Winter Night at Hermit Lake

Winter Night at Hermit Lake

A special visit to Tuckerman's Ravine

It was the winter of '86 or '87, and the White Mountain days were cold and short, when four of us made a one-night trip up into Tuckerman Ravine. We had reservations to stay at Hermit Lake Shelters, a group of Adirondack open face lean-tos situated near the ravine and just below the steep ridge leading up to the Lions Head. We knew it would be cold, but at least we had protection from the elements. No matter how bad it got at night, the car was only a couple of hours away down the trail at Pinkham Notch. In our group were Al Woods, John Tesson, Bill Haddad, and myself.
 
We started out on the trail from Pinkham just before noon. Here at 2300’ of elevation, it was windy and cloudy with the temperature in the low twenties, and a little bit of snow was falling. The trail was a mix of hard packed snow and ice, and traction was difficult at times. The falling snow began to cover the ice, and that made the going even more difficult. We were not in any rush, however, we had plenty of daylight and we were carrying heavy packs. We slowly plodded our way up through the snow, and all of us were warm from the exertion.
 
We passed the junction where the Huntington Ravine Trail diverged right; farther up the trail, we stopped on one of the wide wooden walkways erected where the trail spanned a frozen brook. The snow had stopped and the sky was beginning to clear, and with that came the cold. We enjoyed a short break; off to the east we could see the peaks of Wildcat Mountain and the Carter-Moriah Range to its north. We soon donned our packs and continued up the trail towards the ravine. At a little over two miles, the Raymond Path diverged right for the Auto Road, and the Tuckerman Ravine Trail turned hard left and headed for the ravine. The hanging cliffs of the Boott Spur rose up before us as we made our way to the AMC building.
 
The Appalachian Mountain Club staffed a facility here year round. The facility master could coordinate rescue efforts or other activities in the ravine, and they could support and manage the open face shelters that were spaced in a circle through the spruce around Hermit Lake. The AMC building stood about 3800’ in elevation, and it had a panoramic view of the little headwall and of the giant glacial cirque above that formed Tuckerman Ravine proper; the great bowl of the ravine now filled with snow. At our left the cliffs rose up to 5500’ at the Boott Spur, and to our right rose the ridge leading to the Lions Head. The summit of Mt Washington, not visible from here, was more than a mile and a half away, high above the headwall of the ravine. We stopped at the observation deck outside the AMC building, and I went in to register with the facility master. He checked my name against the reservation list and directed us to the last shelter, a secluded structure that looked out to the east towards Wildcat.
 
We made our way down the trail towards the shelter. Reaching the end, we stepped up the long wooden steps and soon stood on the wooden floor of the shelter. This was it, Spartan at best. It was a rectangle with a flat wooden floor big enough for eight. The opening faced away from the ravine and toward the east, and the short sidewalls continued around on each side so that the opening was not quite one complete length of a long side. A peaked and slanted roof continued over the opening and gave protection from all but the most driven precipitation. Inside, a wooden shelf about a foot deep, stood about three and a half feet above the floor and traveled the length of the back and side walls.
 
We dropped our packs and propped them against the wall. A couple guys were not sure of what to do; this winter hiking was a new experience. I pulled out a complete change of clothes and got down to it. I pulled off my tops until I was down to skin and shivering in the wind, and put on a light polypro top and quickly donned a fleece jacket over that. A dry fleece hat quickly followed. I took off my boots and stripped off my pants and underwear; letting them fall at my feet. I then pulled on a dry pair of polypro underwear and put on a pair of heavy wool pants. I sat on the steps and pulled off my socks that were also wet from sweat. I quickly pulled dry liners and wool socks onto my feet and laced up my boots. A dry pair of wool gloves completed the change. For the most part, the others followed suit. I knew that those who kept wet cotton underwear on, or damp socks, would pay for it later on. I gathered up my wet and damp clothes and put them in a plastic bag; I did not want them to freeze solid hanging on a nail in the cold, that would make packing them up tomorrow to leave a problematic exercise.
 
We pulled out a couple of backpacking stoves and in a few minutes, everyone had a large mug of hot chocolate laced with peppermint schnapps. An insulated covered coffee mug was on the list of requirements for the trip, and everyone had brought one. We left our shelter and walked back to the ravine and the observation deck by the AMC building. The deck had a wooden railing around it and, attached to that, a wide wooden bench for sitting. We sat down with our drinks and I smoked a cigar as we watched the ravine grow dark. As it was, with the ravine open to the east and the cliffs towering around us, darkness came to the ravine quickly on a winter afternoon. Along with the darkness came the cold. We checked the thermometer on the side of the AMC building; it read 8 degrees. I, for one, was very comfortable. With a complete change of dry clothes, and a warm and fortifying drink, I was totally at ease as the ravine took on a deeper and darker hue, its colors traveling from blue to purple and almost to black; the snow mottled cliffs towering about us. Up in the darkness of Tuckerman’s I could hear the sharp cracking sound of ice fracturing, and a softer slurring sound made by small slides of snow and ice coming down the steep sides of the ravine.
 
Someone asked when dinner was, and that was the only impetus we needed. We left the deck and headed back to our shelter. We lit a couple of candle lanterns and prepared to get dinner ready. I had a plastic bag full of julienne onions and peppers, and another bag loaded with thin strips of sirloin that were marinated and spiced. Others produced pita bread and cheese, and a plastic container of light olive oil. A large bag of potato chips appeared. We had two backpacking frying pans that we used to cook up the steak and vegetables, and to toast the pocket bread with cheese. We ladled the steak and veggies into the hot pockets of melted cheese and poured out four glasses of fine cabernet. Following that, everyone got down to the serious business of eating a hot dinner outside in the mountains in winter. We ate our fill of the delicious meal standing there at the shelf, the dinner elegantly lit by the soft light of the candle lanterns. John spilled some wine onto the shelf; it rolled towards the edge and stopped, coagulated by the cold.
 
After dinner we cleaned up, which amounted to no more than wiping the pans out with a paper towel. Then we had chocolate and made some more hot drinks. We headed out towards the ravine with our drinks in hand. The crunch of the snow beneath our feet had a new sound and feel to it. We went to the thermometer at the AMC building; it now read 6 degrees below zero. It was indeed colder. We walked around and explored in the dark, and just enjoyed the experience of the wildness about us. Eventually, it was time to retire.
 
We went back to the shelter and made a last hot drink. It was too cold to do anything other than get in your sleeping bag. I put out my thermal sleeping bag pad, and got my sleeping bag spread out on top of it. I took off my boots and, after putting them into a plastic bag, I pushed them into the bottom of my sleeping bag where they would not freeze. I climbed in with a water bottle at my side, also to keep it from freezing. With a loaded stuff-sack for a pillow, and wearing my hat and gloves, I quickly succumbed to the rigors of the day and drifted off to sleep. It was not yet 10:00pm.
 
I awoke in the darkness of the lean-to sometime during the night; something was different, I could not put my finger on it. I turned on a small light to look at my watch; it was almost 4:50am. Outside the shelter, I thought I could see the sky lightening above the ridge to the east. I heard Al softly call my name. Looking over towards him in the dark, I asked quietly, “What’s up?”
 
“I think it’s warmer,” Al replied. “The wind feels warmer, too.”
 
He was right. I got up to relieve myself; it was decidedly warmer, markedly warmer. I looked at a little travel thermometer that attached to a zipper on my pack; it read twenty-eight degrees. Now that might not seem too warm, but it was thirty-four degrees warmer than six below, and it felt like a major heat wave. What a great surprise. I celebrated by getting water boiling and putting coffee in my dripper. Soon, we were all up and awake, and a breakfast of instant oatmeal and toasted bagels with peanut butter quickly followed. Making another coffee, we went up to the AMC building to watch the morning light bring life to the ravine. The thermometer there said it was almost thirty degrees. It felt like heaven.
 
Later that morning we packed up to go. We had all survived and, together, had enjoyed an incredible night in the mountains. In winter, we had seen and experienced some of the most amazing mountain scenery in the northeast. We had stayed warm, eaten well, and shared a laugh throughout. We headed back down the trail towards Pinkham and our car, passing others who were climbing up to begin their adventure in the ravine.
 
Over the years, I have related the story of that night in Tuckerman Ravine many times to many different people. Every time I tell it, I try to convey the wonder and the joy of being in that shelter on the side of Mt Washington that winter morning, experiencing that incredible winter heat wave.