Mt. Washington, February 2008

(Please note that the website previously used to post pictures from this trip has shut down. Regretably, pictures are not available for public viewing at this time, except those on this page, which you can click for larger versions.)

On February 15th I drove up to the White Mountains in New Hampshire to cash in on the Christmas gift Heidi gave me: a winter EduTrip on Mt. Washington. We first heard about these from a van driver on the auto road after hiking our way up last fall, and it definitely had appeal. The auto road and the cog railway close in the winter, and while you can still hike up, most people do not due to the extreme weather conditions (all visitor facilities are closed in winter). Those that do make the hike certainly can't stay overnight or experience the Spartan comfort of the observatory and the hospitality of its crew. EduTrips allow participants to experience the far-out wicked wonderland that is Mt. Washington in winter, and also to learn a thing or two from the observatory staff and the trip leaders.

The certificate Heidi gave me came with a thick packet of information. Even with a snow cat to take you up the mountain and a heated building to shelter you at the top, Mt. Washington is a harsh environment in any season, and the observatory spares no effort to make sure you are aware of it. Pages of weather data detail the subzero temperatures, bone-shaking wind chill, and the famously fierce wind. Each item on the gear list is followed by the words, "not cotton!" (which loses its insulating ability when it gets wet.) Example: "One pair long underwear (not cotton!), wool or synthetic pants (not cotton!), expedition-weight mits (not cotton!), toothbrush (not cotton!)" Finally, each page of the info packet had at least one paragraph to remind me that the weather on top was extreme, colder and windier than anything I had ever experienced, and that people die there on a regular basis because they were either ill-prepared, ill-informed, or wore something cotton. (Jokes aside, they have good reason to be so cautious. The observatory crew have an endless number of cautionary tales about people who started climbing at 3pm in t-shirts and flip-flops, who ignored the advice from other people on the trail to turn back, and then got caught in a storm, in the dark, without a prayer. The mountain rarely forgives stupidity.)

So after a night at Joe Dodge Lodge, I arrived bright and early Saturday morning at the base of the auto road. I wanted extra time to don my snow pants and cram my double-socked feet into my rented mountaineering boots. I had to slide the seat back all the way to accomplish this feat of vehicular contortionism, but after a little while I had on all of my layers; a walking pile of not cotton. Others soon arrived. Dan, a pilot from upstate NY, brought cookies for everyone. Feeling guilty for not bringing anything myself, I told everyone that if we became stranded on the mountain and our food supply was exhausted, they should feel free to eat me. We were also joined by our geology professors and trip leaders, Mark Van Baalen and Tim Allen. Mark told us the weather on the summit was bad enough that there was some question as to if we would go at all. The final call was left to Gus, the driver of the snow cat. Luckily, Gus had taken on a "Well, we'll either make it our we won't" point of view that day, so after loading up the gear we piled in the back of the cat and rumbled up the base of the auto road.

In addition to ferrying crew and supplies up and down the Mt. Washington auto road, the snow cat is also responsible for plowing it. Indeed, it is the only vehicle that can go up and down the full length of the road in winter, and it has a large plow on the front for clearing the huge snow drifts that block the road on a regular basis. The snow cat isn't like the trucks that plow your neighborhood. Instead of moving swiftly down the road, clearing the street and blocking the end of your driveway all in one pass, the slow moving cat has to move back and forth, nudging the snow drifts a little at a time until restoring the grade of the road. After about twenty minutes of jerking back and forth in the back of the cat while we tried to clear a few sofa-sized drifts, I started to feel quite nauseated, and felt that very soon I'd have my not cotton-covered head out the window, lubricating the tracks of the snow cat with the undigested remnants of my breakfast. Fortunately, we eventually cleared the drifts and arrived at the rock-steady entrance to the observatory.

The last time I had seen the Sherman Adams Building it was crawling with hikers and tourists. Now, it was empty, and we tossed our gear on the tables. This was where we got in and out of the extra layers needed to go outside. So after a quick lunch and orientation we got suited up and headed out the door for a quick jaunt around the summit.

In any season, the summit of Mt. Washington is awe-inspiring. But in winter, it is simply amazing. When you step out of the heavy observatory doors and into the bright, crisp air, you expect to feel very cold. The first thing you notice, however, is the wind. Its stronger than you expect it, stronger than you've ever experienced. It pushes you incessantly in the direction it wants to go. If you happen to be going that way, it nudges you along. But the fun part is when you walk into the wind. You really have to lean into it, and walking becomes a much more deliberate action as you pick up your foot and put it in front of the other. For a little extra fun, you can put your feet together and lean forward into the wind and let it hold you up at an angle that gravity would normally make impossible. And there is cold, certainly, but I hardly noticed that when fully suited up. Take your hand out of your glove to take a picture, however, and you will feel the bite instantly. The first couple of times outside made Heidi's camera shut down after only a few pictures and some frustrated beeping sounds.

Being outside on the summit in winter is like being on another planet. Everything is covered in rime ice, which is basically a jagged-looking white crust that forms when super cold moist air impacts a surface. All of the buildings and structures are covered in it, adding to the strangeness. When the sun is out, it makes the white landscape very bright. At night, or when the summit is covered in clouds, it's even weirder. You know what's out there, but you can't see it. Other figures, faceless in their masks and goggles, move slowly around the summit, fading in and out of the fog. Throw in the undercast with a sunset, and it's like nothing else.

The ultimate Mt. Washington experience, however, is being on the tower. Several meters above the actual summit, on a three-foot wide platform with nothing to hold you against the full force of the wind but a railing. Imagine tying yourself to the tail of a jet plane and going for a ride, and you might get an idea of what it's like. I was up there at night in the almost full moon, and again the next day. Just before we boarded the snow cat for the trip down on Sunday, I went back out the parapet door and climbed up on the tower. A storm front was coming in and I anchored myself to the railing to feel it blow by me. No one else was in view. Just me, the mountain, and the wind.

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