Sept 1

Awe

Starting out this morning we started climbing uphill.  After a mile or so, the grade pitched up considerably.  We made the climb up to Liberty Springs Campsite, where we learned that the rest of our group had stayed the night before.  I stopped to fill up on water at the spring.  When I neared the top of this climb, I came to a junction where a side trail led up to the actual summit of Mt. Liberty.  I considered for a moment, heading up to the top of this 4000 footer, but the scenery around me was drawing me down the AT toward Franconia Ridge.  The trees were tightly packed along the trail, but I could see bits of clear blue sky all around.  I knew what I was approaching was going to be incredible.  A few miles after starting out this morning, I had already gained several thousand feet of elevation, as I started up another climb to the top of Little Haystack Mountain.  As I got above treeline, the whole of the ridge laid before my feet. I was standing at 4800 feet, ahead of me Mt. Lincoln stood a bit higher, then a bit further down the trail, Mt. Lafayette rose up even further.  The size of these granite mountains was impressive.  The fir forest climbed the rocky slopes, hanging precariously, before being over taken by miles of rocky ridge line and multiple peaks.  I stopped for a few minutes at the summit of Little Haystack, but I my feet were no longer being controlled by my mind, as I floated down the trail toward the summit of Lincoln.  There were some small portions of boulder climbing along the way, but I couldn't recognize the level of difficulty.  I felt as light as a feather.  At the top of Mt. Lincoln, I stopped to survey my surroundings.  Views in every direction, mountains as far as I could see.  The dark green foliage on the slopes gave the mountains a false impression of softness.  The angles of the peaks, and exposed, chiseled granite told a story of harshness.  Under a sapphire sky, I stood looking at these gems, totally awestruck by their beauty.  There were so many mountains to explore, each with unique features, rough and rugged, in a battle with rain, wind, and ice, that has elapsed over millennia.  My gaze returned to what was ahead of me on the trail.  Mt. Layfayette.  My legs were spread slighty, my knees bent, and I leaned forward.  Most of my weight was supported by my trekking poles, as I clasped my hands around the tops of the grips.  My head sank, chin to my chest.  Crushed by the gravity of the moment, I muttered, "thank you".  I knew my feet were planted on the earth, and the pack on my back was heavy laden, but it I couldn't tell.  My stomach was in my throat, and I felt my spirit soaring above these mountains.  "That's a great shot!  Do you mind if we take your picture?", I snapped back to reality as I acknowledged the day-hikers behind me.  Clearing my throat, and wiping the moisture from my eyes, I replied, "sure".  Hundreds of people were along the trail this morning, relishing the good weather and incredible views.  One couple in particular stopped to ask me about my hike, and offered me brownies and fresh veggies.  During the conversation with 'Short n Sweet' and 'Greybeard', I learned that they had a house back in the trail town of Norwich, VT.  When I had passed through on the evening of August 22, I had stopped in front of their house to get a bagel out of the trail magic cooler they had left out.  How crazy is that?!  Apache had taken the side trail to the top of Liberty a few miles back, and now we hiked on up Layfayette together to take a break for lunch.  The wind was stiff, and the air was cool at the summit, over 5200 feet up.  We could see another one of the AMC huts, Greenleaf, down a rocky side trail that led a mile down a shoulder of the mountain.  In the other direction, in the distance we could just make out the ridges of the Presidential range.  The sight of Mt. Washington was elating, but the summit was obscured by white clouds.  We descended from Lafayette, over 1000 feet, back into the trees.  Then we headed up Mt. Garfield.  At the 4500 foot summit, there was the stone foundation of some building; a fire tower, or perhaps a weather station, from decades ago.  We took a quick break to soak in the views, in the afternoon light, of Franconia Ridge behind us, and South Twin Mountain ahead of us.  The clouds on Washington finally washed over, giving us our first view of the summit, far off in the distance.  By 5pm, we had made it to the Garfield Ridge Shelter.  We wanted to avoid paying a fee there if at all possible.  Several other thru-hikers were already there when we arrived.  We couldn't all be accommodated, and the work for stay that was offered involved a hour of privy composting duty, so we moved on.  We were to far away from the next shelter, so we were resigned to stealth camping.  This is where it gets tricky in the AMC managed sections of the AT.  We had been told to find a spot, 200 feet off the trail, below treeline, and no closer than a quarter mile from any hut.  We passed several, albeit tiny, flat spots right along the trail, where other hoikers had 'illegally' camped in the past.  We tried to the best of our ability to abide by the regulations, but finding a good spot that was within the rules was like finding a needle in a haystack.  Occasionally, we would venture off the trail into the thick, mossy forest, in search of a good place to stealth camp.  The steep, rocky terrain didn't produce any leads.  I couldn't imagine that having hikers traipsing around through these fragile areas was good for the environment, but that was the option we were left with.  Just before dark, we got lucky and found a suitable site, totally out of view of the trail.  We got set up, and cooked our meals.  Sitting in a patch of moss, eating our dinner, a white owl flew onto a branch just above Apache.  The owl bobbed its head up and down, and hollowly glared at us through beady, black eyes.  It flew down to an even lower branch, now only a few feet above Apache's head.  He was able to snap a few photos, before the bird took off.  The moon was intensely bright as I fell asleep.

Franconia Ridge, White Mountains National Forest.