Trip Report

Franconia Ridge, NH
Sunday, Feb 4, 1999
Elevation gain: 3500'+
Round trip: approx 8.5 miles
Summit conditions: -5f, NW wind at approx 10 mph

Pinkham Notch was predicting a high of -10 with 20 to
40 mph winds for the presidentials. Dave, who had dragged
me up Whitney and who had done lots of 14ers in CO and CA,
looked dubious. He confessed later that if we didn't have
perfectly clear skies at the trail head, he was ready to
take the keys -by force- and to sit out the day in Lincoln
watching movies. Bob, on the otherhand, was game despite the
ungodly departure time from Boston of 5:30 am. 

There was some
reason to be concerned. Bob and I both had insulated gaiters
and were reasonably well equiped. Dave had a heavy pair of
leathers and although we convinced him to use VB socks, we
all knew this would be the potential weak spot in the climb.
We all agreed that we would turn back with no complaint if
any one started lossing feeling and we all agreed to take
responsiblity to report any problems right away. Given
the frigid forecast, we decided to attempt to get to 
tree line before deciding whether or not to summit Lafayette.

We slid, repeat slid, into the parking lot at the trail head.
The pavement sat under 1/2" of clear ice. We crept in to a
space next to a red Honda. A guy in his mid to late 20s hovered
near the open hatch engaged in a world class equipment futz.
In the passanger seat, a woman sat, head nodding. We opened
the doors of the truck and were hit by the pounding beat
of the electric euro-pop blaring out of the Honda's speakers.
Ah, the mountains.

Given the old snow, recent rain and 1/2" of ice under our 
feet, we strapped on crampons from the get-go. We left them
on for the entire day. We worked our way up the switchbacks
through the open woods at a steady pace. The guy and girl from
the parking lot caught us after 1/2 an hour and flew by.
We played leap frog with them most of the morning. 

The Old Bridal Path is one of the easiest trials, emotionally,
in the Whites. In no time at all, we had gained the ridge
that swings out from Lafayette like an arm and were treated
first with views of Lafayette and Lincoln to our right and 
then shortly of the notch and Cannon to our left.

The fast couple got to the hut a few minutes before us. We
all lunched in blazing sunshine on the protected front porch
of Greenleaf Hut. Food and introductions were exchanged.
After a short break, we set out along Greenleaf for
20 or 30 more minutes of protected walking in the trees.
Met a father and son coming down. Both were wearing Sorels
with crampons and full packs. They had spent the night
over at Liberty Springs.

The 5 of us worked our way to the summit on the flank
of the summit cone. The wind was brisk but not extreme
by any measure. South facing switch backs were fine but
north facing ones were harder. Why oh why did I forget
my face mask yet again? Dave, like  a horse with the
smell of home in his nostrils, made the top first.
I followed him a few moments later and the rest
arrived in a matter of minutes.

The view from the top was superb. Washington and the
Presidentials looked close enough to touch. We considered
what conditions would be like another 1000 feet closer
to the sky.  Looking to the south from there, there was
Bond and Bondcliff -looking quite remote- and in the
distance the white top of Chacora. Directly to the south
and then west; Oceola, Loon, Moosilake and to the west,
the Kinsmans and Cannon. Far off to the NW, we could 
make out the distinctive lines of Camel's Hump in 
VT as well as the runs at Stowe on Mt.Mansfield.
I've never been able to pick out which peak north of
Mansfield is Madonna, despite having stood on it's
summit a trillion times. The only bummer in the
view was the thick layer of smog that was clearly
visible to the NW. A shame.

There were 3 of those wonderfully acurate zipper
thermometers among the 5 of us. Two read -5f and
the other had bubbles in it. Call it -5f. The
wind was steady but not harsh out of the NW
which would put it, more or less, to our backs
if we ran the ridge. Dave's feet, which were the
big question mark, were staying warm. We had 
a sleeping bag and bivy spread among us and perfectly
clear skies. We made the decision to run the ridge.

We left Lafayette and quickly opened a  large gap
between us and the other party. We had shared some
concerns among ourselves. He had told us earlier, 
below treeline, that they intended on doing the
ridge from the start. They were carrying very light 
packs; we doubted they had a bag between them. Given the
forecast for butal cold that night, a twisted
ankle would be very problematic. A tad cavalier,
in my judgement, but then, I can be pretty anal
about those things. To each his and her own. Anyway,
she was clearly uncomfortable with the crampons
they put on above tree line and their progress
slowed to a crawl. We noted another pair down by
Greenleaf hut moving very quickly. At least this
pair would be sandwiched between us and the third
party on the ridge.

The ridge run was just perfect. Our luck at finding
such perfect conditions was not lost on us. Eventually
though, we came to Little Haystack and the end of the
line. We hit treeline a tad after 3:00. Our last look
over our shoulder showed both parties still on the
ridge. The third party was gaining ground on our couple.

My Goretex had frozen directly to my fleece sweater. 
I needed Bob's help tearing it off of my shoulders. 
The inside of the jacket was coated with white
frost and green fuzz. Extra layers were put away
and the gorp bag came out. Bob and Dave butt glisaded
down the path while I walked and fed my face.
It seemed like no time at all and we hit the 
Shining Rock cut-off. Wanting to get out 
before dark, we pressed on.

The Falling Waters trail is the world different
from Bridal path. You enter a thick spruce tunnel
with no views almost immediately off of the summit.
But it isn't with out it's rewards. In 45 minutes
or so, we had descended to the stream and waterfalls
that give the trail its name. We had gone from the
windblown sparse alpine zone above tree line to
a quiet, sublime garden of birch and ice. The gurgle
of the passing water was muted by the ice and snow.
Beautiful. (for Bob and Gordo.) 

By time we got down to the last, level part of trail,
the sunlight and grown golden, filling the woods
with perfect light. We hit the trailhead around 4:30.
As crampons and packs were getting tossed into the
truck, two men came off the trail. I asked if they
passed the other couple. They had passed them at
treeline, he reported. "He looked....um...well
equiped" was the comment. Indeed. 

Off to Lincoln for pizza, gas (for the truck) and 
coffee. The last short views from the highway of 
the ridge through the trees showed it lit up in 
golden alpen glow.

Copyright 2003 by David Mann