Return to Gorham

This last section into the start of the White mountains was miserable. It never stopped raining, was cold, and the nasty steep terrain and slickrock didn't magically disappear yet either.

Our first day out of Gorham we managed only a couple of miles in a drenching downpour before taking refuge in the first shelter, which we shared with a homeless man, but no other hikers. Next morning, we staggered on. Literally in Brian's case. His back was hurting so badly he had lost the feeling in his right leg. We spent an interminably slow morning of forward progress, he wrenching his unresponsive leg forward one step at a time, and I following along, unable to do or say anything to help with the pain. By evening we were exhausted, cold, tired and wet, and just grateful to reach the next shelter.

For our third day, Brian was at least in less pain. However, it was still raining and cold and very cold. Stopping for breaks was almost impossible, and very uncomfortable at the least. We were ready for a night indoors, but the only option to do so was to stop at Carter Notch hut. The huts system in the Whites is a thorn in a thru hiker's side. They are expensive, often full, and are staffed by a "croo" of students that have a reputation for not wanting thru hikers in their huts. We had planned to avoid the huts if at all possible, but in our current situation, it appeared we had no choice.

We were determined to go into the hut with an open mind, but lets just say that despite all our efforts to make this a positive experience, it was not so. I won't go into deatil, but the list of list of atrocities includes being forced back out into the cold and rain while the paying guests ate dinner, having our clothes which had been hung up to dry, being wadded up and thrown where there was no chance they would dry, unpalatable and unhygenically cooked food, e. coli in the supposedly potable water, and a general sense of disdain from the croo. Hopefully we can get through the Whites without having to repeat this experience.

We left the hut in the only brief sunshine of this section, but it did not last. By the time we had ascended out of the notch it was raining again. The Wildcat peaks were frustrating, steep and slick, and it was so cold that my fingers were blue. I sat at the bottom of one vertical rock face and cried. I could not even feel my fingers, yet I was supposed to climb hand over hand with them and risk my life on them? Eventually, knowing I had no choice I did it anyway.

My life was saved that day by a gondola. At the top of the last Whitecap peak was a gondola service running down to the ski resort below. Somehowm the moment I set eyes on this high wire saviour the sun also came out. It was still cold though, and windy too. Afraind that the gondola service would be halted at any moment due to the wind, I was anxious to jump onto it and ride back to civilization.

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