I keep this photo on my dresser. It’s in a flip display of photos, mostly taken on the same trip, from a long ago era when the indulgent person would have two copies of each snapshot – one to keep and one to give. Or one to display and one to save. There are some pretty pictures in the display, but this is the one that’s always showing. It’s my mother, my fiancée and me in the parking lot of Sunrise on Mt. Rainier, wearing backpacks. My mom is only a year or two older in that picture than I am now. We’re loaded down with tents, sleeping bags and ground pads on our external frame nylon packs for four days doing the North Side of the Wonderland Trail. It was a great hike, and one of the many times I dragged people I love up and down mountains.
For a long time, I was in a no hiking zone. Small children were not a good combination with “I’ll see you in three days”. Plus, solo hiking as a woman has only very gradually become more common and less unusual (and therefore safer). Heck, back in the 90s, there were fewer women hiking altogether. I remember that there was a charity fundraiser at my mom’s school, and I put ALL my money on a backpacking trip led by a father of a friend who was also a National Park Ranger. It had never occurred to him a girl might want it, and we had to come up with a chaperone (my cousin) to join me. (On the plus side, it was an amazing trip!) Not only that, but I tore my ACL when I was 19 (I had no ACL in this picture, unbeknownst to me) and didn’t get a new one until my 30s.
About seven years ago, I finally got back to it (after much pining and yearning and a bit of attempting). I dragged more friends up more mountains, despite knee-related setbacks, full time work, bad weather, long drives and all the other forces that conspire to keep me off the mountains. And over time I’ve gained experience, practice, confidence, straight up skills (for example I am now Wilderness First Aid certified), and an encyclopedic ability to talk for 9 straight hours up and down a mountain plus four hours of driving, about every single hike I have done and want to do. I’ve hiked 43 of the 48 4000ft+ mountains of New Hampshire, plus trails in Idaho, Utah, Washington, Arizona, Greece and pretty much anywhere I can sneak away and find a mountain.
In the rarest of events, a gap in work responsibilities lined up with the kind of mountain weather that inspires normally responsible people to call in sick with White Mountain Fever. I knew I had to get up there, and for more than just a day trip. I leaned heavily on my usual hiking buddy but he had actual responsibilities. So I decided it was time to take the next step and do a solo overnight trip. Now, I have the gear and probably the experience to do it as a backpacking trip. But there’s a wonderful alternative in the Whites – the Appalachian Mountain Huts that follow along the Appalachian Trial. I’d had my eyes on the Galehead Hut. I don’t “need” any of the mountains around there to finish my 48 (I have a plan for those), but the Pemigewasset Wilderness is spectacular – and nowhere more beautiful than it is from Mt. Garfield. So I booked a local hotel on Wednesday night, and an AMC hut for Thursday. I hit the trail bright and early Wednesday.
Mt. Garfield is a good haul up, and the heat had improved but not gone away. Still, I got up in good speed and lingered long on the sun-warmed rocks of the summit, looking out over the bowl of the Pemi wilderness, naming the mountain-friends ringing it. Owls Head – in the middle – is one of the most challenging mountains to reach since it’s so far from any trailhead. Franconia Ridge to the right shreds the clouds and egos of challengers, and I had been tempted to try to get over that way. But I definitely wouldn’t make a 6 pm dinner if I went right before I went down. There are some truly crazy people who do the “Pemi Loop” – or the entire bowl made of mountains you see here. I met at least two people who were doing the whole thing in one day. No matter what you undertake, you’ll find folks doing it ten times harder than you dare dream. And that ignores all the “thru hikers” doing all 2200 miles of the trail from Georgia to Maine – I met a bunch on this hike.
The Appalachian Trail between Garfield and Galehead is one of the gnarliest sections of trail on the whole two thousand mile expanse. There’s this one amazing section where you come to a creek, and you can’t figure out where the trail goes, until you catch the faint white blaze halfway down the waterfall that the creek becomes. You then descend down the waterfall for the next exciting section. I showed the path to a thru hiker with a trail name of Stumbles. He swore in disbelief that this was the plan. This is when you’re happy you paid attention in the Wilderness First Aid class, but I didn’t end up needing any of it.
I made it down, across and back up again to Galehead hut, where I dropped pack and went up the extra half mile to claim rights to the very uninspiring summit. I love staying at the huts. You get to meet all kinds of interesting people. The Croo serve you a five course meal. There’s usually some sort of talk (last time I went it was an AMAZING geology talk that kept me rapt – this time it was a less academic discourse on Leave No Trace). The lights go off at 9 pm (so the Croo can go raiding the next hut for their stolen knight’s helmet), and you sleep in a bunk in a bunk room with as many as 12 co-ed bunks. It’s good bedtime comes early because they wake you at 6:30 for a three course breakfast so you can hit the trail early and they can start the next dinner. All the food and gear is brought up by the Croo on their backs using backpacks – which not only have not changed design in 100 years I swear some of them are that old.
I did get up early and enjoy a three course breakfast. It’s always disheartening to look at where you’re going (and encouraging to see where you’ve been). I went up to South Twin (a notoriously nasty section of trail – I really picked the fun ones), and then across to North Twin whick had been socked in on the New Year’s Day hike I’d last done it. Back to South, back down the gnarly trail – all on one of the most gloriously beautiful days I’ve ever hiked in. It took a real effort of will to force my shoes to the lowland trail (which – this is probably the shoes last hike since the tread has all but worn off). I loved every bit of it. The honest effort. The embrace of the pack. The cheery greetings and friendly conversations with all your fellow hikers (as one put it, all ecstatic with being in the mountains on such a fine day). The hundred year tradition of the huts. The trails that got away today, but which you will hike tomorrow. Following the sounds of the stream down the mountain in companionship. The keeness of the summit winds. The wildflowers and ferns and dense spruce of the krummholz.
I feel so lucky to have gotten this hike. I was one of MANY solo women hikers out there – it’s certainly more common and accepted, and the camaraderie of the trail makes you feel far from alone (I also carry a satellite beacon with an SOS function). I can’t wait to get out there again!
Here’s my full photo album if you’re interested!
My Truant Pen 