Backpacking the Presidential Traverse

Dates: August 17-19, 2025

With: Kate, Gavin, Pat, Reid

Locations: White Mountains NF - Presidential Range, Mt. Washington State Park, Franconia Notch State Park

Total: 25mi, +/-11,828 elevation, 3 days
Peaks: 19, including 12 on the New Hampshire 4000ers list.

As promised in the Pemi Loop closing arguments, Kate and I needed to find a way to pull off the famous Presidential Traverse before she left New Hampshire. (Mis)fortune swung our way when our planned trip to Isle Royale with my Brighton boys fell through due to ferry sellouts in our planned week at the end of August. Simultaneously, Kate got a job offer in Houston and was about to become a Texan again, so we needed to move her down. These tetris pieces lined up nicely for me to fly to NH instead of MI, backpack a quick presidential traverse, and then road trip with her all the way from Lebanon, NH to Houston, TX. The road trip will be a post of its own, but the backpacking was the truly exciting last hurrah for a state and mountains that had been so wonderful to us. We invited the boys out, and Gavin, Pat, and Reid were able to make the trip. With 6 weeks of prep time to train, acquire gear, etc.

And so it was that on Aug 15, we found the group all together in the living room of Kate's Lebanon house, preparing for possibly the most famous hike in New Hampshire. Compared to our Pemi Loop experience, I did expect this to be much easier and felt that Kate and I had dialed in our gear and food systems to the point that packing wasn't even a little difficult. On the other hand, Reid and Gavin had not backpacked for about 10 years, and none of the three had their gear list quite as practiced and efficient as they might have liked. Oh well!

Day 0: New Faces in New England

I flew into Boston as the guys were making their way toward the East. A lovely drive around town on the packing day showed the guys some quintessential New England sights: covered bridges, leaves starting to tinge orange, and white-sided churches and old homes. We stopped by Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller National Historical Park to take a stroll around the mansion and gardens on the grounds.

After a couple relaxing days of helping Kate get her things gathered and packed for the move, we had a group gear review session and weigh-in. Final pack weights: Jack/28, Kate/30, Patrick/36, Reid/45, Gavin/48. During the packing process Gavin (wisely) decided to keep his weight down by leaving his heavy Sony A7IV camera setup behind in favor of his phone and insta360. I couldn't convince Reid to stick with just one lens for his Sony a6700 setup- the man needed his wildlife telephoto lens in case we saw an animal. Patrick on the other hand had somehow achieved a very reasonable pack weight despite having the bulkiest pack, and deciding he needed to carry an entire box of wine - 3L of it at a whopping 7 lbs! He also refused to use trekking poles, assuming we were just talking nonsense with warnings about how rocky and brutal the trail would be. His knees would soon learn otherwise.

Day 1: Stairway to Hell

Stats: 8.1 mi, +4762/-2092' elevation, 8 hours
Peaks: Mt Madison, Mt Adams

A relatively relaxed start to the day got our two cars to the Presidential range at about 11am following a two hour drive. We passed through Franconia Notch with its granite bluffs, almost Yosemite-esque in grandeur. Along the way Kate and I pointed out every tree with any orange/red leaves and gleefully exclaimed "FALL!!!" We stashed Reid's car at the south (Jackson-Webster) trailhead and then piled into Kate's car to get to the north (Appalachian/Valley way) trailhead.

From the valley way trailhead the first 3.5 miles are among the worst of the entire trail (refer to the elevation profile above for an idea of this). A relentless march uphill gains about 3500 feet, keeping a very steady and tiring grade of 1000ft/mile. The midday heat in this forested section was pretty oppressive, humidity coming from the plants and stifling us in sweat. We were taking frequent water breaks but the heat, grade, and endless boulder step-ups were taking a toll. By the time we reached the top of this climb, at the Madison Springs Hut, Reid was in real need of a break.

Madison Springs Hut sits at a seasonal pondsite below the jumbled boulder field that comprises Mt. Madison. As we approached it, we finally emerged from the trees that had pressed us in during the whole ascent. We could see some white but thick clouds moving horizontally right at us, and a stiff breeze was setting up.Not about to be cowed and miss the first summit of the trip, we deposited Reid at a table in the hut with instructions to eat and drink, and the rest of us set up scrambling to beat the clouds to the peak.

Tough going on the boulders got tougher as the clouds did indeed beat us, engulfing everything in a thick fog and limiting visibility to about 50 feet. We kept on though, with no sign of dangerous weather yet. The fog/clouds made an eerily insulated world for us to exist in, and Gavin recorded the scramble on his insta360. Only half an hour later, we stood on the loose summit, with two cairns barely visible from each other. A quick selfie and we were out of there, eager to get back to the hut.

Unfortunately, the rain did truly arrive as we descended, first coming in a cold sprinkle and then a genuine shower. It eased off briefly, prompting Kate to say "it's not so bad, this is actually kind of nice!" This of course prompted a jinx from the universe- the second she finished the sentence, the rain came back in driving sheets of ice cold drops that soaked us all through by the time we'd gotten back down. Reid greeted us looking warm and dry as I threw on layers to warm back up. His cheer wasn't long for this world though, as we set out from the hut at about 3:30PM with 3-4 more miles to camp.

Stepping out the door of the cozy hut into more sheeting mist was immediately unpleasant. We followed a sign to Mt. Adams, our next summit en route to the day's camp which I (foolishly) hoped to reach before dark. The trail was a narrow rocky path between claustrophobic bushes, and any views of Mt Adams and Madison were entirely obliterated by the heavy cloud we found ourselves walking through.

As the rain got heavier, our footing got worse, and did so right as we crossed onto the boulder field that would take us up the rest of Adams. Vegetation disappeared and so did "trail," leaving me routefinding the least painful way up a steep slide of endless slippery rocks and debris. Just when I thought we'd topped out on that, the flat section that had fooled me into thinking that gave way to seemingly impassable rock walls rising into the mist above us like something from Lord of the Rings. Spotting a faint blue blaze painted next to a hand sized crack in a natural gully of the wall, I realized our way forward was to go UP. Despite our heavy packs and the fact that nobody else had really scrambled terrain like this (which was definitely third class), we had to do it before it got even darker and stormier. I lead the way, pointing out hand and footholds as the group bravely followed. Despite the relative insanity of the situation, everyone handled it with great spirits and in a safe manner. I sat atop a large boulder at the top of the crack system, feeling a lot like Gollum as I encouraged them to do the final tricky step over a gap while gripping a solid rock handhold above their heads for purchase.

Finally, a small amount of boulder hopping lead us to the summit. A signpost was barely visible here through thick torrents of rain and blowing mist. As I walked up to the sign thinking I might get a moment of joy from achieving the summit in such grisly conditions, 40-50mph winds gusting over the ridgeline from the other side blasted me in the face, nearly blowing me over. The others came up, but were starting to look worse for the wear now and the wind knifing through all their layers of clothing was no help. Pat was bringing up the rear because with no poles he was constantly slipping and taking increasingly bad falls. I gave him my pole and pushed the group on, knowing only getting to camp would spare us from this torture.

Quickly we spotted out some cairns and began to follow, but they diverged into two paths and my phone was so wet and fingers so cold I was having extreme difficulty even getting it unlocked to look at the GPS track I was following on CalTopo. Luckily as we descended we naturally gained shelter from the wind, but the damage of the cold and wet was already done. I was shivering and cold through my core, with totally soaked pants, shoes, gloves, and clinging to dryness in my torso for dear life. I tried to hustle down but when I looked back, I would find myself alone and have to scramble back up to stick with the group. Kate was shepherding a very cold Reid and a very stumbling Pat down the hill, while Gavin was bridging them to me to keep anyone from getting lost. At long last we rejoined with the main trail, which was blissfully flatter (although still made of rocks).

With just about 2 miles to camp, I still thought we'd get there by dark, but the trail had another cruel twist for us. We split off from the main AT and took a spur down to the Perch where we would camp, and the trail became an endless series of downward boulder steps. The rain had let off, but a thick mist encompassed all and the group continued to slow even more as falls, slips, trips, and exhaustion overtook weary legs. We reentered the treeline and it became dark enough to pull out headlamps, but like car brights the headlamps reflected back brightness from the impenetrable fog, making vision blurred and all but useless. I took charge of Reid and Kate took Pat, and we proceeded on a painful trudge through the inky darkness that seemed to last FOR EVER. There was a genuine fog of war effect, where my sphere of awareness was probably 5 feet before light and noise got muffled and faded away. It was truly oppressive.

Finally at 8:30 we arrived at camp, having traveled 8 miles in a brutal 9 hours. Everyone was soaked through and shivering, and the wind and fog continued to press us. Like other tentsites of the AT, the Perch had wooden platforms anchored into the sloped hillside, and a 3-sided wooden shelter. Quickly probing around I found out all the tentsites were already taken and the caretaker was nowhere to be found. Luckily, the shelter was unoccupied other than gear hung up to dry. 

We crowded in and quickly got into dry clothes, hanging up our raincoats, packs, clothes, shoes, etc to "dry". I was still shivering so stacked all my layers and pulled out my down quilt to sit in as we cooked dinner. Spirits began to return with hot food and our warmest clothes on, but exhaustion was too far ahead of any second wind we could get. We all laid out our pads and bags and crawled in to nurture every bit of warmth we had. Gavin had the brilliant idea of taking the tarp off his/Reid/Pat's tent and stringing it up over the open side of the shelter, which thankfully held back the bone-chilling wind that was trying to get in.

With about half the total uphill and 1/3 of the total miles for the trip done, I was cautiously optimistic the group would find its sea legs tomorrow, but I also knew we had 10-11 miles to do compared to today's 8, so an early start was paramount. Setting alarms for 6am, I hunkered down fully in my quilt to regain strength from the near hypothermia. There would be time to argue about what went wrong later, but for now sleep was the most important thing.

Day 2: Escape from Mt. Washington

Stats: 12.6 mi, +4046/-4553' elevation, 11 hours
Peaks: Mt Jefferson, Mt Clay, Mt Washington, Mt Monroe, West Monroe, Mt Franklin, Mt Eisenhower, Mt Pierce, South Pierce

Alarms blaring woke me at 6am, with the first of the dawn light creeping into the shelter. It was very chilly out, making leaving the warmth of my quilt a herculean feat. Kate and Gavin also roused from the alarms, but Pat and Reid slept resolutely through them as we started packing up and firing the stoves to prep oatmeal and coffee to warm us. Finally we had to force the sleepyboys awake to get a start on our day. With temps dipping into the low 40s overnight, the comfort rating on 32 degree bags is pretty close to its limit, so it hadn't been as restful as I hoped for the guys in their lighter duty sleep kits. By the time we had eaten, packed, and filtered 3L of fresh water for everyone from the freezing waterfall just past the shelter, it was 8am when we started hiking again. 

Backtracking uphill was slow going immediately, and though the fog and darkness had lifted the slips and trips remained. Rather than go straight uphill we followed a contour around the north face of Mt Adams to rejoin the Randolph path just below a trail junction that would take us to the next peak on the list: Mt. Jefferson.

It was just 2 miles from camp to Mt. Jefferson, but the pace was immediately dropping and it took 2 hours to get here. At that speed and with the terrain I knew lay ahead, we would be hiking until well after dark. We knew it was time to start making strategic decisions and started here - Kate and I would go over Mt. Jefferson to tag the summit, and the guys would avoid the extra 500 feet of elevation gain on talus fields by following the main trail that simply traverses around the mountain on a relatively flat profile. We would meet up on the other side of the mountain, at "Monticello lawn."

Scenes from the traverse to Monticello

The 500-foot gain to the top of Jefferson went by in a boulder-scrambling blink. It was very windy at the top, and Kate and I dumped our packs at a small junction to make the final climb to the top of a perched block where the wind was blowing hard enough to push me around. We snapped a selfie and looked down the length of the range, which was finally visible after yesterday's thick clouds had lifted.

Scrambling down the staircase of granite blocks we rejoined the trail at the Monticello lawn, named after Jefferson's house since it lays below Mt. Jefferson. The lawn was a broad flat field of green-gold grass swaying in the breeze, presenting an alluring napping spot under the blue skies laced with cirrus clouds. A rest was tempting, but we grouped back up with the guys and continued on. After some winding trail, we met with a trail sign for the Great Gulf Wilderness, which sprawled out to our left in a glacial cirque. The next climb was to gain Mt. Clay, a subpeak of Washington and not an official 4000er. Still, Kate and I took it on and once again dispatched Gavin, Pat, and Reid along the more direct path that would take them to the Mt Washington climb. Clay was uneventful as we rollercoastered over its two peaks, taking another selfie and then setting our sights on the gray-sided massif of Washington ahead.

Coming down from Clay, I saw Gavin hiking on a parallel contour off to my right and a hundred feet beneath me. Patrick spotted us and started speeding up, and I kicked into gear determined not to be beaten to the trail sign where our paths combined. Springing down rocks doing my best mountain goat, I managed to get down and tag the sign just before him, and not trip and die in the process.

At this point, we took stock of the situation again and knew for sure that once we reached the top of Washington, the guys were done for the day. Luckily, Mt. Washington is the midpoint of the whole trail and happens to have a road and a cog rail going to its summit, so there were bail options. We started up the loose gravelly trail that followed alongside the rail tracks, looking in jealousy as the 2-car trains occasionally rumbled past us, onlookers packed into the windows to stare at us. As we progressed, we hit a notch above the great gulf where wind was being focused and accelerated uphill at us. It was so strong we had to stop and put our windbreakers on to not freeze.

About halfway to the summit, Reid really came down with something. He was starting to shake, stumble, and generally look very unwell. At this point, there were no other options but to make it to the summit, so the group came together to help. Everyone offloaded a few pounds from his pack into theirs, and we continued for a bit, but Reid was only feeling worse. I ultimately took his backpack and slung it over mine, which was less than comfortable and a bit claustrophobic with two sets of shoulder straps and hip belts zipped up on me. With just himself and his poles, Reid was able to keep steadfastedly trudging uphill with Kate on his shoulder as a guardian angel. I wanted to just get my new 60 lb pack to the top of the hill before I got tired, so I took off ahead. I was determined not to stop until I stood at the summit.

Finally I reached the end of the rail, followed the road the rest of the way, and threw off the double packs to rest outside the visitor center. Moments later, Reid shuffled up and sat down with me. I dug out some life-giving sour patch watermelon gummies to spike his blood sugar, then we moved inside to the cafeteria. Everyone was feeling pretty beat down so for a few minutes we just ate hot dogs in silence before Gavin went to find them their ride out of there. It may (not) suprise the readers to know that even though Uber told me they could get a ride from the summit down, there were no drivers to be found. So they went with the hiker shuttle bus which would run them down to the valley floor, at which point they'd have to figure out how to get to Kate's car stashed at the trailhead. Fortunately, their departure meant I could offload the pilates weights back to Pat, lightening up my pack.

It was odd to leave them there in the visitor center and set off again, but we fell back into our natural hiking rhythm quickly. We made a quick stop at the summit sign of Washington which was swarming with tourists, took a selfie beneath it instead of waiting in a 100 person line, and then took off towards lake of the clouds. This was a big descent but relatively nice for the White Mtns, with solid footing and regular step sizes, The sun was shining and the wind was more of a pleasant breeze on this side of the mountain, so we were feeling great.

Day 3: So long, White Mountains

Stats: 6.0 mi, +800/-2700' elevation, 4 hours
Peaks: Mt Jackson, North Jackson, Mt Webster, Artists Bluff

Waking up with the sunrise, a chilly morning greeted us outside the tent. We quickly packed up without disturbing our snoring neighbor and slipped down to the hut to use the bathroom and brew coffee outside. Inside the hut was warm and cozy, and I couldn't help but notice a hypothermia warning flyer on the wall that detailed exactly the conditions and results we saw on our first night...
conditions: rainy ✅ 40s ✅ rain ✅
Reid: stumbling ✅ grumbling ✅ mumbling ✅

Back down at the train station, we regrouped with the guys and headed off to find a big lunch. The nearest town of substance was Bethlehem, NH where we ate at Rek-Lis brewing company for big greasy burgers. Down the street was the (not-so) Super Secret Ice Cream shop, which has an assortment of ice creams made only of local ingredients. I had the coffee cardamom, which was delicious.

Afterwards, Kate had to hustle back to Lebanon for her final in person violin lesson, but the guys were rested up from their long night of sleep and wanted one more hike. We opted for Artist's Bluff trail, a popular easy trail near Franconia Notch that covers 1.5 miles in a loop and just a few hundred vertical feet. After finding parking we set out along a mostly flat trail with the occasional Reid-tripping root. It was quite hot down at valley level but once we started climbing a steep boulder staircase we got some good breeze. Just 200 feet of climbing later we emerged on the eponymous bluff, which gives great views of the valley, reservoir, and Franconia notch. On our left I could actually see the bare ridgeline where Mt Lafayette and its associated peaks are, which was cool to point out as Kate and I had traversed the entire thing on our hike of the Pemi Loop!

Driving away from the notch as the rugged core of the White Mountains faded off, I felt sad knowing it was the end of the season here for us, with Kate moving to Houston. After four trips up here in 2025, I gained a deep appreciation for these mountains as a special place. Having hiked a lot out west, I've heard the same jokes about the Appalachians being tiny mountains over and over, but the nature of these trails is something you can't really replicate out in the larger scales of the west. The rugged brutality of the trail, being shrouded in the dense forest until you get your peek above treeline, feeling the old soul of the mountains that have been eroding into this for a billion years, it is unique and it is a treasure. I can't wait until we can plan some more trips up here to continue hiking away at the 48! 

Like I said though, this was the end for now. We made it back to Lebanon and spent an exciting evening jenga-ing everything Kate owned into her car. Pirates of the caribbean rounded out the trip and in the morning, one car set out for Brighton and the other car for a long journey to... Houston, Texas!