Date: 2014-07-31
From: Beaver Brook Shelter

To: Chet's Hostel in Lincoln via Franconia Notch
Miles today: 17.8
Weather: broken clouds

Beaver Brook Shelter appeared to be full, and there were a dozen or more tents perched on the steep ground around it when I arrived there at 7:30 last night. But when I asked if there was room in the shelter, its occupants quickly made a space so I could squeeze in. Just another example of the camaraderie within the hiking community. I benefited again this morning by being treated to a sunrise over the Franconia Ridge from the comfort of my sleeping bag.There was another change of plans today. Because the forecast called for thunderstorms on Saturday, the day my friend, Tom, had planned to hike the Franconia Ridge with me, I texted him to see whether he still wanted to follow through, because if not I would hike it on Friday instead, when the weather is supposed to be sunny. My brother, Tom, knew someone who was struck and killed by lightning on that ridge, so I was reluctant to attempt it in threatening conditions. My friend replied that he was fine with the change of plans, so I now intend to hike the ridge tomorrow.The trail down from the shelter on Moosilauke was extremely steep and rugged to the point where its maintainers had attached wooden steps and rebar to the granite slabs to give hikers a fighting chance. The 1.6-mile descent took over an hour, twice the time that distance would normally take me. The climb back up the Kinsman Ridge Trail was just as arduous, and by the time I reached the Eliza Brook Shelter it was past 2:00, so I began to worry about the thunderstorms predicted for later in the afternoon. Much of the climb up South Kinsman was a scramble over car-sized boulders, during which I found myself grabbing trees to hoist myself up. By the time I reached the summit the skies had darkened and a storm was threatening, yet there was still a mile ridge walk to North Kinsman before I could drop down to safer ground. An then, on the last summit of the day on the last day of July, ice began falling from the sky. And I'm not talking sleet, but rather pea-sized hail, which was coming down so heavily that the ground soon began to turn white. I took this as my cue to get the hell out of Dodge, and I climbed down from the summit as quickly as possibly without risking a fall on the slippery rocks. Even with my raincoat on, I was soon drenched and began to feel hypothermic. And then the storm passed, the sun came out, and all of a sudden we'd returned to the regularly-scheduled July weather.When I arrived at the Lonesome Lake Hut, Space Blanket was there. He'd been far enough in front of me that he got hit with rain but not hail, and had secured a work-for-stay spot at the hut. He wasn't sure what his work would be, but he was eyeing the food being prepared for the guests. Since I needed to get into town to resupply and pick up my new shoes, I quickly ate a bowl of soup and got on my way.Less than a quarter-mile beyond the hut, just after I turned onto the Cascade Brook Trail, I saw a full-size moose 30 yard in front of me. He spotted me at about the same time and disappeared up the hillside. I was struck by its massive size and have no idea why it should have been scared of me. The last three miles down the mountain were uneventful except for the knee-deep ford of Cascade Brook, which was swollen from the earlier storm.When I got to the road, I walked while hitching, as there were almost no cars going by. When I reached the first motel and was quoted a price of nearly $100, I called a shuttle for a lift to the Chet's Hostel in Lincoln. Who should be there but ABear, Pockets, and Vista, all of whom I'd last seen on the day Tor picked me up in Great Barrington, MA to bring me home for my daughter, Sonja's, birthday.