The Most Villainous, Breakneck Route, chapter 9: Lunar Landscape

A guy with skis casually asks us directions. He wants to go to Monroe Brook and he’s unfamiliar with the territory. By the demeanor of his disengaged, female companion, he should be a little more solicitous of her needs instead of trying to impress us with his offhanded manner.

Should we send this fellow to a place we’re not sure about? He and the girl appear well equipped, but the guy’s bluster continues when I try to elaborate on the tricky situation over there. We point out a ski track running in that direction and tell the fellow “just keep going until you see the gully. Can’t miss it” (as if we were just there yesterday). He’s leaving plenty early enough to get out of there if he gets into trouble. Later we joke about making him our test dummy; asking him to give us a call on the wireless with a report.

There are two alpine lakelets between Washington and Monroe. The larger one, about 300’ across, sits at the bottom of a delightful snow-bowl. If you extend the popular lunar analogy often used to describe this landscape, this bowl is a crater full of water, blown-out on the north side. Were it not for a little rocky moraine at that blow-out, the lake might run out into the Ammonoosuk. Over the years lobster buoys, kayaks, and probably a few people have floated in the little lake, but today it’s snow and ice and some surface meltwater. On the south side, a 150’ headwall topped by what’s left of a cornice rises steeply from the edge of the lake. From the east shore, a long snowfield runs through a little hollow between the Crawford Path and the edge of Oakes Gulf.

Phil Ostroski photo

We decide to cross the lake and skin up the snowfield heading east toward one of Oakes’ premier runs.  It is the perfect tour. We set the track on this slight grade, nobody around, panoramic views, and good visibility for safe travel. Missing the turn toward Oakes in fog, you might find yourself wandering across fifty acres of Bigelow Lawn and a tumble into Tuckerman Ravine. When the snowfield swings northerly, we will throw our skis on our shoulders and move over to the Camel Trail, which traces the rim of Oakes Gulf.

Wylie Apte

I remember tele-skiing here with my wife Anne and a few close friends, having finagled a 7:30 AM helicopter-drop on the summit of Mt. Washington after a flight out of North Conway. We were the lucky few of that day's airlift that got the ride practically from home. The rest would get the conventional ride from The Glen House, right at the base of the mountain. Wylie Apte was the pilot and kept the machine in a garage next to his house atop Birch Hill. When we took off, I thought the bird was gonna drop right into the old granite quarry below his house. What a ride we had.

When we landed on top, things were still pretty frozen but it was a comfortable wait for the surface to soften up. There wasn’t a breath of wind and there was a warm, late April sun. We were fresh and had the whole day ahead of us so after a run on the East Fields with the entire crew, we made a run down the west side all the way to Lakes, then into the Ammonoosuk and Monroe gullies. We spent the afternoon climbing back up to the summit and skiing off of Ball Crag. A big southeast-facing snowfield had filled in below Nelson Crag so we skied that too, down to the five and a half mile mark on the Auto Road. What a day!
chapter 10: Santa Claus Tragedy