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It was Friday when I really began toying with the idea of doing an unsupported, one day end-to-end hike of the Wapack Trail. I was intending to make my way up to the Whites, perhaps to work on the 100 highest in some respect. But the weather looked better in the south (as it turned out, it was good everywhere) and it was definitely going to be warmer than ventures over 4000 feet in the Whites, which would have found snow. It turned out that the north cleared out during the day, no matter.
I began reading about the Wapack Trail in the AMC White Mountain Guide. (Yes, I know it is now in the Southern New Hampshire Guide or something. But in the old one it is the whole state.) Where it starts, in Massachusetts, it is the only trail in the Commonwealth described in the Guide. It sounded not-too-hard, so that its 21ish miles could be hiked in well under the current amount of daylight, giving enough time for a relatively direct bike back to the car. It sounded, if nothing else, feasible. Hey, they do a nutty out and back 50 mile trail run race on the Wapack every year, so one way should be fine. After some web searching and mapping, I watched the end of the Sox game and hit the sack right after, around 11 p.m.
The alarm went off at 5:00 sharp. I was soon packed, and after a false start (I had forgotten my water bottles about a mile out of the driveway) I made my way up the dark 128, Route 3 and through Nashua towards the northern trailhead. The drive, once I got through the Nashua-Amherst big box row, was quite nice, up a curving little notch and a dirt road to the (barely) paved road up to the terminus. It was about 7:30. There was nowhere inviting near the road to lock my bike — the only metal post had such a small and flimsy sign atop it that my lock could be lifted right over. I carried the bike and unattached front wheel to the trailhead sign, held up by big sign posts, which were barely big enough for my lock. I attached the front wheel (not much bike stripping by hikers in rural New Hampshire from what I can tell), locked the bike, and ran back to the car, which attracted some interest from the only vehicle which passed during this whole charade, mainly because I had left all four doors wide open.
I then began the drive to trace my later bike ride when I finished hiking. It may have been five minutes longer than the most direct route on paved roads, but it would be nice knowing what I had to bike (especially if I had to do some of it in the dark, a possibility for which I was prepared, but which I did not want to occur). The first downhill was pretty long, but the road then rolled southwards along the west side of the Pack Monadnock to 101. The climb from there up to the pass on 101 was short, as was the descent to Old Peterborough Road, which was not paved (but good dirt). It was nice, easy driving from there, down across 123/124 to Mount Watatic. I had a drawn out map in my pocket, which was accurate, but I likely wouldn't need it.
The Wapack Trail is one of the oldest point-to-point trails around. The early trails in New England laid out for hiking are in the Whites, where several paths up the Presidentials were built in the early and mid 1800s. The first rumblings of the Long Trail were in 1910 and it was complete 20 years later. Discussion about the Appalachian Trail only really started in 1923. By that time, the Wapack Trail was under construction by a trio of farmers from the region, Albert Annett, Marion Davis and Frank Robbins. Thus, according to an article in Appalachia (which is only available in entirety in print) it was the first interstate hiking trail, and quite possibly the first laid out and cut by a woman. At that time the Long Trail was around, but not an interstate trail, and the AT had not yet been built.
The name for the trail is interesting itself. While it sounds like a indigenous name, it is not — rather it is an amalgamation of two native words, or parts thereof. It takes the Wa from the southern terminus of Mount Watatic and the Pack from the northern terminus of Pack Monadnock (Pack, in the native language, means little), to get the name. The mountain range it traverses was originally known as the Boundary Range but quickly adopted the name from the trail to become the Wapack Range. It is as if the Appalachian Mountains were named after termini of the Appalachian Trail, but if that were the case, the eastern North American highlands would be called the Springatah or Kataspring, or perhaps owing to the early southern terminus at Mount Oglethorpe, the Katagle. That doesn't have the same ring, does it?
The trail used to climb straight up Mount Watatic but now climbs the southern flank. I passed the old trailhead, banged a U-ey, inquired a jogger who pointed me in the right direction up the road. I parked and hit the trail, bike shoes stashed in my overfilled pack, just a bit after 8:00. The trail crosses a low spot (intersecting the Mid State Trail) before turning and climbing up the side of Watatic. There were some folks coming down from what must have been a sunrise trip, and when I got to the top, the sun was well above the horizon, which included several hills and downtown Boston, 48 miles away. The trail then hangs a U-turn, and heads along a ski trail, enters the woods, and runs northwest along a ridge, dropping slowly but steadily and soon reaching an old woods road at another rocky summit. The road becomes less and less rough, good for some jogging, and comes out in to a big, open clearing which seems to see some use by local hoodlums for partying. It takes a left on Binney Hill Road, goes down, takes a right near a house, and runs back in to the woods.
The trail reaches Binney Pond, where it crosses on a couple of wooden bridges. It then follows the shore of the pond, which was nice with the changing leaves. The trail is marked with yellow triangles, which I found a bit harder to pick up than the white blazes which I am somewhat used to. New yellow blazes do stand out well, but older ones are a good deal harder to pick out as they blend in to the surrounding foliage. Perhaps it is because I am so accustomed to looking for white, and perhaps yellow is used because the trail can be used in winter as well, when white is a lot harder to follow. I did not, however, lose the trail at any point.
After Binney Pond, the trail rises 500 feet quite abruptly and then traverses several summits along a ridge. There is mostly easy walking, with some rock outcrops with fine views, especially of Grand Monadnock to the west, which looms on the skyline, and the spine of the Southern Greens (Glastenbury and Stratton and others) to the west. The trail gets to the top of Barrett Mountain (an appropriate song was sung) where it crosses the first of many of Windblown's ski trails. There are many signs for the trails, including a couple which say "Wapack Trail, Not For Skiers" which confused the heck out of me, since I was standing there dressed to the nines (as a skier at least) in, amongst other things, the leg spandex that I did not permanently borrow from Macalester. But I moved on down the hill and along many of the ski paths, which I have been on several times in the winter, and never seen in their grassy/trail state.
The trail crosses a minor bump at Windblown and then descends to Route 123/124, the first paved road crossing. I was averaging a bit more than three miles per hour, and would get to the end by around 3:00 pm at that rate. I found the path across the road and went through the woods before cutting across a homemade ski slope, complete with a rope tow and a vertical drop of perhaps 120 feet (half of Nashoba Valley). The trail then goes back in to the woods, and crosses a set of power lines before following an old road. It turns right on a dirt road, which passes a dammed pond and soon peters out; the trail follows the old road bed. Soon it is routed off of the road due to beaver activity. They have used the old road's old bridge, augmented with some of their own wood, to create a decent beaver pond. Engineers indeed. The trail soon reaches Temple Road where it begins a half mile road walk to the base of Temple Mountain.
Temple Mountain has steep southern cliffs, but the trail climbs along the ridge, so while it makes for a good workout, the climb is rather gradual. Up top, there is a lot of easy trail walking/running punctuated by some areas of open rock, which are also good for trail running or walking. There are some impressive stone walls (the area was surely once all pastureland, as the constant walls attest) as the trail follows Temple Mountain towards Pack Monadnock. This section of trail is more scenic and accessable than the southern section, and I saw many more people. Or perhaps it was just later in the morning and more folks were out for a stroll. The trail crests Temple Mountain and heads down the mostly abandoned ski slope there, generally following an access road but at times ducking off on to the old trails, which are quickly growing in with dense stands of young birch.
Route 101, at the base of the mountain, had a lane coned off and a cop sitting at the top, presumably for crowd control for the leaf peepers wishing to drive (or maybe hike) up Pack Monadnock, which has a road to the top (which would be fun to rollerski up, and deadly to come down). There was no traffic, other than through vehicles whizzing by at 50, but I found a break and ran across. The trail enters the woods and then immediately crosses the Pack road before climbing rather steeply over a scramble of rocks strewn about as the glaciers retreated. It is the most difficult portion of the trail, albeit just a heart-pumping rock hop for me. It is also the most traveled portion of the trail, necessitating endless mumbles of "excuse me" as I ran up. Needless to say, I was not passed by anyone on this or any other section of the trail. I even impressed some novices as I ran off through the woods. The trail levels off and goes over a couple of humps before finally winding around, and to, the summit.
It was packed. There were cars circling looking for parking. There was hawk watching nearby which clogged things up further. A lot of the "hikers" were probably people deterred by the lack of parking up top. I wanted to catch the view from the fire tower, so I climbed up, only to be joined by at least a half dozen people. I snapped a couple pictures, but realized that there would be just as good viewing from North Pack (no road) and that it would be much less crowded. Claustrophobia set in. One little kid was cute, telling me that we must be 100 feet up (I told him it was a lot closer to 20), and then saying "I bet I can see my town from here!" I asked where he lived — North Andover — and told him I bet he could. Then I asked if he (or anyone) could see Boston, and when none could, pointed out the Pru and Hancock and other buildings on the horizon, to scattered oohs and aahs. But it was way too crowded for me, so I scampered down, warning more people that it was full and they should wait, and ran through the parking lot, by the hawk spotters and back in to the woods.
Having hiked about 18 miles, my legs were beginning to feel it. I was able to keep running at a pretty good clip, and traversed the ridge to North Pack Monadnock, which has an open summit, clear views, and only had a few people on it. I stood atop the peak and looked at the view, which was great. Boston was visible 54 miles to the southeast, as were all the other features around (clockwise): the Blue Hills (60 miles distant), Wachusett (25), Greylock (68), Glastenbury (61), Stratton (55), perhaps Killington (70), Ascutney (49), Sunapee (32), Cardigan (54), Kearsarge (36), and the spine of the Whites, from Moosilauke (80) across the Sandwich Range (75-80). Peaking up behind the Sandwich Range was a higher peak, which could only have been Mount Washington, just 102 miles away. East of the Whites were Belknap (51), the Uncanoonucs (16) and Pawtuckaways (38). Massachusetts was flat and featureless, except for the Boston skyline.
I didn't linger. It was now a race against the clock, as the time neared 2:45. I wasn't worried about biking in the dark, but did want to halve book time. The AMC uses a formula of 30 minutes per mile plus 30 minutes per 1000 feet of elevation gain. I had about 25 minutes to make 1.6 miles in order to halve that over my journey. There were a few tricky ledges, but once down them I was able to jog in to the finish, arriving at about five past three, about 6:50 after I had left Watatic. That's fifteen minute miles, plus 15 minutes for each 1000 feet gained. In raw speed terms, 3 1/6 mph. But not bad for a trail run/hike, especially including several breaks for food and scenery.
And I was not quite done. I had 20 miles left to bike. In retrospect, I had a chosen a slightly longer route than I could have. I am rationalizing it as utilizing very few main roads, but in reality I just didn't pick the absolute shortest road line. No matter. I unlocked my bike, pulled a Mister Rogers (changed my shoes), repacked my bag, and set off. There is a rule of thumb for training that one mile on foot is equivalent to four on a bike. Following that, I had done the equivalent of an 86 mile bike ride, and was about to tack on another 20.
Once I stopped running, I got chilly, and threw on my shell for the ride. Down the first hill I began to worry that my tire was losing air, but the whoosh turned out to be the 39 mile per hour drag blasting through my hair as I bumped over the uneven pavement. I found the bottom of the hill, took a left, and started up what was a rather grueling climb. In the morning, under the gas pedal, I hadn't noticed the hills which my momentum would not carry me up. I stopped for a snack, and then started pounding up, dropping in to the granny gear several times. The road climbed from 985 feet to about 1300, followed with a much-needed decent, before the final push, in very low gear (with tired legs) to Route 101, and its summit south of Pack Monadnock at 1480 feet. Perhaps, had I realized the 500 foot climb, I would have reconsidered and taken a shorter, flatter route.
My heart as pounding and I ran through the gears as I passed over the summit where the traffic control was picking up the cones, content that the leaf peepers were leaving for the day. I was soon in my highest gear, blasting down Route 101 at traffic speed, still spinning at 44 mph (and thinking about dropping in between the cars since I was matching their speed) and having a blast when there was a sharp twang in my right leg. It cramped badly, and I stopped pedaling, pedaled backwards to loosen it up, and coasted, glad that I was not on a fixed-gear, pedal-or-die contraption. I had to slow to turn on to a side road which would serve as a short cut, made the turn at about 25, and hit the downhill dirt road. It was well graded, and I pedaled easily to the bottom, turned right on to Route 45 to Temple. The road wound, downhill, through a bit of a ravine, and I sped up, flying through the town of Temple (which someone had the sense to build on a downhill) at 35-38, considerably above the 30 mph speed limit. Yee haw.
I had remembered the road which forked off in Temple as being a nice, downhill cruise, and for a couple miles I was right. Of course, I had my comeuppance when, after passing a bog, I had to drop down to the granny gear again to climb past a nunnery (and try not to hit the nun out for a stroll in the middle of the road, and also try not to make too many nun jokes). I got another free ride down in to the hamlet of New Ipswich. At this point, I was pretty well beat, and had about eight miles to ride. I passed through town and by the Barrett House, a rambling colonial manse built in 1800, or so. Earlier, crossing Barrett Mountain, I had boomed Barrett's Privateers, but now I could hardly summon the breath and was promptly greeted by a hill. I tried my darndest, but all that came out was "Oh, the year was gasp, gasp, gasp seventeen seventy-eightgasp, gasp, gasp, a letter of — damn, I'll wait for the downhill. Which I did.
The downgrade came soon enough, on the mostly-dirt Willard Road, for a bit more than a mile, enough to coast down whilst singing. I made a right at the bottom, rolling on to old Massachusetts. As I crossed the border, I saw two people biking the other direction, both on rather ratty cycles, one with a (small) cooler strapped to the front, and another biking awkwardly with a huge backpack. It made my pack look tiny, and as he bobbed and weaved up a small hill, it made him look like a fool. I turned in to Massachusetts (to my knowledge, the first time I have ever biked across a state line — something I've done by foot, car, plane, train and boat) and was greeted by yet another hill, entailing curses as my legs painfully complied with the orders to go up and down. There was one more hill on Route 119 before I arrived, totally spent, at the car. Hiking 20 miles and then jumping on a bike to bike 20 miles is definitely not an easy endeavor.
It was just after 5:00, and I plotted my route down through Fitchburg and across, by chance, the very cool Arthur DiTommaso cable-stayed bridge, on to Route 2, and home for a very sore evening.
For more information on the peaks I've climbed, see my 4000 footer page.
Oh, yeah, and I hiked the Appalachian Trail in 2006.
And I have a homepage, too.
Copyright Ari Ofsevit, 2007. All rights reserved. For usage permission, email myfirstname.mylastname[at]gmail[dot]com. Code for Topo and DOQ from Tom Dunigan