Bald Mountain and Artist's Bluff: getting me some "up". (pt two)

The scenic drive up was breath taking. Having received no instruction as to where to park, I did so in the most appropriate appearing spot: the Mirror Lake parking lot. This is a key point and the reason that it all "went wrong". Don't park there. The CORRECT parking area is further up the road on the right hand side (the same side as the trails). If you park in the right place you go up the right trail to Artist's Bluff and it would have, indeed, been an easy hike up and back with a great view at the end of it. 

Instead, I used the map that I had to locate the trail that looked like it arose right across the street from the parking lot. It was easy enough to find and follow due to the large red blazes on the trees.  The first little bit was a nice walk but I was soon confronted with a sign that indicated that the trail that I was on was a "loop" trail and that I could go left or right. Randomly I picked left. That was my second big mistake. 

The "loop" part of the trail is rough cut, rocky, rooty and eroded. Its' kind of slippery and dangerous and it's sole purpose seams to be to funnel hikers "in the know" away from the right hand trail and back onto the ACTUAL, easier trail that leads out from the ACTUAL parking lot. Of course, and hiker savvy enough to know tis probably also knows that they are in the wrong starting point to begin with. Ultimately, this trail is kind of useless. 

I followed it any way and was, indeed, brought to a nice wide relatively obstical-free path that led steadily up the saddle between the mountain  and the Bluff. At the top of this short climb there was a sign that indicated the location of the two features leading to the respective trails. As this was all going much smoother than I had expected, I picked the left (again!) trail and went up Bald Mt. 

This was more interesting to be sure and NOT part of the recommended hike. That was highlighted on my map by the Rangers and did not include this section. There was a significant amount of actual climbing involved in this part of the hike but it was easily conquered and I was rewarded at the top by great views of Canon Mountain and the surrounding peaks. When it was time to come down I searched for another trail off of the top and, finding none, went back down the way that I came up. It was harder going down than up.

BAck on the right trail I had a nice hike over the ridge and started down the other side. There the rock-scrambling began again but after a few feet there was a sign "bluff" painted in red on the rock. A sort hike down a side trail shoed me spectacular views of Lafayette, Cannon and south back down the notch. It was better than the summit of Bald Mt. 

Still convinced of this "loop" thing I continued down the rock scrambles instead of just walking back down the trail. It was difficult. It would have been difficult to come UP that way. The trail soon passed the "loop trail" sign and emptied back out onto the road. 

It was a great little hike that would have been more fun if I had done it the "right way".

Bald Mountain and Artist's Bluff: getting me some "up". (pt one)

The world was aligned with my karma last week. I got a good night's sleep and even got up and out a little early. I was bound and determined that I was going to get up into the WHite Mountains and hike for the day. What I had in mind, more because it was close than for any other reason, was the Welch-Dickie loop. This was pretty much universally described as an "intermediate" trail. In the White Mountains. The tallest thing that I can remember climbing, from scratch, was about 900 feet, down in Pawtuckaway. I was second-guessing this whole thing. I wanted a win, not another attempt. I looked on-line and was able to find, one time in a row, an interactive Googlemap that had little icons at every trail head and pick-nic spot. There were HUNDREDS of them. I couldn't even begin to guess which ones were "good". I stopped at the Park HQ, right off Rt.93 at exit 27.

Inside I was met by three friendly rangers. The older of the three had apparently drawn the "ups" on me and we struck up a pleasant conversation in which I coughed up a storm and revealed that I could not come up with the word "Pawtuckaway" under the slightest bit of pressure from The Man. This particular Ranger, it turns out, was a recent transplant from Florida. The highest point in the sate, or some I am led to believe, is the top of a building, not an actual geological feature. I thought that, with that in mind, we would ahve a special kind of understanding when I told him that I wanted "Something relatively easy today". "Couch, hack". "I have just the thing for you!" He told me and, in consultation with Evil Mastermind and Knowledgeable Ranger Chris, came up with about a dozen likely prospects. The one that he was most keen on was clear on the other side of the park. So I left the Ranger Station with renewed and fierce determination to drive one exit up and get off the highway in the Mad River Valley and conquer that Welsh-Dickie thing at all costs. Until I saw the sign for the exit and chickened right the fuck out.

Driving. I hate it. I do it an hour on the way to work and an hour on the way back. I do it most of the time that I am at work and I did it for two and a half hours before I set off from the Ranger Station to Franconia, which lay at the northern end of the Notch of the same name. I honestly don't remember how long it took. It could have been half an hour or an hour and a half. My mind was numb to the miles and time and my eyes and soul were distracted by the beauty and grandeur of the Notch. I thought to myself that if I didn't set boot to trail just driving through the Notch and sucking in the view would make the whole trip worth while. It was a t that point that I realized that my blood sugar was low.

I was in luck. At the same exit that I wanted for the trailhead there was a blue sign with a picture and an arrow on it indicating that if I followed the road in the direction that I wanted to go, I would come across "food". I cold work with that. Eventually I got to the village of Franconia. After all the build up of the State Park and grandiose Notch, the village was quite a let down. I had a dickens of a time finding a place to eat. There wasn't a Mac Wedoking any where in sight. What there was, nestled between a bike shop and a "country store" was a coffee-shop looking place called MoJos

It was a little place with a porch or walkway our front, like in the old cowboy movies, but painted bright yellow. There were two tables out front, one on each side of the door and a bunch of Hippie-theamed Shenanigans crap hanging from the facade and in the windows. It looked like exactly the kind of place that I always have liked, but never feel cool enough to go into. The pickings were slim though so I spooled up my courage, slid on my best Jerry Garcia vibe and slid on in. Inside there were two people. A tinny little hippie girl who was too cute to hail from a town like this and a giant, crew-cut wearing New Hampsire Stat Trooper, resplendent in his big hat, brown pants and neon green coat. The two of them were doing their best to bridge the cultural gap and try to figure out a way to explain to their respective circles of friends why they were looking at each other "like that". Clearly I eaves dropped and realized that not only do Troopers come from all around to eat here (always a good sign of good food) but that the fastest way back to the seacoast was down highway 101. It was also clear that these two were just too star-crossed to stand a chance and shortly after I placed my oder, the both left and I was alone to suck in the hippie-dippy ambiance. I liked it. I liked the food too. It's worth the trip back and if I had nothing to do all day but tool around in a brown muscle car on the trail of Moose Rustlers, I'd find a reason to stop in here for a bite too. I fueled up and headed out too. 

I need more altitude

I can't remember exactly when it was that I started plotting my great escape. No, not from a Nazi Prison camp, but from Civilization. Initially, I just went out and bought the stuff that I would need to survive a couple of days in the woods. I had carried my "House" before, of course. In the military I had a bunch of crappy, heavy gear that was one-size-fits-all and, did I mention, heavy as hell. Throw in a few cans of chili and a couple hundred rounds of ammo and, um, yea. Now I had light, good fitting gear. I was twenty year older and forty pounds heavier but we were talking about walking, after all. How hard could  it be?

I had day-hiked fairly often. There was one local "mountain" in particular that we had been up and down several times. So, I ahd a Hiker Friend of mine select an "easy" route to a shelter just a few miles into the White Mountain National Forest. It might as well ahve been on Mars. I made it about half way up the first peak. That was all. Oh sure, there were all kinds of extenuating circumstances, like the couple of feet of snow still on the ground. Or the fact that I hadn't slept in, like, three days. Whatever. In the end we came down and rooted out a camp site for the night. My traveling companion wanted to shelter at teh Mount Washington Hotel. I think he missed the point a little. Yes we went back up the hill the next day and got that "win" but it was not a summit. we did not camp in the wilderness.

In the couple of years since I hiked. Almost all of it was lowlands and park trails. We made it to the top of a few mountains that you could drive mostly to the top of before you found the trail head. Then we tried Pleasant Mountain in Bridgeton. We didn't make it to the top. Of course, I was probably having at least part of a heart attack at the time (I had a full-blown one a couple of months later). Excuses, they say, are like smelly anatomy parts: every one has some. And that was that.

I still long for and ceaselessly plan my escape, my challenge, my Summit! Someday. Someday soon I hope!