[Journal entry for August 8-9, 2018]. I stayed this last night in the Roadway Inn, off of Route 3 in Lincoln New Hampshire. I arose early in the morning and drove northward, passing through Franconia Notch when the just-risen sun was lighting up the great cliff face on its western side, and with ground fog filling shrouding valley and draping the hills. I drove past the Zealand Falls Trailhead, where I had parked on many winter mornings, and to Base Station Road in Brenton Woods. I parked at the lot by the Ammonoosuc Ravine Trailhead, and paid my $5 per day parking fee. I spent a few minutes organizing my gear, for this was rather a spur-of-the-moment trip and I thrown things together without much care. The morning was sunny as I started up the trail.

The trail started out gently uphill through the woods, following the bank of the Ammonoosuc River. The ground was very lush with vegetation, including moss, fern, mushrooms and small flowering plants such as Ground Dogwood. Signs of a recent flood, and especially uprooted trees, were everywhere along the river bank. Today the flow was only moderate. Initially, the hiking was not difficult, but the level of exertion increased as the trail gradually became steeper. I crossed a tributary river at a ford, at first stepping from rock to rock, and then stepping across a crude bridge of logs. I passed open spots with view of the west flank of the mountain. I came to a tall thin waterfall, flowing down through a sub-vertical gulley worn into the rock face. I crossed the river just below of the wide and shallow plunge pool. The trail then began its steep ascent of the hillside. After a while, I came to a side trail that led to a stupendous view of the waterfall. Several narrow ribbons of water fell down a cliff face a hundred or more feet high into a beautiful blue pool. The cascades glittered in the sunlight. I continued on, after a bit, to where the trail leveled out and crossed a series of wide rock ledges, set besides a series of smaller waterfalls. The view west towards the other peaks of the White Mountains was very good. I came to a headwall, over which a very beautiful waterfall tumbled in several stages. I could see a cave beneath the falls, but did not have the time or inclination to visit it. The day was clouding up, but a few last minutes of sun lit of the falling water silver.

The path then entered the alpine zone. The trees became progressively shorter and the trail more and more rocky, until there came a point where the woods were completely replaced by a broad field of lichen-covered stones and a series of cairns, four or five feet high, marked the way. I continued along, finally coming to a point where the AMC’s Lakes of the Clouds Hut came into view. I walked around this grey wooden building to the entrance on its far side and walked in. It was like many of the other AMC huts that I have visited over the years, with a large common room with picnic tables and large picture windows that looked out onto what was now a rather misty hillside, and other smaller rooms arrayed at the sides. The cook had set out a try of large muffins and I purchased two for lunch, together with a glass of tea. After eating, I refilled my water bottles and talked with the receptionist, asking for directions to the summit, for I did not want to get off onto the wrong path. She set me onto the Crawford Path,

I passed two of the Lakes. The first appeared to be natural, a small shallow pond filling a hollow below the hut, with occasional rocks protruding above the water. The second was obviously an impoundment, with a small linear dam holding back the waster on its downhill side. I continued along the trail, heading uphill through the rocks. I passed a trail crew that was digging in flat stepping stone along the trail. Even with them, the trail is difficult and walking requires constant attention. The weather deteriorated and I experienced several periods of intense rain. I put on my rainsuit and also began using my Z-rest sleeping pad as an umbrella (for which it worked passably well). Although the terrain was mostly rocks, I would occasionally pass pockets of grass, dwarf conifer trees, and even wetland plants like Skunk Cabbage. Every so often, the clouds clear to a degree that I could glimpse the buildings and antennae on the summit. Finally, an hour or more after leaving the hut, and fully seven hours after leaving the parking lot, I reached the summit.

It’s odd to walk hours through wilderness and then come to a small developed area with buildings, including a defunct hotel called the Tip Top House, a wide observation deck, and a train station. Fifty or more tourists were milling about, some waiting in line to touch the summit cairn, other relaxing on the deck, as still others watching the Cog Railway train back up the mountain. I stayed but a few minutes, and then headed off. I took the Trinity Heights Connector down to the Gulfside Trail (the Appalachian Trail) and walked along the ridge, on mostly level terrain with difficult footing. I crossed the tracks of the Cog Railway and then finally reached the intersection with the Jewel Trail. I began my descent of the trail, heading to a point just below tree line, where camping is allowed.

Tree line proved to be quite far away. I lost the trail about a half mile from the intersection, and found myself taking a detour across a horrible scree slope, the waist high woods trees being completely impassible. Luckily, I could see a cairn in the distance and headed towards it. The rain alternated with clear periods, so I could often catch glimpses of the surrounding mountains. Finally, I passed the alpine boarder sign, and soon after that, came across several informal campgrounds off the side of the trail. I chose one a bare area surrounded by luscious ground cover beneath spruce trees. I set up my tent, a very light one that I had purchased a few years ago from TheNorthFace and was now using for the first time. And I cooked my dinner of macaroni and cheese and salami, and tea. A Grey Jay, tooking for handouts, was my only company.

The night passes uneventfully and with hardly any rain. I heard the call of some animal that I took to be a squirrel. The morning was also fairly dry and sitting out under the trees eating my oatmeal, washed down with more tea. Had the day been sunny, I would have considered heading back to the ridge, but rain was threatening. Actually, I had not realized it at the time, but going back up would have been problematical. I had arrived at the campsite with a little more than three liters of water. I used two for dinner and one for breakfast and had only a few mouthfuls left. I had expected to find water along the trail but discovered that it followed a completely dry ridge. I found water only when I crossed Clay Brook, two-thirds of the way down (although, I suppose, since the day was wet, I could have collected water off of the vegetation with a rag, had I been desperate enough). I spent a long time near the pedestrian bridge where the Jewell Trail crosses the brook. It’s a very pretty area, with a waterfall and with flowers growing between the rocks. I purified three liters of water and drank one, straight off, for even though the day was drizzly, I was rather sweated up. After another mile, I crossed the Ammonoosuc River by another pedestrian bridge and was soon back at my car. The trip down from the campgraound had taken about three hours. A downpour began in earnest as I drove along Base Station Road.

I stopped at the Brenton Woods Market and Deli for lunch before driving back east. I also payed a visit to Paul and Gigi Estes, in Plymouth New Hampshire. Ironically, the late afternoon weather turned sunny.