Tuckerbrook on the Day After… – by Ham Mehlman
Not even a double espresso is going to help here. Blame it on the lingering trauma of my escape from New York. But many good tours begin the day with a headlamp and hopefully a smile.
Ham Mehlman is Editor-in-Chief of Mountain Passages and an AMC-NH member. He skis, hikes and bikes New Hampshire’s backcountry, trails and byways when time allows.
I slogged through the latest “snow-storm-of-the-century” maelstrom for nine hours yesterday to get my ass from New York to Franconia for fresh tracks. By Amtrak (after a cancelled flight), T and car I survived near white out visibility and a dreaded tandem of snowplows moving at 25 mph for 30 miles on rte 93.
Oh my goodness, it was worth it.
The storm did not smother the Tuckerbrook Trail on the backside of Cannon with quite the snowmageddon Boston claimed. In fact, by local standards, just another winter storm. Cannon reported 12 inches; I think closer to 9 inches of fresh on Tuckerbrook this morning. But unlike so many of our storms hitting from the South in recent years, this was a cold one. At 7:00 am on Sunday, Mt. Washington reported a temperature of -2° F. and wind chill of a relatively balmy (for Mt. W) -26° and pretty much maintained these conditions throughout the storm. The skies produced delightful, fluffy, Wasatch Range, champagne (you name it) powder.
A hastily improvised plan with my ski partner in exercise, Carrie, to meet at Tuckerbrook trailhead at 7:00 am aiming to be down in time to be at the desk by 9:00 am.
“Looks good,” she says
and bye bye…
With flakes still fluttering, it was still early light as we sorted through our kit and gear at the trailhead. Being Monday and still coffee time, we assumed we’d be breaking trail but were proved wrong by two gnarly dudes who motored past us from some connecting trail in the woods. Not such a bad thing since they put in the work to pack the ski track. They were respectful and clearly knew what they were doing, hugging the track to the tree edge unlike so many who march up the middle, obliviously spoiling any pristineness to the descent.
We guessed correctly that these dudes would skin to the summit or cut over to Stinger. We would get our fresh tracks. Our top, my usual destination, is the bottom of the “traverse”. By habit, I generally avoid the traverse, not wanting to be fodder for a downhiller shooting through the narrow single track. It’s also a good excuse to cap the workout at 1,700 vertical feet.
The run down from this perch is a classic, old-school New England ski trail, originally cut by the CCC in 1934. It still tracks a 20-30 foot wide path for most of the descent, intermediate grade, through a mature hardwood forest. Skiing barely existed in 1934. No lifts. Certainly different in nearly every respect from today. But the CCC trails are still some of the best and longest in New Hampshire. Think Taft, Gulf of Slides, Wildcat, for examples.
The reward: It was white and deep and fluffy and untouched and…
Perfect way for a skier to start a day. And an unusual day in New England