Date: 2013-09-05
From: Madison Springs Hut

To: Stealth camp @ Pinkham Notch, NH 16
Miles today: 7.8

I slept well again last night. I could hear the wind and rain pounding on the roof and windows. It must have been miserable out there. One of the awesome croo members had coffee on the table for us when we started to rouse. The rage of the night's storm had calmed, and the air was noticeably cooler. The ridges across the valley finally lifted their masks. Off and on all morning our view came and went. Cat Lady and Oaks strummed their instruments to wake up the hut guests, and it put the rest of us in the best of moods. The thru-hikers huddled around the far back table and waited for the paying guests to finish up their breakfast. I tried to read a book but ended up chatted with Dr. Who. We were served oatmeal, coffee cake and omelet for breakfast (and lots and lots of coffee). Just as we were about to start our morning work, I saw Joseph of the Flying J's come walking up. He was soaked. His pack was dripping. His hair was stuck to the sides of his face. He was wearing his crocs without socks. His hands were pale and pruny. Oh shit. He walked into the hut, and Jamie walked up soon after. Somehow she looked even wetter and more miserable than I think I've ever seen anyone look. She seemed to have on every stitch of clothing she owned, and they were all wet and water-logged. Sweet Jesus. They'd gone down the wrong trail last night during the height of the storm and had to climb back up a super steep, tough trail. Even the croo recoiled in horror when they told them the name. The wind was too strong to set up their tent, so they slept on a rock and draped their tent over them to try to to keep the rain off. Everything was soaked. Jaime dropped her bag inside, and it formed a impressive puddle. Tough Cookie and I grabbed the Flying J's a cup of coffee. The croo brought out blankets and turned on the oven so they could warm up. Honestly, the croo at Madison Springs Hut has really gone above and beyond to help out the thru-hikers. I'm not sure I could sing their praises as much as they deserve. After breakfast, they put us to work. We had to wipe down every surface within arm's reach with a cold bleach rag. I'm guessing they are getting ready to close up for the season. Either way, with all the free labor, we had the work knocked out within 45 mins.Hobo and I were two of the last hikers out. It was cool, but not as cold as I feared it would be. The clouds had mostly cleared, and the air felt clean and shiny. We hiked straight up hill to the peak of Mt Madison, straight into the sunlight. I had a hard time staying on the path and seeing the rock cairns with the with the sun in my eyes. And, wow, was it steep! A vertical rock crawl. I felt so strong and fresh. We passed two trail maintenance crew members carefully building rock cairns. The wind wasn't nearly as strong so it made the experience much more pleasurable, especially since Mt Madison seemed little more than a GIANT pile of sharp rocks that came to an even sharper point. On top, I felt that I was standing on a tall pointy cone. The view back to Mt Washington was impressive. Even with the wind yesterday, we've had such tremendous weather really. We took a little break on top. Hobo had cellphone service. So while he typed away, I stared out at the Whites, Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Eisenhower, Monroe, Garfield. They'd astonished me and humbled me, enthused me and hurt me, elated me and crushed me. And I'm not done yet. I started to get antsy, but I managed to settle myself. This could very well be my last good view of the Whites, and I couldn't ask for a more beautiful view of it. The gray stones that sound like the stop lid to a sarcophagus moving off its base when the stones shifted. Tying to follow the path and finding yourself 10 or more feet to the left or right and no idea where you went off. Lime green and black lichen curling up off the rocks. A ridge line that raises and falls like a roller coaster lined with pimples of cairns that grow smaller and smaller in the distance. A helicopter that hauled in supplies up to Madison Springs Hut and hauled away empty propane tanks dangling from its belly like an umbilical cord. Simultaneously Hobo and I realizing why it was so expensive to pay to stay in the huts. The down was rough. It took us all day. My knees are so sore despite the Ibuprofen and Aleve, knee braces and tiger balm. We thought we'd reached bottom, so we stopped for lunch. In fact, we were only half the way down. We passed the time by discussing so poignant topics as politics, religion, marriage, family, women's gymnastics, corporate sponsorship, Martha Stewart, poo, the Olympics, just to name a few. We stopped to take a few breaks, and I had to patch a hot spot forming on the arch of my foot. We crossed some fast-moving rivers and walked across an awesome wooden suspension bridge. And before we realized it, it was late. The sun was disappearing behind the mountains. We never managed to catch up with Pressure-D and Tough Cookie, but since it was getting dark, we started looking for a stealth camping spot. We were completely surprised to walk up to the Pinkham Notch Visitor's Center. We weren't expecting the restaurant, gift shop, bathrooms, and whatnot. We looked at our directions. There was no mention of any of it. We walked inside and asked the nice lady at the welcome desk, Where are we? They looked at us like we had two heads. We were expecting a simple road crossing, and instead we'd walked upon a major tourist attraction. We refilled our water, threw away our garbage, used the bathroom and crossed the road in search of a place to pitch our tents. The sun was well behind the hill, and the temperature had dropped by at least 10 degrees. Fortunately, there were some campsites just down the trail. Pressure-D & Tough Cookie, Oaks & Sweetpea, Tangy and Cat Lady were all there. I got my tent set up and dinner made. I was shocked by how tired I am. My face is pretty sunburned and wind-burned. I'm ready to have the Whites and New Hampshire behind me. We still have 48 miles to go. Normally that would be three days, but I'm guessing it might take 5-6 days. Damn. And Southern Maine is supposed to be even tougher. Okay, I'm tired and I keep dozing off while I'm trying to talk. My legs ache and my long johns are full of salty sweat. Good night.