#216 Madison Spring Hut to NH16/ Pinkham Notch - Day 136: ATMM 1865.8 to ATMM 1873.6
Hiker Life: One minute you’re hiking down a mountain across a series of dangerous ridges, the next minute you’re walking into a Walmart with Cat Stevens’ "Wild World" playing over the loudspeakers.
9-13-2024
That was a much better night sleep. I slept on opposite end of the dining room than Gravy to escape his snores. I also cracked the window above my head to let the sounds of night and the cool breeze in.
I lift myself up off my sleeping pad, from between two long wooden dining tables, and load gear into the pack.
The Croo assembles for the six-a.m. wake-up call, then as loudly and enthusiastically as possible they belt out John Prine’s (with Iris DeMent) In Spite of Ourselves.
I can’t help but sing along with them.
Orange Man, Gravy, and I once again discuss our plans for the day’s hike. We are all planning to stay a night at The Barn Hostel in Gorham, NC tonight, so we make a plan to shuttle in together from Pinckham Notch if our timing works out.
I do my morning stretches and push-ups just outside the back door of the hut on rocky ground, while everyone else is eating breakfast.
Once again, Orange Man is a paid guest in the hut, and Gravy and I are here for work-for-stay, so the two of us have to wipe tables, sweep floors, and do some dishes before we eat leftovers and hike on.
I lost the trail right off the bat this morning. And realize it about 10 minutes later, causing me to have a late start.
The trail immediately splits, and I miss it. For ten or fifteen minutes I follow the wrong cairns across the exposed rocky side of Mt Madison instead of following the right cairns straight up the exposed rocky side of Mt Madison’, to its peak.
Several young hikers are sitting on top. They hiked up here in the middle of the night to watch the sun rise and drink beer.
I can see the tiered ridges to the tree line about a thousand feet below, but when hiking down, will find that there are hidden ridges beyond those, and hidden ridges hidden behind those as well. Tier after tier, like passing through a twilight zone episode, hiking along the same ridge over and over, each as dangerous as the last.
The trail proves to be as raw, rocky, and rough coming down as it appeared to be from on top.
Watching each step as closely as possible I slowly move down the mountain, maneuvering through the occasional waist high outcropping of Dwarf Shrubs (Krummholz).
The shrub limbs lie across the trail causing me to lose sight of the ground. I trip over a lose rock inside of one outcropping and fall forward on the narrow ridge, landing hard on my belly with a forced, “OOMF!”
With steep drops on either side of me, I slide toward the drop on my right until some of the shrubs grab ahold of me, preventing me from sliding off the ridge line, hundreds of feet above the next tier of solid ground.
It takes a moment to get untangled and upright again. Small pebbles mingle with the blood on the palms of my hands. I brush the dust from my shirt and shorts, then examine my blood covered knees, thankful that this little episode ended in minimal damage.
Shortly before reaching tree line, where the trail really gets steep, I hear someone coming up from behind. No, it’s not my ghost, Steady Eddie, but Orange Man, kicking and sliding on dry brown slated rocks, also making his way down from one of the many tiers of this forever ridge.
I let him pass because he’s faster than me. These days everyone is faster than me. I look back to the top of Mt. Madison one last time, appreciating the rugged massiveness of it.
I across the expanse towards Mt Washington one last time, I’d been looking over periodically to watch vehicles drive up and down the Auto Road.
We walk into the tree line together. The already steep trail gets much steeper, but at least the trail turns from rock to rock and dirt, then to a trifecta of rock, roots, and dirt.
