The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Eleven

I woke up in the loft of the Gray Knob cabin in the White Mountains, Mt. Adams more specifically.  The wind howled through the night, bringing rain and sleet.  I wasn’t meeting Matt and his family until later that evening so I had time to spare.  The caretaker and I struck up a conversation again, carrying on from last night.  He got the weather report from Mt. Washington, just a few miles away, of 100 mile an hour winds.  I know Mt. Washington is home of the worst weather on Earth, but it’s another thing when you are in the midst of that weather.  The caretaker said the winds on Mt. Adams were probably only 90 mph and maybe 60 or 70 where we were, so nothing out of the ordinary (The highest recorded wind speed on Earth at a manned station was 231 mph on Mt. Washington in 1934).  I guess this was not the day to summit Mt. Adams, a thought that had crossed my mind.  The caretaker said he took trips to the summit most days when the weather cooperated.  I guess I’ll have to come back another time and give it a shot.

I didn’t start down the mountain until 2:30 that afternoon (I can be so damn putzy with someone to talk to).  I definitely want to go back someday and stay at the Gray Knob cabin again.  The caretaker said it’s actually fairly out of the ordinary to have no hikers staying at the cabin.  He also enjoys when people bring up beer for him to drink!  I’ll make sure to do that next time.

The snowpack had turned to 8 inches of slush, not giving my feet a chance to stay dry.  I found another stick to serve as my hiking companion and headed towards Crag Camp.  Speckles of rain would blow in from time to time, along with passing wisps of clouds, enclosing my path from the rest of the world.  Less than a mile later, the trail opened up to Crag Camp.  The blowing clouds opened up for a few seconds to reveal the view of the valley below.  The guy in Maine was right, this was a perfect spot to watch the sunrise.  I moseyed into the cabin to check out the accommodations; a large open room with a wall of windows looking east filled with benches, tables and a stack of board games and puzzles in the corner, and two smaller rooms crammed with bunk beds.  I’d like to check this out in warmer days.

Crag Camp

The view from Crag Camp looking east

The descent was more difficult than the ascent because everything was more slippery after the rain.  I slipped off a rock while crossing a brook, soaking my foot, but causing no other damage.  It was slow going, but eventually I made it back to my car.  I looked back up the mountain and thought about how awesome of a mini-adventure that was.

I found a yellow blaze! (it's up on the right side)

After taking off my wet shoes and socks and putting dry ones on, I loaded everything into my car and took off towards Wolfeboro and Lake Winnipesaukee.  It was getting dark and I couldn’t see the mountains so I concentrated on the road ahead.  In our conversation about local beer, the caretaker gave directions to the liquor store with the best selection around and I stopped in to take a look myself.  I wanted to get Matt a 6er of good Wisconsin beer if I could find it for all the help he had provided on my journey.  Needless to say, I was underwhelmed by the Wisconsin selection.  There were a few flavors of Leinie’s, but I wasn’t about to pass Berry Weiss and Sunset Wheat off as good beer from Wisconsin (or any state for that matter).  The only other choice I had was two varieties from Hinterland Brewing out of Green Bay.  I liked what I’ve had from them, but these were new ones to me (their Winterland and Maple Bock are quite tasty).  I went with the Luna Coffee Stout and hoped for the best.

An hour later, I arrived at Matt’s house out in the middle of nowhere.  Matt welcomed me in and offered up a beer.  His wife was out running errands and picking up their daughter from school.  He gave me the tour and started getting dinner ready.  A big ol’ pot of Jambalaya was on the menu!  I caught him up my travels since I last saw him a week earlier and he talked about some great music he’d seen in the area.  His wife Jess and daughter Sam showed up later and we sat down to eat.  I’m not sure what Matt’s family thought of me, a bedraggled bum from the woods who was drinking their beer and making himself at home.  We finished dinner and moved onto ice cream.  I didn’t really need the ice cream, but who am I to pass up food?  Sam had homework to do so she excused herself, leaving Matt, Jess and myself to talk away the evening.  I’m always a talker and up to retell my stories and they were willing to listen. 

Matt and Jess had to get up early the next morning, but they were going to let me stay as long as I wanted, even another night perhaps.  The kindness of strangers to open up their house and allow me free reign when they aren’t around to supervise, is humbling.  I love it!  The chance encounters we have can lead to truly wonderful outcomes if you allow yourself to trust a fellow stranger.  I’m not saying trust everyone, there are some bad apples out there, but spending time talking to locals on the road, you get a feeling of who the good people are.  Matt had a beard and was a fan of Cornmeal and that’s enough in my book to trust him.  That trust and belief in the goodness of people led to a far richer road trip for me.  Matt’s good people.  We’re all strangers at some point of our lives; sometimes a few words can turn a stranger into a friend.  I fell asleep with a full belly, glad to have met Matt and his family.  

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Ten

For some reason I woke up Wednesday with a slight hangover.  I guess the Rangeley locals know how to treat a guest.  With my gear dried out and myself clean after a shower (that’s showers in back to back days!), I hit the road to New Hampshire and the White Mountain National Forest.  Matt had directed me to take Hwy 16 because he sees moose on that road often and I wanted to see a moose!  I looked at the map and saw it took me past Mooselookmeguntic Lake, which is now my favorite lake name.  The scenery was beautiful as the evergreens shook off the snow from the previous night.  Sadly, I did not see a moose. 

Entering New Hampshire, I came across the Umbagog National Wildlife Refuge and stopped into the visitor center.  I got a late start that morning, pushing my arrival in the White’s ‘til mid-afternoon, so I thought I’d see if there was any camping in the refuge.  “No,” was the answer so I dallied around the center, learning a little about the area and collecting a few brochures for my archives.  I got back on the road with the compass pointed toward the White Mountains.

Umbagog

Umbagog

The weather report for the evening and following morning called for rain, heavy at times.  Awesome.  As I looked at the maps, trying to discern a good spot to camp, I thought about the motels I had passed a few miles back in Berlin and Gorham.  Boy, it would be easy to take refuge in a motel for the night, staying dry and getting caught up some writing.  Countering the thoughts of the easy way out was the thought of staying in one of the shelters up in the mountains.  This idea was planted in my head by a guy back in Millinocket who said one of his favorite places to stay was Crag Camp in the White’s.  The camp was perched high on the mountainside looking east, granting visitors a spectacular sunrise he said.  I had looked up the shelter and found that it was managed and maintained by the Randolph Mountain Club.  They operated a few other shelters in the area, including Gray Knob, which had a caretaker year round.  So do I stay in a motel or push it up the mountain in the waning afternoon light, not knowing how the trail is or if I can even make it?  Screw it.  Up the mountain it is!

I parked at the Appalachia Trailhead off of US 2 and got my pack in order.  I decided to leave my tent behind so I could move lighter and faster.  This meant I had to make it one of the shelters or somehow make it down in the darkness.  If I ran into trouble and was unable to make it to safety, I’d be screwed.  It was about 3 by the time I started my hike, not sure which shelter I wanted to go to.  With the skies cloudy that left me maybe an hour of solid light with darkness quickly falling after that.  The trail was 3.5 miles to either camp, so it would be a game-time decision on which one to go to.  As I got going, I thought to myself, “this may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”  Did I mention that I didn’t have a map? 

Ahhh, I'm going to call their bluff on this one

I quickly heated up as the trail began its gentle ascent.  The landscape was stunning in the early winter snow cover.  The trail followed a brook that fell over rocks and waterfalls from its origin higher up the mountain.  It was immensely peaceful and serene.  John Muir described a waterfall as “singing Nature’s old love song with solemn enthusiasm,” and the song this waterfall was singing was pure and sweet. 

Onward I pushed as the trail began to ascend quicker. The temp was in the 30’s when I started but I was down to my Mobile Skills Crew Crew Leader shirt before too long.  The higher I went, the more snow and ice I encountered, trying to slow me down.  I didn’t have crampons or even hiking poles to help keep me upright.  I found a good stick to use in the hiking poles stead, but after a few close calls with falling, it broke into a chunk about two feet in length.  Even in its diminutive state the stick came in useful as the trail became steeper and steeper and I was resorting to a partial crawl to make it up the mountain. 

This idiot has no idea what he's doing

A fog rolled in as I climbed in elevation (I guess they call that a cloud), obscuring any view of the valley in the little light that remained.  I had put my knee-high gaiters on earlier to keep the snow and slush out of my shoes and was pleased at how well they were working - my feet were relatively dry!  I came to an intersection where I had to decide which camp to head for.  Crag Camp and the cold solitude it would bring, or Gray Knob and the promise of someone to talk to and a wood stove that was lit for an hour or two a day?  Gray Knob it was.

The trail crossing a small stream

The trail crossed a stream or two, which were treacherous to cross safely in the falling light on ice-covered rocks.  I nearly lost it and took a plunge, but somehow managed to stay upright and dry.  Darkness was closing in around me as I made the final push to the shelter.  The trail was somehow even steeper, probably at a 60 or 70% grade.  The trees became shorter and more rigid and the snow deeper as I moved ever closer to the tree line.  Finally I rounded a corner and saw the most beautiful sight, a small Christmas tree, adorned with a string of lights, gazing out from the window of the Gray Knob shelter.  I made it!

I stumbled in, not knowing what or whom to expect.  A guy about my age with a scruffy beard greeted me.  The caretaker I presume.  He had just lit the fire and I simultaneously tried to stop sweating and dry off while trying to stay warm and not get the chills.  I got talking to the caretaker (I don’t think I ever got his name) and it turned out I’m the only idiot up there that night.  It was in-between seasons and with the weather crappy, not a lot of folks made it up there during the week. 

Gray Knob

I changed into dry clothes and went about making dinner.  After settling in, I was glad I chose Gray Knob over Crag Camp.  Crag Camp had shelter from the wind, but no heat or conversation.  Granted they only lit the stove for an hour or two a day at Gray Knob, never warming the cabin over 50, but it didn’t get below freezing while I was there.  The Gray Knob cabin had been recently rebuilt because the original cabin had began to rot from the humidity, so that’s why they lit the stove everyday, to suck out the moisture. 

My accommodations at Gray Knob

The caretaker and I talked into the night on a wide range of topics, from trail construction standards, to how to deal with human waste in the woods, to local beer, and to Rhode Island basketball with Tyson Wheeler and Lamar Odom.  He switches off with another caretaker each week and when he’s off the mountain, the folks who employ him have a place for him to stay.  He collects the $13 fee that is required at the shelter and goes around to the other two shelters in the area each day to see if anyone is staying there to collect their fees too.  That sounds like an awesome job. 

It was a great evening in the White Mountains.  I had climbed over 3000 feet in 3.5 miles, the most I had ever climbed by far, through snow and ice to a destination I wasn’t sure of, but I made it and enjoyed every minute of it.  It was another memorable day in a trip littered with them.  My trip was slowly coming to a close, but more memories and stories were waiting for me before my return to Wisconsin.

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Nine

To catch people up with where I am on my road trip, I started out visiting Penn St. and then moving to New York for a Packer-Giant game, up the coast to Walden Pond, met a guy, Matt, at a bar in Portsmouth who let me tag along to a Cornmeal concert in Portland where I met Jess, traveled further north up to Acadia National Park where I was the first person to see the sunrise in the US and finally over to Millinocket, Maine where you now find me waking up on the Appalachian Trail in the 100 mile Wilderness.

I woke to the most beautiful sight, a snow-covered landscape that had lain hidden from me in the dark of the night.  Shafts of light from the early morning sun fell through the cedars, hemlocks and spruce to emblazon the boughs weighted down with snow.  I went for my camera to take a picture, only to find it didn’t work.  While reading the trail register the previous night at the Hurd Brook shelter, I thought it would be a great idea to have my camera fall off my leg onto the wooden floor.  I didn’t think anything of it at the time.  I now turned the camera on, but the screen was black.  Ugh.  I discovered that I could see the pictures I had already taken so it must’ve been something with the lens.  Fearing the worst, I did the only reasonable thing; I banged it against the wall.  Voila!  She was back up and running!

I thoroughly enjoyed the hike back to my car, it’s not every day you can wake up and hike on the Appalachian Trail by yourself in the majesty of early winter splendor.  Back at the car, I had to figure out where the rest of the day was going to take me.  Rangeley was my ultimate destination but I didn’t know how to get there.  Roads are scarce in the winter in the interior of Maine.  I decided I should head back through Bangor because I wanted another bottom base layer for whatever lay ahead the rest of my trip. 

I found the mall and a Dick’s Sporting Goods in Bangor, which had the base layer I wanted (it might get cold later!).  While I was waiting in line, I got a phone call and message from a number I didn’t recognize so I ignored it.  On the way to my car, I listened to the message and it was Matt from earlier in my trip!  Boy did he have some news for me.  He had been tooling around on Craigslist Maine and came across a listing in the “missed connections” section that he thought had to be directed towards me.  I went to McDonald’s to use their Wi-Fi and check out Craigslist.  Here is what the post said:

Met you at Cornmeal - w4m

Date: 2011-12-10, 3:41PM

It was so nice meeting you Thursday night. I enjoyed talking to you about road trips and geology. Wished I'd given you my number if you are heading back through Portland on your way back from Acadia. I hope you are enjoying your time in the north woods. 


•   Location: Portland, Maine

Holy Cow!  I guess I left an impression with my hoboness.  What the hell do I do now?  I’ve never used Craigslist and I didn’t have plans to go back through Portland, but plans have a way of changing.  When I called Matt back, he invited me over to his place a few days later when I was in New Hampshire so I looked it up and Portland was only an hour or so from where I was going to be.  Maybe this could work!  I was nervous to all hell trying to figure out this Craigslist thing and what to do.  I emailed her back to say her post actually worked and see what we could work out. 

The afternoon was getting on so I had to hit the road up to Rangeley, still planning on sleeping in the woods that night.  On the drive up, I was in disbelief at the chances of what just happened, happened.  I had to meet Matt at a bar in Portsmouth, then tag along with him to Portland for a Cornmeal concert, had to meet and talk to Jess, had to exchange numbers with Matt, Jess had to post on Craigslist and then Matt had to see the post and call me.  Wow.  That’s my life I guess.  Helluva trip!

It was dark and drizzling by the time I rolled into Rangeley.  Screw camping in the woods tonight.  I found the cheapest (and only) motel in town to spend the night.  My gear needed a good drying and I hadn’t showered in a week (I think I was more concerned about my gear than my smell…).  I checked my email and found Jess had responded.  We planned on meeting up in a few days so she could show me around Portland and check out her favorite beaches in the area.  Crazy!  After cleaning up and eating, I knew I needed a drink.  There were two choices; the bowling alley that had a packed parking lot or a townie bar called Sarge’s located on Main Street.  What do you think I chose? 

I walked into Sarge’s, completely unaware of what was inside.  People were packed in the back of the bar, singing karaoke and having a great time.  What the hell did I get myself into?  I took the closest seat to the action, which happened to be at the end of the bar, behind a pillar, blocking myself from the craziness.  I kept to myself, watching the Bruins game and not really caring.  People were going behind the bar, serving up drinks when the bartender went to sing karaoke.  Did I mention there were multiple good-looking ladies at the bar having a good time?  Did I also mention that it was a Tuesday?  This did not seem like a regular Tuesday.  I learned from the bartender that it was the bar’s holiday party.  That makes more sense.

Rangeley in the daylight

I hung by myself, out of the action, because striking up a conversation involved me escaping from my hiding place and joining the fray (It’s easier to talk to one or two people than a bar full of strangers).  I paid my tab and got up to leave when this girl came over to ask if I was the person she sold her car to last year.  Being new to the area, I thought this was implausible.  I said no, but we struck up a conversation.  She invited me to join the party and, being a drifter, I could not pass that offer up.  The first person she introduced me to was Sarge, as in Sarge’s Sports Pub and Grill.  “What do you drink?” he asked me. 

Not wanting to be rude or imposing, I said, “whatever you want.”

Sarge looked at the bartender and said “3 shots of tequila.”

Well it looks like the party was just starting.  The shots came and I took mine like a champ.  A few seconds later, Sarge turned around and pushed the last shot in front of my face. 

“Here’s your shot!” Sarge proclaimed.

“I already had my shot,” I said in less than forceful terms.

“Here’s your shot” he repeated.

Shit. “Yes sir.”

The night progressed and I got talking to my new friend’s dad.  He used to coach basketball for the Maine Black Bears and, being a college basketball nerd, I knew all about Maine and the teams in the America East Conference.  I was having a great time talking to the locals and learning a little about the area.  We migrated out to the patio where a gentle snow had begun to fall.  They were complaining about the lack of snow up in Maine too.  The ski hill down the road was finally opening the coming weekend so people were getting ready for the winter tourism season. 

After more drinks and merriment, I decided it was time to head out.  On my way back to the motel I noticed a sign I had missed earlier.  Turns out Rangeley is also halfway between the North Pole and Equator.  If I headed west along the 45^th parallel into Wisconsin, I’d end up in Cadott (the place God forgot).  Interesting.  

I went to bed after another crazy day on the East Coast.  My next few days were tentatively planned out.  I’d head to the White Mountains for a night, then onto Matt’s the following evening, maybe back into the White’s for another night and then finally return to Portland to get the grand tour from Jess.  What mischief could I get into with a schedule like that?  Turns out plenty.