On the first day of Winter my true love gave to me... decent weather, clear skies, and alpine trails to dash through the snow.

I’ve had that voice in the back of my mind for days now; I don’t hear it often but when it perks up, I listen. The voice had remained silent for a few months now, but just again in the past several days, it has reawakened and began screaming all day, all night, trying to tell me just what I wanted to do with my time.

This is the voice of idea; the voice that conjures up lofty, epic goals featuring long loops with steep trails that I inevitably end up adoring for their brutal yet scenic nature. The voice stokes the fire within, my lust for adventure. It was back – leading the orchestra of my thoughts now into crescendo.

It had been too long since I had toed the rocks high above the treeline in the Presidential Range of the White Mountains, and for the first real hike of this years’ calendar winter, here would be the perfect playground to get the winter gear wet in high altitude yet again.

I explored options of different trails, read reports and tried to figure out which forest access roads remained open. The weather had been pure excellence lately: some snowfall days prior, light winds in the higher hills, light cloud cover with some freeze-thaw going on over the past few days.

Expecting that I might very well be breaking trail, my 75-liter Gregory pack (typically used for thru-hiking also for hauling larger loads such as additional water and clothing during winter months) was packed with anything I thought could be needed out on the trails: extra clothing, water-proof pant shells, extra socks, beanies, head lamp, map + compass of course, water filter and an extra Nalgene bottle of water tucked away inside my pack, while the HydroFlask that I knew would not freeze went along for the ride on the outside of the pack (easy to reach).

A beautiful sunrise accompanied my commute northeast to the high rises of New Hampshire and an even more beautiful sight was discovered when I pulled into the Appalachia trail head in Randolph to find under ten cars (in a lot that typically houses +70 on a summer day, with cars overflowing out onto the highway shoulder), some of which had frosty windows, indicating they had been parked for some time, with their inhabitants likely somewhere in the forest already, backpacking or hiking.

Geared up and with a beep of the watch, all the satellites were tracking my modest pace as began the slow, arduous climb up and out of the valley. Fine views began behind me, stretching back out to Randolph and Route 2, showing just how far I had gone since leaving the roadside lot.

Bare boots quickly gained their white and orange snowshoe attachments as the trail became several inches of soft, granular snow and post-holing was not something I wanted to contribute to a popular trail this early into the morning.

I met the first hiker of the day while just over a mile into the Valley Way trail, she was heading back down toward the trail head clearly looking shaken up and terribly emotional. Without trying to pry, I asked if she was alright.

“They told me I’m too weak and that I had to go back!”

Turns out she had hiked too slow for the remaining members of her party who had forced her premature retreat, but she sure did handle her massive 50 pound (guessing of course, but it was a huge pack..) backpack like a champ!

Wishing her a nice day, we parted and before long had caught up to her friends – I remembered their leader from my finish of the NE111 several weeks prior, over on Mount Carrigain. Once again, the guide of the group shook my hand and tried to give out his Almond Joy chocolate bars to me, I politely declined in favor of my 93% cacao superfood and espresso bean blended culinary masterpiece.

Here and there, my mind remembered images along the jaunt in that it recalled from a year and a half ago when I hiked my first full Presidential Traverse via this same trail, I thought I could recognize sections and precariously downed trees despite the change in seasons. Such a beautiful trail, the fresh snow acting to dampen any hint of a creek or peep in that forest.

Somewhere around 3.8 miles with 3,400’ of climbing behind me, the trail began to level out and now with the sunny slopes of Mount Quincy Adams shining through the trees, I knew we were getting close now!

- Madison Springs Hut -

The path began leveling out and in warmer weather it meanders briefly along a pathway lined with rocks, but today the space between the rocks had frozen over becoming one large ice flume, a big mass of sticky blueish green hazed ice. The micro and macro landscape appears so dreamlike, more elaborate, much more beautiful up here in the mountains.

Appearing that I was now the third hiker up the Valley Way trail this morning, the other two had dropped their packs and snowshoes at the hut just prior to ascending Mount Madison - in fact, I could see their colorful jackets up on the slopes of Madison, appearing like little ants slowly ascending up the frosty, rocky mountainside.

Deciding to keep my pack and snowshoes on, I began up the spur trail after them. The winds picked up with each step, climbing higher into the thin air.

I passed the two ladies now making their descent just below the summit cone and we talked for a minute, until the winds sunk deep into my finger tips and I had to get my thickened blood pumping once again.

The summit air had a sense of serenity to it; sure it was windy, but with the mountain appearing to crumble away on either side I just stood there in space, my mind, letting the wind tear at my face, reaching through my beard. The roaring winds calmed me.

*Mts Adams & Washington from Mt Madison, 5366’*

I could see everything from 5,366ft: the Wildcats standing out first with their brilliant white ski slopes, Washington was amidst the highest with its antennae reaching further into the sky. From here, one could see the graceful arc of the Pemigewassett loop beginning with the Bonds and continuing counter-clockwise over South Twin to the point of Garfield, before reaching the jagged white points of Lafayette and the rest of the Franconia family.

Knowing I had many more miles to trek I put my camera away, plunged stiff fingers back into thick gloves, grabbed for my trekking poles and began the tedious descent.

The Dion snowshoes had been upgraded with stainless steel crampons underneath so the traction was superb, it was the tubular frame of each snowshoe that had been casting my foot in varying directions as I bounded from boulder to boulder. With a few sketchy landings, occasionally I had to stop, collect the thoughts and remind myself that I was in fact alone up here and no one was along side to drag my busted ass back down this hill – it was all me relying on myself, I was my own way home.

Back at the Madison Springs Hut, I turned back to witness with my own eyes where I had just been twenty minutes prior.

Oh, the places our little legs can take us!

- Mount Adams -

I was hoping that the flanks of Adams would be filled in clean with rime ice and gusting snow by this time but each jagged boulder was clearly showing itself, partial snow and partial frost covering the rock. The ascent was becoming even more treacherous but takes such focus and craft that I enjoy making intentional steps as this. While other hikers continued in spikes, I left my running snowshoes on for the ascent.

I was following my two Madison friends again and when they stopped to yell back and forth, I took in the zero-wind opportunity to snap a couple of classic winter mountaineering photos. The image of these women in bright teal jackets with trekking poles in hand and snowshoes fastened to their packs appeared so iconic.

As the two reached the summit sign and began snapping their photos, I offered to take a few shots of them together, as if an exchange for breaking up their early morning mountaintop celebrations.

One of them offered to shoot some of me with the dramatic backdrop before shimmying off to their next destination, that was when I heard, “hey.. I think I recognize those snowshoes!”

Between the beanies, buffs and sunglasses I did not even notice that the hiker who had snapped my photos was none other than Michelle who I met and helped break trail over in the Wildcats with last winter!

After talking and laughing about the minuscule size the world can be at times, I wished them the best and a very Merry Christmas, agreed that we would all run into each other again some day and I began away from Adams.

False alarm! I had only made it about twenty feet down from the summit when I decided to drop my bag, enjoy some snacks while just sitting, staring face to face with my pal Madison and enjoying its flowing flanks with all of its muted winter colors. It was a view that all the money could not replace.

After my short but much needed refuel, I could hear voices sailing down the valley like a sine wave from my friends over on Madison. I was alone for miles standing and existing above the Great Gully!

I abandoned my plans of continuing over to Jefferson as I was quite content with how my day had gone thus far and did not want to run the risk of needing my headlamp above treeline, so many miles from the car.

The return trip down Valley Way was much of the same terrain although it was becoming apparent that I desperately did not want to leave one of my favorite places on earth but I knew before long I would be back, climbing hand over hand, digging trekking poles and ice axes in deep, making progress from Appalachia to Crawford Notch via the Presidential Traverse.

I began passing many more hikers as I descended, quite a few with large, lofty packs complete with all of their extraneous gear and trinkets, attached by carabiners and rattling with every step, likely going off at the beginning of their long holiday weekend to winter backpack with their buddies.

Some asked in a friendly demeanor how the trails were, others simply grunted as they passed.

I was all smiles as I glissaded down, able to see Route 2 far below, through the trees as if acting as my beacon, indicating how far one had to walk to reach my Subaru’s heated seats and barrel of grapefruit that I had prepped for post-hike munchies.

The trail was much more packed on the descent, most up-hill hikers opted for Hillsound spikes while carrying their snowshoes. As I trekked on, the sound of big rigs out on the highway grew louder and I knew my finish was just around the corner.

It was still early in the day as I dropped my pack at my car, ditched the wet layers and rehydrated with as much fruit as I could fit in my belly.

On this morning, I had the comfort of solitude in the forest.

I found silent reflection on the sunny slopes of these high mountains.

I made new friends and found old acquaintances while out in the woods.

I left shell fragments of an old, fragile me next to the windswept alpine mosses and as I descended, now able to stand taller and more proud than ever before.

I search to find the playful child I once was, eager to climb any boulder that tries to block in my path.

The day is Christmas 2019 as I write this, a good day to reflect on where the past 365 days have taken us.. a magical time to day dream about where the next year may guide us. A reminder that none of it matters if we can’t smile, laugh and love where we are today, our paths and how they came to mold us to what we are presently.

Overall stats for the day:

10.20 miles
6hr 18 minutes
5,495′ elevation gain

Mount Madison – 5,366′
Mount Adams – 5,799′

Mts Adams + Madison

The Long Trail: Jay + Big Jay Peaks