The Whites: Free Pancakes, Freak Storms, and Lots of Rocks

Although this path has not been easy at all,

My physical discomfort has largely been under my own control. While rain, heat, and humidity can easily make what would be a relaxed day on the trail inherently more difficult, I’ve generally been able to determine how hard I want to push myself, how many miles to go per day, and how fast I can hike them.

Upon entering the Whites, I quickly handed over the reins and let the trail decide how each day would go. Up to this point, northern Pennsylvania had been the most difficult section for me, as the endless stretches of rock forced my pace to creep despite the flat elevation profile. I found it difficult to accept the trail then, but I learned from that experience to walk with the trail instead of against it as I entered New Hampshire.

Sunset from my campsite on Mount Webster

I wasn’t trying to set an FKT, but I wanted to pass the whites while I had a window of good weather, especially when crossing the Presidents. I was prepared to cover the first period from Rt. 25 to a parking lot off Osgood Trail, where my parents would meet me in four days, and after resupplying, showering, and eating in town in Gorham, I focused on reaching the Maine border.

I had done many hikes in the Whites before and was prepared for what was to come, but tackling them during a hike was brutal. If I was lucky, maybe I could make it a half mile to shake off the remaining grogginess and wake up my legs before the trail sent me scrambling directly to one of the range’s many summits. While the climbs were grueling, the descents were worse as the steep slope filled with large rocks and roots forced choppy strides and occasional slides down each mountain. Under the circumstances of a day hike, this would surely be “fun,” but in the context of a hike, there were few if any sections that didn’t require constant attention.

Straight down the trail

On the horns of a dilemma

There isn’t much that makes me nervous on the trail, but I’m not a big fan of lightning. In the morning a great storm broke out. I was preparing to cross the Franconian ridge (the first alpine area). While the lightning quickly disappeared, the rain continued intermittently until it cleared in the early afternoon. While stopping for a quick lunch, I managed to get a weather report on my satellite phone; Luckily for me, the storms ended for that day. Feeling confident in the conditions, I began the arduous climb up Franconia Ridge. Once I reached treeline, I ditched my pack and briefly left the AT to follow a blue blaze up Mount Liberty, one of many 4,000-footers in the range. Carrying nothing but my phone, it was liberating to fly over the rocks to the top. I spent 15 minutes taking pictures and calling my parents before moving again.

After returning to the trail junction, I grabbed my backpack and continued on. The terrain was much smoother and faster on the ridge. For once I was able to focus on my surroundings and take in the landscape as I walked, which consisted of nothing but mountains for miles and miles. Almost exactly halfway through the three-mile stretch, a roar in the distance turned my attention to my left, only to see a massive black cloud quickly swallowing the mountains in the distance, exactly what I was trying to avoid earlier. In front and back was 1.5 miles of nothing but exposed granite, not a good place to be when a storm is approaching. I continued moving north and taking note every few minutes of how fast the storm was coming with each flash of lightning and thunder.

Remnants of the storm over Franconia

While I didn’t fear for my safety, I knew that continuing to walk once the storm arrived would be a foolish idea and I began to make a mental note of the large rock outcroppings to my right as the clouds approached. After a few more minutes, I found a large rock wall where bushes began that would provide good protection from the wind and rain.

I plopped down in the corner, put on my raincoat, and prepared to sit for half an hour. Once settled, I took note of my situation and thought about the stories my father told me about getting caught in storms out west. I found some satisfaction in finally having a comparable story.

Although I wouldn’t choose to climb the ridge again in those conditions, There was something magnificent about the sheer force that struck the mountain. Hidden behind my shelter, I watched the fog slowly draw closer and wrap its fingers over the ridge as the wind went from a quiet murmur to a howl as the rain fell like bullets. After half an hour of no thunder and the rain reduced to a trickle, I thought it was time to get going. The aftermath of the storm was equally exciting: not only did the temperature drop 20 degrees in 45 minutes, but the force of the wind was so strong that I had to use my trekking poles just to stay upright.

The presidential

For most of the trail, the AT guides its hikers through what’s called «the green tunnel,» rarely offering expansive views that rival its sister trails like the PCT and CDT. The Presidential Range of the White Mountains offers a rare big mountain experience on the East Coast, subsequently becoming a major landmark for all AT hikers.

I had a great day on deck as I planned to cover the entire Presidential Traverse plus a handful of miles before and after the respective Alpine Zone. My alarm went off at 4:15am: partly so I could leave early but also so I could watch the sunrise over the mountains. Swirls of gold and purple emerged with the dawn as I reached the top of Mount Webster. The miles approaching the Presidentials passed quickly until I finally reached the beginning of the alpine zone, ascended Mount Pierce, and quickly marked the first major peak of the day. Mud, rocks and roots gave way to eroded granite above the tree line. Mount Eisenhower and Monroe followed shortly after, it wasn’t even 9:30 in the morning!

Sunrise from Mount Webster

Familiarity gave way to memory. Without looking at my guide, I already knew the location of the cabins, the distance between the peaks, and various terrain changes along the trek. After another mile, I stopped at Lake of the Clouds Hut to try to burn off some leftover breakfast.

After chatting with the caretaker, I was handed a container of pancakes and he jokingly bet that the crew would pay me $20 if I finished the container. After a lot of effort and a considerable reduction in the number of remaining pancakes, I set off towards Mount Washington. I anticipated the summit would be crowded since it was a 4th of July weekend and the weather was great, but there were hardly any tourists. Taking advantage of the short waiting line, they finally took my photo at the sign. The only hiker among a few weekend hikers and backpackers, the rest of my company’s casual shoes and designer clothing clearly gave them away to tourists who chose to drive or take the gear to the top.

Following Washington, the instant gratification of continuous peaks disappeared as the distances between the summits grew and the smoother pebbles became desk-sized rocks as I approached Mount Jefferson. The hustle and bustle of Washington had disappeared as dawn began to catch up with me and the nearly 15 miles began to slip between my legs. I was less motivated by completing the traverse and more by the prospect of having a beer and a burger in my hands later that night. After taking a beating descending the mighty rocks of Mount Adams, I took a lunch break at Madison Spring Hut before the final climb of the day. Although I was tired on the way up, I knew I was in for something on the way down. While the descent down Adams was difficult enough, the descent down Madison was a full mile of mismatched steps and slides just to get back to the tree line, and another mile and a half of steep, uneven grade before the terrain smoothed out. At the time, those were the most physically difficult miles I had ever faced as discomfort turned to pain, my knees squeaking with every step as I tried to find a balance between descending (and getting into town) as quickly as possible without hurting myself. Finally, the trail leveled out and I exited the AT toward the blue blaze that led me to I pulled into the parking lot to be greeted by my parents, whom I hadn’t seen since the Amicalola entrance.

When I joined the white team I felt intimidated. I didn’t know what to expect other than that I was prepared to do some serious climbing every day. I had planned logistically as best I could, but I had no idea if my contour would hold once I climbed above 4,000 feet. Although I give some credit to luck, I traveled approximately 80 miles in four days, exactly as I had planned. Furthermore, I had handled the terrain better than I had in Pennsylvania and outlasted a freak storm atop Franconia. It turned out to be a strong test of white self-sufficiency, and I certainly felt like a badass coming out the other side.

This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any products or services you purchase using links in articles or advertisements. The buyer pays the same price they would otherwise pay, and their purchase helps support The Trek’s ongoing goal of bringing you quality backpacking information and advice. Thank you for your support!

For more information, visit the About page of this site.