AMC Outdoors, December 2006
Attempting a Presidential traverse in winter is like playing Russian roulette with the weather. For 11 miles, the route travels through exposed alpine terrain where the wind rips and temperatures routinely dawdle below zero. Exposed skin frostbites in minutes. Gusts knock you sideways. Conditions can deteriorate rapidly. And sometimes the wind becomes so powerful that any movement at all becomes impossible. And yet is these very dangers that draw adventurers each year to New Hampshire’s Presidential Range, the largest alpine wonderland in the Northeast. My friend Pete and I hear the siren song of this perilous dance with Nature. On February 10, 2006, we pull the trigger.
We arrive at the Appalachia trailhead at 7 a.m. in predawn light. The thermometer hovers at 4 degrees Fahrenheit. Our goal is to complete the 18-mile traverse from north to south in two days, traveling 11 miles above treeline from Madison Spring Hut to Mount Pierce, and then descending to Crawford Notch. To increase our odds of success, we have elected not to tag the summits en route.
Pete and I have been traveling together in the backcountry for years, and have both spent significant time in winter conditions. For Pete, this effort marks his third attempt at the traverse. It’s my first, and I’m both giddy and anxious at the prospect. “You didn’t tell me it would be this cold,” Pete laughs knowingly as we prepare to head out.
Shouldering our 40-pound packs, we begin the 3.8-mile, 3,500-foot ascent to Madison Spring Hut and treeline along the Valley Way Trail. The packed snow crunches under our plastic boots, and we soon catch glimpses of the sun-ripening sky. A chickadee flits through the trees. We hear the unsettling sound of blowing wind higher up. On our drive in, the peaks hid behind a veil of clouds.
As we approach treeline, we pass the Forest Service sign that reminds us that, yes, THE AREA AHEAD HAS THE WORST WEATHER IN AMERICA.
To complete the traverse, you must face the wind. Mount Washington, crown of the Presidentials, is home to some of the world’s most inhospitable weather—and winter is its least friendly season. From December through March, summit winds average more than 40 miles per hour. Hurricane-force blasts (74 mph or higher) are recorded 150 days each year. They exceed 100 mph on approximately 50 of those days, the vast majority of which occur in the winter months. In 1934, observers on its summit recorded the highest wind gust ever measured on Earth (231 mph).
“Increasing wind speed rapidly affects your ability to move,” explains Neil Lareau, a weather observer with the Mount Washington Observatory. “The first thing to understand is that the force exerted by the wind is exponentially related to its speed. Every time the speed doubles, it quadruples in force. Consequently there’s a huge difference between a 35 mph wind—the speed at which your movement is first affected— and a 70 mph wind, which can knock you over. From 80 mph on up, you’re reduced to a crawl.”
On the rocky alpine terrain of the Presidentials, such atmospheric fury can easily lead to a debilitating fall, a twisted knee, or sprained ankle, especially when crampons challenge your balance and a large pack increases your surface area like a sail. Adding to the challenge is the fact that wind does not blow steady, but gusts in irregular bursts of force, especially when it whips close to the surface over uneven terrain. “Once you get into gusty winds, it’s like being in a washing machine,” adds Lareau. “You’re pulled in all sorts of directions.”
We arrive at Madison Hut at 11 a.m. and hunker down on a drift against the tightly shuttered building. The temp has dropped to minus-3 degrees. We encounter four other people; two have just returned from summitting Mount Adams. We ask about conditions higher up. “The wind is really biting,” they tersely reply before dropping back into the trees. Sure enough, we can see a skim of clouds and spindrift sailing over the ridge to our south. We don neoprene facemasks and oversized goggles, sealing our bodies in a windproof casement of nylon and Gore-tex.
In sub-zero conditions such as these, any exposed skin will rapidly frostbite. The smallest unprotected sliver will be seared by the cold. Wind greatly magnifies the risk. In zerodegree conditions and a 30-mph breeze, skin will frostbite in less than 20 minutes. If the temperature drops another 10 degrees, frostbite occurs in nine minutes. There can be no skin peeking out. You know if any gaps exist, because your flesh burns like fire.
We strap on our crampons and head out.
“Winter excursions above treeline on the Presidential Range are the most dangerous trips that I lead,” says Marc Chauvin, who has been guiding in the White Mountains for nearly 30 years. “It’s quite hazardous. Things can come apart very quickly.” As owner of Chauvin Guides International, he takes clients on winter Presidential traverses several times each year and has experienced the gamut of alpine danger. “Safety,” he advises, “comes down to a combination of weather, conditions, knowledge, and equipment.”
From Madison Hut onward, we follow the route of the Appalachian Trail, first along the Gulfside Trail, later the Crawford Path. It has been a low snowfall year, with no recent precipitation. Wind has scoured the terrain, leaving only isolated pockets of drifts. The trail is a sheet of ice that yields readily to our clacking crampon points. Ice-encrusted cairns and good visibility make the route-finding easy. The frosted pyramid of Mount Madison looms behind us.
Conditions are seldom so cooperative. During higher snowfall years, significant drifts can collect in lee zones, making forward progress difficult without the use of snowshoes. At the same time other portions of the route may consist of bare rocks glazed with a veneer of ice. Different sections ideally call for different footwear solutions—snowshoes, crampons, or just boots—but it is not realistic to stop in the cold and change gear with any regularity. We are fortunate, and crampons work ideally for the length of the route.
We crunch along the northern flanks of Mount Adams to reach Thunderstorm Junction, where we catch our first views of Mount Washington emerging from a curtain of clouds. The icy monolith beckons us onward as the route travels along an open section of ridgeline. The winds buffet me, pushing me off-course. Anxious, I grasp the rocks with mittened hands for support as we descend into Edmands Col.
The route’s exposure increases beyond the col, and the margin for error thins. As you pass Mount Jefferson, escape routes to treeline become more widely spaced, and the distance to safety soon ups to a mile or more. “Once you’re on Jefferson, you’re kind of out there,” notes Chauvin. There’s no way to get out in the event of bad weather for several long stretches. Mobility becomes critical. Becoming immobile due to weather or injury is a serious, serious thing.” But we encounter only shin-deep powder and calm conditions as we cross the peak’s eastern slopes.
At 3 p.m. we descend into Sphinx Col on the opposite side, our campsite for the night.
A Hard Freeze, cont'd>>
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