The need to train our bodies and test our gear for our ever-impending trip to Machu Picchu happily coincided with a peerless weekend of summer weather in the White Mountains: cool sunshine, no humidity, with big billowy clouds to gently block the sun every-so-often. We packed our packs with new featherweight sleeping bags and other camping accouterments and hit I-93 North on Saturday morning. On the way, we debated the merits of various itineraries: Should we join the crush at the Guyot campsite in the Bonds? Do we maximize this training opportunity and brave the Kinsmen? How about an afternoon of slow suicide on the Hancocks?
In the end, we stuck with our original plan of hiking beloved Mount Carrigan (a 4000-Footer that we bagged 2 years ago), and then continuing down the Desolation Trail to camp near the scenic Nancy Pond Trail, which is purported on some internet user forums to have numerous remote spots for camping. Then, the next morning, we would amble easily for 5 miles of flat along the Carrigan Notch Trail to complete the loop back to our car, and then high-tail to a local town for a belly-busting brunch. Because the mere act of waking up in the woods burns about a thousand calories.
If you have a modicum of physical fitness, endurance, and/or youth, then hiking a 4700-foot mountain is kinda easy. But doing it with a large pack on your back is always, always a different, more agonizing story. Since we didn’t start hiking until 11am (a late start by hiker’s standards), we encountered dozens of day-hikers coming down from the top, all light and jaunty.
“How much further to the ridge?” I asked a man who was descending with a short-legged dog.
“Oh, probably about an hour,” he said. “But just a little further ahead, you’ll be above the treeline, and you can see the top as you’re walking to it.” He smiled the good-natured smile of a man who has been there. “It’s about an hour! Don’t worry, the view is worth it!” He was right, as we were soon above the trees and bathed in views:
View of Voss Spur and Carrigan Notch from Carrigan Ridge
It’s about 30 minutes from the ridge to the fire tower on the summit, but owing to the elating surroundings, it’s among the easiest 30 minutes of elevation gain in the Whites. As we approached the fire tower, it appeared to be deserted except for:
Mt. Carrigan Fire Tower
Mt Carrigan Summit
I managed to climb to the top of the tower without suffering from any of my trademarked vertigo-dizzy-fits.
Top of Carrigan Fire Tower
View of Carrigan Ridge
Neil Patrick Harris was here?!
After admiring Carrigan’s fine view, we hit the Desolation Trail, which I dreaded because the guide book used dire descriptive language (“very steep and rough” “requires great care” “substantial extra time may be required particularly on the descent or with heavy packs”). Honestly, we’ve done much worse. Bob Dylan’s sixties opus “Desolation Row” became lodged in my head as I took giant steps down the haphazard slabs of rock and strained to remember the lyrics:
Yes, I received your letter yesterday
About the time the doorknob broke.
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they’re quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can’t read too good
Don’t send me no more letters, no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row
The Carrigan Notch/Nancy Pond area lacks any official campsites, meaning that would-be campers must venture at least 200 feet off the trail in order to comply with forest regulations. And given that most campers are destructive slobs, that’s how it should be… so this next part is written shamed-facedly. As soon as we ventured onto the Nancy Pond trail, we spied an established campsite just off the trail in a grove of tall pine trees — a cleared area with a nice fire pit. I was immediately tempted to stay there. Of course Mr. P wanted to find a site that was 200 feet off the trail — it’s the right thing to do, and he would hate to run afoul of the forest service and risk, like, losing his Green Card — and we poked around for about an hour looking for one, but in the end we decided we’d do a lot less environmental damage by staying at the established/illegal campsite.
Campsite with none of the comforts
This area is known for its black bear population. Humans whimsically name things Bear Peak, the Bear Deli, and the Bearfoot B&B, but when you’re tramping around the forest with a cache of energy bars strapped to your back, suddenly bears are transformed from a totem of our rugged frontier heritage to a menace. I was eager for nightfall so I could build a fire. But until then, Mr. P clung closely to his bear whistle. “Won’t the whistle just annoy the bear, so he’ll kill you to make the noise stop?”
Whistle, Whistle!
Night fell, and we sought light, heat, and comfort from our campfire. As the wood steadily turned into a pile of smoldering coals, all my fears of bear attacks melted into just another abstract impossibility, like an alien invasion or President Palin. We absconded to the tent and slept deeply…
until 6am the next morning, when the forest stirred with light and life. We awoke, enjoyed a morning tea and a bite to eat, and then started our hike back to the car. (The early hiker catches the cobwebs.) When we finished, I looked fondly at my boots — a pair of mid-height Merrell’s that I bought 2 years ago at an REI Garage Sale and never wore due to that year’s abundance of boots — and I said, “You lucky boots. You have just won a trip to Machu Picchu!”
