in their natural habitat

I left early Saturday morning for the drive to Cannon with Yeuhi. Like on most of my MITOC trips, I’d never met him before, but we settled into a rhythm quickly. We met some other folks at Cannon, and enjoyed the bluebird day. The snow was fair, but my new skis were sweet. My legs were shot by around 2, so I headed to the deck for a drink in the sun. Not a bad way to end the day.

Leaving Cannon, we headed to Camelot to stay the night. We had planned on meeting Martin, a keyholder, there; but he didn’t arrive until after 9. We started a fire, and enjoyed the flickering warmth and polished off a sixpack of Sam Adams. Alcohol is a vasodilator, and so non-ideal for really cold weather, but it hit the spot and made the time pass more enjoyably.

Jay Pan

Woke bitterly early on Sunday to drive to Jay. Met Chris and (another) Josh in the parking lot. We found the trailhead and skinned up two miles to Big Jay. It’s right across an untracked valley from the ski resort, and it was full of the most powder I’ve ever seen in New England (3-4 feet). My legs burned by the end of the climb, and I had to remove my skis a few times and crawl upward on my hands and knees, enlisting the help of nearby saplings. Not the most dignified method, but it worked.

Yeuhi Bangs a Tele Turn

The descent was hairy for the first few feet, with tight trees and a steep drop. But after that it opened up, and we were in a maple grove as clear as any inbounds glade. The powder made executing real tele turns a little difficult, as bending my knee would force my skis deep under the snow. I feel over more than a few times, got snow down my pants, and enjoyed every minute of it. In the end, it was a lot of work for one run, but I was tired and happy at the end of the day. Ate dinner at the Common Man in Lincoln NH, and drove south just in time for the traffic at the tolls in Manchester. Stupid massholes, coming up north just for the weekend!

As it was, they were glad they came. It was a gorgeous, clear fall day, with just the right chill in the air to take the edge off the strenuous climb. The trail starts off on the regular Tucks highway, but after Huntington diverges, becomes very steep. There are parts that require hand over hand climbing, and those unsure of their footing might prefer a rope. I made like a mountain goat and scampered up. Having trail running shoes as opposed to real boots was a blessing, because I could jam my feet in cracks and smear on smooth faces. We topped out of the ravine in the Alpine Garden, and I remembered that it was one of the places we scattered Ann’s ashes years ago. I said a silent prayer as we walked across the field, enjoying the sunshine and the spectacular view. Then we turned left and came down Lion’s Head, instead of Tuckerman. Had dinner at a family restaurant in Lincoln, where they had a painted saw with hymns and a cross on it. A cultural experience, to say the least. Then a hurried drive back to Boston, and an exhausted shower. The perfect end to a perfect weekend.

pano

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After a sweet powder day, and some useful lessons, we went to Moosilauke on Sunday. Despite living near the mountain, and climbing it innumerable times in the summer, I’d never skied it. Met Steve Flanders in the parking lot, which brought back good memories of carousing with him in the past. Skinned up the Snapper trail, which was a little too rocky for good downhill travel. Made a blind left turn onto the old Snapper trail, henceforth dubbed Whippersnapper, which was steeper and untracked. Had some excellent turns, drank a slushy PBR with lunch, and then bootpacked back up for a run down the Carriage Road. That was less steep, but allowed for some good speed. Instead of skinning out to the access road, we followed Greg’s crazy intuition that there was a shortcut requiring less uphill. After a stream crossing, some serious ‘shwacking up a hillside, and a briar patch, I learned not to necessarily trust Greg’s judgement. We did make it out, but the shortcut didn’t end up being so short. After a beer and steak sandwich at the Woodstock Inn, it was back to Boston for another week of work. God bless the weekend.

Jenko

Slushy PBR

All skis are rock skis

With the driving drama over, we met the other guys in the parking lot, and skinned up the Alexandria trail. Felt much stronger than last week, and led a fair bit of the way. Dan’s dog Tucker was actually leading, but I was breaking trail for the skiers. I wish Laika was dog enough to come on trips like this, but she’s just too small to do well on a long hike, as much as she might like it. Ella would do well though, if she were controllable. The snow field on the top of Firescrew was a little crusty, but still had some fun on the rocks, and enjoyed a tremendous view of the whole Whites (Moosilauke, Franconia Ridge, Washington, Osceloa and Tripyramid). I’m not quite an experienced enough with powder to really rip, but I had a ton of fun, and got some good face plants in. At least it doesn’t hurt to fall. After coming all the way down, we also did a quick run on the Kimball. Dinner at the Tilt’n Diner, and then back to Boston to batten down for the next storm. I wonder if I’ll be able to maintain this op-tempo…

Lunch spot

Giving Tuck some Love

Firescrew pan

The mountain juts above the landscape, only 3300 feet but still two thousand feet above the road. The bald peak looked like a perfect ice cream cone. Sadly, due to equipment issues and our late start, we didn’t make it above treeline, turning around at 2:30 near the col between the two peaks. Still, the ski down was fun in the light powder, and we stopped at a gravel pit on the side of the trail to play on the 40 degree slope. The snowmobilers were impressed by our antics, although we both looked at each other like they were crazy. Cim, Greg and Pat had impressive rides, and I gave it the old college try. The black and white shot below is just prior before a spectacular wipe out.

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