Over the past few weeks, I had two very welcome surprises: first Fran Ansley, celebrating her 50th Putney School reunion contacted by phone and email, reminiscing fondly about camping trips we had taken. I posted Fran's redirection of our fall 63 trip up Mt. Adams. Then a woman, who has lived in Australia for the past 45 years, and was a camper at the Putney Summer work Camp 60 years ago (when I was a counselor) managed to get in touch with me via email. She too reminisced about our camping trips. I confess it's heartwarming to hear from these people with warm memories.
When I wrote "Winter in the White Mountains, an Adventure Story," I was recalling events v from 49 years back. In today;s post, here's Fran recalling the trip two weeks after the fact and in rich detail.
Winter
Climb 1964 -- Mt. Adams and Crag Camp
Dear Mama and Daddy,
Bill Melvin is taking a group up Mt. Adams
next weekend. It looks like it will be a
great trip. Bob Mills will be
co-leader. (Normally Bill does not have
a co-leader, but for a winter climb, this is really indispensable, and I think
Bob will be a perfect person to have along.)
Last night we had a meeting in Bill’s
apartment -- Boy, you wouldn’t believe the equipment. Bear-paw (not tear-drop) snow shoes, long
underwear, two pairs of wool pants, baggy ski pants, two sweaters, flannel
shirt, hooded parka, gloves, mittens, four pairs of wool socks at least, boots,
mukluks (canvas things that go over
boots), one ski pole, face mask, down sleeping bag, etc., etc., etc.
Tomorrow another girl and I are going to
make a fruit cake crammed with nuts, dates, fruit, raisins, honey, molasses,
etc., for us to eat at night. This is
“survival bread,” as Bill says, “the
most amount of energy for the least amount of effort.” On the trail, we’ll also have bags of GORP --
M&Ms, nuts, raisins, etc. It scares
but thrills me to think of all this.
Yesterday, three of us girls who are going
on the hike snowshoed up to Hepper Caldwell’s.
We went up a huge, steep hill that Bill told us to practice on for the
trip. It was fun and VERY cold and
clear. We were so clumsy with the huge
things on our feet, slipping and sliding up the hill. We wound up at Hepper’s and played with her
four beautiful children until she got back from Brattleboro, then had tea and
cinnamon toast like civilized people.
She drove us back down in time for dinner. A very nice afternoon.
Today I’ve been racing around trying to dig
up equipment. I still need goggles and
all kinds of things …
After the trip:
Well, where to start? I want to tell you everything, but I just
can’t. The trip was a wonderful,
wonderful thing, just as I knew it would be.
We left Friday after fourth period, the
Greenbrier jammed with our packs, nine pairs of snow shoes, crampons, and
food. It takes about four hours to get
to Bill Melvin’s cabin down below Crawford Notch. It took us five, because the car was acting
up. Wonderful ride, everybody singing
and teaching each other new rounds. Bill
telling off-color stories, etc.
By the time we got there, of course, it was
dark. We piled out and walked the three
quarters of a mile from the highway over the railroad tracks, into the woods,
and on to the cabin. Meanwhile one of
the boys (the “tall one” I told you about before) was getting more and more excited. He is such a good and funny person (and he
must get so tired of being described as the tall guy). He loves Bill’s cabin so much, and was the
only one on the trip who’d been there before.
So as we were slogging along, he kept saying “Oh man, almost there. Oh my god, I can’t stand it.” We found, unbelievably, it was as great as he
had said. Here is a diagram of the floor
plan …
We crammed in and started a fire in the
fireplace and in the wood stove -- everyone ravenous (about 9:30 by now)
-- Bill began making trips for water
with whoever wanted to help. I went with
him once, and it was quite an expedition.
You walk about a quarter of a mile down to a brook. Even in winter there’s liquid water there,
because of the 75-foot cascade that tumbles down and keeps it from freezing
solid. You walk out on the ice to the
hole that the rushing water makes, and throw a bucket on a rope into the water
-- Bill said this was the first year he hasn’t fallen in.
There were steaks and vegetable soup and
fruit cocktail for supper. Everyone
began to really relax and form an easy group.
We got the rolling, hysterical giggles about something inane, and
finally all piled into bed. The girls
got the bunks (four bunks fold down from the wall on chains), and the boys got
the floor. Four hours later, at 4:30, we
were waked up by Bill. Time to get
started. We had breakfast, got dressed,
and headed back to the car. It was an
hour’s drive from there to the place where we started climbing.
Bill went into the people’s house who live
at the base of the trail and registered us.
We all strapped crampons onto our packs, put on our snowshoes, and
started off. The first two miles were
easy climbing … hard because of the steadiness of the gradual ascent, but
really, as Bill said, “just a stroll through the woods.” We took turns breaking trail -- the boys
sticking it out for long stretches, the girls lasting fewer steps, but we
worked at it too. It was a wonderful
feeling to be first in line, tracking the untouched snow, but it was terribly
hard on the legs. When you’d had enough,
you dropped to the back of the line where it was easy going. (When you are in the back of the line, eight
people have been ahead of you and packed out the trail.)
Anyway, after about four hours, we reached
a junction, stopped and had lunch, and then went on. It was only about a mile to the camp from
there, but that mile was straight up. It
took us three hours just to do that one mile.
I had quite a hard time because my
snowshoes didn't fit right. To go up
hill, you have to flip the snowshoe up into a horizontal position, and dig the
toe of it into the snow. The snowshoe
needs to be horizontal, or you just slide backward on it. (See diagram.) Well there were times when I really didn't
think I’d make it, because the toe of my mukluk-covered boot wouldn't stick in
the hole right (perhaps because they were too big, and kind of floppy out there
on the toe), so it was very hard to flip up the snowshoe and keep it aligned
right. Hard to explain, but it was very
wearing, let me put it that way. Anyway, we finally did get to Crag Camp.
It is an incredible place. Bunks, porch, sofas in front of a fireplace,
a snug woodshed, stove, sink and an actual real live PUMP ORGAN. It is also about 20 feet from a precipice
that drops 1500 feet straight down.
Funny rickety rustic furniture, Bach chorale books, two bedrooms. When we came in, everything inside was sifted
over with fine snow. It had come down
the chimney, seeped under the door, blown in the windows, etc. On the sofa there were tiny, tiny mouse
tracks all in the snow. So there was
snow dusting to do.
But first we put on some snow in a pot to
melt, and then we started for the summit right away while we still had
daylight. Because we were so high up,
there were fewer trees, and the snow was not so deep due to getting blown about
by the wind. So we shed our snowshoes
(hallelujah) and put on our crampons, which are spiky things that punch into
the crust and help you keep your footing.
SO much nicer than snowshoes!
With the change of footwear, and shedding of packs, you felt light as a
feather, and nimble too. It was
bliss. As soon as we got above
timberline, we put on face masks … But
as I told you on the phone, we had to give up before we even reached the col,
because of the clouds. The decision was
that it wasn’t safe, and also wouldn’t be particularly rewarding if we were
totally socked in.
So we hurtled back down to Crag Camp
(practically running down -- it took us a third of the time it took to go up),
had supper, sang, got back rubs from Bill, and collapsed into bed.
The first thing I heard next morning was
Bill’s mellifluous voice telling us it was 25 degrees below zero. Brother, was it ever hard to get out of my
nice warm arctic sleeping bag.
Breakfast was really funny, with everyone
trying to thaw out their boots, socks shirts, gloves, etc. Socks had frozen hard in the shape of
whatever they were draped over.
And we DID get to the summit that next
day. The very top is something I simply
cannot express to you. It was as if you
had been dissolved into the elements and ceased to exist. The wind was so strong (110 mph the filling
station man said that night when we told him where we had been that morning)
you couldn’t think, you couldn't see, you couldn't hear, you could only hang on
for dear life. It if hadn’t been for the
crampons we would have been blown away.
I’m sure this was the stretch during which several of us got a bit of
frost bite -- and G., with his long legs that have a tendency to be too long
for any reasonable pant-leg, got more than a bit.
I want you all to SEE it … up near the top
is like fairyland. Little tiny trees
completely covered in frozen-over snow.
Sometimes you step through the crust and see that you have been walking
over the tops of little trees all along.
Anyway, down we came, following our flagged
ski poles back. Also red dye marks that
Bob Mills, bless his heart, made on the snow as we went up. We picked up our packs at the camp, switched
(groan) back to snowshoes, and started down.
“Bahoomyhoomy” is the word for what we did
next. One of the boys on the trip coined
it his freshman year, and it means simply sitting down on your snowshoes and sliding.
Bill starts off, and everyone follows, careening and rolling and
whooping -- like a toboggan ride -- back down that steep section of the
trail. We hit the junction soon
(couldn’t believe what a short time it had been), and then stood up once more
and hiked the rest of the way back down to the trailhead. Supper at a Howard Johnson’s with everyone
laughing at our decrepit state, and the boys ordering huge mounds of food.
Now I’m practically recovered. The frostbite on my chin itches a little, and
my feet are still swollen, but that’s all.
I had a sore throat today, but I slept, and it’s going away. I must go now and get ready for supper. I love you all. Please know how much I thank you for letting
me have experiences like this one …
