Carter Notch Hut - Winter 1986 - The Ramparts

Exploring the Ramparts in Winter

I had a lower bunk in a room for six, three bunk beds. Each bunk had a thin army-style mattress. I lit my candle lantern and hung the cylinder on a nail above the bed. A candle lantern is a good light, it was a warm friendly light, and there were no batteries to run down in the cold. I had a good zero-degree rated large-sized mummy bag; I slept in my long underwear, fleece sweater, hat and gloves, and down booties; I would be fine. But I knew that others in the group were pushing the envelope in regards to the quality of their sleeping bags; perhaps some were using a thirty-degree bag they had camped with and slept in on past trips out in the “cold”. It is hard to explain to someone the difference in sleeping when the temperature is forty-five degrees, and then sleeping comfortably when the temperature is zero degrees, you have to experience it for yourself to understand. But the hut had extra wool blankets around and we enjoyed solid shelter from the wind and wet. In a real emergency, there was the common area and the first aid of the AMC hut masters; no one’s life would be in danger. Experience gained in the mountains is a dear teacher, indeed.

I slept with five in one room, and the other four slept next door in a room with two bunk beds. Falling off to sleep in a dry secure bed while listening to a storm rage outside is one of the great pleasures of camping in the mountains. I love the sound of the wind raging over the peaks, what an adventure and what fun. Having to pack in a winter tent, sleeping pad, food, stove and fuel, as well be able to set up and survive out in this weather, was far above and beyond the capabilities of this group, but tonight was just right. We had made our way into the hut before the worst of the storm hit and then enjoyed a fine hot dinner as we shared drinks and stories. Now, with the exhaustion that comes from a long day of driving and a long climb in the snow, as a winter storm howled and shook the building, I blew out the candle and fell into a deep sleep.

I awoke in the darkness and looked at my watch, 4:30 AM. I do not wear a watch normally, but when camping I want to know what time it is if I wake up in the night. The wind was still blowing, only not as forcefully. The air was cold and stuffy with the doors and windows shut tight and packed with blowing snow; the oxygen level was probably growing low from all the heavy and exhausted breathing. I decided to get up to take a pee and let some fresh air into the room. I climbed out of my bag into the cold shock of the room and, grabbing my small flashlight, walked to the door and opened it. The snowdrift on the outside against the screen door was four feet high! I let out a yell and a laugh. I grabbed the straw broom that sat in each room and, pushing on the screen door, began the process of sweeping the light drifting snow out from the doorway. In a minute, the screen door was open, and I made a small path to the railing where I urinated and covered the mark up with snow from a sweep of the broom. It was cold and dark, no stars were visible, and it was impossible to tell if the blowing snow in the light of the small flashlight was from the storm or just blowing around in the wind. The fresh air cleared my head. I came back inside and returned to the warmth of my bag.

In a few minutes, I heard a noise from the room next door as someone else rose to discover the drifted snow on the deck of the bunkhouse. When the sky turned to light gray from black, I got up, put on my boots, and made my way out the door to stand on the deck and inspect the scene. Snow now completely filled in the depressions where the trails once were and new snow was everywhere. I went back inside and put on my gaiters, grabbed my parka, and headed for the common room. I was the first person to make tracks in the new snow that now filled the existing depression that was the trail.

Entering the outer door I quietly stomped my feet on the grate and went inside through the inner portal to feel the relative warmth of the common area. The stove was out and the hut was much cooler now than last night when we left, but still much warmer than the plywood bunkhouse. I put on water to boil and got my food bag down from where I had left it on a shelf the night before. I removed a large insulated coffee mug with a snap on cover from the bag, my cone coffee dripper, a number 2 filter, and a Ziploc filled with dark and rich fresh ground Italian Roast. The coffee smelled sweet and luxurious. In a flash, the coffee was in the filter, the filter in the dripper, the dripper on the cup as I watched and waited for the water to boil. I made a quart of lemonade and got out two packages of flavored instant oatmeal that I opened and poured into a bowl. A blast of steam from the kettle showed that the water was ready; I was soon seated and enjoying a cold glass of juice with hot oatmeal and a good cup of coffee.

Soon, everyone was down cooking and eating, and the hut warmed up as well. MB and Frank asked about exploring the notch and the rock formations called the Ramparts; I said I was up for a little exploration. Tom and Gloria came out of their room and under the urging of everyone filled us in on the events of the previous night. Tom met the people from Pinkham about halfway down the trail. A hiking group had started up late in the day and they were soon floundering in the deep snow and the dark, making it to the halfway point. Someone pulled a muscle and after stopping, consumption of alcohol out in the storm while sweaty and tired was leading to hypothermia. Someone went back for help and drove to Pinkham. I guess Pinkham staff knew the people, and it had happened before. Pinkham staff took the injured man down on the litter and Tom returned to the hut, arriving back after 2:00 AM.

Most were content to stay in the common area and spend the day reading the hut journals and other memorabilia that was everywhere around the common room. You could choose between novels, games, and magazines as well. Others would explore the immediate area around the hut and the lakes. I made a small lunch of a bagel and peanut butter, a thermos of hot coffee and dark rum, and some chocolate break. The three of us then headed up to the bunkhouse and made up our daypacks.

We worked our way down to where the Wildcat River Trail plunged down the far side of the notch. From there we worked our way north through the jumbled rock of the Ramparts. Exploring was rough going. For all the snow that had fallen during the night, most of it had blown off of the exposed and ice covered rocks of the Ramparts. We worked our way up towards Carter Dome and explored various places that gave us shelter from the wind. The day was very cold and although it was no longer snowing, plenty of drifting snow was blowing around. The footing was treacherous and the progress was slow. From time to time, we got views of a tortured winter sky, Pulpit Rock, the peak of Wildcat A, and to the west, Carter Notch itself. We worked up a sweat and then took shelter, so we never spent too much time exposed to the boreal wind that tore through the notch. In the early afternoon, the sky cleared a bit and we could see back towards the bunkhouses.

We continued on our way up and around the notch until we emerged at the north end of the lake, enjoying the winter scene as the wind drove wisps of snow hither and yon across the frozen expanse of the mountain pond. We explored the frozen tarn and the shore, and finally started back to the hut in the early afternoon.

We walked in to find Jimmy sitting at a table partying with the rest of the group. So, he had come up alone to join us after all, just as he said he would. Other guests were present now as well, people who came up after the storm, but the hut was nowhere near the 40-hiker occupancy of most weekends in winter.

The new guests were good company, we shared with them and they returned the favor. The agenda was now set, a party of major proportions would occur as everyone at the hut prepared for dinner and the cocktail hour. We were heading back to reality tomorrow and saw no need to hold back, nor was there any reason to carry anything back down the trail that we could all share and enjoy tonight. Outside, the sky grew dark and the wind blew; inside the hut we settled into drinks and appetizers, experiencing the joy of the common room and a shared adventure as we celebrated being alive.

Carter Notch from the Ramparts		Winter in the Ramparts
MB and Frank		MB and Frank, cold and windy
View towards Carter Dome		View towards bunkhouse and Wildcat A
MB		Wildcat River Trail drop-off

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