Mount Washington and the Flume Gorge

 Day Six

Paul and me at the bottom of the mountain.

We are headed to Mt Washington this morning.  Martha is reading a list of interesting facts about the mountain as we approach its base.  Among them: the mountain summit holds the global record for highest ever recorded wind speeds not associated with a tornado or a cyclone.  At 231 mph this seems to be where Mother Nature goes to throw a tantrum.  Terry, our tour guide on the train ride to the top, explained the crazy weather patterns so common here.  It seems four weather systems from the north, south, east, and west, regularly collide above Mt. Washington, thereby creating a volatile climate that can change instantly, 365 days a year, with no warning at all. I planned accordingly and am bundled up like there’s a blizzard coming, even though it’s a pleasant enough autumn day down below.

Terry said the tree line is the point at which no trees can survive the harsh climate and therefore there are no trees above that point.  On Mt. Washington that is at around 5000 feet.  This is much lower than other mountainous regions and the weather is to blame.  To put it in perspective, a normal tree line would be 10,000 to 12,000 feet.  At only 6300 feet above sea level, Mt Washington does not present the oxygen deprivation challenges that Everest does, but, according to our guide, the weather is more dangerous here.  Many climbers require rescue and some lose their lives because of the volatility of the weather and the rapidity at which it changes.

“Crazy” Sylvester Crawford was the unstoppable force that brought the Cog Railway to the mountain in 1868.  Using 250 civil war veterans for labor the project was successfully completed at a cost of $135,000. At today’s prices that would be about 12 million.  And all these many years later, five to six million tourists ride to the top every year.  At a 37% grade, the track looked like that first big hill on a rollercoaster but there was no cresting the top and no letting loose, I am happy to say.  Our downhill guide, Emily, told us at one time crews used slide-boards with handheld brakes to move up and down the tracks for maintenance and repairs but they have since been outlawed.  The fastest time down on a slide-board was 2 minutes, 45 seconds at a speed of 70mph.  Just hearing about it gave my stomach a lurch.

The higher we climbed at a top speed of 5 mph, the colder it got.  Gradually the colorful trees and foliage gave way to ice and snow.  When we disembarked at the summit the wind was howling around us, visibility was about fifteen feet or so, and the snow had turned to rain.  Paul and I crept to the observation deck in spite of the fact that there was no way to observe anything in the heavy mist that shrouded everything.  As soon as we stepped beyond the rocks bordering the icy walkway, the wind hit with a force that almost pushed me over.  I was thankful for everything I had on.  We took pictures to prove we were there and later realized there was absolutely nothing on the pictures except our faces so you’ll just have to take my word for it that we were on top of that mountain.

Paul and me at the top of the mountain.

We shuffled carefully back into the lovely warm building situated among the rocks and warmed ourselves with hot chocolate and the company of our traveling companions.  When it was time to board the train for the ride down we followed instructions and huddled outside in what was now a steady rain pelting against us in wind gusts of considerable strength. Paul and one or two others tried to use the umbrellas we had been given that morning but they promptly turned inside out amid the gales of laughter from everyone watching their vain attempts to wrestle the canvas and wire contraptions back under control.  My down-filled coat kept me passably warm but everything not covered by it was soaking wet by the time we got on the train.  Sitting squished between other, equally soggy people for 45 minutes down to civilization threatened to stir up my claustrophobia but I managed to hold it in check.  As soon as we got to the gift shop I plopped down my credit card to buy a lovely, warm, dry pair of sweats to replace the wet, clammy jeans I was wearing.  I paid way too much but it was worth every penny.  I found the whole morning a great adventure but Paul was pretty sure he would never venture up that hill again.  We were thankful for the hearty boxed lunches waiting for us and after boarding the bus we headed for the day’s next adventure.

The Flume Gorge nearby is a natural gorge extending 800 feet at the base of Mount Liberty.  It was breathtakingly beautiful and we were scheduled to do the two-mile walk through the winding, scenic trails.  Because it was raining, most of our group opted out but eight of us decided it sounded like fun, so off we went.  It was breathtakingly beautiful and well worth getting a bit damp.  Multiple waterfalls, steep granite walls, huge, sweet-smelling firs, brilliant fall foliage, well, words don’t do it justice.

We stopped at a grocery store on the way back and bought food to make our own suppers in our condos since we were tired, wet, and ready for hot showers and warm rooms.

It was a great day, Paul’s opinion to the contrary notwithstanding.  I would do it all again.  But I’d take an extra pair of jeans along next time.