#210 Franconia Notch to Garfield Ridge Shelter/Campsite Day 131: MM1819.1 - MM1830.2
Snow clouds pass over the mountains, like ghosts, passing their chilling spirits through your body, leaving you cold on the inside.
9-8-2025 Sunday
On the front porch sipping coffee below rows of small colorful banners featuring things written in other languages sits a very relaxed and content Sprawl.
I’m thinking of the eighteen hundred miles of the Appalachian Trail that lies forever behind me. I think of all the hardships and friendships. I think of all the rewards and the hard-learned lessons. I think of the experiences on the trail I never want to forget, and of my experiences in the world I’ll never forget - no matter how hard I try.
The first few hundred mile were hiked for fun with friends. The next fifteen hundred or so were a retreat from the world of Jason in search of balance by entering the world of Sprawl for a while, with the second half of that fifteen hundred hiked raw, as a last-ditch effort to rid myself once and for all of the darkness that haunted me by hiking.
But what is this year’s hike about?
This year’s hike, the final hike of my A.T. journey, I hope to enjoy the beauty and perilousness of the New Hampshire and Maine Mountains, to revel in the light beyond the darkness, balancing across the ridgeline of the past and future, and pushing confidently into a new life.
I grab my pack from the small barn where hikers store their boots and packs each night and wait on the porch with Side Quest for our ride back to the Plume Visitor Center in Franconia Notch where we will continue hiking north.
We hike together for a little while, but his pace is much faster than mine. I let him know I’m going to slow down, though we are really enjoying one another’s company. We trade phone numbers in the case we never cross paths again.
The sunshine in the valley gives way to dense fog as I inch my way upward.
After two thousand feet of slow climbing up the steep mountainside, I reach the Liberty Springs Campsite, a rugged and boulder-ridden piece of earth where it would be impossible to camp, but for the wooden platforms built by the Appalachian Mountain Club (A.M.C), complete with a nightly fifteen dollar per person fee, of course.
Two ladies sit on the edge of a wooden platform cooking their breakfast.
After resting and talking with them, the weekenders point me to the nearby water source. Someone had taken an old log, carved it out, and place below the spring, making it easier, like a water faucet, to gather water. I hold my water pouches below it and watch them fill up in seconds.
Today’s high point, Mt Lafayette, still lies four miles ahead, fifteen hundred feet higher, beyond multiple mountain peaks. My two new friends are hiking south and have already crossed over Franconia Ridge and Mt Lafayette. They tell me of its difficulties and beauty. I tell them about the section they’re about to hike.
Steeping from the protection of the gnarled tree line onto the first summit on Franconia Ridge, I receive a rude welcome from the hard, cold wind. The winds are steadily blowing at least sixty miles per hour with gusts pushing even harder.
I can see day hikers stretched along the long ridge. The ones I encounter are amazed I’m wearing shorts in cold wind like this.
I duck behind a large boulder and pull my shorts off completely - no, it’s not hike naked day - because I need warmer clothing. I pull on my nylon leg covers and put my shorts back on over them. I put my buff on my head and pull it over my ears, then put on my regular hat. I strap a bandana over my head and tie it under my chin to keep my hat from flying away. I put my down coat over my lighter jacket and slip my hands into my gloves and begin trudging gleefully along the nearly two-mile-long Franconia Ridge, through the snowflakes and three-hundred-sixty degrees views, over Little Haystack Mountain and Mt Lincoln, towards Lafayette, standing fifty-two-hundred feet in elevation.
I can see rain falling in the distant valleys and surrounding mountains. I hope the rainclouds don’t find their way up here.
Snow clouds pass over the mountains, like ghosts, passing their chilling spirits through your body, leaving you cold on the inside.
Most of the day-hikers up here came up from Greenleaf Hut, about a mile below, 5000 feet in elevation. They hike up from the valley, spend a night in the hut, hike the mile up here, then back down a mile, spend another night in the hut, then hike back to the valley.
Fools like me hike across the mountain in search for a place to pitch my tent, though I did wake up in a bunkroom this morning, which was filled with fools like me.
There are four miles between me and tonight’s campsite. A long ascent down Lafayette, past Mt Garfield, then up the steep ascent just over Garfield Ridge to the A.M.C. campsite.
Remember a few days ago when I told you the FarOut App fails me a few times? Well, this is one of those times, and it’s a biggie. To be fair, it’s not completely their fault. Some of the blame lies on poor blazing (remember, the A.T. doesn’t officially exist in New Hampshire, but borrows other trails across the state).
I come to a fork on top of the mountain and find there are no blazes to let me know where to go. I check Far Out and can’t really tell which way to go. I can see the campground on the app, but it’s off trail below the fork, between my two options.