, clothes, my book, my camera, with additional water, an ice ax, avalanche shovel, ski googles, and extra clothes added on for the bonus trip. Plus, my skies lashed to the side with compression straps and my boots clipped into the bindings. I realized only later that my pack weighed a ton, but throwing it on my back under the blue sky, sucking in the easy-breathing mountain air, I didn't notice.

Taking a break at Thunderstorm Junction

After leaving Ryan in Edmands Col I began to feel the work of the trek for the first time. My pack began to weigh down my shoulders, heat was building in my quads, and fire had been lit in my calves, burning as I kicked the toe points of my crampons into the steep slope, climbing up and out of the Col. I could see a black dot on skis traversing Sam Adams towards Edmands, following my route. I figured it was Tristan or Tom who were both supposed to be catching me by Washington and joining me for the ski, but from that point on I never saw anyone else. I was alone.

Walking alone from Jefferson, around Clay to the summit cone of Washignton, I kept checking the ridge behind me, looking for Tom and Tristan. I wanted them to catch me. That was the plan. I didn't want to ski Tucks alone, but by the looks of it, I wasn't going to have a choice. As I trudged up Washington, I began to get the feeling of the surreal. The window blew uphill from behind, throwing up ground blizzards of snow against the blue sky. I'd kick in my toes and work my way up, then stop, taking quick breaks, leaning on my ski poles, catching my breath, and still checking the ridge behind me for signs of company. Still no one.

I didn't stay on the summit for long, just enough to enjoy having it to myself—a rarity. I was wet from sweat and the wind was starting to give me a chill as it blew chunks of ice from the summit towers. It was beautiful weather for Mt. Washington, but I still didn't feel comfortable , given the solitude, time of day, my level of exhaustion and what still lay ahead. I hiked off the summit enough to find shelter from the wind, took off my pack on an icy slope and untied my hiking boots. It was time to change into my ski gear.

My feet had swollen from the long hike, and it took me over a 20 minutes to get my ski boots on, each one taking a combination of prying, yanking and, on the icey slop, standing and stomping. They're old boots from high school, and are tough to get on in a ski lodge, let alone at 6000' on an icy slop in 40 mph winds and blowing snow. I managed, then repacked my bag, slung it onto my back and stepped into my bindings. Down. Off the summit and to the rim of Tucks where the real fun was to begin.

Once skiing, the planks on my feet didn't want to turn. I had to fight my body and pack through each move. I wasn't even in the Ravine and I was already survival skiing. It wasn't pretty. I was nervous. Get down. Get home.

I cut to the right of the ravine, over the rippled ice, into the shadows and over the edge. I made a long traverse over the steepest pitch, knowing full well I'd eventually have to point my skis downhill, make turns—ski.

The snow was awful. It had warmed in the afternoon sun, but now, at 6 p.m. it was in the shadows and frozen solid into deep, rugged granular. It was like skiing on a combination of big rocks and sand, both of which grabbed your skis, not wanting to let them turn. It was the worst snow I'd ever skied, on a slope that felt vertical, with blocks of crusted snow cascading down the ravine as I jumped from turn to turn. I made it. The floor of the ravine. My legs wanted to explode. I wanted to be done. I hit the drainage and joined the Sherburne trail. The home stretch to Pinkham. I made it.

I don't remember much else from the day, I had hit a drunken form of exhaustion I didn't expect. Tristan was waiting in the Pinkham parking lot. He had bailed on the traverse shortly after leaving the hut. Tom had continued on, but we both presumed he bailed as well somewhere along the way.

Matt gave me a ride from Pinkham to my truck and I drove the two hours home to North Yarmouth where Stacey was waiting. Honey I'm home. Sorry I'm late. Traffic was a bitch.

April 8, 2011

Winter to Spring and Back

Our main work area and what will become the new dining room. (95/365)

Tuesday 4/5/11, 9:00 p.m.

Things change quickly in the mountains, and it all starts with the weather. Most of the hike up yesterday was typical for early spring. Deep snow but packed. Most of the crew barefooted, some used crampons. I went with snowshoes for the added traction.

You expect the weather to deteriorate as you gain elevation, but the downward spiral in conditions we experienced in the last 1000 yards to the hut was some of the worst most of us had seen.

I’ve mentioned it before, but the last 1000 yards of the Valley Way trail, our main access to the hut is notoriously steep, you gain elevation quickly and leave the protection of the trees which have sheltered you over the first three miles.

Yesterday any semblance of a trail on the upper half of the 1000 yards was gone, covered by falling, blowing and drifted snow. Tristan was not of far ahead of me, but his tracks were already wiped clean. The big yellow sign warning that the area you are entering has some of the worst weather on earth, to turn back in foul weather, and that many people have died above treeline, was buried. When each of us crested the steepest section, with a short easy uphill remaining to the hut, we were hammered head on by a southerly wind that blinded you with snow and ice pellets, hurdled at you with hurricane force.

Later at the hut we talked about how each of us had difficulty finding out way to the hut over this home stretch, wandering without a trail, hoping to run into the hut we’d all hiked to dozens of times before.

My sleeping area for the week

By last night, everything had changed. The temperature went up and it started to drizzle. By 2 a.m., we are all awake, alarmed by the sound of rushing water. Water from melting snow was cascading from the slopes above. finding its way under the hut and begin to make its way up through our floors. This is normal for the hut during spring thaws, a result of the difficult location, but normally its unoccupied. By 6 a.m we had significant water making its way inside and by 6:30, all five of us were outside, lightly dressed in the warm spring air, up to our shins in wet slushy snow, our boots soaked, digging and chopping drainage ditches into the snow and ice around the hut. It worked. We diverted most of the melting runoff around and away from the hut. Success.

Now, as I write this in bed, 14 hours later, everything has changed again. Its the harshest of winter conditions outside. Hurricane force winds. Blowing snow. Total whiteouts. Ice pellets being driven uphill from the north, peppering the window at the head of my bed. Our snow trenches are frozen solid and covered with drifted snow. I shoveled snowdrifts away from the back door before bed, but I am sure it will be blocked by another massive pile by morning.

Goodnight.

A typical evening at the hut. (96/365)

April 3, 2011

Weekend Update

It was a good weekend for resting, not so much for photo taking. Here's my weekend photos-for-the-sake-of-taking-photos batch—must keep the photo-a-day theme going. Enjoy. Back to the mountain. See you Friday.