Mount Willey would be, and has since been, the biggest mountain I've hiked. Its summit lies at 4,285 feet- a medium mountain by 4,000 footer standards. The last 4,000 footer I did, Osceola, is actually bigger, at 4,340 feet. But hiking Osceola means hiking 2,050 feet of elevation change over 6.4 miles, which basically means climbing up 2,050 feet over a pretty moderate grade 3.2 miles. Willey is 2,854 feet of elevation gain over 5.4, meaning it would be 800 feet more of climbing over about a half mile less distance. In simplest terms, this would be a considerable amount of climbing up very steep sections, and easily the hardest hike I'd attempt. It proved to be quite the son of a bitch.
I went into it as stupidly as possible too. Not only did I start later than planned (more from the surprise of traffic than anything), but I hadn't hiked for a month at this point. I made the stupid and surprising mistake of hiking a ton in the spring to get my muscles ready for the big boys, and then, right as I began hiking them, getting sick of hiking. Suddenly I had much better things to do, or the days I planned hikes ended up ugly, or I just completely blew it on motivating myself. SO, I was fairly unprepared for this hike. I looked at it this way though- all too often I worry about not being able to get to the top, hurting myself, etc. I said to myself "hey asshole, you're in shape for hiking. Just get to the top of the goddamn mountain and stop worrying about it so much."
And I did.
And I regretted ever having that attitude.
What a MORON.
I started nice and late, after a brief rain shower and ugly skies loomed overhead, threatening more. I didn't think I was at the right place at first, since a family of fat little kids with sneakers on got out and headed up the trail ahead of me, but I had forgotten that this trail also went to the Ethan Ponds- a definite tourist attraction. About a mile of this trail is on the Appalachian Trail too, and I was psyched about that, since other than hiking most of Lafayette in college, I don't think I've ever been on any of it. Right as I started, a guy came down into the parking lot who looked haggard and filthy, and I was certain he was a thru-hiker by how fast he was going.
The trail climbed right away, and took me over a railroad crossing. Somehow, I would be hiking all the way to the top of that mountain in the distance. Damn.
The climb got ridiculous at this point, or at least for being that early in the hike. It was quite steep right away, going in a straight line. I immediately regretted thinking I could hike. But I needed to tough it out- this was the inaugural hike with my new backpack, the Osprey Kestrel 48 I bought at EMS a few weeks before. It felt weird having a bag that big after using my LL Bean bag for years, but even though it was heavier (due to having a bladder/camelbak with 3 liters of water in it), it felt pretty good, since the weight was so spread out. It wasn't easy to take off at rests, but it felt pretty solid while hiking and I LOVED having the camelbak, so I was happy with it right away.
5 minutes after this shot, I spilled water all over the bag and my car seat.
I saw another thru hiker- this time for sure, since I could smell him from 20 feet away. I was soaked and tired quite fast. I don't like starting hikes with elevation gain THAT fast. But luckily, after the initial climb, it flattened out a lot and looked like this for quite awhile:
reasonable.
I was happy I was making good time and not stopping. I was happy at how easy the trail was. That is, until I thought about the harsh truth behind a trail being this moderate for this long. The rest of the hike (probably 2200 feet) still had to happen. And that meant it would be even steeper across less mileage than I had originally thought. Oh boy.
After an hour or so and a mile and a half-ish, I came to the intersection of the trail to the summit of Willey or the Ethan Pond campsite or Zealand Falls hut. I sat for a few and continued on. It felt good knowing I had only 1.1 miles to get to the summit. It felt bad knowing how steep that trip would be.
The trail got thinner right away.
And uglier, with worse footing.
And steeper.
Much steeper.
nice stairs though!
I kept trudging on though, knowing that as long as I took my time and took breaks when needed, I'd hit the famous ladders/stairs, and eventually the top.
I finally got to them, and actually was somewhat happy about it. This picture is only 65% sarcastic.
Most websites warn of the ladders- saying that the trail is so steep, they had to install stairs/ladders that make the hike quite hard for kids, elderly, dogs, etc. A lot of people have a lot of trouble getting up and down them, and nearly every website lists the ladders as both a unique attraction and something to watch out for. I attacked them section by section, and oddly enough, found myself loving them.
Sure, they were ridiculously steep,
and I was already pretty damn exhausted at this point,
yea sweatboobs!
but they were a lot better than life without ladders/stairs:
The trail was quite steep before the stairs, and the terrain was pretty terrible at times, with one particularly memorable section just being practically sand on a 70 degree incline. It was tough footing, with parts requiring me to pull myself up on roots just to get up sections. This was easily some of the steepest hiking I'd ever done, and the stairs were a godsend for me. I've always had pretty good balance, so they weren't even really scary (until I looked down).
Now, the problem for me was that every website talks about the stairs and then they're at the top. Therefore, I had had it in my mind all along that when I got past the stairs, I'd be at the top. HA! Not even close. There is a lot of mountain left after the stairs, and the footing and inclines don't get any easier. I did get to see my first hints of a view after the stairs though.
I was now stopping for breaks every 100 feet or so. I think I was counting 40 steps then stopping for probably a minute or two. I was hurting. But the trail kept going, getting sketchier and steeper as it went.
At least there was footing here, but jeez, look at this:
And look at this lovely section I got to climb up:
I recently read about a blind guy who just completed all of the 4,000 footers, and the article was written right after he and his dog hiked here. I have no idea how they did it.
But, luckily, I was making progress, step by step, break by break. The top was clearing out,
and I soon saw this:
I skipped this part to get to the actual summit for my summit picture. I was barely even relieved to be here- it was late and I still had to hike down. I walked through the summit and a fox ran in front of me, like 10 feet away. I was videotaping the walk too (for a planned movie of me reaching every summit), and I missed it! Pretty cool though. I passed the actual summit and went a little farther past it to a point I hadn't seen anyone on the internet talk about. It was VERY worth it.
I then took my summit picture with DeeTeez, and finally started to feel a little happy. I hurt and I had a long way to go, but I had just hiked the most elevation gain of my life, and that accomplishment felt pretty awesome.
the actual summit
I then went down to the overlook, and DAMN.
Jackson and Pierce
Route 302
the right of 302 and a lot of smaller mountains
Oh hey look, I made a panorama using those pictures that actually came out pretty damn good:
click it to make it bigger!
It was awesome up there. I put food in my hand, hoping that one of the birds at the top would eat out of it (Willey, Tom and Field are kind of known for that), but they didn't visit me. They might have if I stayed up there longer, but I had to go. This would unfortunately be a pretty short summit hang out.
let the mullet fly and harness the power of mountains!
I still had the mullet at this time, so I wanted to make sure I got a summit shot in addition to an overlook shot.
I particularly love this one, of me walking back because I forgot something. Look at just how unbelievably disgusting I am:
I LIVED LIKE THIS FOR 3 WEEKS. IN PUBLIC.
The clouds behind me began to reflect a sunset I didn't want to be there already, but it was beautiful.
I then flipped out a bit. My legs hurt. All of me hurt. But I wanted to get as far down the steep stuff as I could before it got dark. I decided I wouldn't rest until I made it to the bottom of the stairs, then I wouldn't rest again until I made it to the intersection and the flatter terrain after it. I went down the mountain ridiculously fast, just ignoring my jelly legs as best as I could. It was honestly pretty impressive how fast I went, and I only wiped out 3 or 4 times (which SUCKED).
By the time I got to the intersection, I hurt a lot. I had no idea just how messed up my legs were, but my back and feet were absolute hell. So I generally just took my time from there on out, listening to music very quietly and taking breaks when needed. It wasn't too bad, but the last bit of steep downhill was. I say this after every big hike I do, but it honestly is true every time- I've never been so happy to see my car- this time (for once) not completely alone in the parking lot.
The level of happiness I was experiencing was nothing though, compared to where that level went when I remembered what was in town:
Good ole DQ, saving the day. It was glorious and helped me stay awake and alive for the way-too-long drive home.
I slept like the dead that night, and was quite stiff the next day. It turns out though, that I had no idea what stiffness felt like. The next day and several after, I can honestly say that I was more of a mess than I've ever been in my life. It was literally like I had pulled or torn every muscle in my leg, and they were trying to rebuild themselves as I walked. My legs buckled under me seemingly every time I walked, literally. It was like they'd be strong and ok, then just instantly turn into noodles and my knees would bend in the wrong direction. I almost fell over while walking through my house several times. I was this guy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxR4RYaUCYA (only video I could find). It was awful. I couldn't even stretch. The only physical activity I could do was swim, and I could barely do that. I literally needed to pull myself up and down the stairs and put all my weight on my arms when I sat down. My calves healed after a few days, but my quads honestly took a week to a week and a half to fully heal. It was BAD.
So the lesson is? Don't ever do what I did. Don't be the guy that goes "eh, I can hike this mountain out of nowhere. NO BIG DEAL." And truthfully I did hike it, with it only being a little beyond the expected level of challenge and pain. But the following days would prove just how stupid I had been. But hey, I knocked another one off the list. Now I only have 44 to go. Crap.
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The short version:
Although this hike is a bit of a tourist attraction because of Ethan Ponds and its connection to Zealand Hut and the Appalachian Trail, it is not a beginner mountain. Before the trail intersection, it's pretty easy and will feel like a nice walk through the woods. But after that, it is STEEP. The stairs/ladders are glorious, but other than those, this has some tough terrain and never-ending climbing. Your quads better be ready, otherwise you're in trouble. BUT, the trail is interesting, it's not insanely popular and the views at the top are pretty awesome, so it's definitely an awesome hike.
-Turn onto Willey House Station Road off 302 in Crawford Notch. The trailhead is obvious. Stay right at the intersection of Ethan Ponds trail, and also at the intersection with the Ethan Pond campsite/Zealand Hut trail. From the top, you can continue on the same trail to get to Mount Tom and Field.
-Hike time: Around 5 hours.
-Mileage: 2.7 miles up
-Elevation gain: 2,850 feet
-Summit elevation: 4,285 feet
currently listening to: Balmorhea- "Stranger"
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