wardsgirl
Active member
I have long wondered what it would be like to drop into the void from Lakes of the Clouds Hut and spend some time in the Bermuda Triangle of the Northeast, AKA, Oakes Gulf. We left Crawford Notch in the rain on Saturday morning to make a long trip that would fulfill this objective and a patrol of a few trails in the Southern Presies. Only a few hikers were out in the rainy nastiness and streams were running full bore on the Webster-Jackson Trail and the Jackson Branch. We geared up for foul weather at treeline where we saw a few other hikers who were not enjoying the elements at all, and had decided to turn back.
Undeterred, we tramped our way over to Mizpah Spring Hut and scarfed down a couple bowls of soup. We were not envious of the croo who had to deal with a boatload of hypothermic-like youngsters, none of whom had dry socks. Later that night, our tent was snowed on, and we slept very late, enjoying the pitter patter of flakes as the hit the fly wall.
On Sunday, the weather deteriorated dramatically as we gained elevation. We found ourselves in white-out conditions on Franklin.
Fortunately, we were well prepared and did not suffer the same fate as some folks we saw who were without gloves. We passed the small party of people with their hands in their pockets, trying to thaw their fingers out. I can’t imagine they were very happy campers. The winds were very strong, almost enough to blow you over.
When we approached Monroe, the weather began to improve and visibility increased quite a bit.
We stopped for lunch in the dungeon and met some other cheerful travelers. When our new acquaintances departed, we head their loud whoops of joy from inside the dank confines of the emergency shelter. The clouds had dissipated, giving us a glimpse of the foliage that we had heard so much about.
Finally, it was the moment I had been waiting for; time to drop into the valley and join the land of the lost. I was extremely disappointed when I realized that it was impossible to simply fall or be blown into the Gulf. I had to work at it by climbing a knoll just past the big Lake of the Clouds. What the heck? I always thought the sudden descent was what brought people to this mysterious place from which a helicopter extrication was the only escape? Not so.
Instead, after the little bit of uphill, we dropped into a veritable paradise that few get to see, unless they are hopelessly lost, or the weather is really good. The Dry River Trail was awesome. The trail itself was meticulously maintained and we never once questioned the route. There was one instance where the old route turned right and violated the growing grounds of the rare unseen plant, the Robbins Cinquefoil, but we easily avoided the old path and continued downward into the wild Oakes Gulf.
Maybe it’s a good thing that so many people get lost in here. We found that the trail between the Oakes Gulf headwall and Dry River Shelter #3 had been recently cleared of its many blowdowns. It looked like the trail maintenance folks were right on top of it.
On Monday, we ascended through the maze of trails south of the Dry River Shelter #3. The strange intersections seems designed to mess with your internal compass and we had fun guessing the direction of Mizpah Hut, sometimes being off by a full 180 degrees. Up the Dry River Cutoff and other trails, we reached the hut again in time for lunch. The weather had finally turned sunny and we descended via Mizpah Cutoff and the Crawford Path to the parking lot on Mt. Clinton Road.
This trip made a big figure 8 around the Southern Presidential/Dry River area. If you have always wanted to explore the upper reaches of the Dry River Trail, I would highly recommend it. It is a trail that’s made of awesome!
Undeterred, we tramped our way over to Mizpah Spring Hut and scarfed down a couple bowls of soup. We were not envious of the croo who had to deal with a boatload of hypothermic-like youngsters, none of whom had dry socks. Later that night, our tent was snowed on, and we slept very late, enjoying the pitter patter of flakes as the hit the fly wall.
On Sunday, the weather deteriorated dramatically as we gained elevation. We found ourselves in white-out conditions on Franklin.
Fortunately, we were well prepared and did not suffer the same fate as some folks we saw who were without gloves. We passed the small party of people with their hands in their pockets, trying to thaw their fingers out. I can’t imagine they were very happy campers. The winds were very strong, almost enough to blow you over.
When we approached Monroe, the weather began to improve and visibility increased quite a bit.
We stopped for lunch in the dungeon and met some other cheerful travelers. When our new acquaintances departed, we head their loud whoops of joy from inside the dank confines of the emergency shelter. The clouds had dissipated, giving us a glimpse of the foliage that we had heard so much about.
Finally, it was the moment I had been waiting for; time to drop into the valley and join the land of the lost. I was extremely disappointed when I realized that it was impossible to simply fall or be blown into the Gulf. I had to work at it by climbing a knoll just past the big Lake of the Clouds. What the heck? I always thought the sudden descent was what brought people to this mysterious place from which a helicopter extrication was the only escape? Not so.
Instead, after the little bit of uphill, we dropped into a veritable paradise that few get to see, unless they are hopelessly lost, or the weather is really good. The Dry River Trail was awesome. The trail itself was meticulously maintained and we never once questioned the route. There was one instance where the old route turned right and violated the growing grounds of the rare unseen plant, the Robbins Cinquefoil, but we easily avoided the old path and continued downward into the wild Oakes Gulf.
Maybe it’s a good thing that so many people get lost in here. We found that the trail between the Oakes Gulf headwall and Dry River Shelter #3 had been recently cleared of its many blowdowns. It looked like the trail maintenance folks were right on top of it.
On Monday, we ascended through the maze of trails south of the Dry River Shelter #3. The strange intersections seems designed to mess with your internal compass and we had fun guessing the direction of Mizpah Hut, sometimes being off by a full 180 degrees. Up the Dry River Cutoff and other trails, we reached the hut again in time for lunch. The weather had finally turned sunny and we descended via Mizpah Cutoff and the Crawford Path to the parking lot on Mt. Clinton Road.
This trip made a big figure 8 around the Southern Presidential/Dry River area. If you have always wanted to explore the upper reaches of the Dry River Trail, I would highly recommend it. It is a trail that’s made of awesome!
I bet they were running good after Saturday's rain. The crossings of the Dry River (near the shelter and Mt. Eisenhower Trail) weren't too bad, compared to other times I have crossed.
