In New Hampshire we discover the virtue of the granny gear. It is a slow arduos new challenge riddled with rebar and slick root tangles.
We climbed high into fire towers perched atop piney mountains. Flat rolling hills and smooth elevation profiles became a thing of the past.
1800 miles in and we find ourselves reinvigorated by the grinding burn of four thousand foot climbs crunched into four miles.
Our Angels have continued to bless our odyssey. Miss Janet slack packed us over Mt. Moosaulake. At 4803 ft., Moosaulake is not the highest mountain we have climbed, but was indeed a formidable hike.
We hiked Moosaulake south bound from NH 112 to Hikers Welcome hostel. It is about a 10 mile walk, and we were off to a early pre 9 a.m. start.
The sign said it all. We were in for a nice ride. Right off, the trail took us up a waterfall for a couple miles. The clouds grew closer and colder. Ever step forward was two to three feet vertical in the steepest stretches.
Slips and falls around every corner, but nothing was too dangerous. Never trust a wet root, or a rock at any angle other than flat. Luckily, we were not carrying fully loaded packs, oh the joys of slack packing!
Near the sumit we entered a cloud realm inhabited by elves and flourescent moss amalgamations. The pines grew shorter and more stubby in a permanent droop dragged by the wind. It was wool sweater weather, the stuff of mooses.
Clouds whipped through the christmas tree lined path and swirled about like cold breath. Suddenly, all the trees shrugged away and we were thrashing about in a cold stone jet stream. Sturdy stone piles lined the trail in intervals like sentries known as cairns. They are large enough to hide behind and shelter you from the wind.
Still Don't was rigged to snap a photo every 5 seconds for the entire ten miles. His tripod hoisted the camera above his head making him appear as an ostritch through the fog. There is some stop action in the works out of an incredibly dynamic couple thousand frames.
BrownE was shirtless and in a pair of boxer shorts wild man style. Muffins was dressed for a soccer match. Still Don't was in shorts and a hoodie. Mr. Dallas was layered like a lasagna. Needless to say, we couldn't stick around on top in the cold cloudblast for long.
Not five minutes after we started down the other side, did the clouds break and the hidden mountains were revealed. Grey nothingnes yeileded to green mountains with white rocky tops wrinkling to the horizon.
The cold is back. The straight up Paula Abdul climbs are back. This is our first taste of the infamous White Mountains, and we like it.
Wrote by Mr. Dallas.