Roxi
Active member
There are moments in life when events don’t happen as originally planned; instead every thing falls into place exactly the way it was meant to. I had already postponed finishing the list for a month, taking my time with #46, doing other hikes in between (Bondcliff, Skookumchuk), when I got a phone call Thursday night canceling my weekend plans. Suddenly I found myself facing a two day forecast of gorgeous weather and time to do whatever I wanted. I knew what I wanted to do. I had had enough of waiting. I emailed another hiking buddy of mine, but he also had plans. He offered to join me if I wanted to do it some other time, and I seriously thought about it, but the days of my waiting for someone to join me to do the things I want to do are long over, especially when Mother Nature tempts me with such nice weather, and I’ve already postponed the end as long as I can stand to. I’ve been chomping at the bit to hike the Wildcats and see Carter Notch again.
The changes I’ve undergone since this journey began 5 years ago astound me. Back in 2002, I wouldn’t have dreamed of hiking in the Whites by myself. Nor was my backpack, my wardrobe, or my brain prepared to deal with the possibility of spending an overnight in the wilderness. Five years later, not only am I prepared mentally and physically, but I look forward to each solo hike. Ever since I lost my fear of solo hiking on Hale, three quarters of my hikes in the Whites have been solo, and I’ve enjoyed every one of them.
I packed my backpack and headed out Saturday morning for the Wildcats, the last two on my list. I thought about starting across from Pinkham and going up the Wildcat Ridge trail to E, but decided against it after reading the description in Steve Smith’s book of how “exceptionally steep” that section is, and open ledges with a “tricky scramble with dropoff,” and recently seeing Brian’s (a.k.a. New Hampshire’s) pictures of a ladder missing rungs that had rotted out. I chose to go up the Polecat Ski trail instead, and enjoy the less intense hill climb; afterall, how bad can a green circle ski trail be? The other MAJOR advantage of starting from the Wildcat Ski area parking lot are the BATHROOMS! I don’t know about you, but no matter how many times I go before I leave, or on the way, as soon as I arrive at the parking lot to a trailhead, I have to go again. Having a building with bathrooms available at the base just makes being female a lot easier!
Anyway I asked one of the gondola attendants where I picked up the Polecat trail. He said to follow the dirt road until I saw the trail. So I did. The “trail” wandered up from the dirt road, with the vegetation clearly trampled down in a very defined way heading up. I knew other hikers have used the ski trail, so I followed. I was surprised at how steep it was. Yet the “trail” had clearly been used enough to make it a fairly easy path to follow. I began to suspect that I wasn’t on the Polecat trail when I started to see blue signs with squares on them that read “lower linx, middle lynx, and upper lynx” as well as some black signs with diamonds on them that read “hardball (or was that hairball?), top cat, and lynx lair.” Clearly I wasn’t on the gentler polecat trail. I am not one to panic whenever I realize I’m not where I thought I was. I love exploring, I view getting lost as simply another adventure, and I’m fairly confidant that I’ll eventually find my way to where I need to be. In this case it was easy - UP! All the ski trails start at the top where I knew I would find the Wildcat Ridge trail. So I was content to follow the “trail” even though I was drenched in sweat, and the bugs were quite annoying without much of a breeze to blow them away. At one point I came upon a pile of animal “crap” in the middle of the “trail” and realized I was probably following something with four legs instead of two. Oh well, as long as it was going up...
Near the top, the polecat trail intersected with the one I was on. Great, at least I knew where to go on the way down... (on a side note, the polecat trail is well worth taking down as the views of Washington, Adams, and Madison were some of the best I’ve seen! But I’m jumping ahead...)
The top of the gondola station has an unsightly brown building that has been closed and roped off. I don’t know if it’s to be removed or replaced, but it detracts from the beautiful views that the area offers. The sign for the Wildcat Ridge trail was easily found north of that and I scooted off to the top of D in just a few seconds. The summit of D has an observation deck on it, which is also falling apart. The blue paint is badly worn, and there are several holes in the floorboards, as well as a square piece of plywood that looks like a “patch” repair. I did see what looked like new pressure-treated planks laying on the ground nearby, so maybe repairs or replacement will take place soon. The trail then continues off the east side of the deck, turns, and heads north. After that I don’t recall seeing any more white blazes, nor were any of the summits of C, B, and A marked. Some of the summits are hard to discern until after you’ve gone over them and then realize, “oh that must have been....”
On Wildcat A, I saw a sign that read “USFS Vista” and followed it out to an open ledge overlooking Carter Notch. Ahhhhhh! This is where I’ve wanted to be ever since first laying eyes on it after hiking Carter Dome. I sat down, took out my lunch, and soaked in the sun's rays while looking at one of the most interesting landscapes I’ve ever seen. Stony cliffs line the notch and remnants of huge boulders litter the “rampart” area. Brian (a.k.a. New Hampshire) described Carter Notch as “wild.” It is, and to me the word “rugged” comes to mind as I look down over the steep mountain sides into the idyllic scene below. I feel really comfortable here, as if I belong, at least for this moment in time. It’s as if time has stopped, and another adventure is about to begin if only I can find the hidden door, and step across its magical threshold. I am drawn to Carter Notch, the same way I am drawn to the sea, and I will be back. I find the area fascinating...
But Cater Notch waits for no one. It is fiercely independent and operates on its own seasonal cycles, shaped by the weather and the creatures that live and die here. Mountains have personalities, and so do notches. Garfield is like a sentry standing watch over the Pemi. Lafayette is a slumbering dragon, agony ridge its spiny backbone. Franconia Notch is the mischievous elf who deliberately creates a different weather pattern inside the notch than exists either north or south of it and Owl’s Head is just stoned (“Where are we, man?”).
Carter Notch is the quintessential rugged mountaineer complete with facial hair. Not the underdeveloped soul patch, nor an extended handlebar mustache, nor even a meticulously trimmed goatee, but rather several days or weeks worth of a fully developing beard simply because he had better things to do with his time than shave. The hair covering his head is longer than a regularly scheduled trim would indicate, and the wind runs her fingers through it as often as she can. His eyes are bright, clear, and twinkling, like the two ponds nestled there. His muscles look chiseled, rock hard like the boulders, and fire-glazed to the color of cinnamon by the sun, not because he models for EMS, REI, or LL Bean, but because it’s hard work preparing enough wood for the winter so he doesn’t freeze to death. Carter Notch doesn’t smell of BRUT, or JAZZ, or even OLD SPICE. His pheromones are a mixture of balsam and well-earned sweat, a scent that you just want to breath in when standing next to him. And he drives both a motorcycle and a real 4-wheel drive truck with manual transmission. He’d never, ever, own a mini-van!
Wildcat A is the mountain lioness crouched and waiting to pounce on Carter Notch below, all her kittens lined up behind her waiting to be fed, or at least have fun playing with their food. Balance is the goal if not always the result, and Mother Nature is an expert at it. Hunter and prey, continuously alternating roles as they dance the ancient moves of survival. But Carter Notch doesn’t just survive in his rugged and wild environment, he thrives in it!
And it is in this environment that I found myself guided by Mother Nature to finish hiking an arbitrary list of 48 beautiful mountains in NH. For a woman who began the quest 5 years ago, dressed in jeans and a cotton top and fearful of solo hiking in the Whites; I feel like I’ve just graduated from an advanced course in Outward Bound. This metamorphosis has created a fairly confidant explorer who can survive an overnight in the wilderness if need be. Hey, I survived the year my daughter was 13. An overnight in the Pemi would be a piece of cake compared to that!
So I will return to this wild, rugged area again. I will breath in Carter Notch’s balsam cologne, run my fingers through its wind blown leaves and pine needles, and hope that its trees are left unshaved on its rocky face. I will peer into its pools and reflect not upon how these mountains are shaped, but rather, upon how these mountains have shaped me.
The changes I’ve undergone since this journey began 5 years ago astound me. Back in 2002, I wouldn’t have dreamed of hiking in the Whites by myself. Nor was my backpack, my wardrobe, or my brain prepared to deal with the possibility of spending an overnight in the wilderness. Five years later, not only am I prepared mentally and physically, but I look forward to each solo hike. Ever since I lost my fear of solo hiking on Hale, three quarters of my hikes in the Whites have been solo, and I’ve enjoyed every one of them.
I packed my backpack and headed out Saturday morning for the Wildcats, the last two on my list. I thought about starting across from Pinkham and going up the Wildcat Ridge trail to E, but decided against it after reading the description in Steve Smith’s book of how “exceptionally steep” that section is, and open ledges with a “tricky scramble with dropoff,” and recently seeing Brian’s (a.k.a. New Hampshire’s) pictures of a ladder missing rungs that had rotted out. I chose to go up the Polecat Ski trail instead, and enjoy the less intense hill climb; afterall, how bad can a green circle ski trail be? The other MAJOR advantage of starting from the Wildcat Ski area parking lot are the BATHROOMS! I don’t know about you, but no matter how many times I go before I leave, or on the way, as soon as I arrive at the parking lot to a trailhead, I have to go again. Having a building with bathrooms available at the base just makes being female a lot easier!
Anyway I asked one of the gondola attendants where I picked up the Polecat trail. He said to follow the dirt road until I saw the trail. So I did. The “trail” wandered up from the dirt road, with the vegetation clearly trampled down in a very defined way heading up. I knew other hikers have used the ski trail, so I followed. I was surprised at how steep it was. Yet the “trail” had clearly been used enough to make it a fairly easy path to follow. I began to suspect that I wasn’t on the Polecat trail when I started to see blue signs with squares on them that read “lower linx, middle lynx, and upper lynx” as well as some black signs with diamonds on them that read “hardball (or was that hairball?), top cat, and lynx lair.” Clearly I wasn’t on the gentler polecat trail. I am not one to panic whenever I realize I’m not where I thought I was. I love exploring, I view getting lost as simply another adventure, and I’m fairly confidant that I’ll eventually find my way to where I need to be. In this case it was easy - UP! All the ski trails start at the top where I knew I would find the Wildcat Ridge trail. So I was content to follow the “trail” even though I was drenched in sweat, and the bugs were quite annoying without much of a breeze to blow them away. At one point I came upon a pile of animal “crap” in the middle of the “trail” and realized I was probably following something with four legs instead of two. Oh well, as long as it was going up...
Near the top, the polecat trail intersected with the one I was on. Great, at least I knew where to go on the way down... (on a side note, the polecat trail is well worth taking down as the views of Washington, Adams, and Madison were some of the best I’ve seen! But I’m jumping ahead...)
The top of the gondola station has an unsightly brown building that has been closed and roped off. I don’t know if it’s to be removed or replaced, but it detracts from the beautiful views that the area offers. The sign for the Wildcat Ridge trail was easily found north of that and I scooted off to the top of D in just a few seconds. The summit of D has an observation deck on it, which is also falling apart. The blue paint is badly worn, and there are several holes in the floorboards, as well as a square piece of plywood that looks like a “patch” repair. I did see what looked like new pressure-treated planks laying on the ground nearby, so maybe repairs or replacement will take place soon. The trail then continues off the east side of the deck, turns, and heads north. After that I don’t recall seeing any more white blazes, nor were any of the summits of C, B, and A marked. Some of the summits are hard to discern until after you’ve gone over them and then realize, “oh that must have been....”
On Wildcat A, I saw a sign that read “USFS Vista” and followed it out to an open ledge overlooking Carter Notch. Ahhhhhh! This is where I’ve wanted to be ever since first laying eyes on it after hiking Carter Dome. I sat down, took out my lunch, and soaked in the sun's rays while looking at one of the most interesting landscapes I’ve ever seen. Stony cliffs line the notch and remnants of huge boulders litter the “rampart” area. Brian (a.k.a. New Hampshire) described Carter Notch as “wild.” It is, and to me the word “rugged” comes to mind as I look down over the steep mountain sides into the idyllic scene below. I feel really comfortable here, as if I belong, at least for this moment in time. It’s as if time has stopped, and another adventure is about to begin if only I can find the hidden door, and step across its magical threshold. I am drawn to Carter Notch, the same way I am drawn to the sea, and I will be back. I find the area fascinating...
But Cater Notch waits for no one. It is fiercely independent and operates on its own seasonal cycles, shaped by the weather and the creatures that live and die here. Mountains have personalities, and so do notches. Garfield is like a sentry standing watch over the Pemi. Lafayette is a slumbering dragon, agony ridge its spiny backbone. Franconia Notch is the mischievous elf who deliberately creates a different weather pattern inside the notch than exists either north or south of it and Owl’s Head is just stoned (“Where are we, man?”).
Carter Notch is the quintessential rugged mountaineer complete with facial hair. Not the underdeveloped soul patch, nor an extended handlebar mustache, nor even a meticulously trimmed goatee, but rather several days or weeks worth of a fully developing beard simply because he had better things to do with his time than shave. The hair covering his head is longer than a regularly scheduled trim would indicate, and the wind runs her fingers through it as often as she can. His eyes are bright, clear, and twinkling, like the two ponds nestled there. His muscles look chiseled, rock hard like the boulders, and fire-glazed to the color of cinnamon by the sun, not because he models for EMS, REI, or LL Bean, but because it’s hard work preparing enough wood for the winter so he doesn’t freeze to death. Carter Notch doesn’t smell of BRUT, or JAZZ, or even OLD SPICE. His pheromones are a mixture of balsam and well-earned sweat, a scent that you just want to breath in when standing next to him. And he drives both a motorcycle and a real 4-wheel drive truck with manual transmission. He’d never, ever, own a mini-van!
Wildcat A is the mountain lioness crouched and waiting to pounce on Carter Notch below, all her kittens lined up behind her waiting to be fed, or at least have fun playing with their food. Balance is the goal if not always the result, and Mother Nature is an expert at it. Hunter and prey, continuously alternating roles as they dance the ancient moves of survival. But Carter Notch doesn’t just survive in his rugged and wild environment, he thrives in it!
And it is in this environment that I found myself guided by Mother Nature to finish hiking an arbitrary list of 48 beautiful mountains in NH. For a woman who began the quest 5 years ago, dressed in jeans and a cotton top and fearful of solo hiking in the Whites; I feel like I’ve just graduated from an advanced course in Outward Bound. This metamorphosis has created a fairly confidant explorer who can survive an overnight in the wilderness if need be. Hey, I survived the year my daughter was 13. An overnight in the Pemi would be a piece of cake compared to that!
So I will return to this wild, rugged area again. I will breath in Carter Notch’s balsam cologne, run my fingers through its wind blown leaves and pine needles, and hope that its trees are left unshaved on its rocky face. I will peer into its pools and reflect not upon how these mountains are shaped, but rather, upon how these mountains have shaped me.
