Wild Northeast | Summer 2016

BO S T ON ’ S HIDDE N S IN GL E T R A C K

W HI T E MOUN TA IN GN A R

L OC A L LY-M A DE B A C K PA CK E R ’S K I T

ZIPLINES

arE just thE BegInNIng! Zipline & High Ropes Adventure Park Challenging for adults, fun for kids!

3 WILD LOCAtIOnS! Chocorua, NH

- Minutes from North Conway!

Weirs Beach, NH

- In the heart of the Lakes Region!

- Zip at Night - Check online!

Saco, ME

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- Minutes from Old Orchard Beach!

Each location has unique features. Try them all!

Reservations Highly Recommended... Make them online!

monkeytrunks.com | 603-367-4427

After a day in the mountains, don't forget to exercise your

brain.

Find the CLUES! Solve the PUZZLES! Escape the ROOM! A great activity for family and friends, especially on rainy days!

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Wild Northeast is printed four times per year. We welcome ideas, articles, photo submissions and feedback.

Drop us a line. editor@wildnortheast.com

The Team

Meet the contributors

PUBLISHER

CONTRIBUTORS

Ian Ferguson

Cait Bourgault

ART DIRECTOR Lee House EDITOR

Kyle Couture Erin Paul Donovan Curran Ferrey Maxwell Forbes

Ian Ferguson

Russell Frisch

COPY EDITOR

Jeremy Gansler

Zach Johnk

Andy Howard

Stephen Larson OFFICE MANAGER David Lottman Kat Thorney Kevin McAvey ADVERTISING Matt McDonald Josh Newall

Austin Perry

Kat Thorney

Anne Skidmore

Sean Carney

Jamel Torres

Cait Bourgault Photographer Portland, ME

Kyle Couture Cinematographer Boston, MA

Erin Paul Donovan Photographer scenicnh.com

Curran Ferrey Photographer/Writer Boston, MA

Maxwell Forbes Photographer/Writer Burlington, VT

Jeremy Gansler Writer jeremygansler.blogspot.com

Andy Howard bostonmtbtours.com noreasterbc.com

Stephen Larson Outdoor Athlete Plattsburgh, NY

David Lottman Mountain Guide nealpinestart.com

Matt McDonald Writer Plattsburgh, NY

Austin Perry Photographer wearethewildbunch.com

Anne Skidmore Photographer anneskidmore.com

Jamie Walter Photographer @jwalter1337

Jamie Walter

Contents 4 Outlook Photo Gallery 8 Mark Meschinelli: Adirondack Rock 10 The Long Trail: A Short Story 12 Hanna Lucy: Appealing Lines 14 Boston’s Hidden Singletrack 18 Up Katahdin and Down the Allagash 20 Jan Wellford: The Fastest 46er 23 Locally Made Backpacker’s Kit 24 Kris Fiore: New Vermont Climbs 26 The Slabs Less Travelled 28 White Mountain Gnar 30 Mayday in the Mountains

on the cover: Patrick Noonan rides off the summit of Mt. Chocorua.

Photo by Austin Perry.

Issue I. © 2016 Wild Northeast.

All views herein are those of the writers, and do not necessarily reflect the views of Wild Northeast.

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FSC FPO

outlook

A U S T I N P E R RY

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Thatcher Graves and Gunner take in the Milky Way atop Foss Mountain.

KYLE COUTURE

Tuckerman Ravine Trail on Mt. Washington, with the headwall behind.

J A M I E WA LT E R

An unknown surfer rides the post-Hurricane Joaquin swell at Gooch’s Beach, Kennebunk, Maine.

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J A M I E WA LT E R

Miguel Almeida styles a feature at Highland Mountain Bike Park, Northfield, N.H.

E R I N PA U L D O N OVA N

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A kayaker sends the lower falls on the Swift River in the White Mountains.

A U S T I N P E R RY

Tanner Pelletier perfects his cast on the upper Swift River.

ANNE SKIDMORE

Standard Route, 5.5 R, Whitehorse Ledge, N.H.

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Mark Meschinelli & Adirondack Rock

story & photos by stephen larson

It’s 8:40 a.m., and I am running late on a sunny Friday. As I pull into the parking area of Poke-O-Moonshine, a small mountain in the northeastern Adirondacks, local climber and “Mayor of Poke-O” Mark Meschinelli stands beside his pickup truck, staring up at a cliff on which he might just know every hold.

I jump out of my Subaru, Mark tosses me his climbing rope and we set off toward the Luther Wall, named for Dennis Luther, another great Adirondack climber. Passing a small stream flowing to capacity, Mark says certain climbs will be too wet for the foreseeable future. This intimate relationship with the microenvironment of the cliff is what sets Mark apart from most of the climbers who frequent Poke-O’s rock walls.

it’s hard not to be intimidated the first time you come to the Adirondacks. Look off in any direction from a peak, and you will see steep granite cliffs rising from the valley floor. These cliffs have given reason and drive to people’s lives. They have created memories and friendships that are passed down.

AS A CLIMBE R ,

One of the most impressive cliffs in Adirondack Park spans the east side of Poke-O-Moonshine, a 2,180-foot peak on the northern edge of Essex County. Approaching the crags on Route 9, it is easy to see why early climbers viewed the sheer walls of Poke-O as unapproachable. It was not until the late 1950s, when John Turner came down from Montreal, that development of these massive cliffs began.

Fast-forward 60 years, and Poke-O-Moonshine is one of the most recognizable names in Adirondack rock climbing.

With nearly 200 routes, the Main Face is characterized by steep face and slab climbing on thin feet, offering a sharp contrast to other climbing destinations like the Red River Gorge in Kentucky and Moab in Utah.

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It is refreshing to be reminded of the importance of a strong sense of balance and trust in one’s feet.

To understand what it is like to climb at Poke-O, one needs only to look at the environment surrounding the cliffs. The Adirondacks are famously wild, with thousands of acres of untouched wilderness spread throughout the park. Climbs in the Adirondacks are often reclaimed by nature after not seeing traffic for even short periods of time. This effect is a byproduct of the Adirondacks’ almost constant excess of moisture.

Mother Nature plays a much larger part in the Adirondack rock climbing community than simply reclaiming routes. It is not uncommon for heavy storms like Hurricane Irene or other natural events, like a 5.1-magnitude earthquake 15 miles southwest of Plattsburgh in 2002, to drastically alter the area’s topography, through landslides or rockfall. A carsize boulder, having fallen during the 2002 quake, sits on the approach trail to Poke-O, a reminder to how quickly the medium we climb on can change.

Passing this boulder, we reach the base of Poke-O’s Main Face. Mark turns uphill and points to “Son of a Mother,” a route established by Luther himself.

First climbed in 1989, the line meanders up 100 feet of perfect granite. Luther’s first ascent party completed the climb without the two bolts now located at the route’s crux, a feat Mark and I both agree we would not wish to replicate today. “You know it’s desperate if he put bolts there,” Mark says.

When Mark Meschinelli makes a statement like that, it’s best to take a moment to listen. In his early 20s, Mark turned his attention to climbing, eventually exploring historic locations including Yosemite National Park in California and a multitude of mountains in Alaska.

Now in his 60s, he has contributed to the Adirondack climbing community more than most.

Many of the climbers who arrive at Poke-O-Moonshine and other famous Adirondack climbing locations have heard of Mark. Appearances in the local guidebook, Adirondack Rock, as well as in publications including the New York Times and Climberism have helped expand his presence in the local scene, but what makes Mark a household name is the work he has put in developing more than 40 climbing routes at PokeO-Moonshine alone.

At the base of the cliff, Mark switches from approach shoes to a fresh pair of La Sportiva climbing shoes and ties into the end of his rope. As he starts up the rock, over 40 years of climbing experience becomes immediately apparent, through a smooth precision that accompanies the movement of each hand and foot.

It is easy to see the effect that Poke-O’s minuscule holds can have on a climber’s technique. In an age where the climbing media portrays powerful moves on overhanging rock as the norm, it is refreshing to be reminded of the importance of a strong sense of balance and trust in one’s feet. As Mark tops out the route, I begin to lace up my shoes to follow the route.

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The Long Trail a short story by jeremy gansler

photos by jamel torres

IT WAS A THRE E-HOU R DRIVE to the trailhead. My dad drove us west, blazing through the gentle topography of western Massachusetts until we reached the Pine Cobble trailhead. We snapped a picture and began walking. He accompanied me for the first two miles of the Long Trail, and then we said our farewells.

Laboring under my excessively heavy pack, trudging upward in the 90-degree heat, I could only think, “Oh no. What have I gotten myself into?”

I sucked in stale, humid air as sweat flowed from my pores. The leaves had already begun to turn. The ground was littered with decomposing flecks of red and yellow cemented to the earth. After seven miles I arrived at the Seth Warren shelter, where I gladly relieved myself of the crippling weight.

I was greeted by two people, a young man from the Boston area and a slightly older man who called himself Soy Nuts.

Soy Nuts looked and sounded Mediterranean. When he said “I’m Soy Nuts” in his indistinguishable accent, my brain stalled for a second.

“Soy-uzz?” I responded.

Reality became the mountains, the silence, and the collections of bumps and the pain in my aching body.

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“No. Soy Nuts,” he replied, emphasizing the “u.”

The Bostonian repeated it for me.

Soy Nuts was the older man’s trail name. Trail names are a tradition among thru-hikers, who adopt new names and, on a subconscious level, new personas.

Besides Soy Nuts, I also met Biscuit, Dream Catcher, Nobody, Wahoo, Storm and plenty more.

On the surface this seems like hippie nonsense, and it definitely is, but trail names have their appeal. Traditionally hikers are supposed to be given a trail name, though many nowadays take it upon themselves.

My second day began with a flat 10-mile stretch, a reprieve from the difficult terrain found on much of the Long Trail — crowded with thick roots and rocks that seem to have been placed to roll ankles and ruin trips.

The heat was draining the life from me, but luckily the going here was mellow. I passed a few hikers heading

south and stopped at a pleasant viewpoint on top of Harmon Hill that overlooked the town of Benninton.

After 10 miles of light ups and downs, the first real challenge began. To reach the Melville Nauheim shelter, I had to complete a steep descent down to Route 9, cross the road and begin an equally steep ascent to the shelter.

The descent reminded me of a trek I had done in Nepal.

The trail dropped away faster than usual for Vermont, eventually morphing into a stone staircase that switchbacked down to the road. I had undergone surgery on my left knee a year before, and while I had felt ready when I made the decision to hike the Long Trail, I was now starting to second-guess my decision. The underdeveloped muscles in my left leg forced me into an awkward, crablike shuffle, but I made it down and rested after crossing Route 9.

I sat on the side of the road, baking with the asphalt, my mind a nebulous swarm of hunger and exhaustion.

I filled up my water bottles, having been warned that the area around the Melville shelter was dry, and pressed on.

It was a hard climb, but I reached the shelter tired and satisfied with how far I had come. I pulled out my stove and boiled some water, dumping it into a pouch with 600 calories’ worth of dehydrated food. The rice and beans milled in the pouch, bathing in a solution of chemicals and spices.

Walk, eat, sleep, repeat. As I sat on my cozy wooden platform eating rice and beans, savoring life, I realized I was beginning to fall into the rhythm of the trail.

The real world, with its computers and advertisements and slowly ticking clock counting down to Armageddon, faded to the back of my mind and slipped into the boundless Vermont sky. Reality became the mountains, the silence and the pain in my aching body.

I slept fitfully that night, waking every few hours and rising early to inhale my breakfast of granola and powdered milk.

The first stretch of the day brought me through the Glastenbury Wilderness —nothing but trees and trail

I forged on, meeting fascinating people and bagging summits

for eight miles. It’s a rolling walk through dense Vermont undergrowth. There are no vantage points, no landmarks, nothing to note your progress or calculate your distance to the next shelter. Just forest, and more forest, for hours.

comrades in Afghanistan. His doctor had said he wasn’t supposed to be walking, let alone hiking, but so far he had made it all the way from Maine to Vermont through the most rugged sections of the AT.

Hiking by myself, I started to lose it a bit. I had no idea how far I had to go, and my mind, usually a bubbly and entertaining place, became an echo chamber for hip-hop and trap music. I was reaching the point of frustration when I hit a sign: Glastenbury Summit, 1 mile. I passed the Goddard shelter and soon reached the top of Mt. Glastenbury, climbing the 50 or so feet up the fire tower.

Throughout the course of his military career, Nobody had been shot, stabbed and lit on fire, he said. While traversing the 100-Mile Wilderness in Maine, the most remote section of the AT, he’d fallen and sustained a compound fracture of one of his fingers. He smashed the bone back through his skin with a rock and kept hiking.

Despite the rain and fog, I could see dozens of miles in all directions. Through the film of gray, I made out Stratton and some smaller summits shrouded in the clouds.

I had already known all this when he dragged himself into the shelter that night around 6. The rain had stopped by then. The first thing he did after unloading his pack was to roll himself a sloppy, fat cigarette that he inhaled in a minute flat.

I climbed down the tower and began the four-mile descent to the Melville Nauheim shelter. The going was slow, and a chill crept over me. I threw on my rain jacket and arrived at the shelter around 3:30, my ankles aching.

He was talkative, eager to share his experiences on the AT, and soon enough he launched into his dramatic tale.

His spine was leaking fluid. He’d be dead in 10 years.

In addition to his prosthetic limbs, he had dentures, a metal plate in his head, machines regulating his heart and lungs, and a fake eye. I was sharing a shelter with Eight more people trickled in throughout the evening. a cyborg, a jumble of flesh and metal held together Five of them were southbound hikers on the Appalachian by copper screws and an indomitable will to live.

Trail who had started at Mt. Katahdin in Maine and were 600 miles into their hike. They were skinny and Despite his hardass reputation, he was quite nice, though grimy, well accustomed to life in the mountains. a little off kilter. He spent five minutes coughing behind the shelter so violently that people grew worried, but The Appalachian Trail attracts an interesting subsection returned with a bowl and a little bag of weed: “No cough, of the population. It’s a crazy undertaking — a 2,000no get-off!” mile hike that can take half a year — and it rightly attracts those who are a little crazy themselves. That night I met I continued north the next morning and forged on for a a man who went by the trail name Nobody. I’d been hear- few more days, meeting fascinating people and bagging ing about him for days, and he was already something summits until my left knee gave out. Defeated, I limped of a legend to me. down to the road and stuck out my thumb.

Nobody had one real arm and one real leg; the other two were prosthetics. A year earlier, he said, he had been run over by an armored vehicle while trying to save his

My adventure had ended prematurely, but people say the closing of one door is the opening of another. You just have to find that other door.

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Art 2.indd 1

Hanna Lucy Art 4.indd 1

Appealing Lines 1/29/16 9:24 AM

Hanna Lucy, 25, grew up trad climbing on the granite

climber / artist hanna lucy

walls of the Mt. Washington Valley, and has gone on to climb extensively throughout North and South America. In 2014, she was awarded a Live Your Dream grant from the American Alpine Club to climb Half

an interview by ian ferguson

Dome in Yosemite, and in 2015 she helped establish new routes in Cochamó, Chile, often called the Yosemite of the Southern Hemisphere. After working as a rock climbing guide in Acadia the past four summers, Lucy is taking the summer off to build a house in North Conway, N.H.

ABOVE LEF T Lucy climbing the

A lifelong artist, Lucy studied art at Montana State

5.11d sport route House of Detention at Canada Cliffs in Acadia National Park.

Photo by Vincent Lawrence

University, and is now the art teacher at Kennett

Monstruo, Cochamó, Chile.

(Colored Pencil and Ink)

1/25/16 2:06 PM

ABOVE RIGHT View of El

Middle School in Conway. Her drawings of climbing destinations evoke the soul of the landscape, using vibrant colors and intricate patterns. We met on a rainy May day at a coffee shop to talk about climbing and how it has influenced her art.

How did you start drawing this series on climbing areas?

It started when I broke my heel at the beginning of a climbing trip in 2014. I was with my boyfriend, Grant, and I was in all these beautiful places with a lot of time.

I still wanted to have some focus to the trip, so I think drawing was a way to still stay in the moment, stay in the place and not get distracted by the fact that I couldn’t climb. It was pretty hard and sad to have that injury, but this was a way to have something that I looked forward to doing everyday. It brought me joy.

How did you break your heel?

One of the first stops of the trip was Sedona, Ariz., which is pretty well known for these big sandstone towers. We climbed one of those towers, and we were trying to get down. Most people rappel off of the 12

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summit register. Picture a section of pipe with a flange at the bottom that’s just bolted to the rock. So it’s sturdy, but [rappelling off a summit register] is just not something that I had ever done before.

There’s a slightly shorter tower next to the tower we were on, and we had read that you can also jump back to the lower tower from the top. When you’re looking at the paper description, that doesn’t sound so bad, but it was pretty far. I was on belay, but it took me forever, like 15 minutes of, “I don’t know about this …” But I did, I jumped. I hit pretty hard. I had this moment where I was like, “I hit harder than I should have, and that hurt.” The impact broke my heel, and I didn’t even stick the jump. I fell backwards off the tower into the hole between the two towers. I was on belay, but I had been pulling a bunch of slack from my belayer, so I fell pretty far.

The break was a bummer, because I had this threemonth chunk of time where I wasn’t working and I was just going to travel all around and climb a ton, and it totally stopped that dream. It was maybe two weeks into the trip. A part of me thought, “Maybe I should just go home, I don’t know what I should do.” But it was a pretty small break. The doctor said four or five weeks before I could put weight on it.

On top of the climbing trip, my friend Alexa and I had applied for the Live Your Dream Grant through the American Alpine Club to go and climb Half Dome at the tail end of the trip. We still hadn’t heard back when I broke my heel. We ended up getting the grant. I got the news maybe two weeks after I broke my heel, so I wasn’t even close to being able to walk. I remember calling Alexa and it was like, “Good news, we got $1,000! Bad news, I can’t walk. What do we do?” She pulled the trigger and bought the plane ticket. The timing was barely there; it was around seven or eight weeks from the injury to when we started climbing Half Dome. It was pretty fresh.

Were you successful on Half Dome?

Yeah, we did it! We did it in a day. It was huge, and crazy. And then it fell down! Did you hear about that?

The route that we did, the route that most people did, is the Regular Northwest Face. It was mostly free, with a little aid here and there. There’s this massive flake feature maybe a third of the way up that forms a series of chimneys. It was about two pitches long, and the whole flake fell off. No one’s done it since.

It was cool we got it while we could.

You use a lot of lines and patterns in your drawings.

Do you see those patterns when looking at a cliff, or do they only appear once you start drawing?

As climbers, we look at these massive chunks of rock and we can break them down into these features and these ways up the rock. We spend a lot of time doing that, so those are the features that I end up putting down on paper. And the patterns — sometimes those are a reflection of what’s going on in the rock, and sometimes they work.

You also use a lot of vibrant colors. What kind of thought process goes into your color choices?

If you think about the most beautiful moments outside, they’re often connected to those striking colors. Picture a beautiful sunset or early morning light, and the colors of the sky, the colors of the rock or the colors of shadows; those are moments that spark an idea in my head, and sometimes I’ll even do little sketches or notes about what colors I saw at specific times of the day, and then I’ll go back and use it in the drawing.

So color is definitely something that I’m inspired by and try to recreate. And sometimes on this climbing trip I would get a new colored pencil and say, “Ooh, this would be really good for the afternoon, when the light is such-and-such a color.” It could be something small and silly like that.

You’re a rock climber and an artist. Is there much crossover in the two pursuits?

I think there’s a lot of crossover in the motivation.

I think that I’m motivated to climb something because it’s beautiful and the line is appealing, and I’m motivated to draw something for the same reasons. In both, there’s a little bit of improvisation, too; dealing with things as they come.

Any ambitious climbing goals on the horizon, or at least places you want to go?

TOP View of Cerro Trinidad from

the Trinidad Valley, Cochamó, Chile. (Colored Pencil and Ink)

BOT TOM Breaking into the last bag of cookies on top of El Monstruo after climbing the 5,000-foot route La Presencia de mi Padre.

Cochamó, Chile. Photo by Grant Simmons.

No ambitious goals, but definitely places I’d like to go.

I want to go back to Yosemite, the Needles, Squamish, all sorts of places out West. Maybe some international trips, too, but right now all my time and money is going into building a house. But it’s good, I feel like I have done a lot with climbing, and there’s so much more that I could do, but it’s always going to be there. I hope to be climbing when I’m 65. I hope to be racing around on Cathedral Ledge and padding my way up the slabs on White Horse.

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Hidden Singletrack

An old Cherokee Indian told his grandson, ‘There is a constant battle between two wolves inside us all.

One is good. The other is evil.'

‘Which wolf wins?’ the grandson asked.

The old Cherokee replied, ‘The one you feed.’

by andy howard

E MBRACE D BY THE VIBRANT green tree cover and underbrush, I pedaled along a narrow sliver of dirt beside the Charles River, dancing between rocks on meandering singletrack. Except for the hum of nearby car wheels on pavement — an omnipresent rushing sound like water flowing through rapids — one would never know that I was a stone’s throw from hundreds of frustrated commuters huddled behind steering wheels in 10 lanes of traffic. It was a Friday morning, and I was exploring one of the many hidden trails around the suburbs of Metrowest Boston.

An incident on a morning ride several years earlier had put me on the path to seek out trails like this. I was commuting on my bike through Waltham when a white panel van overtaking me in a rotary tried the dreaded “right hook” maneuver that is second only to the “oblivious door opener” on the list of city cyclists’ nightmares.

But I wasn’t exiting. He screeched to a halt, and a colorful discussion followed. In the end we both went on our way, each convinced the other was an idiot.

Such is the life of a cyclist in the city. While many drivers are careful, considerate and downright polite, plenty of others are five minutes late for their next appointment, with an argument waiting to justify their next move — however boneheaded and dangerous.

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And so I began to worship at the church of hidden singletrack. My only commandment: thou shalt not ride pavement.

The problem for bikers is that being in the right is no consolation for winding up under the wheels of some delivery van. You may win the court case, but you sure won’t win the collision.

to these is the well-marked Rick Abrams across Lexington Trail. In no time I developed a 10-mile loop out my back door that incorporated the flow of Arlington’s Great Meadow and the technical challenge of Lexington’s Whipple Hill.

Living in Boston for more than a decade, I had experFrom there I explored outward to my favorite trail netienced enough close calls to know that it was only work at Rock Meadow in Belmont, and, as luck would a matter of time before the odds caught up with me. have it, onto the newly expanded Western Greenway, But the reality hit home after my brush with the van. which opened dirt doorways from Lexington all the Aside from the physical danger, I didn’t like the part of me that emerged when confronting a reckless driver. way to the cathedral of all trail networks in Weston.

It was a part that seemed to emerge more often as I fouAs my exploration continued, a funny thing happened. ght for my life in Boston traffic — be it in a car or on I found that it was possible to reach all of my mountain a bike. The less I fed that monster, the better. There had biking destinations by trail. Previously I had driven to be another way. to places like the flowy Land-locked Forest in Burlington, And so I began to worship at the church of hidden single- the playground of features at Rock Meadow, or even the rooty byways of Great Brook Farm in Carlisle. All track. My only commandment: Thou shalt not ride of these places were reachable by path. pavement. Like any good acolyte, I began researching my new discipline, combing through maps for trails.

And while I was busy unlocking secret passages that With resources like OpenStreetMap and Strava Global allowed me to avoid road riding, I had also unwittingly Heatmap, I began to find routes and explore a world discovered a way to avoid driving. The time I had prevhidden between the paved byways and Cape Cod-style iously spent in the car, I was now on the trails. Before houses of the Metrowest.

I knew it, I found myself commuting all the way to work in Newton via singletrack. From there my explorations The natural starting place for any Metrowest biker is the Minuteman Bike Path. Stretching from Somerville led me through the incredible expanse of trails in Weston, to the aqueduct byways of Wellesley and all the way to Bedford, a cobweb of trails branch directly from to the gnarly rock puzzles of Needham Town Forest. the Minuteman or are a short ride from it. Central

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L E NG T H: DIF F ICULT Y: L OC AT ION:

10+ miles Beginner to Intermediate Passes through the towns of Belmont, Lexington, and Waltham

Co

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elo

Rd.

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St. ton

t. tS re s

My entire experience living in suburban Boston has changed WILD NORTHEAST

nc

waltham

And so there I was on a Friday morning, rolling along a secluded section of singletrack, surrounded by millions of people but under a blanket of green, at peace and feeding the better parts of my soul.

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W H Y I T ’S GR E AT: The Western Greenway provides an almost uninterrupted singletrack byway from the flowparklike section above Belmont all the way to the center of Waltham. The trails are well maintained and well designed.

lexington

Fo

By following this simple commandment, my experience in suburban Boston has changed from what it was just five years ago. Previously, I constantly longed to live in a more rural setting — more like the place I had grown up. Today, I am just a short jaunt out my back door from the wooded comforts that bring me back to center.

The only thing that has changed is my perspective. The white vans still circle the rotaries, but now you’ll find me in the woods and on dirt.

The Western Greenway

ing

To be fair, I haven’t been 100 percent faithful to the “no pavement” commandment. After all, it is nearly impossible to avoid pavement while living in an area that houses five million people. But, for the most part, the pavement I ride now is through quiet neighborhoods or crossing a busy byway, rather than running with the flow of traffic.

Under the radar rides around Boston

Lex

I also expanded westward from Great Brook Farm beyond the wilderness of Davis Corridor and Estabrook Woods to the sleek racy singletrack along Nonset and Nashoba Brook in Westford. It was out there that I came across the Bay Circuit Trail and its passages through the Middlesex Community College lands and the woodland maze of Spring Hill. A (mostly) bike-friendly byway, the bct circumscribes Boston all the way from Newburyport in the north to Duxbury in the south.

Throughout my adventures, I’ve been amazed by how few people I see on the trails, despite my proximity to Boston. On one 30-mile ride through Carlisle, I didn’t see another soul.

belmont

Needham Town Forest

L E NG T H: DIF F ICULT Y:

L OC AT ION:

10 miles Intermediate to Advanced Needham

W H Y I T ’S GR E AT: The trails here are unparalleled in the Metrowest for their challenge. Abundant rock features provide puzzles that will have you returning for repeated attempts to clean all the lines.

Weston Town Trail

L E NG T H: DIF F ICULT Y: L OC AT ION:

65+ miles Intermediate Across Weston

W H Y I T ’S GR E AT: These trails cover a large swath of land across the town of Weston. They vary from open fields, to swamps, to gnarly rock littered descents. The trails are well marked, and you won’t find much traffic on them— even on weekends. The areas around Jericho Town Forest and Regis College are of particular interest.

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95

Ro ck St

117

weston

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st on to wn

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n li ne w es to n to w

Robi nwoo d Ave

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117

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30 30 90 95

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KatahdinAllagash story & photos by curran ferrey

TH E MOU NTAI N

W

e awoke from our nap, the three of us crammed into the seats of an overpacked sedan. We’d spent the last 12 hours driving, and bags of camera equipment, headlamps, spare fleece layers and excess trail mix spilled onto us from every direction. The sky had darkened considerably, and thick clouds stirred overhead, obscuring the upper half of Mt. Katahdin in Maine. We had driven all this way to hike the state’s tallest mountain at night. The enormity of the task at hand was beginning to set in.

By the time we’d assembled our gear and huddled around a camp stove for a meal of rice and beans, the sun was down and a full moon was rising. At midnight we made our way toward the trailhead with one thing on our minds: the Knife Edge, a ridge high on Katahdin’s shoulder that we would soon be crossing.

Hiking after dark presents a wholly different experience than during the daytime. With headlamps as the only light, sight is restricted to a small beam on the trail in front of you. The thick, dark Maine forest bears down around you, heightening your other senses. I could hear but not see my travel companions: Michael Clark, a longtime friend and wilderness survival expert, and Dustin Bryant, another old friend from Montana, known for dropping off the grid on short notice.

Two hours of walking on narrow wooded trail, one water break and one snack break later, we ascended above the tree line. Rocky hiking through a pitch-dark forest gave way to scrambling over boulders washed in moonlight. With the cold wind whipping over the barren ridgeline of the mountain, we decided to take a rest.

Rest was a nice word for it; we tucked ourselves behind a large boulder and crouched on top of one another like Antarctic penguins surviving the freeze. This was the warmest we’d be all night, and we were shivering.

We resumed our ascent, and after 45 minutes we were staring at a wooden sign marking the summit of Pamola, just below 5,000 feet. Our destination, Baxter Peak, lay 1.1 miles away and a few hundred feet higher. The bottom of the sign had a friendly warning from the stewards of Baxter State Park: do not hike this trail in bad weather b.s.p.

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You spend all this time and energy prepping and pushing your body to the limits, simply to realize...

Looming behind the sign, silhouetted in the moonlight, was the Knife Edge: a mile-long, razor-sharp ridge that runs steep ups and downs all the way to the summit. “Sketchy” is the word that first came to mind when looking north from Pamola Peak at night. The Knife Edge, at points just a few feet wide, is accompanied by 1,000-foot cliffs on either side, and invites unobstructed winds that threaten a misstep with every move. We glanced at one another and silently weighed our options: up or down. Up we went.

The traverse over jagged rock as wide as a sidewalk forced us to focus. A split second of distraction could be deadly.

Michael took point, I walked in the middle and Dustin followed. Dustin had recently undergone knee surgery, and his steps became more and more awkward as his knee stiffened up. On top of this, the battery in his headlamp was nearly out of juice. He insisted he’d be fine, and we trusted him, but it was unnerving to turn around and see him 50 yards behind, his lamp hardly doing anything as he negotiated the cliffs on one good leg. Before long we were making the final scramble toward the silhouette of a wooden sign above in the distance. This sign, we knew, was the peak.

TH E RIVE R

and managed to grab his hand, my other hand on the bow of the boat. Dustin held the stern of the boat, anchoring himself above the eddy that had taken Michael off his feet.

Our trip was off to a precarious start, and a crack of lightning on the horizon suggested that it was about to get worse.

With no means of cooking and no shelter, we hauled the boat onto the riverbank and into the woods. By now the rain was hammering down and the temperature was dropping as the sun disappeared.

To continue by boat or even to make camp for the night would be inviting hypothermia. We did the only rational thing and set our compass bearings due west, away from the river, following a dated map that we hoped would lead us to a road. For the next three hours, Michael hacked his ax through brush and branches, clearing a path as we trekked ankle-deep in mud. The rain grew colder, the lightning louder and the forest thicker, branches constantly ripping through clothing and snagging on packs.

Shivering, wet, filthy and tired, we finally came upon a road, and couldn’t believe it. I yelled, they screamed and we all hugged. We wouldn’t have to spend the night hypothermic The feeling of accomplishment on reaching a difficult summit and curled up in the mud against a tree trunk. We followed can dissipate quickly. You spend all this time and energy prepthe road south for a couple of miles and took shelter in an aring and pushing your body to the limits, simply to realize abandoned logging building near where we had begun that there’s nothing for you to hold or gain at the summit. Instmorning. Michael tied up a line of Paracord on some rusty ead, the rewards come internally. So, with the sky still dark nails and we stripped down and hung up our soaking clothes. and just a sliver of red on the horizon, we returned to our We ate the last of our food and enjoyed the first rest we’d had penguin-style huddle and tried to get some sleep before sunin about 36 hours. rise. There we lay, arms tucked in our jackets, curled on top of one another, cold, alone, in the dark, on the sharp granite The next day we retrieved our canoe, rented a second one shards of Maine’s tallest peak. A short time later, we awoke and made another attempt at paddling to Canada. The next to the most spectacular and well-earned sunrise of our lives. four days were a blur of pristine wilderness as we lived out of our boats and paddled 10-hour days, racing against the ast-forward 24 hours, and the three of us were still cramclouds and the constant threat of thundershowers. Along med next to one another. Instead of in a car or on a mounthe way we encountered eagles and moose, walked barefoot taintop, we were now in a canoe on the Allagash River, headmile-long portages through the mud, and witnessed stuning towards the Canadian border. Made for one or two peoning sunsets and the humbling peace that comes with extple, it was the only canoe we had, and three grown men and ended time in the woods. several days’ worth of gear and food were stowed inside. The decision to send 80 miles of river in one small boat had Navigating by map, we arrived on our final day at the northclearly been a mistake, and resulted in just a few inches of ern end of the Allagash River, where it flows westward into clearance between the gunnels and the water, not to the St. John. From here, Canada was only a few more hours’ mention a serious loss of speed and maneuverability. paddle away. Eventually our canoe skidded up onto the rocky shore. We sat for a moment in silence, half of the boat beaWe nearly swamped when we hit the rapids. Paddling this ched in another country, the other half still floating in betboat through a mile and a half of rapids was out of the ween the two. Stepping out of the boat and dropping to all question, so we spent the next four hours navigating the fours, I wasted no time in kissing the earth. rapids on foot and guiding the boat by hand in waist-deep water. Eddies and sharp rocks underfoot kept us on edge.

F

Working his way over a boulder and into a standing wave, Michael lost his balance and was swept off his feet. I leapt forward to grab him before he was carried downstream

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New York’s Jan Wellford, 34 Keene Valley, NY an interview by matt m c donald

At 9:46 p.m. on June 27, 2008, Jan Wellford summited the granite spine atop New York’s 4,833-foot Dix Mountain — his 46th and final Adirondack High Peak (mountains over 4,000 feet) in four days. To celebrate his speed record, officially clocked at 3 days, 17 hours and 14 minutes, he descended 6.8 miles on spent knees in the middle of the night with his wife and a handful of friends.

The absence of paparazzi and champagne may seem an understated wrap to such a praiseworthy sufferfest. But Jan — now a full-time stay-at-home dad and part-time hiking guide who trains for 100-mile trail runs — is an under-stated guy.

I caught up with him on a casual midweek trail run near Willsboro, N.Y., to talk memories, kids and life in the Northeastern wilds.

How did you become an Adirondack local?

I grew up visiting my aunt who lives in Keene Valley.

She and her husband have a bed and breakfast there [Keene Valley Lodge]. My wife, Meg, and I got married right after college and didn’t really know what we wanted to do. My aunt said we could be assistant innkeepers at the b&b. We figured it’d be a year or two and we’d have some fun. We renovated the third floor, had a free place to live, and we stayed six years and then bought a house. We’ve lived here 13 years now.

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RIGHT The view from the summit of Algonquin Peak, one

of 46 Adirondack High Peaks Wellford summitted in less than four days. Photo by Kevin McAvey.

Where were you before that?

I’m from south of Boston. I went to Dartmouth and Meg went to McGill. We stayed together the whole time, did a lot of visits and actually came to the Adirondacks a few times visiting my aunt.

We just thought we’d ski and climb and stuff, and then it turned into our lives.

So you were into climbing before you moved to Keene Valley?

Yeah, I grew up hiking in New Hampshire in the Whites, and up in Maine, too. We were big alpine skiers and spent every weekend at Sunday River in the winters, so I guess I grew up hiking some and skiing passionately. I ski raced. And in college, I got into rock climbing passionately, which got me more interested in being in a place like the Adirondacks.

You were still big into skiing when you got to Keene Valley?

I had kind of burned out on ski racing, so I started ice climbing. But then I got into backcountry skiing from working at the Mountaineer, and that became the No. 1 passion.

Did you finish all 46 High Peaks before you decided to chase the record?

Yeah, I had been doing it with my dad since I was 11. We’d visit my aunt and do a few every year. By the time I moved to Keene Valley, we had four left. So we made a push that year, 2004.

I had done them all by '04 and done them all several times by '08. I spent most of my days off hiking peaks.

What made you decide to go for the speed record?

Ed Palin owns the Rock and River guide service in Keene Valley, and my aunt used to work for him. I met him as a kid and heard about his speed record. He was the record holder before “Cave Dog” Ted Keizer, who had the record I broke.

Ed did it in 4 days 18 hours, and I thought that was amazing. I never would have thought of doing it myself.

Then in '02, “Cave Dog” set the record, so when I moved up that was still kind of the talk of the town. So then it was in my head as “maybe someday I could try that.” It was in the back of my mind for a while before I decided to train for it.

You started hiking longer in the White Mountains?

I worked in New Hampshire in the amc huts.

I lived there all summer and hiked around the Pemigewasset. You’d do breakfast, and then if you weren’t the cook for the day or you weren’t packing stuff up, you had the rest of the day off until dinner. So you could get seven hours out in the mountains.

So eight years after the record, what stands out?

If there’s any one overarching thing, it’s the relationship I developed with this guy Corey Delavalle, who was my main pacer, my main support crew driving me around. He’d hike with me a bunch, and then I’d do an out-andback and he’d stay there and have my food and water and stuff. We’ve gone on to do a couple more trips together that were really cool.

Otherwise, the confidence it built in terms of what I’ve gone on to do for my own running and trail running. It was pretty big — I was kind of a rookie at that point. It’s kind of a miracle I was able to do it. Kind of shaped me in a way, you know. I had my own athletic endeavors.

What has been your favorite Adirondack adventure?

That’s what I did with Corey the next year, which was the unsupported 46. We carried all our food for eight days — well, it was supposed to be seven — and just through-hiked all the peaks. No car transport, no resupplies. That was amazing.

It was September '09 — sunny, cool weather the whole time. Eight perfect days, 196 miles, we calculated.

Otherwise it would all be backcountry skiing.

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RIGHT Looking up the ridge to 5,115-foot Algonquin.

Photo by Kevin McAvey.

What have you been doing since?

Yeah, so those things were when I didn’t have kids.

Corey and I did the Catskills unsupported in 2011.

I was doing speed hiking, running. I was mostly excited about things like unsupported hikes, peak link-ups. I tried 24 peaks in 24 hours a couple times, which I finally did last year.

I’ve always hated running on roads, but since my son was born in 2012 I knew I wasn’t going to have as much time. As a stay-at-home dad, it’s not easy to get out for full days in the mountains. So I started road running and got really into that. The Boston Marathon was the goal, and I’ve run that a few times. A lot of trail running races and Nordic skiing rather than big days climbing or backcountry skiing.

Any ambitions kicking around in your head?

Totally. I’ve got a lot of them. I’d like to get back to the 46 record. I can do it faster, I think; see if I can get it closer to three days, even, or whatever, just for fun.

I’d like to run some big races, too. I tried two 100milers in 2010 and dnf-ed in both of them. My training was all mountains and not enough running. You need to be able to cover some miles to go 100. able to cover some miles to go 100.

All right, let’s do some favorites : Non-46er peak?

Trail Food?

Rooster Comb Mountain.

Pretzels and chocolate.

Adirondack Place?

New England Place?

Gothics is my favorite place. The skiing and climbing on the north face and everything in that area is awesome.

That’s a tough question. I’ll go with Whitehorse Ledge, New Hampshire. It’s a great cliff in North Conway. It’s the not-as-well known one, but it’s all slabs, and I love slabs.

Shifting gears: You have kids and you’ve been in the outdoors your whole life. How do you get kids into the outdoors, to appreciate them?

I guess with kids, I think the best thing to do would be to get them involved with a group that you’re not involved with. I’m psyched to take my kids hiking, and I do, but you have to be so patient and not force anything on them. I just don’t want to turn my kids off at an early age. There isn’t anything less pleasant for a 5-year-old than hiking up a mountain sometimes.

I remember that as a kid — I loved hiking sometimes and absolutely hated it other times.

The Adirondacks are one of the most protected places in the country. How do you feel about keeping wilderness wild, versus using it for recreation?

Well, as much as I absolutely love the wilderness we have in the park, I think I’m mostly in favor of more wild forest, multi-use areas, for the sake of economic development, recreation opportunities for folks who prefer other modes of transportation than their feet.

I think we’re lucky to live in a place like the Adirondacks mainly because development in terms of real estate or commercial enterprise or industry is limited. It’s such a complicated issue. I wouldn’t be in favor of, say, increasing the number of second homes in the park or industrial projects, things like that, but I’m absolutely in favor of bringing in more tourism through other recreational opportunities.

Wilderness is always going to be wilderness — no one’s going to get to ride a mountain bike in the wilderness in the Adirondacks, and I think we need to understand that. But if there’s new land purchased, I’d rather see it classified as wild forest. I certainly understand protecting pristine land and not wanting anything on it, so I don’t come in one way or the other there. But I’m not so adamantly for full-on protection. We need recreation opportunities. We need to bring people into our towns.

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Locally-Made

B A C K PA C K I N G G E A R With thousands of miles of spectacular trails from the Adirondacks to Downeast Maine, including the most rugged terrain on the Appalachian Trail, the Northeast is a backpacker’s paradise.

It should come as no surprise that Northeasterners have back-

packing down to an art form. These companies, based in the Northeast, are making some of the best products on the planet for avid backpackers. Support local, and optimize your backpacking kit with these editor’s picks.

Hyperlite Mountain Gear

Good-To-Go backpacking meals

Darn Tough socks

Biddeford, Maine

Kittery, Maine

Northfield, Vermont

The people at Hyperlite Mountain Gear make Run by a wife and husband duo from Kittery, shelters and backpacks for hard-core adventur- Me., Good To-Go is disrupting the backcounists: ultramarathoners, bikepackers, alpinists try meals industry with real food that actually and thru-hikers. In addition to using high-tech tastes delicious. Jennifer Scism, one of the fibers to shave weight and improve performance, founders, is an accomplished chef who ran the experts at hmg preach the gospel of a strip- a nationally acclaimed restaurant in New York ped down approach to any adventure, and City, and once defeated the Iron Chef on his this philosophy plays a central role in their own show. When her husband, David Koorits, design process. started taking her on extended backcountry adventures, Scism was dismayed by the sub2400 Southwest backpack par quality of backpacking food, so she started Weighing an impressive 1.79 pounds, the cooking and dehydrating her own meals. She Hyperlite Mountain Gear 2400 Southwest eventually perfected the recipes that became is ultralight, waterproof and durable, making the heart of Good To-Go’s success. The meals it an ideal pack for extended trips in the backare still handmade in Kittery using real, country. Alan Dixon, a professional outdoorsgourmet ingredients and a dehydtrator. New man whose website, AdventureAlan.com, Hampshire backpacker Kat Thorney recently is recommended reading for thru-hikers, put experienced Good To-Go meals for the first the pack through its paces while trekking time while camping in Evan’s Notch, Maine, in Corsica and peakbagging, rock climbing opting for the Thai Curry: a spicy yellow cocoand canyoneering in the American Southwest. nut curry with vegetables and jasmine rice.

He said the 2400 excelled in all environments.

“It has everything you need, and nothing you “It tasted like a home-cooked meal with fresh don’t,” Dixon said. “With the internal frame, ingredients,” she said. “The broccoli was crisp, it really transfers the weight to your hips. And the coconut flavor was subtle and sweet, and because it’s waterproof, you don’t have to mess the meal wasn’t salty and didn’t taste fake. with raincovers. To get a pack that durable and It was absolutely delicious.” that versatile under two pounds is incredible.”

The stiff fiber allows the pack to stand open while empty, a small detail that makes packing much easier, Dixon said.

2400 Southwest backpack Cost $290

also see: UltaMid 2 Ultralight Pyramid Tent Cost $695

Good-To-Go meals are easy to make: Pour boiling water into the meal pouch, stir, reseal and wait 20 minutes. The hardest part is waiting.

Good-To-Go two serving meal Cost $11.50

Darn Tough socks are known for their rocksolid lifetime guarantee, and they’re proud to be made in Vermont. The mill in Northfield employs hundreds of people at a time when most clothing companies have outsourced manufacturing. All Darn Tough socks are made with 150 needles per machine, which makes the terry loops tight, improving comfort, durability and shape retention.

The Micro Crew is a high-performance, comfortable sock perfect for long hikes. It is made of Merino wool, which is naturally antimicrobial so it repels bacteria and odors.

Marc Sherman, owner of Outdoor Gear Exchange in Burlington, Vermont, said: “I like the Micro Crew height because they offer a little more ankle protection than a ¼ sock, but also work in mid-height boots and shoes.

Seamless technology makes for perfect toes, and of course they’re made in Vermont with a lifetime guarantee!”

Melissa McNell, who handles footwear buying for Outdoor Gear Exchange, put her Darn Tough socks to the test when she worked salmon fishing at a remote site on Kodiak Island and forgot to pack extra socks. The one pair of Darn Tough she had on her feet lasted through 70 days of hard fishing, and she decided she would never buy another brand.

Pair of Darn Tough socks Cost $20

ADVENTURE MAGAZINE

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Off the Beaten Path

VERMONT ROCK CLIMBER KRIS FIORE

No one had ever climbed it, it wasn’t in any guidebook and it’s not rated. I just saw it and climbed it.

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interview by maxwell forbes

photo by russell frisch

I first met Kris Fiore while studying at the University of Vermont. We share a passion for rock climbing, so it didn’t take us long to become good friends. Once, while climbing a section of cliff in Vermont that no one had ever visited, I broke off a huge chunk of rock and fell 15 feet, out of Kris’s view. He started yelling my name at the top of his lungs. Dazed, it took me a minute to respond. He still gives me grief about not answering right away.

Fiore doesn’t like to admit it, but he has quickly become an influential climber in the Vermont community. He has worked to establish numerous routes at many of the state’s popular crags, and has been particularly instrumental in the development of Bone Mountain, a new climbing area in Bolton Valley. Fiore volunteers his time and money to maintain local cliffs and serves as the vice president of Crag Vermont, a nonprofit that works to protect climbing access.

Fiore arrived in Vermont in 2012 and quickly became addicted to the challenge of the vertical world. He flew through the grades, and by 2014 he had ticked a majority of the moderate routes in the state. He soon began to turn his attention to establishing routes of his own. In the past two years, Fiore has completed more than 30 first ascents.

I sat down with Fiore recently and asked him about his climbing career. Here’s what he had to say.

WHAT DRAWS YOU TO CLIMBING?

WHERE IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE TO CLIMB?

It’s a feeling of being proud of accomplishing something that is ultimately meaningless to everyone else but you. Every few months we get these moments in climbing, and we replay those moments in our heads, impressed with what we just did. For some people they sew or knit something, or dunk for the first time … everyone has their thing, but I marvel at what I am able to accomplish. Every couple of months we get these moments, and then I get re-hooked and try to get that feeling again and again.

Bone Mountain, easy. I really like going where there aren’t a lot of people. I’ve been up to Bone maybe 15 times, and have never seen anyone else while I was up there. My friend Connor Mark once said, “It feels like you’re stepping back in time.” Back in time 20 years to when things were still unknown, when there weren’t guidebooks and the sense of adventure started right when you left the ground. It’s a place to go and experience true adventure.

OF ALL THE AMAZING MOMENTS YOU’VE HAD WHAT HAS BEEN YOUR BEST? I really like onsighting things, even though I’m not very good at it. [Onsighting = climbing something on your first try without falling.] I put up a new route at Bone Mountain called “Give a Dog a Bone.” It’s a hard roof crack, 10 feet long, and when I saw it I immediately wanted to climb it.

We didn’t clean it, we didn’t rap over it — we didn’t do any work on it. It was the end of the day, I had a headlamp on and I just went for it. It was a heinous endeavor, but I finished it. It wasn’t particularly difficult, but I think it was the epitome of an onsight.

No one had ever climbed it, it wasn’t in any guidebook and it’s not rated. I just saw it and climbed it. That’s one of my proudest climbs, and one of my proudest first ascents.

WHY DO YOU CHOOSE TO TAKE THE TIME (AND MONEY) TO ESTABLISH NEW ROUTES? I don’t know that a lot of people are willing to admit this, but I think a little bit is ego.

I like to be the first person to climb something — that will always draw me to a route.

But, on the other side of the coin, I do like being able to give back to a community that has helped me so much. Once you sit down with the local Vermont climbers, they’re really nice and really welcoming. Putting up new routes has been so well received for me that I started to realize how much people appreciate it.

HOW LONG DOES EACH NEW ROUTE TAKE? That’s tough to say, right? “Give a Dog a Bone” that I mentioned earlier took 15 minutes, because I didn’t do any work to it, I just did it. But that’s atypical. I would say you’re looking at a full day’s work for one route.

It certainly could be more than that, too.

I have a route in the Adirondacks that I’ve put four days of work into, and it’s still not finished. It will always vary, but a full day seems about average.

WHAT’S THE GOAL OF CRAG VERMONT AND WHAT IS YOUR ROLE AS VICE PRESIDENT? Crag Vermont’s goal is to protect climbing access in Vermont, and to promote sustainable and responsible climbing practices. My role as vice president doesn’t have a specific set of guidelines, but what I’ve been working on recently is our newsletter as well as serving as point person for the East Side project.

We are looking to secure a new cliff, called East Side, which has a long history of climbing, but has access issues because it is on private land. We’ve been working with landowners to create an easement that would allow access to reopen to the public.

WHERE DO YOU SEE VERMONT CLIMBING 10 YEARS FROM NOW? Honestly, I see it exactly where it is now, and I think that’s a good thing. I think that Vermont climbing will always be underappreciated, and it will always be a little bit dirty and a little bit gritty, and I really hope it stays that way, because that’s the kind of climbing I like.

DO YOU HAVE ANY ADVICE FOR PEOPLE WHO WANT TO ESTABLISH THEIR OWN FIRST ASCENTS? Go to unpopular places. Take the time to get lost. Go get outside. Take a rainy day and go explore. The way I see it is, the worst day outside is still better than the best day inside. Go get off the beaten path. You’ll be amazed with what you find.

ADVENTURE MAGAZINE

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The Slabs Less Traveled

story & photos by david lottmann

Mt. Webster Slabs Crawford Notch State Park, N.H.

It’s about an hour-and-a-half hike out to this sunny, clean, 500-foot-long slab sitting high on a shoulder of Mt. Chocorua. There are only a few established routes, but the setting alone is well worth the trip. Living the Dream offers four pitches up to 5.5 in difficulty.

It’s hard to drive through Crawford Notch without staring up at these impressive slabs on the east side of the notch. With a starting elevation of around 2,500 feet, this is another nice option for days when the low-lying Whitehorse Ledge slabs feel like an inferno.

There have been a few fras (first recorded ascents) in the last decade that are equipped with modern bolts and rappel stations. Our pick of the litter is Lost in the Sun, seven pitches of fun climbing up to 5.5 in difficulty.

Enjoy the exposure as the Willey House and Saco River get farther and farther below.

Photo ­ he author, David, on Living the Dream.

T Photo by Matty Bowman

Photo Peter Miller takes a moment to enjoy the view while climbing Lost in the Sun.

More beta Mountain Project

More beta Mountain Project and a new “Secrets of the Notch” book hopefully printing this summer/fall.

Carter Ledge Slab Route 16, Albany, N.H.

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When most Northeast climbers think of slab climbing, they think of iconic Whitehorse Ledge. This 900-foot high cliff, only minutes from downtown North Conway, N.H., boasts dozens of high quality friction routes and sees a tremendous amount of traffic from early May through late November. For those looking to avoid the crowds, there are quite a few other slab destinations in the White Mountains worth a visit.

This spring I decided to spend some time exploring some of the less popular slab climbing locales. All are within an hour of North Conway, and all offer multi-pitch moderate climbing and excellent views. Here’s a sample of some of the great climbing available for those looking to escape the crowds this summer.

North Bald Cap

Pine Mountain Slab

Table Mountain Slab

Success Pond Rd, Berlin, N.H.

Dolly Copp Rd, Gorham, N.H.

Bear Notch Rd, Bartlett, N.H.

This sizable cliff is visible to the west when driving north on Route 16 before reaching Gorham. The approach only takes about 30-40 minutes, with half of that being a nice little bushwhack. Records show the cliff was first climbed way back in 1934 by a very bold amc member named Henry (Hank) Childs. While the cliff has seen a recent surge in modern development, it has mostly been done ground-up. Our choice route here is It’s a Pinkham Thing, a classic three-pitch 5.8 with interesting climbing on every pitch.

Everyone I have talked to about Table Mountain says something along the lines of, “No one ever goes out there.” Well, they should! This south-facing 300-foot slab sits at about 2,400 feet and seems to catch a consistent breeze every time I visit. The best-protected moderate is known as False Holy Smokes. It’s a two-pitch 5.5 with a slightly runout start and fun face and slab climbing to the top. Despite the southern exposure, the higher elevation and frequent breeze make this a good option for a sweltering summer day. (There’s a nice-looking swimming hole on the approach, too.)

This spectacular granite cliff offers a definite backcountry feel, but is only minutes from the car! It’s hard to believe it didn’t start being developed until 2008. It’s not visible from any major road, which probably led to its late “discovery.” The climbing is superb and our choice route here is October Sundae, more than 600 feet of immaculate 5.6-ish climbing.

Photo Ben Hammond nears the top of October Sundae.

More beta NEclimbs.com

Photo Looking south from high up on Pine Mountain Slab with Mt. Washington still holding snow.

More beta NEclimbs.com

Photo Bob Ahern enjoys clean rock on False Holy Smokes.

More beta Mountain Project, Handren Guidebook

ADVENTURE MAGAZINE

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WHITE M O U N TA I N GNAR

OL D S C HOOL Attitash first allowed mountain bikes on its chairlifts in the mid-90s, sending riders down ski trails and fire roads. As mountain bike technology evolved from 1.5-inch travel front suspension hardtails to full suspension, downhill-capable bikes, the trails at Attitash adapted, but unlike other bike parks, the crew at Attitash kept it all handmade. In the early 2000s, Nate Waterhouse took over the program. He hired local riders to help build trails.

“We’re a little selfish when we build trails, because it’s what we like to ride. It’s not so much for everybody else,” Waterhouse said.

The downhill community has always appreciated that approach. Stephen Larson raced on the Eastern States Cup downhill series in 2013 and 2014, and remembers Attitash as the most popular stop on the tour.

Attitash and Mt. Washington Valley Mountain Biking story by ian ferguson photos by austin perry New England isn’t known for its mountain biking. The loamy Northwest, the alpine meadows of the Rockies and the slickrock trails of the Southwest hold more appeal for the general mountain biking public. But for riders with the skills to handle them, the technical, narrow trails of the Northeast have no equal.

In the heart of New England’s biggest mountains lies a ski area that has embraced the raw aesthetic of northeastern mountain biking. Here, tight corners, sudden drops and variable terrain are celebrated. The natural line takes precedent over berms and pumps, and heavy machinery is shunned. Riders with handheld tools lovingly craft every twist and turn. The resulting trails have earned Attitash Ski Area a reputation as one of the most gnarly, aggressive and enjoyable mountain biking destinations anywhere.

Attitash has kept true to its roots while keeping up with the changes in the mountain biking community.

In the past few years, crews have cut trails for enduro-style riding and expanded into terrain on neighboring Bear Peak. That expansion is ongoing.

Meanwhile, a few miles down Mount Washington Valley (MWV), the White Mountain chapter of the New England Mountain Biking Association (NEMBA) is building its first machine-built trail. With a surge in NEMBA membership and new trail building efforts, MWV stands to stake its claim as a top-notch riding destination.

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“Attitash is a crowd favorite, and everyone in the category always shows up,” Larson said. “It has a lot of worn in, extremely rough, rocky terrain mixed in with more smooth sections. You get to bash through the rocks and get your bike working, then speed through the open sections. It keeps a smile on your face.”

Lifelong Attitash rider Patrick Noonan grew up in Bartlett and worked on trails at Attitash from his teens through college years. Noonan’s riding was featured in ‘beastly -Manduro Downhill in the Whites,’ a film

by Scott Barber Films that went viral on Pinkbike and Teton Gravity Research last year. With no soundtrack, the only sounds are the zinging tires and working suspension as Noonan flies through the trees in classic White Mountain terrain.

“I love the riding around here,” Noonan says in the video.

“It’s greasy, rocky, rooty. It always makes you a better rider.”

That same type of terrain enables Attitash’s minimalist approach to trailbuilding. The only powered tools are a leaf blower, a chainsaw and a weed whacker. “It’s gnarly. It’s just, there’s the ground, let’s make it work and have fun with it,” Waterhouse said. The terrain in the White Mountains is fun enough that it doesn’t require man-made obstacles. Why mess with perfection?

“What sets Attitash apart from the other mountains is its technical and raw trails,” Noonan said in an email.

“Many lift service bike parks focus on ‘flow trails,’ where Attitash continues to utilize the raw natural terrain.”

NE W S C HOOL In 2013 the Eastern States Cup started doing enduro races, a popular format that has racers riding up to multiple timed downhill sections with a climb or two in between. Attitash was invited to be on the circuit.

In order to get five-stages of trail that wouldn’t destroy the lighter enduro bikes, Waterhouse quickly realized they would have to expand to neighboring Bear Peak.

“We started looking at these pieces of terrain on Bear Peak, and as we got in there it was like, ‘Oh yeah, this

is awesome,’” Waterhouse said. “We cut a trail that we called ‘Beg My Pard’ and another that we called ‘The Idiot Hole.’ We got really good responses from the racers, so we built two more the next year.”

There are now five trails on Bear Peak, and more in the works. “Now you have a good couple of hours of riding [on Bear Peak]. You can get some climbs up, get some fun descents, and also some twisty singletrack that appeals to more riders than just the serious downhill guys,” Waterhouse said.

going to challenge you. You can get up and see something cool at the top of a climb, or go fast on the way down. I think it’s really growing and heading in the right direction, and it’s nice to see younger guys getting involved.”

THE ATTI TA S H A DVA NTA GE There’s an old saying that sums up mountain biking at Attitash: “If you can go fast at Attitash, you can go fast anywhere.” The terrain is so challenging and unpredictable, it takes skill and confidence to be able to open up the throttle here. As the sport of mountain biking grows in mwv, Attitash will no doubt continue to be the epicenter for those seeking steep, challenging trails. The hope, for Lewando at least, is that mwv will one day be known more for its trail riding than its outlet shopping.

As Attitash expands beyond the downhill realm while avoiding heavy equipment, the White Mountain nemba chapter is building the first machine-built trail in the valley. With plenty of great cross-country singletrack, the chapter is looking to add more freeride, all-mountain trails. The Shumway Trail, a progressive trail under construction in the Marshall Conservancy on the west side of North Conway, is a good example.

President Rob Adair offered use of his 17 horsepower “I think [mwv] has the potential to be on par with some diesel excavator to build the Shumway Trail, which will of the big mountain biking towns out west,” Lewando feature pumps, berms and features to build speed. said. “It would be nice if more people came here to Chris Lewando, a mwv native who rode Attitash as a ride trails instead of coming here to save 20 percent kid, and has built trails at Killington, Thunder on a new pair of shoes.”

Mountain and Whistler, is offering his expertise for the Mountain bikers have heard of the loamy Northwest, build. the alpine Rockies and the slickrock Southwest. They’re “The vision is to make this a trail that you can have fun starting to hear about the gnarly Northeast, and it on if you’re a good rider, but you can still take your doesn’t get much gnarlier than the White Mountains. friends who maybe aren’t as confident on a bike, and they can have fun on it as well,” Lewando said. “It’s a lead-in trail for the whole Marshall Conservancy, and nemba is working with the town of Conway to put more trails in there.”

FACING PAGE & ABOVE

Patrick Noonan rides the trails at Attitash.

In addition to the Shumway Trail, Chris Krug, an expert rider and trailbuilder who played a major role in the Attitash trails, continues to lead builds on nemba trails throughout the valley, tapping into the mountainous potential of the area. The generation of younger riders who grew up riding at Attitash are bringing fresh energy to that effort as they step into trail building roles.

“The valley is just blowing up,” Waterhouse said. “The local nemba chapter is putting trails out there and making them accessible, and they’re fun. Within an hour and a half, you can be on the east side of town, the west side of town, and you can find a fun loop that’s

ADVENTURE MAGAZINE

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Wreckage Sites Mayday in the White Mountains by erin paul donovan MOUNT WATERNOMEE B-18 BOMBER CRASH

I first visited both of these crash sites about 20 years ago, and have visited them numerous times since.

Even after all these years, I’m amazed at how well preserved they are.

They are part of the history of the White Mountains, and it is important to keep them that way. Both of the sites are special places where lives were lost. If you decide to visit either, please honor and respect them and do your part to keep the sites preserved.

Take only pictures, and keep in mind that the wreckage is on federal land, where it is illegal to remove any artifact.

MOU NT SUCCESS, DOUG L AS DC-3 PL AN E CR ASH

On Jan. 14, 1942, a plane crash awoke the quiet town of Woodstock, N.H. It was five weeks after the attack on Pearl Harbor.

A Douglas B-18 Bolo Bomber was returning to Westover Air Force Base in Chicopee, Mass., near Springfield, from a patrol over the North Atlantic looking for German submarines. It was a stormy night, with strong winds and poor visibility, and the pilots flew blindly in the wrong direction for many miles.

By the time the pilots realized the mistake, they were moments away from crashing into Mt. Waternomee.

Just before impact, Woodrow Kantner, the co-pilot, pulled the nose of the bomber up to avoid a nose-first crash. This probably saved the lives of most of the crew.

On Nov. 30, 1954, Northeast Airlines Flight 792 encounMt. Waternomee, 2,535 feet tall, is just west of Woodtered snow squalls, reducing visibility to zero, during stock and Lincoln. The crash was heard throughout a flight from Boston to Berlin, N.H. the countryside, and flames from the wreckage could The flight had stops at Concord and Laconia in New be seen from the towns below.

Hampshire. Four crew members and three passengers Five of the seven crew members survived the crash and were on board the twin-engine Douglas dc-3. were able to escape from the wreckage. The other two Despite the conditions, the pilots continued on, navidied when leaking fuel caught fire, causing the bomber gating by instruments. On the plane’s approach to the to explode. Over the course of the night, residents of Berlin airport, it crashed into the southern slope of Lincoln and Woodstock climbed the mountain in extrMt. Success, a 3,565 foot-tall in the Mahoosuc Range eme winter conditions to rescue the five survivors. The of the White Mountains. the Army took over the scene the next day, and the dead crew members were removed from the wreckage The pilot, Peter Carey, was able to pull the nose of the and brought down the mountain. The Army also plane up enough to avoid crashing into the mountain detonated a 300-pound bomb that had not exploded head-on, and the plane landed on its belly. All seven in the crash. people onboard survived the initial crash, but two crew members died from injuries sustained in the crash while Today, the wreckage of the plane can still be found waiting to be rescued. on Mt. Waternomee, and can be reached by following an unofficial trail. The terrain is steep, and only hikers Poor weather conditions and the remote location made in good physical condition should attempt the five-mile search and rescue efforts difficult. The remaining five round-trip hike. Parts of the wings, engines, landing survivors were not rescued until the plane wreckage was gear and fuselage are scattered across the steep mountlocated two days later. ainside. A plaque at the site honors the crew, and Today, the crash site and wreckage of Northeast Airlines reminds visitors of the members of the armed forces Flight 792 can be found along the Appalachian Trail who have given their lives in service to our country. corridor boundary, near the summit of Mt. Success.

An archeological study of the crash site was conducNumerous pieces of the plane and a large section ted in 2006. Copies of the report can be viewed at of the fuselage remain at the site. Some who visit the the Lincoln, N.H., library. Photos and artifacts can wreckage have left their mark on the fuselage, and be viewed at the Upper Pemigewasset Historical a few signatures date to the 1960s.

Society in Lincoln. In 2008 an interpretive panel was placed at the Beaver Brook trailhead along Route 112 in Kinsman Notch.

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Further Reading Stories From the White Mountains

by Mike Dickerman (both planes)

The Night the Bomber Crashed

by Floyd W. Ramsey (Bomber)

logginginlincoln.com/Bomber_ Crash.html (Bomber) aviation-safety.net/database/record. php?id=19541130-0 (Dc-3 plane)

Mercantile 1/8

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Escape the usual Exercise your brain Can you and your group find the clues, solve the mystery and escape the room before the clock runs out? Escape rooms offer an interactive adventure great for friends and families. Check out MWV’s latest attraction!

32 Mountain Valley Blvd North Conway, NH mysterynh.com (603) 730-5009 info@mysterynh.com

International Mountain Equipment

Your pre-adventure stop Locally owned and operated since 1974, IME has all the gear and expertise you need for your next mountain adventure.

Check out the consignment basement for used gear.

2733 White Mountain Hwy North Conway, NH ime-usa.com/ime (603) 356-7013

International Mountain Climbing School Climb high with the experts Whether you want to learn how to rock climb or get your AMGA single-pitch certification, IMCS is your gateway to all things mountaineering and climbing. Located in the White Mountains.

2733 White Mountain Hwy North Conway, NH ime-usa.com/imcs (603) 356-7064

Integrating the Art and Science of Proper Tree Care Hazard Tree Removal, Pruning, View Enhancements, Cabling, Ornamentals, Landscaping Eli Hutchins ISA Certified Arborist NE-6792A Western Maine and the White Mountains

207.233.6955

hutchstree.com

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