McRat
New member
Perhaps I should modify that. I’m not sure I’ll get that much time off to hike until I hit the AT. Specifically it was North, Middle and South Weeks in the rain.
I hadn’t got out to do much hiking lately. Suddenly there was a brief window to hike and a Barnes Field campout for the night before. I couldn’t pass it up. A good hang, a nap, and some local peakbagging. With the weather being dicey, I decided on the Weeks for their proximity.
My previous plan for Sunday was to get a seven mile run in, and as a manifestation of my lunacy, I decided to trail run as much of it as I could. This seemed like an excellent idea around 3:00am by the campfire. A lot seems like a good idea then.
I woke around 9:00ish under grey skies, grateful to have a much shorter drive to Berlin than from home. Thanks again Wucephus for making it possible.
I laced up my trail runners and lightened my pack of useless items. I made excellent time the two tenths of a mile to the junction of the Bunnell Notch trail. It was after this that the York Pond trail became a bit wet and slippery. After the first fall, I sprang right back up. By the third one I had landed on my hip and shoulder (nice bruise today) and while contemplating a trillium at ground level, decided that the trail run was officially postponed due to the weather.
At the first water crossing I washed off mud where I could and was grateful to be traveling solo, as I’m sure I was quite the spectacle. From there I walked with some passing showers among the numerous and ample monuments to moose digestion and puddles until I reached the Kilkenny Ridge Trail.
Heading up to North Weeks I managed to take another slide or two and began questioning my decision to solo. After the first couple of switchbacks I stopped for a water break and was thinking, “what would happen if I took a nasty fall.” While I’m thinking of this I hear a thud behind me. Less than a few feet from where I was standing a four-foot long section of birch maybe 6-8 inches in diameter had fallen onto the trail. Although it was just a small piece of the downed tree overhead, for future waterbreaks, I think I’ll look up for any ‘widow makers’ first.
Made it over North Weeks and headed down the col towards Middle Weeks when I found a section of trail that was pretty well flooded for 40 feet or so. I looked for water bars to clear, but couldn’t find any.
Of the trip, Middle Weeks was my favorite. Specifically, I enjoyed the quarter mile or so that was pretty flat, mostly dry, and still springy under my feet.
I finally completed the trip up, and found the tree where the summit canister used to be in slightly under two and a half hours from start. The skies were darkening and the thunder began to rumble so I tried to hurry back down the col the way I came.
As the rain began to pick up, the trail became even more slippery, and I made several more flops and near misses before realizing that there was no way I would be making it back in the same time. With all the leaf mush on mud (and complicated by the cumulative effect of the previous falls), I was quicker on the uphill than down, and not all that quick on the uphill. I began to wonder if I could get back under five hours.
I enjoyed the oasis section on Middle Weeks, and was making the trip back up N. Weeks when I decided that the next time I do this, would involve a car spot and a traverse. I swear cols get deeper on the return trips!
I managed to get over North Weeks as quickly as possible, and was several hundred feet below the summit when the next thunderstorm came in. I was hobbling along about a quarter of a mile above the York Pond Trail junction when I saw a crisp bolt of lightning strike the summit of Terrance. Impressive enough to see, but it was another 7-8 seconds before I heard it. The roaring report hit me and I just stood there, as soaked as the waterlogged and translucent trilliums around me as the sound of thunder reverberated throughout the notch.
There have been many moments in hiking where I look at the gorgeous vistas around me and feel rather small in the grand scheme of things. Here in the green corridor listening to the roaring thunder, I found myself experiencing a similar sort of awe.
As I hobbled along the York Pond Trail, the thunder eventually subsided and heavier rains set in. Where I found the York Pond Trail wet in places, it was now more pond than trail. At this point, I no longer had the inclination or opportunity to be picky in choosing my steps and plodded along straight through the mud, moose poop, and puddles – my shoes extruding water with each step, only to soak back in. I was certainly resigned in my steps, but satisfied in mind. Once you reach the point of saturation, might as well take off the rain gear and get a free shower.
The rain slowed by the time I hit the last river crossing. I waded across, dropped my pack and shirt and took a short yet bracing dip.
With the mud washed away and my pretense to dignity returning, I made it back to the car in just less than five and a half hours. Despite having much less elevation to deal with, it still took a half hour more to walk back.
I changed into some warm clothes and savored the gorgeous views of the mountains on the ride home. The timing of weather change was more amusing than annoying. Part of me tried to manufacture some anger at the situation, but I just kept watching the beautiful scenery go by, and became as grateful to witness natures grandeur from the road as I was to experience a solo day limping along… listening as the raindrops hit the hobblebush and the thunder tore the skies.
I hadn’t got out to do much hiking lately. Suddenly there was a brief window to hike and a Barnes Field campout for the night before. I couldn’t pass it up. A good hang, a nap, and some local peakbagging. With the weather being dicey, I decided on the Weeks for their proximity.
My previous plan for Sunday was to get a seven mile run in, and as a manifestation of my lunacy, I decided to trail run as much of it as I could. This seemed like an excellent idea around 3:00am by the campfire. A lot seems like a good idea then.
I woke around 9:00ish under grey skies, grateful to have a much shorter drive to Berlin than from home. Thanks again Wucephus for making it possible.
I laced up my trail runners and lightened my pack of useless items. I made excellent time the two tenths of a mile to the junction of the Bunnell Notch trail. It was after this that the York Pond trail became a bit wet and slippery. After the first fall, I sprang right back up. By the third one I had landed on my hip and shoulder (nice bruise today) and while contemplating a trillium at ground level, decided that the trail run was officially postponed due to the weather.
At the first water crossing I washed off mud where I could and was grateful to be traveling solo, as I’m sure I was quite the spectacle. From there I walked with some passing showers among the numerous and ample monuments to moose digestion and puddles until I reached the Kilkenny Ridge Trail.
Heading up to North Weeks I managed to take another slide or two and began questioning my decision to solo. After the first couple of switchbacks I stopped for a water break and was thinking, “what would happen if I took a nasty fall.” While I’m thinking of this I hear a thud behind me. Less than a few feet from where I was standing a four-foot long section of birch maybe 6-8 inches in diameter had fallen onto the trail. Although it was just a small piece of the downed tree overhead, for future waterbreaks, I think I’ll look up for any ‘widow makers’ first.
Made it over North Weeks and headed down the col towards Middle Weeks when I found a section of trail that was pretty well flooded for 40 feet or so. I looked for water bars to clear, but couldn’t find any.
Of the trip, Middle Weeks was my favorite. Specifically, I enjoyed the quarter mile or so that was pretty flat, mostly dry, and still springy under my feet.
I finally completed the trip up, and found the tree where the summit canister used to be in slightly under two and a half hours from start. The skies were darkening and the thunder began to rumble so I tried to hurry back down the col the way I came.
As the rain began to pick up, the trail became even more slippery, and I made several more flops and near misses before realizing that there was no way I would be making it back in the same time. With all the leaf mush on mud (and complicated by the cumulative effect of the previous falls), I was quicker on the uphill than down, and not all that quick on the uphill. I began to wonder if I could get back under five hours.
I enjoyed the oasis section on Middle Weeks, and was making the trip back up N. Weeks when I decided that the next time I do this, would involve a car spot and a traverse. I swear cols get deeper on the return trips!
I managed to get over North Weeks as quickly as possible, and was several hundred feet below the summit when the next thunderstorm came in. I was hobbling along about a quarter of a mile above the York Pond Trail junction when I saw a crisp bolt of lightning strike the summit of Terrance. Impressive enough to see, but it was another 7-8 seconds before I heard it. The roaring report hit me and I just stood there, as soaked as the waterlogged and translucent trilliums around me as the sound of thunder reverberated throughout the notch.
There have been many moments in hiking where I look at the gorgeous vistas around me and feel rather small in the grand scheme of things. Here in the green corridor listening to the roaring thunder, I found myself experiencing a similar sort of awe.
As I hobbled along the York Pond Trail, the thunder eventually subsided and heavier rains set in. Where I found the York Pond Trail wet in places, it was now more pond than trail. At this point, I no longer had the inclination or opportunity to be picky in choosing my steps and plodded along straight through the mud, moose poop, and puddles – my shoes extruding water with each step, only to soak back in. I was certainly resigned in my steps, but satisfied in mind. Once you reach the point of saturation, might as well take off the rain gear and get a free shower.
The rain slowed by the time I hit the last river crossing. I waded across, dropped my pack and shirt and took a short yet bracing dip.
With the mud washed away and my pretense to dignity returning, I made it back to the car in just less than five and a half hours. Despite having much less elevation to deal with, it still took a half hour more to walk back.
I changed into some warm clothes and savored the gorgeous views of the mountains on the ride home. The timing of weather change was more amusing than annoying. Part of me tried to manufacture some anger at the situation, but I just kept watching the beautiful scenery go by, and became as grateful to witness natures grandeur from the road as I was to experience a solo day limping along… listening as the raindrops hit the hobblebush and the thunder tore the skies.
I'm glad you got out and managed to make the most of the day! Those Weeks sure are beautiful, aren't they? Somehow they seem to glow even more green on a wet day.
