White Mountains, White Trails

We set off early, straight up the most desolate eastern interstate I ever drove (I-91). The random wild turkeys gracing the mountain hills were the only wildlife of note on the entire trip, a letdown I got over quickly. Aside from the mist cascading from one of its dams. The road followed the Connecticut River up to St. Johnsbury, where we turned southeast and crossed back into New Hampshire.

It was time to confirm our route before plowing through the White Mountains. An elderly man ran the counter at the rest stop; beyond custodians, I had never seen so populated a rest stop before. (Blogger's note: Vermont rest areas looked like something out of the future, with ample staff, free wifi and not a spot of grime or dilapidation anywhere.) He outlined the best route through the White Mountains, and the return voyage along the Kanc with which I already familiarized myself.

Crawford Notch State Park spanned U. S. 302. From high in the mountains, some waterfalls spilled more than one thousand feet flowing beneath the road to meet the Saco River in freezing pools. Their flows spoke of the season, when temperatures finally broke into the seventies, even at these altitudes.

Narrow passes, steep waterfalls, plentiful gorges, and finally clear views of Mountain Washington and the weather stations at its peak (I’ll bash you good). But driving the mountain’s auto road was out of the question. It would be weeks before workers would clear snow to the peak. For this trip, I had to accept its beauty from a distance.

Then came a nugget of history at the Mount Washington Hotel in the Bretton Woods area; the gorge opened up to a small valley that highlighted New England's highest peak. Below it sat the hotel, which hosted the Bretton Woods conference that birthed the International Monetary Fund and World Bank in 1944. One wonders how they accomplished anything amid this beauty, let alone such monumental creation.

Alicia is a waterfall junky, so we decided to hike up to Arathusa Falls, one of New Hampshire’s largest set of falls. The steep, rocky hike was a little difficult one day after a half-marathon, but we endured. Between rocks and roots, I was a stumbling fool, but stayed on my feet. It got tough as the path narrowed and followed a hillside wet with snowmelt. We had to cross an ephemeral trickle that muddied the path, but continued as the creek and falls roared louder. Eventually, we had to stop; the hills were still thick with snow, and the blue marks on trees could not leads us forward with the ground below us unknown. Begrudgingly, we turned around, and returned to the highway.

The summer hotels of New Hampshire impressed with fresh paint and bright colors. It would be only weeks before the first wave of tourists would descend. We missed the first glut by weeks, even if it denied us trips to the top of Mountain Washington and a view of Arathusa Falls.

We returned to NH Route 16 at North Conway, and headed south to Moats Mountain Smokehouse and Brewery. I didn’t expect bison quesadillas in Conway, New Hampshire, but I didn’t argue once devouring the fresh ground beast.



We traced the Kanc once again. This time we ventured onto the rocks at the Lower Falls,a followed the ferocious waters channeled through Rocky Gorge (shown above), and hiked the short path to Sabbaday Falls, a sharp cut in the rock that produced a magnificent eaterfall that turned almost 90 degrees. The air was crisper than on Friday, and the little walks in the woods broke up the driving perfectly.

We traced the route I had taken Friday, right down to the stop at the Threepenny Taproom. Our late arrival in Burlington did not diminish our spirits, despite a few failed attempts to find a hotel close to downtown. We bought cigarettes and returned to the downstairs Italian restaurant from Saturday for a few pours of wine. Our last night of travel would end peacefully, even if I had another crazy day of driving to return to Manchester.