Four left. What can I say?
Mt Hancock and South Hancock. 2024-10-14 (Monday.) Via the Hancock Notch trail, Cedar Brook trail, Hancock Loop trail. Approx 10 miles.
North Hancock, 4420; South Hancock, 4319 feet.
45 dF at trailhead, cooler at the summit. British. Rain, snow, ice, wind, occasional sun and hints of blue sky.
About 6 1/2 hours.
People often ask me what of the 48 are my favorites. Ladies and gentlemen, please stop. You’re asking me to tell you which of my children are my faves. Can anyone tell me why the views on top of Carrigain are any better than those from the summit of Eisenhower? Et cetera? Non!
That said… the Hancocks. Le sigh…
I WANT to love those peaks as I do the others. Every time I start out, the same thing: I hike through wonderful lands. The grades are easy. Loving, even. There are open forest floors, and for quite some distance, a nearby brook. Abundant water to drink. No scenic vistas, but we’ve not climbed more than a few hundred feet, at most. A lot can happen. I can cite many ground level hikes that are so amazing as to defy words, and until you get to the meat and potatoes of the Hancocks, you’re well and truly in that world. If all I did was stick to the lowlands of this hike, I’d be perfectly happy. There’s a lot going on in that forest, and I’m thrilled to chronicle all of it. Not all happens at altitude.
But The List demands summits. For the grid, I’ve got to nail down these painful peaks four more times. At least I can say I’m on the plus side of the curve. Not the least, but the remainder of my list is in springtime and summer. And so, what’s the big deal? If you’ve done them, you know the Hancocks demand their pound of flesh. Honestly, I think Washington is easier. It whacks you on the head, but at least it makes it clear that you’re going to work a fair bit for your view. The Hancocks aren’t like that. You hike in for a couple miles or so, on gentle grades, and then you get to the actual mountain… and realize the trail is a fall-line. Let the beatings begin.
Not for nothing, but most of my hikes up and down these mountains have been in winter. And on that one, hey, trail runners will give a little with each step. Snow shoes, not so much. On a mountain with none but fall-line trails, that becomes significant. I can’t recall a trip where I didn’t get home with feet battered and bruised. For me today, no, I wasn’t wearing spikes. It didn’t matter. My feet still got smacked silly. Can I hike these peaks and not end up feeling completely bashed?
Hancock has an answer to my question. I just haven’t found it. But hey, in the meantime, there are things to see.
This was Columbus Day weekend. Unfortunately the weather for Saturday and Sunday was amazing, and so our beloved mountains got crushed by blow-ins from afar. I wish I could report they were well behaved, but the news makes clear that they were otherwise. People hitting the trails in flip-flops, no backpacks to be seen (forget even those quaint details like maps, flashlights, and such) and from what I heard, pushing and shoving because of the bottlenecks on some trails (notably Artist’s Bluff.) The fish cops made 12 rescues, and I can’t recall a time when they were that busy. (One even took responders an hour just to reach the trailhead because of the traffic backups.) I’m convinced that Instagram, TikTok, and the others are to blame for this insanity, and until people start dying in numbers that can’t be ignored, it’s going to get worse. Oh yeah, one news report mentioned a visitor arrived wearing “go-go” boots. What’s that now?
Having a sense that mayhem was afoot, I sagely decided to pick the day with miserable weather for my outing. I wasn’t disappointed. There is no such thing as bad weather, just poor clothing choices, right? (OK, don’t take that as a permission slip to hike in truly deadly conditions.) I figured a bit of rain, nothing worse than that.
Hiking up, I met a fellow on his way out. The conditions ahead were good, but watch out for the ice. OK, I knew Washington had several inches of snow, but that’s a couple thousand feet higher. Interesting. But hey, that’s the mountains. No kidding, I walked from my car to the trailhead in shirt sleeves. The very moment I set foot on the actual trail, the skies opened up, and so I donned my shell. Hey, that’s the mountains. It was a few hundred feet below the summit where I first spotted that ice, and at first, it amounted to what had been on the tree branches overnight, that come morning’s warmth, had fallen to the ground.
And on the ridge, the weather got schizophrenic. It was like a recalcitrant child, high on sugar and given a brand new puppy, who just has to show you everything he just learned how to do in trampoline class this very moment. “Hey, like that rain? I can make it stop on a dime… watch!” And then I’d go a bit further and “What about snow? You like snow? I can do that too!” And then the sun would poke through the clouds for a short bit. And on and on. (I’d say that kid would have shown you what he did in band class that afternoon, but thankfully Thor didn’t show up to the party. But I wouldn’t have put it past him.)
The ice wasn’t bad at all. Footing should have been way more greasy than it was. The glazing on the tree branches made for some otherworldly scenes, for sure, and all that ice falling everywhere created an unexpected din. But hey, that’s the mountains, and I had these two almost all to myself. I did meet up with a couple going the other way, but all told, the solitude was heavenly. For all the craziness of the weather, it did a fine job keeping the tourists in the parking area. I still have no idea why people lined up to take pictures of themselves in front of the Osceolas, because the clouds almost entirely blocked that view. My only thinking is it boiled down to “we took time off of work, spent all that money and drove all this way… by gum, we’re going to get this photo, clouds be damned!”
Anyway, I took some photos. Until last month, I was using by trusty Canon G16, which I’ve lovingly beat to hell over the years. Then Apple came out with the new iPhone with its new camera, and things changed. It feels like the dynamic range is wider, because I shouldn’t have gotten anything salvageable from that bird photo. Enjoy!
Nuts and Bolts: Take exit 32 in Lincoln, and head east on the Kancamagus Highway. (For the directionally challenged, this means going past Loon Mountain, and the Lincoln Woods trailhead.) About 10 minutes after you leave town, you’ll arrive at a hairpin turn about a minute or so after you pass the Greely Pond trailhead. On the east side is the entrance to the viewing/parking area, marked by a very large yellow and brown sign. As you navigate this stretch, know that sightlines are crummy in that area, cell phone service is non existent, and if you make a dumb, help is a long way away. Watch out for hikers crossing the street, because that’s a thing there.
Trailhead will be across the street. Walk toward the dead-end of the parking lot, where the hiker kiosk is, and you’ll see a small gate with steps leading down beyond. The actual trailhead is fairly easy to spot, and that’s beside the fact that it’s a good sized break in the trees. Blazes are yellow and there’s a good lot of them, but for the most part, the trail is well tramped out.
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