I got the call in my motel room up near Millinocket, Maine - we were only three people and so would not be allowed into Baxter State Park in order to climb Katahdin. There were, however, other opportunities, and so the next morning I drove 3-1/2 hours through the middle of nowhere to come out in the shadow of Sugarloaf and meet up with Frodo and GO to decide what we'd do. GO claims to do this drive in only 2-1/2 hours, but I was over the speed limit the whole way and the car behind me got pulled over so I can only imagine how he cruises...
It was already late in the morning, so we decided on an overnight in the Caribou Valley, pulling our sleds up the Caribou Valley Road to a campsite at Caribou Pond, the headwaters of the Carrabassett River. As we drove to our starting point, our concern grew - the road was plowed and bare of snow. We passed an active logging site and continued further up, finally encountering a light snow covering. Suddenly, the road was blocked by a huge yellow backhoe - on the other side was a bridge being replaced. This actually proved to be our fortune, because the road had not been plowed on the other side and was in excellent condition. We parked, loaded up our sleds, carried them across the bridge planks that remained, strapped in, and started up the road.
This road is a nice ski, gaining around 1,000 feet over 4-1/2 miles or so. It was in great shape, well-packed by snowmobiles. The clouds were slowly collecting - snow was predicted for that night - and I was moving even slower, still recovering from a bad cold. There are two tricky bridges along the route. One is an open metal grate and so has no snow cover, the other had a steep drop to its deck on either end and was dubbed "Faceplant Bridge" in my honor.
We made it to the campsite without enough time for a summit attempt; however, it made for a relaxing, laid-back site setup while Frodo made quick ski work of the roads that circumnavigate Caribou Pond. A light snow started falling, stoves heated dinner, the snow got heavier, and we climbed into our tents to fall asleep to the fantastic sound of a couple of inches of snowfall.
The morning dawned grey, with the summits in and out of the clouds and passing flurries. The fresh snow atop the hardpack of the road promised to make for absolutely perfect skiing, and we grabbed our day packs and started up the road towards Redington. Quickly, we left the trees and entered the open valley, an incredible spot. I've never seen such a remarkable landscape. It's not wilderness - the snowmobile roads and logging areas are clearly visible; however, this vast bowl surrounded by snow-capped peaks was stunning.
We crested a long, straight, moderately-graded slope amid visions of what it would be like to ski back down, then traded to snowshoes for the climb back into the trees to the top of Redington. Alongside the monstrosity of the wind observation tower we located the canister, a holdover from this peak's 3984' elevation, before it was resurveyed to 4010'. There were a surprising number of "GO again" entries in the log, as well as some from other well-known names. The deep snowpack and rime-frozen trees were clearly not aware that it was no longer winter.
Then it was back down to our skis as the sun started coming out. This didn't bode well - the snow was already soft and the sun would start causing the snow to stick. That long downhill run was fantastic, though. Had my legs not been rubber I would have climbed back up and run it again! But we also wanted to get back so as to pull the sleds down the road before the snow got any worse.
We broke camp, loaded up our sleds, and started down the road. It was soft enough that we had to kick most of the way down, but didn't have to pull too hard. The sun soon vanished and a sleet-like snow came falling down. Avoiding my water because I believed it to be tainted with gas, I enjoyed many handfuls of this crunchy treat. And then there was the shattered bridge and the backhoe, and we were done.
Many thanks to GO and Frodo for their company on this wonderful trip, and especially to GO for his hospitality. It was my first time in the area and I can't wait to get back there. I will definitely enjoy when the time comes to visit those peaks!
As for the pouring rain and snow from Portland to the Massachusetts border on the drive home ... ugh.
Pictures are at my photo album. We left the route well-packed.
It was already late in the morning, so we decided on an overnight in the Caribou Valley, pulling our sleds up the Caribou Valley Road to a campsite at Caribou Pond, the headwaters of the Carrabassett River. As we drove to our starting point, our concern grew - the road was plowed and bare of snow. We passed an active logging site and continued further up, finally encountering a light snow covering. Suddenly, the road was blocked by a huge yellow backhoe - on the other side was a bridge being replaced. This actually proved to be our fortune, because the road had not been plowed on the other side and was in excellent condition. We parked, loaded up our sleds, carried them across the bridge planks that remained, strapped in, and started up the road.
This road is a nice ski, gaining around 1,000 feet over 4-1/2 miles or so. It was in great shape, well-packed by snowmobiles. The clouds were slowly collecting - snow was predicted for that night - and I was moving even slower, still recovering from a bad cold. There are two tricky bridges along the route. One is an open metal grate and so has no snow cover, the other had a steep drop to its deck on either end and was dubbed "Faceplant Bridge" in my honor.
We made it to the campsite without enough time for a summit attempt; however, it made for a relaxing, laid-back site setup while Frodo made quick ski work of the roads that circumnavigate Caribou Pond. A light snow started falling, stoves heated dinner, the snow got heavier, and we climbed into our tents to fall asleep to the fantastic sound of a couple of inches of snowfall.
The morning dawned grey, with the summits in and out of the clouds and passing flurries. The fresh snow atop the hardpack of the road promised to make for absolutely perfect skiing, and we grabbed our day packs and started up the road towards Redington. Quickly, we left the trees and entered the open valley, an incredible spot. I've never seen such a remarkable landscape. It's not wilderness - the snowmobile roads and logging areas are clearly visible; however, this vast bowl surrounded by snow-capped peaks was stunning.
We crested a long, straight, moderately-graded slope amid visions of what it would be like to ski back down, then traded to snowshoes for the climb back into the trees to the top of Redington. Alongside the monstrosity of the wind observation tower we located the canister, a holdover from this peak's 3984' elevation, before it was resurveyed to 4010'. There were a surprising number of "GO again" entries in the log, as well as some from other well-known names. The deep snowpack and rime-frozen trees were clearly not aware that it was no longer winter.
Then it was back down to our skis as the sun started coming out. This didn't bode well - the snow was already soft and the sun would start causing the snow to stick. That long downhill run was fantastic, though. Had my legs not been rubber I would have climbed back up and run it again! But we also wanted to get back so as to pull the sleds down the road before the snow got any worse.
We broke camp, loaded up our sleds, and started down the road. It was soft enough that we had to kick most of the way down, but didn't have to pull too hard. The sun soon vanished and a sleet-like snow came falling down. Avoiding my water because I believed it to be tainted with gas, I enjoyed many handfuls of this crunchy treat. And then there was the shattered bridge and the backhoe, and we were done.
Many thanks to GO and Frodo for their company on this wonderful trip, and especially to GO for his hospitality. It was my first time in the area and I can't wait to get back there. I will definitely enjoy when the time comes to visit those peaks!
As for the pouring rain and snow from Portland to the Massachusetts border on the drive home ... ugh.
Pictures are at my photo album. We left the route well-packed.
