Mt. Morgan & Mt. Perceval

Back in 2010, we made it to the top of Mt. Morgan. Sierra, as always, was a pro. Second time around, we headed to the northwest area of Squam Lake in NH to bag both Mt. Morgan and Mt. Perceval. We left our house pretty early to get up north and get on the trail to “beat the crowds.” In characteristic over-doing-it fashion, we see barely anyone. It was, however, a crystal clear day. Things were looking good for a great hike all around. We also were sure to bring Sierra’s backpack, so she could get a bit of “working” in during the hike.

With our snowshoes on, we blazed through the woods. Sierra was doing great. There were quite a few shallow streams from early spring runoff. Nothing like the soothing sounds of crampon teeth against granite. A bit of the ways in, we reach a bridge. Let me nix that. We reached what used to be a bridge. Winter had not been kind to the logs, and we had to find our way around the rushing water and deep drifts at the lip of the rushing water. Sierra, like a champion, did great.

We continued on. The thing about hiking with Sierra when she’s doing great is her pace ... as in, she doesn’t have one. It is more like a steady sprint to the top of the mountain. End result: Sierra gets to practice her “Wait” command quite a bit. Not a horrible thing all-in-all. After Sierra broke through some of the deep snow with her skinny legs, we started the final ascent. We all took it like the true Sherpas we aspire to be like.

After 10-15 more minutes, we make to the top of Mt. Perceval. We snap some pics, eat some more goodies, get some water and take in the amazing views: mountains to the north, lakes to the east [Squam & Winnipesaukee], and stately looking conifers to the west.  

In time, we pack up and keep pushing on the loop to Mt. Morgan. Writing this from memory: I am not sure of the mileage for many of the details heading down. But I remember truly enjoying the hike up. The hike down was only challenging with Sierra pulling a bit — as we tried to balance ourselves on steep snowy hills.

We stop once to snap some more pics and then decide to push on ahead, back to the trailhead. With about .5 miles to go, Sierra catches scent of the fact that we’re almost back to the car. So began her showing off with Olympic-like strength. In time, we got to the bottom: tired but not so tired that we couldn’t enjoy the drive home through a stellar area in NH.

A beautiful winter hike for us.

Happy snowshoeing.

Pictures

Skijoring & Snowshoeing

Beaver Brook, just west of Nashua, is one of our favorite local areas to walk Sierra. A myriad of trails. Perfect for cross-country skiing/skijoring, some light sledding, hiking, or snowshoeing. Or simply taking a walk. After a hefty winter storm this past January, we headed out into the wilderness on both Saturday and Sunday morning to get our outdoor fix.

Day 1: Skijoring. Sierra has caught on pretty quick this winter. She still struggles with stopping to take in the smells of the area. But hey, we love her anyways. Mel and I both took turns hooking up the belt to get some time in with “dog power” — which makes skiing all the more difficult for the person without a dog. We had good runs both into the woods and on our way out.

Day 2: Snowshoeing. Taking our favorite trails ... but this time in some unspoiled areas of fresh snow. On a day like this, it is easy to see that Sierra loves being outdoors and working.

At the end of the weekend, we were tired — but in that good way. A classic (and ideal) winter weekend for us. We loved every second of it.

Happy winter trails!


Pictures

Mt. Washington

Melissa was out of town, so I decided Sierra and I should share some quality time ... in the form of a thigh-busting hike. We stayed in Driver River Campground (Crawford Notch) in the White Mountains. Very few people were staying there. All-in-all, a peaceful experience.

We awake early Saturday to head over to Pinkham Notch, as I know it will take several hours to make the top [via Glen Boulder Trail]. 1.5 miles in, we cross a rushing brook by foot bridge. So begins the overgrown thickets of the trail. Things feel wrong, but for some reason I plunge ahead. After .8 miles (do not laugh), I realize we are not gaining the elevation we need to, and we are not switchbacking to the summit. With much irritation, I decide to turn around, and we lug ourselves back up the hills, another .8 miles. Shortly before the aforementioned rushing brook/foot bridge, there is a steep turn off. On the way back, Sierra catches sight of it and starts heading up. I am angry we have hiked so much and done so little to get to the top of the mountain. I am now more resolved than ever to reach the top though. So began the true hike.

After a bit, I notice we have hiked 3.5 miles. I am drenched with the sweat, but Sierra is still looking strong. After about an hour, we reach Glen Boulder (see above), which is a great place for us to rest and get out of the sun after hiking as much as we have done. A first for me though: my thighs are cramping every 5-10 minutes. Sierra is not impressed. I am equally as unimpressed. I hydrate constantly, trying to do the same for Sierra. She seems fine. I, on the other hand, am passed by 4 people over the course of an hour. I begin to recognize that this is my worst showing as a hiker to date.

We begin making our way to the Boot Spur. Now, the guide book I was using was sure to note that Mt. Washington is nicknamed “the rock heap.” At this point in the hike I am placing expletives before its nickname. At one of my “cramping pitstops,” I decide to check Sierra’s feet — since so much of the trail has been rock. To my non-surprise, both back feet are bleeding, ever so slightly. I am now cursing myself. 4 to 4.5 miles into this hike, I am cramping every 3 seconds, Sierra is bleeding, and I realize now that there is only one way down: up.

Safety first! I had packed Sierra’s “dog booties” for a situation just like this, and I place them on her back feet. So begins the every-75-yards-process of turning said booties around, as they would get twisted as Sierra dragged her feet across the rocks on ascents. At each rest, we both seem pooped. I admit to myself that my neo-Thoreauvian attitude is on empty. Sierra and I begin hiking on pure adrenaline (read: rage).

On “the flats” (before the last push to the summit), we pass a trail sign. “Mt. Washington — 1.0 mile” it reads. I am simultaneously elated and heartbroken. The last .5 mile feels the hardest. While I know that is certainly not empirically accurate, my thighs, brain and emotions do not care. We are dragging.

At each “mini-break” on the way to the top, we chat with solo hikers, families of four, and gaggles of Europeans. All who seemingly have the emotional fortitude of Rocky and the wind stamina of Brazilian soccer phenom Pelé. Eventually, the rise of boulders give way to herds of tourists and weather/radio towers. With no wind on top and the temperature holding at a balmy 48 degrees, I feel as though we are rewarded for hiking through this emotional gauntlet: a perfect day on Mt. Washington. Needless to say, it was worth it.

I decide it is best to descend in a van via the auto-road — as Sierra’s front feet also started looking a bit raw. We snap some pics, sit on a bench for a bit, say hello to children and parents who want to pet Sierra, and we wait for our ride down. A challenging hike that I would most likely never do again with a dog (Let that be a note to you dog owner/reader).

That said, we certainly felt like stone cold champions. Sierra was exhausted. I was exhausted. After being bussed back to Pinkham Notch where our truck was waiting for us, we beelined it back to camp and headed home.

Tallest peak in the northeast, “check.” What else ya got?

Happy hiking.


Pictures