My lengthy trip report
In the summer of 1990 my college roommates took me up the Welch-Dickey loop. I was overweight and unfit, struggled every minute, barely made it to the top, and was glad just to make it back to the Tufts Mountain Club Loj alive.
I started out 2004 having been to the summits of 22 of the New Hampshire 4000-footers. The year began with a bang, visiting Pierce, Liberty, Flume, and revisiting Eisenhower in the first four days. This was followed by an amazing trip to the Adirondacks for the VFTT Gathering. After that, however, things went downhill. I found myself struggling to hike, turning back from summits, and feeling incredibly uninspired. After a relationship breakup in early April, however, I decided to refocus, and on April 24th began a stretch of hiking that would turn into 27 peaks in 22 weeks.
This all came to a spectacular conclusion on September 25th, 2004, on Mt. Moosilauke.
I spent the preceding night with Audrey, Pat, Max, and Cantdog in a luxurious condo in Waterville Valley. I slept as well as I could, but was too excited to stay in bed as daylight arrived. A shower and a quick breakfast and we were on our way to the Mooosilauke Ravine Lodge.
It was just before our scheduled 9am starting time, and folks were still arriving. I was thrilled to see Alpinista, who had finished her 48 on Isolation just a few days prior, Dave Metsky, Seeker, LittleBear, and numerous other faces, new and old. Jaytrek, Jenifer, Poison Ivy, Max, Audrey, Pat, Cantdog, Dave's friends whose names have slipped the surly bonds of my memory... Even Darren, the King of VFTT, had made it. 16 of us stepped onto the trail together; already, I knew this was going to be a special day.
The trip up was a classic White Mountains hike. The trails on Moosilauke are in immaculate condition thanks to the care given them by the Dartmouth Outing Club, and the Gorge Brook Trail is no exception. The day was surprisingly humid, with a light grey sky, and the sweat quickly made itself known. We spread out somewhat, but I stayed at point for most of the route up, pausing every so often to collect the group, and finally coelescing just short of treeline as we hit the wind and fog.
Once we were all together, we made our way across the east summit and up to the table land around the summit, which was nicely ensconced in passing clouds. I moved to the back of the pack as everyone went ahead. After a moment to prepare, I dashed up the summit rocks, only to discover I had no idea which cairn and trail sign was the actual summit. A quick pointer from Dave M. and I dropped my pack, pulled out my #48 sign, and tagged the summit under the eyes of a gaggle of cameras. I realized that already on the summit were HikerBob, Karen, Alpinista, Donna; I'm sure I'm forgetting a face or two.
I popped the obligatory champagne, sending the cork at least 15' up through the fog (it was recovered and packed out), and had the bottle bubble over just as I was taking my first swig, sending spray (not spit!) bursting across the summit. Then, coming through the fog, I saw another surprise. Arm appeared on the summit, followed by Skimom. Not long after, SherpaK arrived with JohnS. At this point, I can't say I remember clearly what happened. I'd like to just blame the copious alcohol on my being loopy - between my own beer, the Heineken keg can that SherpaK brought, and the champagne (I passed on the Glenlivet; that would have been too much mixing!) - but the fact is that I was thoroughly blown away by the turnout. I thought a few people would come on the hike with me; I never expected that there would be 22 fellow hikers, fellow friends, there.
When I started hiking it was because I had finally discovered a way to personally interact with the majesty of nature. Whether it be sitting on a summit and looking out over the world, or just walking into the woods to read a book and sleep under the stars, I found myself in the mountains. Sure, there was a novelty at first, but it soon became such a part of me that I can't imagine a weekend not spent outdoors. It didn't take long before the cold barren landscape of winter revealed itself to me as a sparkling gem, one to be snowshoed and skied and even camped at obscenely low temperatures. I found a world in which I thrived.
Equally so, I found a community of like people. The kind of people who hear about 12 miles in the cold rain and wish they had been there. People who would rather spend a weekend sleeping on the ground in a tent than anywhere else. People who were quickly friends like no one else I knew. I have truly found myself during this adventure, and I've found that it's not just the hiking, it's the hikers. I would never have achieved this goal without my hiking family, and I can't put into words how much I appreciate that. My life today is nothing like it was just a few years ago, and I think it's only getting better. I cherish the world we have formed together, the communities we have contributed to and built up. Yes, Darren, all of this *is* ultimately your fault.
Thank you. Everyone.
With a nice buzz on, I tailed the group as we departed the summit. A few folks went back down the other trails they'd hiked up, the rest headed across the ridge. Some went up to tag the south summit; I was still feeling a bit loopy and after gabbing with some other hikers on the trail decided to skip the side trip and just head down the Carriage Road. We flew down, then regrouped at the Snapper Trail junction. As one long snaking line of hikers we traversed the final miles, much to the amusement of those we passed on the trail. Back down at the Lodge I took advantage of the plumbing to get washed up, and then joined everyone at the Woodstock Station.
As we sat down to fine food and drink, AMSTony arrived, having finished his 48 on the Tripyramids that day. Sardog1 popped in for dinner as well, an excellent surprise. Dawn, Tom, Patti, Phil, Bonnie, SpongeBob, and HarryK arrived from a 115 finish on Carrigain. And only 3-1/2 hours behind, Shizzmac, Chomp, VSA, and Bob showed up, having gotten a hangover-laden late start. The evening wound down back at the condo, and I slept very well.
What's next? A part of me wants to work on the 67. I would love to explore Vermont and Maine, and if I time it right, I could finish up at next fall's Gathering. But I'm torn - there are a lot of other hikes I want to do. I want to revisit Caps Ridge and climb the Castles. I want to do some Sandwich Range / Waterville Valley bushwhacking. I want to follow in Steve Smith's footsteps and explore the Wild River Valley (read Wandering Through the White Mountains to understand). I'd like to do some longer-distance backpacking. I want to go back to so many places with the good camera and just take pictures. Only time will tell where I find myself in the next year.
On a sunny Sunday in the early fall of 2004 I stopped on the way out of the Valley and hiked up the Welch-Dickey loop. I was at the summit of Welch in only an hour, where I lay down in the sun and out of the wind for a pleasant nap. After an hour, I woke to say hello to Jean and Nat passing by, and soon after to HarryK and Patti. At the 90-minute mark I got my gear together as Periwinkle and Basecamp arrived. We then took several leisurely hours hiking the loop with the dogs. The sky was clear and blue, the foliage bright and beautiful, the fellowship warm and wonderful.
