Fall Hiking: Expect The Unexpected

It was about this time three years ago, still warm enough for a lightweight weekend trip, yet seasonally different from the plush green of summer. Two of my friends and I seized the opportunity and planned a trip up to the White Mountains. Standard plans: leave early Friday, trek and camp Friday and Saturday, return Sunday, as my camping experience at the time involved 2-to-3 day hike-in, hike-out style summer trips. Since Jonathon usually assumed the role of the intelligent and prudent planner, Richard and I thought it best to let him orchestrate a wonder of a weekend. We were willing to subject ourselves to slightly more demanding conditions, but nothing extreme, and our gear indicated this: 15 degree bags, a 2-to-3 person three-season convertible tent, basic rainwear and extra layers such as hats, light gloves and sturdy boots. And of course, enough food to feed a small army.

Naturally, we left Boston later than planned, but managed to get there before dark with our main concern merely setting up camp with some light. Our point of interest was the Liberty Springs tent site, smack dab in the middle of the Franconia Wilderness, about three miles up from the car, calling for a moderate climb. Unfortunately, our late arrival at the trailhead was not the last obstacle. It was swiftly followed by the consequences of a new and poorly fit pack that surprisingly enough, I purchased from a reputable establishment, and the last thing I expected was incompetence. Apparently, I was sized with a pack that was too large for my torso, which inhibited hiking on steep terrain. As the skies got darker, we managed a typical quick fix, consisting of some bitching, followed by the exchange of packs between Richard and myself, and continued on. Then, after some switchbacks and varyingly difficult grades, we found ourselves in the belly of an unforeseen weather front.

A rapid fall in temperature, accompanied with sleet and a relentless climb made for a somewhat unsettling scenario, and the last thing I needed was to see Jonathon take off up the trail. Richard and I hung back, inhaled a granola bar and threw a layer on our chilling extremities. After another mile of frigidly trekking on, we received some much needed encouragement in the form of smoke coming from a campfire settling over the relaxing terrain, and then briefly, the sleet stopped. Richard and I hustled to the sound of voices and finally, a fire so beautiful and warm, a truly life-giving entity at the time, gave us comfort…or so it seemed.

Reunited with a calm and jovial Jonathan, Richard and I plopped down, warmed our bodies and reflected on the overall jaunt of last three hours while Jonathon conversed with Jason, the caretaker of the tent-site and subsequent owner of the fire. There were tents of all shapes, sizes, colors and brands peppered in and around the platforms as the occupants shuffled with curiosity as we, the newcomers were informed of an impending dilemma: no room. This negative variable added onto an already gloomy situation was not to be accepted lightly, and the impromptu caretaker turned out to be quite the improviser, taking the three of us on a circuitous route only he knew, scrambling over rock ledges, fast lefts and rights and an ejection into a moonlit opening just large enough for our tent.

So there we were. I cooked, Jonathon made camp, and Richard organized. It was getting very cold, so once we were settled in, we moved fast, as though it were one big sweeping motion, back down towards the fire. Before I knew it, I was staring at the flames, feeling the burning on my cheeks, but with the bitter cold still piercing at my back. Somehow though, it all made sense in the face of these opposing forces. We were never in danger, never completely unprepared, never doing anything we couldn

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