Trip Report – Sawyer Pond – March 13 & 14, 2004

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Summary
-------
Where: Lily Pond to Sawyer Pond via Upper Nanamacomuck and Sawyer
  River Trail & Sawyer Pond to Bear Notch Road via Sawyer Pond
  Trail and Rob Brook Road
Who: Dave M, Bob M, Jim A, Karl H
Temp: Highs in the 40s, lows in the teens
Trail Conditions: Dust of new snow on manky refrozen, iced up
  and foot trampled snow, bare ground and everything in between

Trip Report
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It is a sign of our age and time of life.  We coordinated on the
using e-mail, not phones, and we picked the first weekend we all
had available months, not weeks, in advance.  And so it came to pass
that we were all basically committed to a ski trip despite a horribly
lean snow year and early melting.  Well, we could have bailed and
spent the weekend at Crag, which is always a safe back up plan.  

Thankfully, Bob carried the lion’s share of the planning burden
and coordinated stoves, food and ski gear.  Good thing, too, since
this was to be Jim’s first ski trip and access to extra skis and boots
was going to be key.  

Bork and I cruised up from Boston leaving around 5:30 and met
Bob and Jim at Dunkin’ Donuts in Concord at 7:00.  After a round
of hellos between old friends and more food, we drove up to
the McDonalds in Lincoln to play a game of boot swap.  Jim ended
up in Bob’s Snowfields.  Bob ended up in my Snowfields.  And 
luckily, I ended taking my slightly heavier Futuras.  After shuffling
around extra socks, footbeds and orthodics, we got workable fits
for everybody.

We took a careful drive up over Kangamangus Pass on slick, snow
covered roads under a grey windy sky that was still spitting snow
and eventually got to Lily Pond where we dropped our packs and skis 
in the woods.  We then drove together down to Bear Notch Road to 
spot Bork’s Jetta.  We finally got back to the Lily Pond trail head 
by 10:00.  The same snow that had delayed up slightly due to the 
slick driving conditions had also coated the refrozen base of snow 
with a thin coating of fresh.  Bork, who was skiing on his waxless 
skis waited patiently as Jim, Bob and I futzed with our wax 
(about -5c, Extra Blue, worked great).

The first drop down the Upper Nanamacomuck Trail is attention grabbing
when skied with light gear as it is.  Add a full overnight pack and 
grabby refrozen snow and the first mile was downright sporting. Bork,
in his plastic boots and wide Alpinas made short work of it, as 
always.  Jim looked like a pro and handled the trail well.  He only
had one biff – a spectacular full speed face plant at the end of
a really tricky steep section.  He got down the hard part, carried
speed on the flat and *bam*.  Consider him baptized.  Bob and I pulled
up the rear, as always.  I could have never made it down without the
aid of stiffer Futura boots as I had chosen to bring my double 
cambered Kazama Mountain Highs (210cm) on this trip.  Their stiff
tail and narrow profile made it impossible to get any sort of skidded
snowplow working in the grabby snow conditions.  The skis basically 
wanted to rail and go straaaaaiiiiiight, with me hanging on for
the ride. 

The Upper Nanamocomuck descends in a series of drops more or less
following the outlet stream from Lily Pond, first on the south side
and then on the north side.  There is a wooden bridge across the
Swift River that was an indication of things to come.  It had no
snow on it at all.  On the north side of the Swift, the trail
follows what must be an old railroad grade for a while before
skirting up to the left over a hill and back down to the right
to rejoin the rail bed.  All we could gather is that there was
a significant washout that the trail had been rerouted around.
The snow condition through this section was mostly a rough 
snowshoe/ski trench, which provided ok touring in a rough and
rumbly sort of way.  Snowshoe and foot traffic started in earnest
when we picked up the intersection of the Sawyer River Trail.
And this gave way to snowmobile tracks in another short distance
when we left the Nanamocomuck and turned north on Sawyer River 
Trail.

Snowmobile treads are a mixed blessing. On the plus side, there
is no trail to break out.  On the down side, there is no way to
set tracks.  So while we had a nice flat trail to work with,
we had to fight to keep the skis tracking straight.  Here, the
skinny and otherwise rebellious Mountain Highs had a slight but 
noticeable advantage over the wider and flatter skis.  

We skied along the western bank of Meadow Brook and decided to stop
for lunch in the open beaver pond area that forms the headwaters
of the brook.  The marshy pond was still frozen over allowing us to
to get out in the open to get great views of Mount Carrigan to the 
north.  By this time, the sky had cleared and sun was dazzling.

After a lazy lunch, Bork caught up on his sleep while Bob,
Jim and I changed over to red wax.  I should have taken
the opportunity to swap boots with Bob but, instead, waited
to get down the trail another 1/2 a mile or so before broaching
the subject with him.  My Futuras were digging into a bone
above the arch of my left foot, a problem that had resurfaced
since the acquisition of my new orthodics.  I had had this
same problem when we skied Bolton earlier in the winter and
thought I had corrected for it.  But it came back with a 
vengeance and I knew that if I continued to ski on it like
this, I would be hobbled tomorrow.  Bob graciously agreed
to swap boots with me, giving me back my oh-so-soft-and-cushy
Snowfields.  Actually, this was Bob’s first time in a stiffer
boot and he claimed to be thrilled with the swap after just
a few strides.  Being able to point his toes and having the
skis go in that direction was a new thing for him and he
liked it a lot!

The straight flat rail bed ended at a cross roads where the
tempting Hancock Notch Trail enters from the west and a logging
road/skidoo trail goes east.  Having been this way before,
we took the logging road up to the top of a small hill where
we were treated to great view of Carrigan and the cliffs of 
the Captain to the north-west.  After Bob and Bork took
some pictures, we proceed a bit further up and then reaped
the rewards of the climb with a long fast sweeping downhill
run down the logging road to gate at the end of the Sawyer
River Road.  Yeh, that’ll burn off your wax.

On thing that really stood out to me on the downhill was how
important ankle-ation was to control the edging of the narrow
skis with my super-soft Snowfields.  This was possible because
of how narrow my skis were.  I found that holding my ankles
stiff I could keep the edge angle more or less constant while
bombing down the refrozen ski-doo track.  What felt odd was not
using my knees to control the edges.  Interesting.

After collecting ourselves at the bottom of the downhill by
the bridge that crosses the Sawyer River at the beginning 
of the Sawyer Pond Trail, we re-waxed with copious amounts of 
Special Red for the upcoming climb.  Having done this section of 
trail before, Bob and I just carried our skis for the first 1/2 mile.  
Jim soon saw the wisdom of this approach but Bork, amazingly
kept his skis on.  Personally, I think instep crampons wouldn’t 
have been inappropriate.   At various points along the remaining 
climb, Jim, Bob and I were either on foot or on skis.  Bork just 
skied up the whole trail.  There were a few bare spots and rocks 
and roots to be negotiated and what snow that was present was 
pretty beaten up from the heavy foot traffic that this portion of 
trail gets.

We made it to the pond by 3:00.  The pond was, as it always is,
just stunning.  The cliffs of Owl Cliff and Mt. Tremont to 
the east and north-east where bathed in the late afternoon
light above the white expanse of the pond.  To our delight
(and surprise) the shelter wasn’t hammered as it sometimes
is in the winter.  We dropped and emptied our packs and after
getting settled into the shelter we had nothing to do except
ski and explore.  So we did.

On the north end of the pond, there is a small island.  It’s
sort of the finishing touch on this high mountain pond setting.
The ice on the pond was in ok shape with bare spots only near
feeder streams, so we took a careful but fun tour around the
perimeter of the pond, skiing around the small pretty island. 
Freed from the weight of heavy packs, it was fun to open it up 
a bit on snow covered ice in the warm afternoon snow.  

Back at the shelter, we got supper going.  Jim, bearer of the
stove, did the cooking.  We had rice and beans, complete with 
3 varieties of Tabasco sauce.  We also heated and treated water
and settled in to our bags as dusk gathered around the shelter
and the last light of the day shone on Owl Cliff. 

After dinner, we checked out the stars from the pond.  It was a 
a crystal clear night and there were so many stars in the sky that
it was hard to identify common constellations like the Big Dipper
and Orion.  We hung the Megamid across the opening of the shelter 
and turned in around 7:30.  

One of the things I’ve come to love about winter camping is the 
chance to sleep for 12 hours.  I also love a warm sleeping bag.
It wasn’t that awful cold at night.  I checked my wax thermometer
throughout the night and the coldest it got was about -8C.  Still,
I was chilled through out the night.  Best I can figure is that
I had gotten a bit dehydrated and lost too much fluid.  I blame
Bork for this.  

Along with waking up frequently with the cold and the need to
water the nearby foliage, we also had another thing to occupy our
attention throughout the night.  The pond ice was shifting.  It
made weird muffled booms and pops as it cracked.  Some were short
and sharp.  Others were long and drawn out and seemed to move
across the pond.

Morning in Sawyer Pond shelter on a sunny morning is pretty
special.  The sun comes up over Owl Cliff and instantly fills
the shelter with sun light.  It’s like somebody turning up the
thermostat.  While we were a bit cold night, we could lounge around
during breakfast out of bags and listening to the pond crack and groan.
So, we lingered long after the we were done eating.  We heated water
for the day, chatted as only friends of 20 years can and generally
just watched as the warmth of the spring sun warmed up this high
frozen mountain pond.

Speaking of the warm sun, it was clear that waxing was going to
be a bit of a challenge.  The thermometer showed it be a cool -3C
in the shade and a warm +5C in the sun.  I waxed up with a solid
layer of Universal Klister covered by Special Violet.  The first 
bit of skiing was back across the pond in the warm sun.  Plenty
of grip.  Next, the Sawyer Pond climbs south out of the basis at
a steady incline in the deep shade of the woods.  The skis gripped
tenaciously in the shade.  At slow speeds they dragged a bit but soon
the trail level off as we crossed the broad height of land under
the shadow of Green’s Cliff and on the level trail, we could 
double pole with abandon.  Here the skis were outright fast, so
the wax over klister really did its job.

Bork seemed to be getting hooked on speed too.  Somewhere along 
the line he and Bob switched skis, so not he was riding on Bob’s
waxed XCD Supremes.  He refused to give them back for the rest
of the day because of the speed increase compared to his waxless
skis.  Fast skis are fun skis (unless you’re stuck futzing with
wax that doesn’t work).

Soon it didn’t matter what wax we had on.  We ran out of snow as
we dropped off the height of land, descending to the south.  Off
came the skis and we hoofed it for about a 1/2 mile till the
trail intersected the unnamed ski-doo trail that ran east to
the Rob Brook road.  We dropped our packs and had our lunch.
While we were eating, I noticed a multi-colored flag woven out 
of surveyor tape.  Odd, I thought.

The ski-doo trail climbed slightly and then began what was 
supposed to be *the* downhill run of the trip.  The run starts
with a bang with a quick s-turn.  And there was big fat bald
spot in the middle of it.  Jim and Bork nailed it, making great
turns and threading the needle of snow on the side of the trail
around the bald spot.  I followed like a dog on linoleum with
my narrower skis and super-soft boots.  And when we rounded the
final bend, we ran out of snow, again.  Off came the skis.

We passed another couple of the odd surveyor tape flags and
somebody spotted 2 large red tarps pitched in the woods north
of the trail.  Maybe an orienteering competition?

A bit over 1/2 of the way down, we got snow again but it was
really chewed up by ski-doo traffic and parts of it were simply
frozen over.  Like yesterday’s downhill, the secret with the narrow
skis seemed to be to edge with my ankles, not my knees.  I just
prayed that the narrow skis wouldn’t catch an outside edge as I 
rumbled along the ground up and refrozen surface.

Along the way, I spotted yet another surveyor tape flag – this one
with a zip-lock baggie hanging on it containing a note.  I pulled
up to a stop and read the note.  It contained simple instructions,
something along the lines of:
  Shelly, Monday.  Put out fire. Spread and bury ashes.  Spread
  out any extra firewood. 

Now I had no idea what was going on.  Were the tarps somebody’s
quasi-permanent camp and were notes and flags a trail to lead
friends into the camp?

We got our answers at the bottom of the downhill run.  The ski-doo
trail bottoms out at a real backcountry crossroad.  Several ski-doo
trails, 2 hiking trails and a forest service road all converge in the
same general area.  At the intersection, there was a guy and a girl
sitting on a sled trailer.  She was warming her feet on his stomach,
or so it seemed.  There was a ski-doo under a tarp, a forest of old
Karhu XCD all mounted with Rottefella pins in the snow along with 
a mixture of other xc skis.  In the woods, there were several tents
and few xc skiers milling about.  Turns out that they were counselors
from the Holderness School, based in Plymouth.  They had the Junior
Class out on a 10-day trip and the students were on their 3-day solo
experience.  Pretty cool.  Well... more about that later.

Jim and I layered on some red klister, since our wax had been burned off
from the downhill run on the refrozen snow, and we strode off
down the Rob Brook Road to catch up with Bob and Bork.  Bork had just
thrown on some more of Bob’s Extra Red (glop) and Bob wasn’t letting
go of Bork’s wider waxless skis and they had left down the road several 
minutes ago.

Along the Rob Brook Road, we passed several more tape flags which
we had learned marked the location of the different camps being
used by the students on their solo camps.  We even got to meet
one of the campers.  We ran into a young woman who had just
received her instructions from the zip-loc bag near her flag.

Me:  “Hey there.  You one of the campers from the school?”
Her: [dejectedly] “Yah”
Me:  [trying to be upbeat] “So, having fun?”
Her: [flatly] “It sucks.”
Me:  “Oh? Not having fun, huh?”
Her: “I like being with the group.  It’s fun when I can be
      my friends.  But being along totally sucks.”
Me:  “So, is this trip mandatory?”
Her: “They *say* it isn’t, but it really is.”
Me:  “A bit of arm twisting?”
Her: “Total arm twisting.”

Actually, I could see her point.  They had the kids camping
in the hardwoods.  I mean, nice hardwoods are pretty and all
but just sitting under a tarp in the woods without being able 
to any vistas, or a pond, or even a brook would get pretty
old pretty fast. 

The rest of the trip was made up of decent striding on beat up snow
along the forest service road.  First we climbed steadily, but quickly,
and then the road rolled up and down for a few miles.  The telemark 
turn is fun.  So is the parallel turn.  Powder is fun.  And so is 
good striding.  The is a hypnotic quality to the rhythm that can
put me into a trance of sorts, at least when wax and skis and snow
are cooperating with each other.  And they where this afternoon.
And things worked even better by time we had skied half-way back
to the car and got close enough to the road to have common use
tracks.  I was once again reminded that narrower skis have their
advantages.  I could not have skied in those tracks with anything
wider than 70mm at the tip.

The Rob Brook Road finishes with one last downhill.  I switched
skis with Jim to see how the slightly wider and flatter Synchros 
handled the downhill run with the floppy boots compared to skinny
Mountain Highs.  The difference was really noticeable as I bounced
along the rutted re-frozen snow.

We all gathered at the trail head and began to change boot for
sneakers and pack the skis and gear onto and into Bork’s car.
Then, a mountain biker came rolling up on us, spinning along
through the snow in a super low gear.  He had ridden in along
Rob Brook Road this morning and gone all the way to Rte 302 via
the Sawyer River Road, a 20 something mile round trip.  He has
really wide tires and said he was only running about 15 pounds 
of pressure in them, sort of like a dune buggy on sand.  Pretty
impressive.  He also said that you need to glue one bead of 
the tire of the rim.  He said when you run the tires with 
low pressure, you can literally spin the tire on the rim and
rip out your valve stem. 

On the drive back to Bob’s car, we stopped at one of the 
overlooks to see where we had skied on the second day.
We could see the flanks of Mt. Tremont and Owl Cliff
which allowed us to determine where the pond was, even
if we couldn’t see it.  We could also see the front
side of Birch Hill and Green’s Cliff, which allowed
us to figure where the Sawyer Pond trail ran over the
broad height of land behind Birch Hill.

After moving gear around at Bob’s car up at Lily Pond,
we eased it into Lincoln to get warm drinks at the 
bagel shop.  The bad news: the trip was over and the time
with old friends had drawn to a close.  The good news:
we had gotten out of the wood soon enough that I would
be able to tuck my children in at night.  I’m a lucky
man.



Copyright 2004 by David Mann