We arrived on Thursday afternoon, setting up camp in Rexford - thanks Norb and Susan, and began finding and greeting members of the Woods clan starting with James who arrived to mow when we were unpacking.  The weather is now great and gave us a wonderful drive out of the White Mountains, down along the Connecticut River, across southern Vermont, and finally over the Hudson River and into the Schenectady area.

While leaf color was approaching peak and putting on a great show on the slopes of the Franconia Range as we passed through the wonderland of Crawford Notch, we found the forests still mostly green in the southern Whites.  This fall is trending a bit late after the soaking rains of the past month. 

In Vermont we saw signs of flood damage and much evidence of recent road repairs.  Cones were down in several places where stripes had been put down despite the cool weather.  The recent warmth blessedly allowed the road crews to apply asphalt before the end of the season.  On the east slope of the Green Mountains we saw trees stripped of foliage by tropical storm Irene.  There will be no autumn color there.

The passage of the cold front finally cleared out the rain and fog that had plagued us since returning to the U.S.A. from Canada.  The weather was largely unsettled while we explored the eastern tip of Maine and Campobello Island of New Brunswick.  We arrived at Acadia National Park in the sunshine but the forecast was for three days of rain.  Since we were planning to stay for three days, we made camp and immediately drove to the top of Cadillac Mountain and enjoyed. its splendid views.  The granitic Mt. Desert Island and the park there gave us a great show despite the awful weather during the remainder of our stay.

We had only one day in the Whites and I had hoped to stroll up the Ammonoosic Ravine Trail to the top of the hill there, but the weather forecast was negative.  The storm was finally moving out and yielding to “a backdoor cold front” that would drop temperatures at the summit of Mt. Washington from a high of 20 degrees at dawn to the single digits in the afternoon.  Meanwhile the summit winds would build to hurricane force. 

So, we decided to walk up the trail for only a couple of miles.  It was good.  The sky was clearing but still much unsettled.  The air was not still but not yet exciting.  We stopped to see the cog railroad station and asked if, since it was off-season, we could park there.  The lad in the ticket booth said, “Yes, but we have to talk to the old man down in the lot.”  We couldn’t find him so instead drove the half mile down to the U.S. Forest Service parking lot. 

There we dressed for the hike and started toward the trail head when a young and well dressed couple emerged.  I greeted them and she said that the trail was flooded and impassable about ten minutes up the trail.  They were planning to climb Mt. Washington that day and were driving up to the station to resume the hike above the stream crossing.  I wished them well and said to use care.  We continued what I assumed would be a very short hike. 

Ten minutes latter we could hear the roar of Franklin Brook that was in flood from the ending storm.  We studied the ford.  The trail crossing was indeed awash.  In summer the simple solution would have been to unshoe and wade across.  Not wishing to chill our toes,  I looked about and saw a crossing about ten meters upstream.  We left the trail and then walked up a bit and then down to the water.  I gave the two rocks a quick study, stepped smartly across, and put my hand out for Anne.  She followed and we resumed our trek. 

The trail turned up along the Ammonoosic Creek with its many rapids and falls that were in a boil with the storm water.  We came upon a crew of forest workers who were making trail repairs to Irene damage.  We chatted and thanked them for their efforts.  The leader asked about our plans.  I told him we were making a short hike and then asked if a young couple had passed by.  He said, yes.  I commented on their plans to summit and their inability to make the ford.  He suggested that they might change their mind when they reached tree line.  I chuckled and said I hoped so.

We turned around after a time when we reached the fog line.  Already the wind was gusting and the air turning chilly.  We encountered two other pairs of climbers, young men well dressed for the summit.  We both wished them well and suggested caution.  I wonder how many dared go all the way to the summit that day.  Few I think.

We returned to our car and drove out the south end of the valley, turned east, and then turned north to climb into Pinkham Notch on the east side of Mt. Washington.  We stopped at the Appalachian Mountain Club center there and walked up the Crawford Notch Trail in hopes of reaching the flat at the bottom of that canyon and obtaining a view of its interior.  I had forgotten that the walk was almost three miles and all a steep climb.  We enjoyed following a stream there and stopping to view the elegant waterfall.  Encountering a serious young hiker coming down we asked about the trail.  He said there was a blanket of fog concealing the upper half of the notch and that it was snowing when he left.  We considered that and turned around before reaching our objective.  A dark cloud dimmed our hopes.  The good news was that the cloud brought sleet and not rain. 

Our little hikes were good ones.  We safely experienced the drama of “the most dangerous small mountain in the world” and enjoyed its various roarings.  The ranger said that the weather looked to be great in two days, but we had to be here in two days and so didn’t climb Mt. Washington this year.  It is no dishonor to be bested by the weather there. 

Returning to camp we prepared for a cold night.  I disconnected our water hose from the spigot, certain it would freeze overnight.  We would draw what water we needed from the reservoir in the rig.  At dawn the temperature was 20 degrees F.  The furnace quickly warmed the interior.  Breaking camp, Anne found the TV antenna frozen.  We hadn’t thought to take it down.  No problem, I said.  I’ll go upon the roof.  That exercise was good because the white pines in the campground had dropped a bunch of needles overnight.  So I took a broom and swept it after giving the antenna a shake.  If the roof had been icy our departure might have been delayed, but instead the incident only made us wiser. 

The clear morning was welcome after so much unsettled weather.  It was a beacon for our departure.  We were on the road again.