This trek reminded me of a familiar admonition from childhood: don't bite off more than you can chew. Even after 30 years of hiking and bushwhacking, there are lessons to be learned, or re-learned.
The setting for this journey was the Dry River valley, the long, remote drainage on the south side of Mt. Washington, which forms the core of the Presidential Range-Dry River Wilderness. (The view of the valley seen below was taken from a southerly spur of Mts. Webster and Jackson.)
Dry River is wild, rough country, and, despite its proximity to the ultra-popular Southern Presidentials, its primitive trails are lightly traveled. In recent winters the valley has developed a reputation as a catchbasin for lost hikers driven off the Southern Presidentials by bad weather and/or misnavigation. Once down in there, it's a long ways out, and the trails are usually unbroken, if they can be found at all in the deep snow.
The name of the river itself is deceptive - it is a fast riser after heavy rain, and two hikers drowned here in separate incidents in 1971. In the wake of those tragedies, the Dry River Trail was relocated to eliminate the many river crossings of the old logging railroad grade, and a suspension footbridge was built over the first crossing, 1.7 miles from the road.
(Middle of Dry River valley from Mt. Pierce.)
I had two objectives for this hike. One was to visit the newly reconstructed suspension footbridge, which had just been opened to public use the previous weekend after being closed for four years. The second was to bushwhack to a small cliff deep in the valley, where I had found an unusual view on an autumn journey back in 1997.
Heavy snow had fallen a few days earlier on the north side of Crawford Notch, and I had decided that if there was significant snow at the trailhead, I would hike elsewhere -- a nine-plus mile solo round trip through unbroken snow would not be manageable.
When I got to the trailhead on Route 302, I found...bare ground. I knew there would be at least some snow farther and higher in the valley, so I brought both Microspikes and snowshoes along - one of the things I did right today. Without either I wouldn't have completed the trip.
Before long you're in the Wilderness, and this one certainly has more than enough "wild" in it to earn the label.
A view of the boulder-strewn Dry River.
I ran into the first snow here, which had refrozen into near-ice where the trail tightropes along a very steep slope just past the outlook. I put the Microspikes on, and wouldn't have done this stretch without them. Then the trail descends a rather nasty steep pitch towards the bridge; this will be a tricky spot when it freezes up.
A nice ledgy spot on the river just past the bridge.
On went the snowshoes for their first workout of the season.
After a rough, rocky stretch along the bank, the trail crossed this brook. And here I made a careless navigational error. I assumed this was a brook shown on the USGS topo map, and I soon left the trail to head up the ridge that rises between it and the Dry River, a route that would lead me to the clifftop I was seeking. The trail had become increasingly obstructed by blowdowns and bendovers, and I was anxious to get off it and start whacking.
Out here, deep in the valley, I felt "Alone in the Wilderness." I soon found evidence that there were other creatures out and about. First a bear...
Through a break in the trees there was a peek up at the high ridge of Mt. Davis.
I broke out into the open hardwoods that I remembered from my previous visit to this ridge. Some large old yellow birches in here.
And here my legs put up their first protest in the form of painful cramps of the inner thigh muscles. This has happened occasionally before on bushwhacks with much leg lifting, and also on the first full-day of snowshoeing in a season, when these muscles have been on a long layoff. On this trip I was doing both. Compounding the problem, I had not stopped often enough to drink water because I felt an urgency to keep moving with the short daylight hours. Dumb and dumber!
After wallowing through the first spruce traps of the season, I finally made my way out to the little clifftop perch at 1:30 pm, 4 1/2 hours from the trailhead. It was downright balmy here, no need for a hat or more than one extra layer.
The view from here south down the Dry River valley is unique, though the low December sun and hazy skies made for less than stellar pictures.
The lower Dry River valley is like a canyon - it's hard to believe a railroad was put up through here.
Across the valley to the west is Mt. Jackson, which has a broad-spreading aspect from this perspective, quite different from its usual nubbly look. In the foreground the steep valley wall is scored by numerous small slides and gullies.
A nice area to snowshoe in.
And then, about halfway down to the valley floor, I hit some bad woods. With the need for lots of maneuvering and leg-lifting to negotiate these small snow-covered conifers, the leg cramps really kicked in, the worst I've ever experienced. Several times I was immobilized for a few minutes. Clearly I had way overdone it today. I ate and drank more and chewed more electrolyte tablets.
It was three o'clock and I will confess to having a few anxious moments while struggling in the thickets. I figured I would be able to get out OK, but that it could take longer than usual. If I needed to eat and drink periodically to keep the cramps at bay, I had plenty of food and still had a bit of water left. I could drink more from the several side streams crossed by the trail, or from the river itself.
Various thoughts came to me when I was trying to work out the cramps. As a husband, I was concerned about the worry an unusually late exit would cause for my wife. As a search and rescue volunteer, I considered the embarrassment of a really, really late exit, having Fish & Game officers and some of my Pemi Valley cohorts give up their evening and come out in the dark looking for me when I wasn't injured or lost, just delayed by my own stupidity. Say what you want about cell phones - I carry one - but in a case like this a call could save alot of trouble and worry. No chance of a signal in this remote valley, though. Lurking in the back of my mind was the knowledge that heavy rain was moving in overnight.
I was very happy to finally get down to the trail and begin the four-mile trudge out, even with its ups and downs and many blowdowns and bendovers and stepovers. The cramps settled down when I was just doing regular walking, but continued to act up when going over fallen trees. I reached the bridge at dark, and sat down to pull out a headlamp and put on the Microspikes for the steep icy pitch up past the Mt. Washington outlook. With the cramps I had a difficult time bending my legs to pull the stretchy rubber of the 'spikes on - for one foot I had to take my boot off to do it. (In this instance, Stabilicers would have been far easier to put on.) Once past the steep descent from the outlook, the walking became pleasant on bare ground.
The last stretch out could have been a scene from "The Great Carbuncle," with gnarled hardwood branches looming high overhead under the dim light of a cloud-veiled moon.
As it turned out, I made it home in time for a not-too-late dinner. When I emailed my bushwhacking buddy John Compton about this trek, I said it could be considered an epic or a debacle, depending on your point of view. With his usual good humor, he suggested it be called an "epicable." The photo below, taken from Mt. Pierce, shows the setting for the day's journey, one which this fool won't soon forget.
Steve, thank you for sharing this impressive report! And I say "impressive" not just because of the narrative and splendid photos that resulted from a very unique hike.
ReplyDeleteBy far the most "impressive" aspect of your report is the honesty and character you showed by recounting all aspects of this hike, including those aspects which you referred to as "misadventures" in the title of your report. William Shakespeare is credited with saying that "No legacy is so rich as honesty." I think your legacy not only remains intact, but has actually been ratcheted up a few notches!
John
1HappyHiker
Thanks, John. Aren't you sorry you missed this one? It would have been a better scenario had you been along with your good common sense.
ReplyDeleteI was careless in several ways on this hike, and felt it should be noted in the report. I hope to avoid any repeats in the future!
Steve
Steve, thank you for your honesty and humility. Conjures up memories of one of my own "misadventures" on the Franconia Ridge twenty years ago that resulted in a badly frostbitten nose. Thanks for the great photos and report!
ReplyDeleteThank you, John. Sounds like you have a good tale to tell there. There are always things to be learned from trips gone awry.
ReplyDeleteSteve