Song of the Spruces

The events of my Fourth of July Weekend have been weighing on my mind since I departed Baxter State Park on 7/4. Unfortunately, work things have kept me from filing this trip report before now, but with another expedition headed to bushwhack these peaks soon, there’s no better time than now to get this posted.

Prelude: June Plans and Their Demise

Heading into June, it looked like I’d have a quality month of peakbagging. After a four day Memorial Day Weekend in the Whites, the plan was to head to Vermont on the first weekend of the month to do the Worcester peaks and the 3k’s in the vicinity of Groton State Forest. Weekend two was to be an open weekend, and the weekend after that would be spent helping with the Mount Washington Road Race, then devoting that Sunday summiting things in Grafton Notch. For June’s fourth weekend, I still had three days of vacation time to use from the previous year, so this was to be a five day jaunt through northern Vermont, starting that Friday. Once returning to work the following Wednesday, I’d only have to put in three days before heading off to Baxter State Park for Fourth of July Weekend, which would span five days for me. With some other outside commitments I had in July, there would be a better part of a month that would pass before I’d be putting in a full five day work week.

What ended up happening was that once returning from Memorial Day Weekend, rain was predicted for the following weekend, so the open weekend swapped places on the calendar with the first Vermont trip. This proved to be advantageous, since rather than go slogging through the rain, I got to spend an enjoyable weekend with the girlfriend. Then, for the following weekend, while a rainy weather pattern parked over New Hampshire and Maine, I had an enjoyable two days of peakbagging in Vermont. The weekend after that passed according to plan.

Then, for the big trip to Northern Vermont, I originally planned to leave on that Thursday evening, right after work. However, things were so busy that I didn’t get everything wrapped up until early that Saturday morning. My boss was kind enough to let me swap that Friday with the following Wednesday, which proved to be just as well, since I think Saturday ended up being a dryer day than Friday.

As it was, it looked like once I returned from Vermont, I’d only have to work two days before it was time for Fourth of July Weekend. That’s certainly not a bad arrangement. However, once back from Vermont, there was so much work waiting for me that the soonest I could get out the door was late morning on Sunday. Since I’d booked a tentsite for that Saturday night at Baxter, it bothered me a little that this ended up being money that was basically flushed down the toilet. But, it couldn’t be helped, and with the car having already been packed since Friday, I left for Maine right from work.

Originally, when I had five days at my disposal, my plan was to bag North Turner on the first day, where I had some unfinished business from my previous visit (having made an attempt on this peak from South Turner a year ago). Each of the succeeding days would be spent attempting to summit Barren, Mullen, Squaw’s Bosom, and (hopefully, time permitting) East Turner. I thought it might even be a relaxing weekend, since I’d only be conquering one peak a day, then have the remaining daylight to do more relaxing and fun activities. However, by the time I hit the road, Saturday was already shot, and getting in any hiking on that Sunday was also out of the question. I guess on the way up I could have stopped off to hike Passadumkeag or some of Maine’s county highpoints that are within an hour of the highway. However, not knowing when the Togue Pond Gate closed for the night, I didn’t want to risk getting locked out, and drove straight to the park. I must say, it was refreshing to be heading north from Augusta and not be completely exhausted, since usually I’m driving along that patch of road in the dead of night, because usually I’m not able to leave any sooner and I want to make sure I’m at my destination in time to get in a full day of hiking.

As it was, I arrived at Baxter late in the afternoon, and got the tent set up as showers passed through. It turned out to not be the warmest of nights, and the water that was seeping through the floor of my old tent wasn’t helping my attempts to sleep soundly. But, at least I’d finally reached Baxter.

Barren – 3,696’

With my grand five-day weekend tragically reduced to three hiking days, I had to rejigger my itinerary. The order became reshuffled to Barren, Mullen, then North Turner on the last day. I knew I definitely wanted to get in Barren and eliminate this challenging peak from the list as soon as possible. If it took a failed attempt and missing a shot at Mullen during this trip in order to bag it, I was okay with that. Even though I had the most unfinished business on North Turner, in the past year I’d learned of a better route than heading over from South, and since it looked like it would take the least amount of time of any peak I wanted to do, I was saving it for last. That way, as soon as I returned to the car I could get headed home.

As for Barren, I had to decide on which route to use to the summit. There’s the one used by the DMS party last summer that entailed heading over from OJI and passing along near the southern extent of the Klondike. In my discussions with Onestep and others, I’d also encountered some mentions of the Barren Slide, which is on the southern side of the mountain. In order to reach it, Onestep recommended starting the bushwhack from the Owl Trail, at a point where it turns sharp right to cross a brook. One would then follow the contour west to the slide. However, this slide isn’t marked in the AMC maps or in Topozone, so I could only speculate that it’s near the brook that drains the south face of the mountain. Since this latter route started right from my campground and offered a better opportunity to try something new, this is the route I decided to give a whirl.

Due to the rain that fell the night before, that Monday morning I hesitated to head out too early, before the woods had a chance to dry out. Some showers were also predicted for the day, especially in the afternoon. Since it had been a chilly, wet night, it hadn’t gotten tolerably warm out until about dawn, so I ended up sleeping in a little later than I had intended.

Once up, I was farting around the campsite, eating breakfast and getting ready for that day’s bushwhack, when the ranger for the campground stopped by to check in. We got to talking, and the topic of bushwhacking came up. I forget what peaks he said he’d climbed before, but he stated how he’d be making an attempt on Barren in mid-August. He said how his group was intending to ascend via the south slide, which lent a great deal of credence to my plan to go up that way. I told him how I’d give him a full report once I returned.

When I finally got underway, it was beneath partly cloudy skies. I made my way up the Hunt Trail, and took the left onto the Owl Trail. After some additional climbing, the trail plateaus out for a stretch, then turns sharply right and drops into a gully to cross a brook. It’s at this point that I started my bushwhack.

The summit of Barren sits on a long ridge that runs east to west, from the side of Katahdin to Mount OJI. Along it, between The Owl and Barren, there is a subsidiary ridge runs to the south. As I contoured west through the woods, I’d be trying to skirt it en route to the slide. I had taken waypoints for the Barren summit, as well as where I thought I’d run into the slide. Where I departed the trail, I was about 1.32 miles from the top of Barren (which is the same distance from the closest point on the South Slide Trail on OJI), and the better part of a mile from the slide I was seeking.

Right from the trail, there appeared to be enough of an opening in the woods to give the appearance that I wasn’t the first person to try this route, although if so, this place sees little enough traffic that a herd path is far from forming. As it was, what little openness I initially encountered quickly dissipated, so I was left to plod my way through the forest. It was thickish going, but I’d certainly seen worse. It wasn’t like the Christmas tree farm I accidentally dropped into when descending East Seneca, nor was it like the nasty fir waves I encountered when descending into the col on the Lily Bays. I picked my spots and plugged along, and found that it was open enough that none of the blow downs were obscured from sight by thick branches (and indeed the number of blow downs I encountered wasn’t too bad), but the woods were still thick enough that I had to constantly fight my way through them. Plus, the clearings I found were few and far between. As I progressed along, I drifted a little uphill on the north-south ridge, in spite of myself, because there was slightly better going when angling that way.

As I was progressing west and starting to drop off this sub-ridge, through the trees I could see the main ridge in front of me, and how it formed a bowl with this lesser ridge at the foot of Barren. From the bottom of this bowl I could see what had to be the slide I was seeking, beautifully rising up the side of the mountain. The going got a little thicker as I dropped into the bowl and tried to find the start of the slide. Due to the thick vegetation down there, there was a slight challenge to this, since the visibility wasn’t as good.

Nevertheless, I soon came out on what I thought was the slide. It consisted of rocks and sand, and a small brook ran just to the right of it. I was really happy at the prospect of only fighting gravity as I ascended the mountain. However, I hadn’t progressed very far, when, looking up, the slide didn’t appear to climb as high up the mountain as it had first appeared from a distance. Once I got to a higher vantage point, I even noticed a better slide, a couple hundred yards to my left, which seemed to be the one I had originally spotted, and it went way further up the slopes than the slide I was on. Unfortunately, it was just distant enough that it didn’t seem worth bushwhacking over to along the steep mountainside.

As it was, the slide I was on all too soon diminished to a mere streambed, one that descended steep ledges and made them wet enough that they weren’t worth climbing. At this point, I moved into the woods on the left, hoping the going would be better there. However, this entailed more thickness, with lots of steepness and boulders to navigate around. Soon negotiating up the wet rocks of the streambed didn’t seem so bad. I give this another try, but in a short time gave up again and turned off into the woods for good.

I fought my way up toward the top of the ridge, and when I was almost there, I hauled myself onto a boulder to get my bearings. I could see my slide below me, and the one I wanted to take down was on my right. Because I hadn’t yet crested the ridge, from my vantage point the true summit of Barren wasn’t evident, but the GPS told me it was about a quarter mile to the west. Once I had soaked in the views from my perch, I carefully dropped back down into the trees and made for the top of the ridge.

Once there, I continued west, noticing that the trees on the north side of the ridge weren’t nearly as thick as the ones I’d just been fighting through. Going along, I tried not to fall off the ridge to the north too much, despite the Siren song of the more open woods in that direction. Emerging from the trees at the next summit bump, I found that I was finally, on the summit of Barren. At last, time for a break!

From the descriptions I’d read of the top of Barren, I was under the impression it had an open summit, like the Brothers or Coe. Instead, what I found was that at the very top the trees are very short, and there’re some rocks at the canister to sit on. Once there, it was clearly the highest point along the Barren ridge. The canister was right there, with entries from many of the legends of New England bushwhacking. The party consisting of Glenn Houle and Herb Foster was the last to sign in. Thanks to the DMS party, I found the jar in good shape, sporting a new notebook (the old jar was perched upside down on the tree’s highest branch). Early on during picture taking time, I paused for a long moment, in order to give the clouds above a chance to clear away, so that the resulting pictures wouldn’t come out so dark. I had to sit through a short shower in the interim, but the wait was worth it, since the resulting photos came out pretty well.

When it came time to shove off, I wanted to find the top of the good slide. However, this slide isn’t visible at all from the summit, so the best I could do was follow the ridge to the west a little, in the hopes of reaching a vantage point that had a visual. This didn’t come to be, but at least the woods were more open here than they are to the east of the summit. I had almost reached the next summit bump when I gave up my slide search and started to make my descent. This bump was a decent-sized outcropping, and probably has really lovely views, particularly of the Barren summit. However, in light of how the bushwhack was going so far, I wanted to get off the mountain before my luck started to run out and the predicted afternoon showers began to truly arrive.

Barren Coninued

The good thing about descending this side of Barren is that since the slopes empty into a bowl, it’s rather difficult to screw up the descent. The upper slopes were a little tricky because there were boulders and drop offs to negotiate around, but these decreased the more I lost elevation. By picking my spots and letting gravity work for me, the descent proved to be a little easier than the ascent, even though I never had the benefit of a slide. It seemed in this vicinity the woods were a little more (relatively) open than my route up. Hence, soon enough I was back at the bottom of the bowl. Once there, as I was walking along I found the very bottom of the good slide. Oh sure, now I find it! Regardless, I took a waypoint, and entered back into the woods.

For this final stretch, I should have maintained elevation and contoured around the NS ridge. However, early on during the out trip, I had looked behind me a couple of times to take in the visual cues I should be seeing on my return trip, and noted I should be seeing the southern flanks of Katahdin. When I didn’t see this through the trees on the return trip, I started to worry that I was headed too much to the south or south east (when the simple fact is that as long as I maintained elevation, I’d be fine. But, not heeding this, I headed up the NS ridge a bit to make my bearing more northerly. But, after a little while, I wasn’t sure if I was heading too far north, and adjusted my course accordingly. Open spots in this forest were rare enough that it was difficult to get a signal for the GPS, and even when I did, it was unclear in what direction I should be heading, so I was left to muddle along a bit, and watch the distance tick down enough to get a general sense of where I should be heading. Those showers were starting to pass through at this point too, making everything wet, especially me.

All my soggy struggling finally brought me out to the brook by the path, but I was still a tenth of a mile north of the Owl Trail. The water was deep enough here that rock hopping the remaining distance wasn’t an option, and since the stream ran through a gully, I’d have to climb back up the steep bank before continuing south. Once there, even thought the trees were thick and wet, I fought my way through that remaining distance of woods. Needless to say, I was pretty happy, soaked as I was, to finally come out on the trail again.

Once there, I still had a half hour walk back to the tent. But, since it was all downhill and I didn’t need to bushwhack any more, this stretch just seemed to flow by. Even though it was after six at this point, I still caught up to a pair in the last kilometer, as they were slowly making their way down the Hunt Trail. I can only imagine what they thought of the showers that had passed through that day (but they certainly should have been grateful that they weren’t out bushwhacking). But, soon enough, I was back at my car, thinking to myself “Yeah, letsdothatagainnever.”

Once I’d changed into dry cloths, I headed over to the campground office to check in with the ranger. Either because he wasn’t wearing a hat, or the lighting was different (or I was simply out of it), at first I wasn’t 100 % sure he was the same guy I had spoken to that morning, so initially I didn’t make any references to our conversation from earlier. However, of course it was the same ranger, which he made very clear during this conversation. I gave him all the details of my bushwhack, including the coordinates of the bottom of the good slide (which he eagerly wrote down). I forget if he specifically asked about the canister, but I did tell him that there was still one on this peak. In retrospect, I wished I’d asked him what his policies were toward these. As it was, our conversation wound down and it became time for dinner.

Mullen – 3,463’

Even though it didn’t rain, it was still a chilly night. So much so that I wasn’t very comfortable sleeping in the tent, and actually had a restful night’s sleep in the car. The next morning I wanted to get an early started because I’d be doing Mullen. Of all the bushwhacks I had planned, I knew Mullen would easily require the most time of the three, so I knew it was imperative that I head out that morning as early as possible.
That morning, I pretty much had the early start I wanted, but by the time I reached the trailhead, had breakfast, and was ready to head off, it was already about 8:30.

As to the route, I know the preferred one is to approach from the north via Russell and Mullen Ponds. However, this entails spending a night or two at Russell Pond. Who’s got time for that? Hence, instead, I’d be coming from the south, from the nadir of the North Brother – Fort col. With a great deal of luck, hopefully I’d manage to skirt around most of the thick areas I’d been warned about that exist between Fort and Mullen.

The woods were damp that morning, either from some light showers the previous night, or what seemed like it could be really heavy morning dew. Regardless, the vegetation was wet enough that I was really glad that the bushwhack didn’t start immediately. Not surprisingly, I had the trail all to myself at that hour, and in two hours I was on the summit of North Brother. This was the third time I’d been to this peak, and it was refreshing to not have to bust my ass on the Coe slide in order to get there. Usually I’m fairly knackered by the time I reach that summit, but not that morning. Anyway, I paused a moment to soak in the scenery and note my route over to Mullen. Oh man, did it look FAR from there! But, the deed had to be done, so I began my descent toward Fort.

Since I’d visited Fort two years ago, I knew what to expect on the herd path, and having gained some bushwhacking experience since then, following it wasn’t a big deal this time around. I followed it down into the col, and once it looked like it was climbing again, I picked out a spot where the woods didn’t look as thick and the herd path was obvious, took a waypoint, then headed in.

Initially, the woods were a little thick (but I’ve certainly seen worse) and by picking my spots I even found some more open areas. Plus, once I got beyond the col and reached where the land slopes down to the west, the woods became pleasantly open. Knowing the direct route between the Fort summit and Mullen was where the thickest spruce patches were, I tried to skirt around this. But, as I was angling down and to the right, it was tough not to head straight for Mullen, since I could see it through the trees. Plus, I also didn’t want to drop too far to the west, for fear that I’d get too far off course and then have to go uphill again to reach the low point of the next col.

Anyway, as I made my way across the western slopes of Fort, I reached the end of the open woods, but after a brief thick area, I passed through more open woods. I could see Mullen ahead of me, drawing closer, its rocky summit becoming more visible. However, after this point, the forest became increasingly thicker, with a minimum of open patches. Things were definitely thick as I dropped into the col. Hence, even with the help of gravity, it was still work to keep going forward. Regardless, I made it to the narrow valley just to the east of the nadir of the Fort – Mullen col. There was a very brief grassy area at the bottom where some large pine trees were growing. However, in two seconds I was in the woods again.

Now starting to climb Mullen, despite my best navigational efforts, things were definitely thick. Fighting my way along, once I reached the upper half of the slopes, I encountered boulders that needed to be navigated around, and the spruce trees seemed particularly thick around these. Further along, I made my way onto the top of one, thinking I was almost to the open summit, only to find I had a little more to go.

But, I kept plugging along, and ultimately I clawed my way out of the trees and into the open of the rocky summit. Actually, if I had been a little more west, I would have reached a lower part of the clear area, but as it was, I was very glad to be there and to be able to ascend the final yards on the open rocks.

Once there, I understood why people went through the trouble of climbing this peak, since the views were spectacular. To the north was the Travelers and the endless wilderness beyond, to the west was Center Mountain and more wilderness, Fort and North Brother were looming to the south, and to the southeast and east was the Big K and its expansive north-reaching ridge. Just lovely! The true highpoint was obvious, especially since it was marked by a minor cairn. However, poking around the rocks there failed to produce a canister, so I ended up planting my own (in an obvious place among the rocks of the cairn).

Just overall, I just tried to relish the moment as much as I could. It was early afternoon at this point, partly cloudy sky above, not too warm out considering it was early July (considering the effort required for this bushwhack, thankfully it wasn’t hot out). However, I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of anyone who had summitted this peak from the north. That would have definitely been an easier way to go. Indeed, looking down to Mullen Pond, it appeared far easier to reach than retreading my steps back up to North Brother. But, if I did make it to the pond and its tote road, what then? Far better to suck it up and go back the way I came. That’s where the car was.

As it was, it was starting to be that time, especially since I could see some showers that were making their way toward me. I made my way down the rocks, following them to their furthest extent (which I wished was more down the mountain than it was). Entering the woods again, I found myself on a ridgeline that extended to the southwest. The going was much more open on the western side of this. However, I made pains not to drift too far down this side, since I didn’t want to miss the col and have to fight my way back later. Regardless, the going was noticeably improved from before, even as the trees grew thicker the closer I got to the col. Plus, that shower I had been expecting finally blew through. Thankfully it didn’t last very long, and since the sun came out right afterwards, I didn’t get too cold before I had dried out again.

Due to the vegetation, I didn’t quite realize I was in the col until I started to climb again. Entering the slopes of Fort a little further west of where I had descended them, I found these woods to be not quite as thick as before. As I went along, seeking the more open patches of trees and avoiding heading directly for the Fort summit, I found that the woods continued to open up. Also, on the out trip, I had taken waypoints at the couple of open stretches of forest I had encountered. As I made my way back up Fort’s slopes, I passed by each of these points. Indeed, because I found much more open woods on the return trip, making my return from Mullen didn’t take nearly as long. By continuing to plug along, I reached the woods in the North Brother – Fort col. Holding steady, I made my way through this final, somewhat thick area of trees, and finally came out on the herd path. Thankfully it was obvious at that point, so I didn’t accidentally pass by it. Ah, easy stuff again!

This was actually well-timed. You see, for this trip I had only brought one pair of good bushwhacking pants. However, these had gotten soaked the day before, and were left to dry in the car while I was doing Mullen. For that day, I wore another pair of pants, ones that were in their final days. They had already developed some minor holes, which only grew worse through the course of this tough bushwhack. By this time, the right leg had so badly fallen apart that I used some boot laces I had with me to tie it to my leg so that the cloth wouldn’t flap around. Since it was well into the afternoon at this point, I was glad the chances were thin that I’d encounter anyone else on the trail.

Anyway, now that I was happily back on the herd path, it would be a breeze getting back to North Brother. I was very familiar with the path by this point, although as I was climbing up North Brother, I still managed to make the same wrong turn as the one I made two years ago during my ascent. But, having already made this mistake once, I knew immediately what I had done and how to correct it. Regardless, I was soon on the summit of NB. I paused a moment to soak in the sights, and to note again how far away Mullen looked from there. And to think I had made it out there! It was truly a beautiful day to be in the mountains.

Mullen Continued

My descent off of NB was uneventful, although on the upper climes I had to be careful on the rocks, which were still a little damp from the shower earlier. But, this passed quickly enough, and from there I had a straightforward walk back to the car. For the entire outing, I did not encounter another soul.

In light of what I had bushwhacked in the past two days, I had to talk to someone. But first, I needed to return to Katahdin Stream. In light of the fact I was planning on hiking North Turner the next day, I was lukewarm about spending that night at the campground. Since it was a big holiday weekend, I was unsure how early the Roaring Brook parking lot would fill up, and since I didn’t have an alarm clock with me, I had no way to guarantee that I would get up at the crack of dawn. Having to then pack up the tent and vacate the campsite that morning would slow me down as well. My other thought was to get everything packed up then, do my errands outside the park, then arrive back at the gate right after it closed for the night. Not only would this mean I’d have a shorter drive in the morning to Roaring Brook, but I’d be sure to wake up right when the gate opened. Then again, all this was completely a function of when I got everything else done.

As it was, I returned to my campsite, packed the car, then stopped by the ranger cabin. Unfortunately the ranger I spoke to the day before wasn’t there, so I wasn’t able to bore him with the details of that day’s bushwhack, or find out what his opinion was of canisters. I’d hate to think that the guy I helped to reached Barren went up there to remove the jar. But, since the other ranger was there, we simply had a decent conversation, which ranged from the woods, bushwhacking, the AT, etc. We could have easily talked longer but he had ranger duties to attend to. I ended up just leaving a note for the other guy, to let him know I’d gotten off of Mullen okay. I then departed the park to make a phone call.

At the payphone at the store down the road from Baxter I tried to call my girlfriend. She didn’t pick up after four rings, so I hung up before I lost any time on the phone card. After ten minutes of eating cookies and listening to the radio, I tried again, and this time was able to reach her. It was great to hear her voice again, but unfortunately I wasn’t able to properly explain what I had accomplished so far during my Baxter trip. Since she does so little of this herself, she doesn’t really distinguish between a nature walk and an outright hike, so telling her I just spent the past two days on some of the toughest bushwhacks in New England meant very little to her. Nevertheless, in light of those challenging experiences, it was great just to talk with my angel again.

Afterwards, I took my time getting back to the park, where I conveniently arrived just after the Togue Pond Gate had been locked for the night.

North Turner – 3,325’

I thought I’d be woken up that Wednesday morning by the creaking opening of the park gate. This I managed to sleep through, so what woke me up was actually the sound of the two vehicles behind me driving by to get checked in. Luckily there wasn’t a line of cars behind them, so I managed to be the third vehicle in. The drive up to Roaring Brook was uneventful, as I grabbed a parking spot in the shade.

When I made my previous attempt on North Turner, a year ago, I made the mistake of trying to walk the ridge over from South Turner (having heard this route offered moderately open woods). I found the ridge to be fairly thick, making the going slow enough that early on it became obvious that I’d run out of daylight long before I would get back to the car, and so I decided this peak would have to wait for another day. I thus had unfinished business on North Turner.

Since that experience, I learned the more sane route was to bushwhack directly to the peak from the Wassataquoik Stream Trail. Some of the trip reports posted here even made this route sound not so bad, especially compared to Barren or Mullen. That’s why this peak was saved for the last day, since I expected it would take the least amount of time (of the three mountains), and with an early start, the sooner I could get back to the car, the sooner I could get headed home.

It was a beautiful morning, the sun shining, the woods a little damp with dew. While signing in at the trailhead register, I chatted with the ranger standing there. I mentioned how I was heading up to North Turner and via what route. He said how he’d never climbed that one, but he expected that I’d have amazing views once I reached the open summit.

Shoving off, I had an uneventful walk along the Russell Pond Trail. I didn’t see another soul once I left the ranger station, and having the trail to myself just added to the wilderness feeling of the trail. I stopped long enough to take in the views of Katahdin from the shore of Whidden Pond. Surprisingly, there weren’t any moose wading in the water.

Once on the Wassataquoik Stream Trail, I had been advised to start my bushwhack just north of the second stream crossing. However, in the field, I found that, in addition to the two brooks depicted on the map, there are multiple other ones, so it can be a little confusing which one you should be starting just north of. Then again, I had pulled the coordinates off of Topozone beforehand, so I just worked from that. In general, what you’ll find is that you can see North Turner through the trees at this point, and so you just have to follow the trail to its closest point to the mountain. Then just select a spot where the woods are tolerably open on the path, and head in.

Commencing my own bushwhack, I found that once I’d headed in a short ways, the woods quickly opened up much more than they were along the trail. At times I would try to hold a bearing, but for the most part, it’s just a matter of heading up hill and skirting around the thick patches as you find them.

I know some other trip reports mention the scree slopes, and having read these, I was under the impression that once one finds these, they pretty much take you up to the summit. The scree slope I found was about 0.65 miles from the trail. It was nice because it had great views of the Katahdin massif, and I was glad no one was above me to accidentally dislodge any of the rocks (and fortunately no one was below me either). However, the scree area didn’t last very long. It’s very top ends at a thick area, so I exited at an opening on the right just before then. Back in the woods, there were some thick spots to avoid before the vegetation opened up again.

I never did encounter a second scree slope, but one wasn’t really needed. The woods were fairly open for much of the way, with some bands of thick spruce to pass through, and other patches of it to avoid. Plus, going this way, due to the angle of the slopes, one is given the impression that they are almost at the summit, but then it just turns out to be still further on.

When I finally did approach the summit, there was a thick band of not so large spruce trees (but still taller than me) to pass through. Then I reached an area of dwarf spruce trees that weren’t growing on top of each other, where there was a herd path that led up higher and across the rocks. Pretty soon I was able to see the summit cairn up ahead.

Reaching this cairn, I took a long moment to soak in the views. There was South Turner, at the other end of the ridge. Dear Heaven, did I try to bushwhack across that? There was Katahdin, towering to the west. To the right stood South and North Brother, Fort, and Mullen. Mullen looked SOO FAR from North Brother. Did I really bushwhack over there and back just the day before? What I think was Russell Pond could be seen down below and to the northwest, while the Traveler Peaks dominated the view to the north. Just overall, it was an incredibly scenic summit, and since I had it all to myself, I was in no rush to leave. While poking around the cairn, I was unable to locate a canister, so I planted one, which I stuck in an obvious crevice in the cairn.

Anyway, as great as the summit of North Turner was on that sunny morning, all too soon it became time to leave. I followed the open rocky area to its furthest western extent before finally entering the trees. I shoved through the initial thick section, and soon enough the woods opened up again. Even though the most open spots were on the north side of the ridge, I took pains not to fall off on that side, and just tried to keep the northern end of the Katahdin massif in front of me. With this visual, I wasn’t so persnickety about sticking to a particular bearing, which allowed me more leeway in navigating around thick patches. In my descent, even though I wasn’t shooting specifically for the scree slope, I ended up on it anyway. I followed it to its closest extent to the trail, and once I departed it, I knew it would be open woods for the rest of the bushwhack. Indeed, in zipping done the steep slope, soon enough I popped out on the Wassataquoik Stream Trail again.

At this point, it was just a matter of getting back to the car. Hence, that final stretch back to Roaring Brook seemed to take longer than I remembered it being. Getting on the Russell Pond Trail, I even encountered some people. I also encountered a moose calf crossing the path, followed by its monstrous mother. It’s funny, even though moose are so much larger, they always run away at the mere sight of a human. And yet, they seem to not be the least bothered when they’re in the road and a car comes up. They’re funny like that. In this case, they dashed off before I could get my camera out.

But, other than that, it was an uneventful walk back to the parking lot. When I was just reaching the car, a final sprinkle even passed through.

Had I known that would be my last hike for about two months I would have savored the moment more. But, as it was, it was time to get going and get back to tend to other things.

Afterword

So, is Barren one of the most difficult bushwhacks in New England? To an extant, this is a subjective question, and varies depending on the conditions one finds on the mountain (even though this should strictly be a measure of thickness). Having done these peaks, I’ve somewhat lost my sense of what is horribly thick. Isn’t it all thick? Certainly, heading in, I was expecting it to be awful, like the Christmas tree farm I encountered on East Seneca, or the fir waves on West Lily Bay, or the really thick stuff on the Big Spencer ridge. The vegetation I encountered wasn’t as bad as any other these. It was just thick in a normal sense. Really, how awful is it? What I can tell you is that when I stepped off the Owl Trail, I was 1.32 miles from the summit of Barren (as the crow flies). The route I actually followed was somewhat longer than that, and took me the better part of three hours to cover. In open woods, I can bushwhack a mile an hour. Plus, on most bushwhacks, you’ll at least encounter some open woods en route to the summit, or the actual bushwhack portion of the hike isn’t much more than a mile (and often much less). Barren is thick enough that the entire hike took longer than my trip over the Senecas (by half an hour), and was only about half an hour shy of being the longest hike I’ve ever been on to that point.

Then again, due to the route I took, in my experience Mullen was a little tougher. Supposedly coming in from the north isn’t as bad, but since I wanted to get back to the car in one day, I took the tougher route. Because of all the thick stuff I encountered along the way, it took me five hours to reach Mullen from the parking lot (this includes the two hour trail walk). On the way back, I had better luck finding open woods, so the return trip went more quickly. For doing either mountain, definitely hit the woods early and expect to be fighting spruce trees the whole way. You won’t be disappointed.

Hoo Ray Nate

Nice touch, putting bottles in the cairns.

These are tough peaks, as you now know. I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that I was a bit surprised to see you solo on these.

Indeed, quite a feat to tackle these three solo, and in just three days, from what I've heard.

I don't think I'll be hiking to Barren, Mullen or No. Turner very soon, but if and when I do, it will be a help to have such detailed descriptions, even I don't decide to follow all of your routes. Thanks.

Nate! - Your solo adventures continue to amaze me... 'whack on brother.