Mount Cardigan 4-8-07
Mount Cardigan 3155'
2.6 Miles 1750' Elevation gain
Kevin, Judy and Emma
It's early April, Easter Sunday, and I thought winter was all but gone, another season passed, as they seem to roll by so quickly now that I'm older. Yesterday, Jude came home with pictures to prove otherwise, and I felt winter's icy grip tighten around me again. I just had to go in search of the old man again, and I found him, quite well indeed, on Mount Cardigan. In fact, he still had such a tight grasp on this smallish mountain that it put me in mind of its grandfather to the northeast, old Mount Washington himself.
From the AMC Cardigan Lodge to the fire tower on the summit, winter had wrapped this mountain in all its intricate beauty. From the bubbling Bailey Brook, now free of the icy clutches which held it in suspended animation over the passing season, to the glorious evergreens, each wrapped in icy tinsel like a million Christmas trees, the mountain in its entirety was displaying its complete winter finery. There are not enough adjectives in my vocabulary, nor in the human language really, to describe the beauty that surrounded us on this hike.
The dark gray skies made a perfect contrast to the stark white snow covering the the trees and ground as snow squalls blew across the summit and surrounding hills throughout the day. Here and there a patch of the most astounding blue would pass us as the clouds boiled around us, creating one squall after another. Occasionally the sun would peek out from the clouds immediately turning the scenes into brilliant glimpses of a divine world, unknown to mortal man.
Anyone who, at this early stage of spring, has tired of winter and wishes it had never been, needs to get out under the sky and see winter as we saw it this day. Starting from the AMC Cardigan Lodge we followed the Holt Trail to the Grand Junction, where we followed the Holt-Clark Cutoff, also called the Cathedral Forest Trail, to where it meets the Clark Trail. Along these trails bare hardwoods became hardwoods glazed in ice, then becoming hardwoods covered in glaze and rime as we rose in elevation.
Soon these gave way to evergreens covered in ice and snow with evidence of the warm days and cold nights hanging in the form of delicate icicles from every branch where the suns rays penetrated to release them from their glazed encasements. As we approached the bald rock summit the snow had drifted into the myriad of crevices, having been scoured from most surfaces where the wind whipped constantly across this high place. The fire tower at the summit was wrapped in rime ice not unlike the radio towers on the summit of Mount Washington.
In fact, some of it seemed thicker than I have seen on the much higher Washington, as the winds here are not as severe as Washington, and the ice hasn't been subjected to extreme wind and dessicating fog, (not to mention sledgehammers and crow bars swung by youthful observers). Perhaps it was just an illusion, but it seemed as thick or thicker.
A squall hit the summit as we approached the tower, and wind and snow whipped our faces as we climbed the last few hundred feet. We were able to weather the storm in the lee of the tower, and managed to have a quick lunch before heading back down, dashing to get below treeline again to escape the fierce wind.
I followed the wrong trail down in the desperation to get out of the wind, and we had to wind our way back to the fire warden's cabin from the West Ridge Trail to the Ranger-Cabin Trail. But familiarity with the trails and having made this mistake before helped avert a disaster, and we were soon back on course. The trip down was as beautiful as the climb, and we soon found ourselves back at the lodge, sorry that our adventure was at an end, but happy that we had had it.
Read More2.6 Miles 1750' Elevation gain
Kevin, Judy and Emma
It's early April, Easter Sunday, and I thought winter was all but gone, another season passed, as they seem to roll by so quickly now that I'm older. Yesterday, Jude came home with pictures to prove otherwise, and I felt winter's icy grip tighten around me again. I just had to go in search of the old man again, and I found him, quite well indeed, on Mount Cardigan. In fact, he still had such a tight grasp on this smallish mountain that it put me in mind of its grandfather to the northeast, old Mount Washington himself.
From the AMC Cardigan Lodge to the fire tower on the summit, winter had wrapped this mountain in all its intricate beauty. From the bubbling Bailey Brook, now free of the icy clutches which held it in suspended animation over the passing season, to the glorious evergreens, each wrapped in icy tinsel like a million Christmas trees, the mountain in its entirety was displaying its complete winter finery. There are not enough adjectives in my vocabulary, nor in the human language really, to describe the beauty that surrounded us on this hike.
The dark gray skies made a perfect contrast to the stark white snow covering the the trees and ground as snow squalls blew across the summit and surrounding hills throughout the day. Here and there a patch of the most astounding blue would pass us as the clouds boiled around us, creating one squall after another. Occasionally the sun would peek out from the clouds immediately turning the scenes into brilliant glimpses of a divine world, unknown to mortal man.
Anyone who, at this early stage of spring, has tired of winter and wishes it had never been, needs to get out under the sky and see winter as we saw it this day. Starting from the AMC Cardigan Lodge we followed the Holt Trail to the Grand Junction, where we followed the Holt-Clark Cutoff, also called the Cathedral Forest Trail, to where it meets the Clark Trail. Along these trails bare hardwoods became hardwoods glazed in ice, then becoming hardwoods covered in glaze and rime as we rose in elevation.
Soon these gave way to evergreens covered in ice and snow with evidence of the warm days and cold nights hanging in the form of delicate icicles from every branch where the suns rays penetrated to release them from their glazed encasements. As we approached the bald rock summit the snow had drifted into the myriad of crevices, having been scoured from most surfaces where the wind whipped constantly across this high place. The fire tower at the summit was wrapped in rime ice not unlike the radio towers on the summit of Mount Washington.
In fact, some of it seemed thicker than I have seen on the much higher Washington, as the winds here are not as severe as Washington, and the ice hasn't been subjected to extreme wind and dessicating fog, (not to mention sledgehammers and crow bars swung by youthful observers). Perhaps it was just an illusion, but it seemed as thick or thicker.
A squall hit the summit as we approached the tower, and wind and snow whipped our faces as we climbed the last few hundred feet. We were able to weather the storm in the lee of the tower, and managed to have a quick lunch before heading back down, dashing to get below treeline again to escape the fierce wind.
I followed the wrong trail down in the desperation to get out of the wind, and we had to wind our way back to the fire warden's cabin from the West Ridge Trail to the Ranger-Cabin Trail. But familiarity with the trails and having made this mistake before helped avert a disaster, and we were soon back on course. The trip down was as beautiful as the climb, and we soon found ourselves back at the lodge, sorry that our adventure was at an end, but happy that we had had it.
Snowshoeing on the Holt Trail.
