Mount Moosilauke, White Mountains, New Hampshire

Beaver Brook trail
Saturday, July 25

This will be a long one.

A co-worker, Lou, has a family cabin outside Plymouth, NH and none of his friends are willing to go hiking with him. I stuck a bargain. He supplies the cabin, my bro-in-law Mikey and I will supply the food and beer. Weather reports didn't look very promising, but worst case we spend the weekend in a cabin in the woods with a lot of beer.

At 4802, Mount Moosilauke is a fairly high peak, and the closest 4000 footer to the cabin. We got a late start driving (my fault) and landed in the Whites around midnight. We unpacked some of our stuff, set up sleeping arrangements, and crashed. We woke late.

After a leisurely breakfast, we packed up and went looking for the trail head. I realized my AMC maps were left back in Rhode Island, so we stopped at an information center. A kindly, old, toothless man suggested a trail and gave Lou the directions. After an hour of driving, we found the trail head. $3.00 to park. It was ten past eleven when we hit the trail. The weather was gorgeous.

Beaver Brook trail resembles the Falling Waters trail to Little Haystack. For both that and this hike, nature provided plenty rain to ensure the mountain streams had extra vigor. The photos do not do it justice. The trail was strenuous and we had to take frequent breaks to catch our breaths. Normally I hit the gym treadmill twice a week to prepare for my high peak, but with a shift in my work schedule, I haven’t been able to make it. Lou, younger than I and somewhat fit, was unaccustomed to this level of hike. Mikey, on the other hand, had quit smoking and lost over 25 pounds.

There were 6X6’s cut diagonally, and attached with rebar to the rock to make an effective stairway. There was also rebar hand-holds along this stretch. We walked out onto the rock to marvel at the waterfall. Without warning my feet slipped out from under me and I landed flat on my stomach. I gripped the rock to keep from falling back, but with my feet over open air and the rebar out of reach, I couldn't climb back up.

In a calm voice, I said “Hey guys”. They said “Yea?” without turning around. “Little help?” They turned around, confused why I would choose that moment to lie down. Mikey realized the situation and jumped to my aid. He helped me up and I stepped to a safer location. “Nobody got a picture of that?” I said.

I was wearing my work sneakers. My hikers are old Timberlands that hurt my feet. I thought I could get away with something more comfortable. Maybe, had the treads not been worn out. Almost became an entry in Hiker Hell. I took this picture on the way down.

The roaring river slowly shrank away. Soon we found a side trail for use by AT through hikers. There were a couple tent platforms, a privy, and a hut. That provided a nice place to rest and refuel. The rest of the way up was mostly uneventful. The trees grew shorter, when suddenly we were on a rocky plain. We followed the cairns to the top. The remains of the Tiptop house were visible. A steward from the Dartmouth Outing Club was there providing some education to small children. Apparently they came up an easier path.

Ok, so here is the fancy book-learnin’ about Mount Moosilauke. Moosilauke is a Native American word for Bald Place. Bullwinkle and his kin have nothing to do with the name. Dartmouth College owns the summit and the Dartmouth Outing Club provides education and trail maintenance. The Tip Top House kept being broken into by snowmobilers. One day they took the stove so Dartmouth decided to close it. There is some disagreement to the proper pronunciation. According to Ada, the DOC steward, Dartmouth had a vote many years ago and choose Moose-a-LOCK, while the AMC and Forestry Service chose Moose-a-Lockee.

Ada was very nice. I would have liked to chat with her longer, but I felt I was detracting her from her duties. I wish her luck in medical school. It was 20 past four when we started back down.

We made better time. Five hours up, I was hopping for two hours down. We took a break at the hut. Now two people were sitting in it. I asked if it was ok if we lingered there with them. Lu Lu and Chris were north bound through hikers. They were happy to see that they had only 390 miles left. Our miles were about six for the day and my legs were burning. A south-bounder arrived called Face Plant. They had a lot to talk about, one having just come from where the other will go. I pestered them with questions.

Face Plant admitted she walked the 100 mile wilderness in Crocks because she didn't want to get her new hikers wet. I couldn't imagine it. She pulled her now-wet hikers off and I was struck how white her feet were from moisture. She better take care of those dogs. I gave them the last of my smarties and bid them goodbye. We lingered longer than planned and I didn't want to end the trail in darkness. Two of us were carrying flashlights.

My going was slow. We were all tired, but I wanted to take extra care at the cascades. Lou and Mikey went on ahead. Eventually the trail flattened out and we grouped up again.

We walked off the trail ten past seven. Exactly eight hours from when we started. We could have taken an hour off that at least if we were going for time, but we weren't. Dinner consisted of chicken and vegetables, marinated steak tips and shrimp, Johnsonville Brats, and lots of beer. I slept well. In the morning we breakfasted at Plain Jane’s diner then went to Polar Caves Park.