Date: 2003-08-18
From: Mt Washington

To: Madison Hut (pt 2 of Mt. Washington Day)
Miles today: 7.0

[Transcriber's note: The whole day takes Jan from Lake of the Clouds to Madison Hut, but the first part of the day was sent in and posted as a separate entry from the top of Mt Washington.]Of course, we hang out at the summit too long. It's fascinating, an absolute blast up here. There's a short weather film about a "guest" having breakfast on the observation platform. The waiter appears and hands the diner a menu; the menu blows away in the strong summit winds. The table flips over, unseating the guest. Then the cornflakes are poured, but they too blow away. When the milk is poured, most sprays onto the diner; he grabs the jug away, pouring for himself, but that too blows off the mountain. It's clear the weather station folks up here have a good time.A number of thru-hikers are stopping in. I sit in the lunchroom next to thruhiker "Just Neal" from Scotland. I just love to listen to him talk. He says the Whites remind him of the Scottish highlands, esp. the craggy, rocky parts.Finch finally leaves the summit. Chief and I are feeling punky. We holler down at him from the observation deck "MOON THE COG!" The yellow train is passing close. Finch looks up, grins and waves, pretending not to understand. There's one PhD who needs to rediscover his inner frat boy. Far too much dignity there.Not me or Chief. We are utterly shameless, and fully plan to fulfill this time-honored AT tradition. But when we get down to the cog railway, almost half a mile below the summit, there is no train. Pooh! We are downcast.It's then I get a sinking feeling, and stop to take my pack off. I rummage inside, looking for my raincoat. I knew it! I've forgotten my raincoat back in the summit! Grrrrr!!! I'd been in a rush and ignored the "little voice" that said "go back, check!"That's quite a bit of elevation to regain.I briefly consider leaving my raincoat - after all, it's blue sky - then realize what a foolish thought that is. These are the temperamental Presidentials. It would be irresponsible to push on without rain gear.Double Grrrr!I tell Chief not to wait, and he says he will keep walking until he reaches a sheltered spot, then wait out of the wind. I drop my pack and literally run up the rocky slope to the top. Thank god for 1,800-plus miles of conditioning.It took me 15 minutes to walk down, and seven minutes to run back up. Chalk that up to packlessness, fury and adrenaline.Found the coat! So I've summited Mt. Washington twice today, "and frrrom boooth sides," says Neal the Scot, in his charming brogue.The climb up drained the "Grrr!" out of me; I climbed back down at a more moderate pace. It's very foggy now, almost white-out conditions, and it was clear skies when I'd started down. As I crossed the cog rail, I heard that lonesome whistle a blowin'. The cog train was coming! Rats! Bad timing again, now I am too early. It's not easy being a traditionalist. Ha! What I didn't realize was that the AT runs along parallel to the tracks for quite a bit. The anonymity of the fog gives me courage, and as the yellow train descended, not 10 yards away, I waved in a friendly way at engineers, just as Hotdog and Wench had coached me. My friend Skeemer had mooned the engineers, and they had thrown coal at him, another tradition. There's LOTS of coal on the Trail here.Once the engine had passed, I waved to passengers, to be sure I had their attention. They waved back, the innocents. Then I turned and dropped trou, counted to six, then restored order and turned to wave again. They were waving back, hooting and cheering, clapping. And I thought NH was a conservative state!Chief was waiting for me in the fog just 300 yards down. I told him about the train. He said the timing hadn't worked out right for him on the first one but there was another train coming. So, staunch traditionalists that we were, we repeated our performance on the count of three, again to rave reviews from the red train, waving and applause. It is going to be hard to return to the life of a respectable citizen upon my reentry. But if you think I'm bad, just imagine, a retired chief of the State Capitol Police of North Carolina giving such a performance! I mean, this man guarded the North Carolina governor!One thing: when I mooned the train, my liter water bottle (a Nestle's chocolate milk bottle) had fallen out. In the ensuing applause (and restoration efforts), I'd forgotten it. Now I have just 10 ounces of water to get me to Madison Hut. Wages of sin, I reckon.But in half a mile, we find a sweet spring flowing from a rock. I drank deeply, directly, without treating. I rarely do this. But "if this water is contaminated, we're all doomed," said Chief. It's icy cold, the coldest yet.The hiking today is absolutely spectacular, broad rocky views, blue sky above, vistas to die for. It doesn't get any better than this. I've been asked to hike the John Muir Trail out west next fall, and I'd hesitated - but after seeing these vistas, I know I'll go.My favorite places on this hike (places I plan to return to) have been Max Patch, the Humps, Greyson Highlands, the Whites... anyone seeing a theme here? Love those bare-top views.We skirt the rocky edge of Mt. Jefferson, and stopped to lunch in the benevolent sun. We are so lucky to have this weather! We're passed by Chuckles, a long sectioner who goes out on the AT every year. We packed up lunch and wandered on. We can see Chuckles far below, heading up the next rise.Then it happens. The sky clouds over and - just like that - it starts to rain. We're at Six Husbands Trail junction, which leads to the summit of Mt. Jefferson, and it began to splat, then pelt. We had put our pack covers on earlier when it clouded over; now we scrambled to put on our rain gear. After ten minutes, I noticed the raindrops had started to bounce against the stones. "It's sleeting," I called back to Chief. "What?" he called back against the wind.The wet rocks looked blacker than ever, and became very slick. We'd been spoiled by the last several dry days. Now rock became treacherous again. How would one billet up here with a broken leg?The rocks, darkened by rain, looked reptilian with their green lichen-speckled backs. Chief thought they looked like dragons. We were in Edmunds Col, a jumbled rock field where my buddy Notes had fallen 10 days earlier and dislocated his shoulder. Pea soup fog wipes out our views.Though we had thought to go another four miles to Osgood tent site, the closer Mt. Madison Hut is starting to look good. Ahead, the desolate rockpile that is Mt. Adams. We work our way carefully across the treacherous, slick-rocked col. It is infinitely easier to traverse dry rock. About the time we finish the col, the sun comes out, and the rocks and our gear start drying.The clouds start blowing away, and our soul-stirring vistas return. We swing gradually around the ridge and before us is the stony and desolate Mt. Madison. Can Madison Hut be far behind? Neither of us is up for another work-for-stay after Mizpah Hut, but I ask if we can give a talk on thruhiking. Carolyn the hutmaster already has her two requisite work-for-stays hired - Cobra and Splash, who we'd seen on the Mt. Washington summit. But Carolyn bites on the talk.Chief, however, has had enough. He's tired, been sleeted on, had fallen down on both knees a quarter mile before the hut, skinning them - he wants some pampering. He pulls out his plastic for the second time and buys himself some first-class citizenship. But I'm keen to try the presentation thing, and willing to sleep on a table, be fed and dry-housed in exchange.Supper, as usual, is filling, with fantastic hot, homemade bread. we thruhikers slather on the butter until it melts and drips. The thru-hiking talk goes well; the guests ask interesting and intelligent questions. I've had a fabulous day of hiking. I sleep well.What a day! Life is very, very good.