Thirdly.

The.

There.

It's.

After.

It's.

These.

These.

The.

Ducking.

The.

Indeed.

NOTE.

Thirdly, of note, skiing Moosilauke in mid-January, after a storm the day before, is a classic East Coast backcountry ski mission with local bucket list status alongside global bucket list nerve centers like Chamonix (the Alps), Salt Lake City (the Wasatch), or Revelstoke, B.C. (the Monashees). Indeed there it is: East Coast: Moosilauke (the Whites) -- pronounced "moose-LOCK."

The LtS Route, after a morning of travel from Boston starting at 9:00 A.M., is indeed the choice for that 30-minute-window of time on the summit between 4:45 P.M. and 5:15 P.M. Yet the travel to and tour up still has to go as precisely as that half-hour-window goal to achieve the goal itself. For this, there is no better resource than David Goodman's "Best Backcountry Skiing in the Northeast: 50 Classic Ski Tours in New England and New York," published by the AMC (Appalachian Mountain Club). (The copy refrenced here is a now-dog-eared, much-read, 2010 edition).

There is nothing worth writing that a map tells best, and so here only trail names for the choice of those will suffice, albeit with a key factor: that the specific "Route" in "The LtS" is conditional on experience. Since the only other option, Moosilauke Carriage Road, connects to the Lodge and NH-118 not directly but via side trails, a Gorge Brook Trail (GBT) tour up was the trail choice on January 21. Summit conditions would determine if the MCR -- which tends to get "socked in" around sunset -- was the trail choice for sunset skiing to the Lodge.

It's 12:30 P.M., on sunny Saturday, January 21, and the lot at the base of the Ravine Lodge Road indicates how many are here for The FtS Route. In sparkling, brilliant, mid-winter New Hampshire sunshine, LtS Routers can't help feeling that though the goal they're here for is worthy, today it's democratically opposed by its counterpart. And, in varying forms to boot: there's the FtH (hike), the FtC (climb), the FtR (run), -- indeed the benefit, if ever, of getting out there is simply an updated idea of what's possible.

After a gear check and touring the nearby Al Merrill loop around the Baker River and Jobildunc Ravine, east of the goal, to warm-up, this terrain shaped by backcountry access -- and its limits -- further confirms the specific GBT choice. Indeed, it's as if experience, not the reader, read that map in Mr. Goodman's book: "the simplest route is the route"; "side trails for the summer months"; "on paper is just that -- on paper only -- variability is in the environment, and limit it wherever possible." And the variables, via the GBT, for The LtS Route are, simply, least.

It's 2:00 P.M., and the last of the Ft(S,H,C,R) Routers are descending from Moosilauke's summit, now peeking in and out of a cloudbank shifting at ~ 3,500'. Skis flick the fresh precipitation like light switches set in rhythm. The overlook of the Ravine and River, at 3,800', and the treeline, at 4,500', reach out as much as any skier reaches them, by 3:15 P.M. and 3:45 P.M. At the time of the latter, the summit, with its characteristic draw, breaks into the well-developed solitude.

These next 300 vertical feet could fill an entire Adventure Note, and that note would be titled: "Drawn in on Winter Moosilauke: Pencil-Fine Lines Amid Dormant, Hard-Earned, Alpine Life." The alpine environment is fragile and skiers who venture there must do so respectfully -- and that doesn't dampen the thrill of skiing in these environements one decibel. If anything, it amplifies it. While skis flick fresh precipication, now above tree-line, like seeming train switches large-scale against such fine lines to hew, there is still no adequate description for the reality of a snow-capped summit within a public land of this accessibility. And the gratitude of Moosilauke skiers goes to Dartmouth College, which owns, as part of a Land Grant, about a third of this magnetic and fascinating mountain above 2000 feet.

These photos from Mt. Moosilauke's (4,802') summit are captioned for the first of the two goals of The LtS Route: to learn about the changes in the alpine environment at sunset. Thus these are captioned from "4:11 P.M." to "4:48 P.M." (three minutes after sunset).

The second of the two goals of The LtS Route: to learn how to ski in the backcountry at dusk, was still variable on the choice of a skiing route: 1) MCR (a new route to this skier, to form a loop, and return partially via a side-trail)? Or 2) GBT (a known out-and-back)? That the least variability had carried the backcountry day so far carried it again here. Skis again flick fresh precipication like light switches. Gorge Brook Trail to the Lodge and NH-118 -- starting at 4:50 P.M. (five minutes after sunset, and 25 minutes before the end of the 30-minute-window) -- predicted end of run: 5:50 P.M.

Ducking into the snowy trees, anywhere, on any mountain or local hill, at any time of day, is just that, ducking into -- and at 4:55 P.M., just five minutes after turning away from the MCR route -- left for the next ski -- and towards the choice GBT, there's a long 20 minutes of Moosialke-at-sunset-in-January fascination, and all for skiing. The storm the day before was a predicted 6-10", with a reported 6", and, anecdotally, from dropping poles into the untracked off the summit, 7" fresh. Of note, two dogs (who also appeared fresh) flick the precipitation of that very condition into their tracks as they -- and their humans -- are the only evidence of any non-perma-alpine life. Movement and stillness contrast in the last 20 minutes of the day's light.

The predicted end of run of 5:50 P.M. vs. the actual of 8:50 P.M. is a testament to learning how to ski in the backcountry at dusk: that it is slow and sure going, so as to not become disoriented. Indeed, the challenge of orientation increases once the nautical twilight ends because below-treeline skiing intensifies this end of twlight. Sunlight, when it is present in daytime, filters through essentially every space between objects in the backcountry or frontcountry, making its lack a non-factor below treeline when light is present at any hour. This is due to reflection: that light reflects off these surfaces from wherever there is space to shine onto or off of them. When there is no sunlight, its absence intensifies in such an environment, since the effects of any now-reflection (from moonlight) are not sufficiently intense to -- literally -- outshine the effects of the darker objects which absorb this now-reflected moonlight. In a phrase, the education from this second part of The LtS Route goal was that "preciptation [snow] reflects sunlight, and trees absorb moonlight."

Indeed, these after-sunset conditions increase the contrast between the light in open areas vs. the lack of light in wooded areas, and skiing in this environment necessitates making the most of the light in each open area (be they overlooks, trail intersections, or simply the open patches in the wooded route). By this approach, skiing at sunset, though not as classic as backcountry skiing in daylight, still speaks to why it is worth "getting out there": for an updated idea of what is possible. Mt. Moosilauke, with this during-any-ambient-moonlight approach, indeed an updated idea for this skier, at sunset, is possible.

NOTE: This skier packed a headlamp, though with the clear sky enhancing the ambient brightness of the disc of the new moon on January 21 -- and for the purpose of learning how to orient oneself in the backcountry -- it was for emergency wear only. Thankfully, this updated idea of what's possible was successful.

If you had access to an escape like that, would you give it up right away? Neither would I.

But what is known in name is the mental association—and is very different from what is known in practice. The escape here is to cover the distance of the loop in less than 10 hours, a goal that demands more physical knowledge than knowing the area. And with the launch of an online forum for this goal—Fastest Known Time—set up as more people discover the escape of the mountains, to do so is also to chase something of a modern American white whale in the white granite of the Live Free or Die state.

(Aside: your writer here has never covered more than 25 or 26, and never with more than 6 hours of time on his feet. He wrote a previous blog post on an adventure on the Zion Traverse from May 2014, which was a first-person account and for him an affirmation of his love of sane, sanctioned distances. He ran the support leg from Lafayette to the finish. This blog won’t be a first-person account.)

The first things to notice when going for those white whale goals: there is wisdom in just moving. Move as in, “under 9 hours on the Pemigewasset Loop is moving!” Ahab moves his boat in Moby Dick before the whale moves it, which of course is what he wanted all along. That’s wisdom. Eventually the goal becomes normal. Doubts fall away.

The character of Ferris Bueller understands that too. The kid from suburban America would make a great adventure athlete. Self-belief is in Ferris's character: unbounded boyhood against anything considered impossible, uncatchable, and fixed (any -ism). His perspective in the film is the match that starts the fire in his friends. It is the lever that moves a world of anxious Camerons.

Back in the mountains, I'm drawing off self-belief and muscle memory, and the humidity carries scents that take me, via flashback, to days when this type of an adventure was a back-of-the-mind thought. I shake off this moment of self-awareness, knowing that to move is wisdom, and knowing this is a white whale goal, after all. Then my foot catches the ground and I pitch forward. Wisdom is ever elusive.

That escapes are in demand belies the fact that adventures like these are not ready-made. A good run in the mountains is a meeting in the middle between talent and skill. I'm keen for friends who understand this more than anything—Anders, Judy, Elizabeth, and Anders' brother Todd and his friend Dan all do. The skill is in route-setting, reading the weather, and hydration, the talent is in the shift from impossible to possible—the confidence that this goal, which is stark in that there is only you and sometimes unpredictable risks in the mountains, is not actually impossible.

(The record on the route is under 7 hours.Moving.)