Kul45
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Thursday morning I set out from the Signal Ridge trailhead at shortly after eight-thirty. Although the summits remained shrouded by the clouds, the sun illuminated the lower elevations as it rose above the eastern peaks. In spite of recent humidity, I found the crossing of Whiteface Brook fairly simple. Had I lacked waterproof boots, however, I might have thought otherwise; several stepping stones rested an inch or two beneath the flowing surface. Soon I arrived at the junction of Signal Ridge and Carrigain Notch trails. TEO had recommended the loop Signal-Ridge-Carrigain-Notch-Desolation-Signal Ridge, so I bore right at the fork and headed into the notch. My scouting report indicated that the trail up to Carrigain Notch could be wet. Indeed, the path was damp, but nothing to scare well-waxed leather boots, such as my Meindl Gufferts. Those who prefer sneakers, however, might wish a pair of gaiters.
As the trail departed the vicinity of the stream and climbed closer to the pass, I discovered a pristine Baby Ruth wrapper in the middle of trail. A minute or two later I arrived at the entrance of the Pemigewasset Wilderness. I entered, stepping from a glinty sunshine into a lifeless gray overcast. The slides of Mount Lowell hid behind curtains of cloud, only briefly teasing me with a glimpse of barren earth. I had been preceded in my descent into the Pemi by moose and deer, for poo and tracks abounded. Tramping down the old railroad bed, I roused a grouse, but he or she was my only game sighting of the day. (Aside from a flock of turkey along 302.)
Just shy of 11:15 I arrived at a brook which the Carrigain Notch trail turns to avoid as it heads down to Stillwater Junction. The Desolation Trail dares to cross and damns those who tread to a relentless, at times steep, climb to the summit of Carrigain. At this juncture I snacked and finished my first liter of water. After momentarily considering whether I ought not spare myself the weight of a reserve liter, I dipped the empty polycarbonate Nalgene into the (presumably) giardia-free brook.
After gradually increasing in pitch, becoming rockier as it does, the Desolation Trail reaches its crux. Steep, jumbled stones invite the aid of hands--at least they did on this day, when their humid state added the adjective “slippery.” A berry bit of bear scat seemed relatively recent, but spider webs across the trail indicated that I was the first on the trail Thursday. After a few minutes the angle relented somewhat, but about fifteen minutes shy of the summit the damp and slimy stones gave way to ice-glazed rocks and roots. And so although less steep, the last bit of the trail to the summit took more time as conditions forced my to choose every foothold with care.
Then, without a warning, I glimpsed the fire tower and found myself mere steps from Carrigain’s summit. At 1 p.m. sharp, I arrived beneath the tower. I set my pack down, donned my fleece pullover and rain shell, and clambered up the steps. Clouds concealed most of the valleys, but Washington and the Northern Presidentials, along with Franconia Ridge and several others, pierced into view. Not a little ice remained scattered on the ground beneath, especially amidst the trees.
Satisfied by my comfortably cool break, I shed a layer and began my descent of Signal Ridge. I savored the open section, which was below the cloud that hugged the southern side of the peak. Mount Lowell and Carrigain Notch bared their slide-strewn slopes to me. Indeed, on Thursday, Signal Ridge offered more splendid views than Carrigain’s tower.
Along the way down, I paused to observe brilliant red berries and several springs that leaked onto the trail. I also stopped to collect another bit of Baby Ruth wrapper. The litterer had apparently chosen the loop, too. Although they lacked the glaze of ice that the north-facing Desolation Trail maintained, I found the rocks of the Signal Ridge Trail sufficiently greasy to merit attention until I reached Carrigain Brook. Now in shadows, the gentle last bit across streams, by a beaver bond, past the intersection with the Carrigain Notch Trail, and back to the trailhead was quick. I passed a gentleman walking two dogs. He picked his way more slowly through the muck on account of his footwear. At a quarter-to-four I concluded the loop. I rinsed my Gufferts in the brook, changed into dry clothes, and began my drive home.
If you are thinking hiking Carrigain, I encourage choosing the loop. The descent into the Pemigewasset and climb up Desolation are not to be missed.
Thursday morning I set out from the Signal Ridge trailhead at shortly after eight-thirty. Although the summits remained shrouded by the clouds, the sun illuminated the lower elevations as it rose above the eastern peaks. In spite of recent humidity, I found the crossing of Whiteface Brook fairly simple. Had I lacked waterproof boots, however, I might have thought otherwise; several stepping stones rested an inch or two beneath the flowing surface. Soon I arrived at the junction of Signal Ridge and Carrigain Notch trails. TEO had recommended the loop Signal-Ridge-Carrigain-Notch-Desolation-Signal Ridge, so I bore right at the fork and headed into the notch. My scouting report indicated that the trail up to Carrigain Notch could be wet. Indeed, the path was damp, but nothing to scare well-waxed leather boots, such as my Meindl Gufferts. Those who prefer sneakers, however, might wish a pair of gaiters.
As the trail departed the vicinity of the stream and climbed closer to the pass, I discovered a pristine Baby Ruth wrapper in the middle of trail. A minute or two later I arrived at the entrance of the Pemigewasset Wilderness. I entered, stepping from a glinty sunshine into a lifeless gray overcast. The slides of Mount Lowell hid behind curtains of cloud, only briefly teasing me with a glimpse of barren earth. I had been preceded in my descent into the Pemi by moose and deer, for poo and tracks abounded. Tramping down the old railroad bed, I roused a grouse, but he or she was my only game sighting of the day. (Aside from a flock of turkey along 302.)
Just shy of 11:15 I arrived at a brook which the Carrigain Notch trail turns to avoid as it heads down to Stillwater Junction. The Desolation Trail dares to cross and damns those who tread to a relentless, at times steep, climb to the summit of Carrigain. At this juncture I snacked and finished my first liter of water. After momentarily considering whether I ought not spare myself the weight of a reserve liter, I dipped the empty polycarbonate Nalgene into the (presumably) giardia-free brook.
After gradually increasing in pitch, becoming rockier as it does, the Desolation Trail reaches its crux. Steep, jumbled stones invite the aid of hands--at least they did on this day, when their humid state added the adjective “slippery.” A berry bit of bear scat seemed relatively recent, but spider webs across the trail indicated that I was the first on the trail Thursday. After a few minutes the angle relented somewhat, but about fifteen minutes shy of the summit the damp and slimy stones gave way to ice-glazed rocks and roots. And so although less steep, the last bit of the trail to the summit took more time as conditions forced my to choose every foothold with care.
Then, without a warning, I glimpsed the fire tower and found myself mere steps from Carrigain’s summit. At 1 p.m. sharp, I arrived beneath the tower. I set my pack down, donned my fleece pullover and rain shell, and clambered up the steps. Clouds concealed most of the valleys, but Washington and the Northern Presidentials, along with Franconia Ridge and several others, pierced into view. Not a little ice remained scattered on the ground beneath, especially amidst the trees.
Satisfied by my comfortably cool break, I shed a layer and began my descent of Signal Ridge. I savored the open section, which was below the cloud that hugged the southern side of the peak. Mount Lowell and Carrigain Notch bared their slide-strewn slopes to me. Indeed, on Thursday, Signal Ridge offered more splendid views than Carrigain’s tower.
Along the way down, I paused to observe brilliant red berries and several springs that leaked onto the trail. I also stopped to collect another bit of Baby Ruth wrapper. The litterer had apparently chosen the loop, too. Although they lacked the glaze of ice that the north-facing Desolation Trail maintained, I found the rocks of the Signal Ridge Trail sufficiently greasy to merit attention until I reached Carrigain Brook. Now in shadows, the gentle last bit across streams, by a beaver bond, past the intersection with the Carrigain Notch Trail, and back to the trailhead was quick. I passed a gentleman walking two dogs. He picked his way more slowly through the muck on account of his footwear. At a quarter-to-four I concluded the loop. I rinsed my Gufferts in the brook, changed into dry clothes, and began my drive home.
If you are thinking hiking Carrigain, I encourage choosing the loop. The descent into the Pemigewasset and climb up Desolation are not to be missed.
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