Bigelow West and Avery Peak (2/13/21)
This weekend it was time to tackle another couple Maine peaks, the Bigelows. This was actually the second time that I had hiked the Bigelows. The first time I did so was back in August 2018. At that time I hiked with a casual hiking group. However, there is nothing casual about the Bigelows.
Many of the hikers who were on that hike were not prepared for just how strenuous the Bigelows can be. Several hikers turned back early, but many of the ones who did not turn back were unready for what was coming. There is a very steep section of the Bigelows which is right below the col, and the unprepared hikers were asking for a break every three steps.
I wanted to summit before Christmas, so a couple other in-shape hikers and I broke off and climbed up to the col ourselves, waiting for the group after we got there. It took about half an hour for them to reach us. The entire experience taught me a valuable lesson about group hikes - make sure they are appropriately advertised so that they draw in the right people. Attempting to tackle a tough four thousand footer with a group of casual hikers just leads to frustration for everyone.
It also taught me a healthy respect for the Bigelows. Most of the hike to the Bigelows is fairly easy, but the hike is long, and that section below the col demands respect. I knew that it would be even tougher to do as a winter hike.
I keep saying the Bigelows, but I should briefly introduce them. The Bigelows consist of 2 four thousand footers: West Bigelow and Avery Peak. They are named after Major Timothy Bigelow, a Revolutionary War soldier under Benedict Arnold who was the first person known to have climbed them. West Bigelow retains Major Bigelow's name, but the other peak (East Bigelow, I guess) was renamed after Myron Avery, one of the two people most responsible for the creation of the Appalachian Trail. It's appropriate to name a peak in Maine after Avery, because he was the person most responsible for having the trail end in Maine at Mount Katahdin. It's even more appropriate because Avery Peak is right on the Appalachian Trail.
As an aside, I think it's cool that the Appalachian Trail runs between two mountains (Springer Mountain in Georgia and Katahdin). The other two major trails in the U.S. (the PCT and CDT) both run from the southern border to the northern border. Even my beloved Long Trail runs between borders. There's something a lot more majestic about starting and finishing on a mountain.
Wow, six paragraphs in and I still haven't gotten to the point, which was this weekend's hike. To be honest, I was a bit apprehensive about this one. Because the road that the trailhead is on is closed in winter, I knew I was going to have to hike an additional 1.5 miles of road walk each way, thus adding 3 miles total to the hike. The temperatures were also fluctuating wildly as I drove north to Carrabassett Valley. Near Livermore Falls, the temperature went up as high as 6 degrees, and I figured I was going to be fine. Then later on in Kingsfield, the temperature dropped to -13 degrees, and I was concerned about whether the hike was even going to be doable. Thankfully the temperature settled in at 2 degrees by the time I got to the trailhead. Cold, but manageable.
Carrabassett Valley is home to the famous Sugarloaf Ski Resort. It's a cool area to visit, and I always appreciate my trips up there. On this day, however, I wasn't entirely sure where I was supposed to park. I finally picked a spot right next to the road that had been cleared out by a plow, but I wasn't confident that I wasn't going to get towed or ticketed there. I later discovered that the better place to park would have been in the Appalachian Trail parking lot, but I didn't know that at the time.
After my usual pre-hike ritual of eating my sandwich and putting my gear on, I got out on the road to do the first road walk. The road walk was fairly easy, which was both good and bad. It was good because I obviously prefer easier hiking, but bad because easy hiking doesn't get The Furnace stoked up, and it was quite cold. I saw quite a bit of evidence of snowmobiles using the road, but I only passed two of them.
I eventually made it to the trailhead and turned onto the Fire Warden's Trail, which would take me all the way up to the col. My GPS said it would be 3.7 miles to the col, so I was disheartened when half a mile later I found a trail sign that said it was 3.7 miles to the col. Truthfully, though, I trust my GPS more than I trust trail signs, as I have found trail signs to sometimes be wildly inaccurate.
As an aside, my all-time favorite trail sign was a trail sign that said .7 miles to Mt. Bond. Some clever soul had added two 0s in front of the .7. Well done.
As I headed up the Fire Warden's Trail, I passed by Stratton Brook Pond. I was a bit concerned because there was clear evidence that snowmobiles had recently been out on the ice, and yet there were places where you could see the flowing water because there was no ice cover at all. I can't imagine that your odds of survival are very high if you fall through the ice on a snowmobile (not to mention that the gas in the snowmobile would likely pollute the pond and kill much of the wildlife).
The hike up the Fire Warden's Trail was both pretty and easy. When I looked off in the distance, I could see West Bigelow and Avery Peak, and they looked a long ways off. Still, I was making pretty decent speed despite wearing snowshoes, and I was confident that I would complete the hike before sundown as long as I kept up a good pace.
Unfortunately, this hike was the hike of equipment failures. At one point I dug my pole into the snow, took a step, pulled my pole out, and then realized that I only had half a pole. The lock on my pole had failed in the cold, and the other half of my pole was still back in the snow. I went back and retrieved it, re-locked it in, and thankfully it didn't fail again.
The bigger equipment failure involved my water bottle, which normally hangs from the side of my pack on a carabiner, hidden inside an insulated bottle holder. At one point in the hike, I went to grab it off the side of my pack and all I got was air. I thought that was strange, so I took off my pack and examined the situation. It turned out that the compression strap that the carabiner had been hanging from had broken, and so the water bottle was now likely somewhere along the trail behind me. Even worse, that was the water bottle I hadn't been drinking from much, so the one I was left with was mostly empty and I had to ration my water.
Finally, I made it to the part of the hike I had been dreading, the extremely steep climb up to the col. At the base of it, I ran into my first other hiker of the day, a woman who like me was working on the winter four thousand footers. I was surprised to see her, as I had assumed that I was the only hiker on trail, given that I hadn't seen any other cars at the trailhead. She was the one who explained to me about the Appalachian Trail parking. She also told me a little bit about what I needed to do to hike Katahdin in winter. The primary thing seems to be that you need a group, which is tricky because I don't have one at the moment.
The lady told me to pass her as she was going to go very slow on the ascent, so I did and kept pushing up the col. It was very hard going. The televators on my snowshoes helped somewhat. Televators are a small metal bar that you can flip up on your snowshoes when you're climbing steeply uphill. They help catch your foot, which reduces the strain on your legs and heels. I have two pairs of snowshoes, Lighting Trails and Lightning Ascents. I actually like the Lightning Trails better, but I always use the Lightning Ascents because of the televators.
The climbing was difficult enough that I was struggling even with the televators. I would step up, and then slide back down. I started having to make sure that I kicked in every step, because that was the only way to prevent the sliding. It was a slow process, though, and I think it took me ten minutes at one point just to move a tenth of a mile.
Eventually, I came up behind another hiker. It took me a while to catch him due to the conditions, but I realized that he was the one who had been breaking trail the entire time. I offered to pass him so that I could break trail for a while and give him a break, and he was happy to let me do it. I broke a short distance up until I finally made it to the camp site at the col, and then I stopped for a snack. When he got there, we chatted for a couple minutes. He told me that his name was Fergy, and he had come up for the day to let his wife ski Sugarloaf while he hiked.
Fergy hiked on while I was eating, and when I caught back up to him he was having a hard time finding the trail. I pulled out my trusty Guthook app, and together we managed to find the trail to Avery peak. I took over trail breaking duties again, as Fergy had certainly done his fair share by then. We ended up hiking together all the way up Avery peak.
It was quite windy at the summit of Avery. Fergy and I both estimated it to be around 30 mph winds, and the chill was clearly in the negatives. It wasn't a fun place to stand. We hit the summit, took our pictures, and started down again.
On the way down, we ran into the lady I had met earlier. The three of us chatted for a few minutes, but then she continued up Avery while Fergy and I headed back down to the col to start our climb of Bigelow West.
Avery peak had been 0.4 miles from the col and not particularly steep. Bigelow West was 0.3 miles and much steeper. A couple of times I lost the trail and Fergy had to help me find it. It wasn't an easy climb, but it wasn't especially difficult, either. From the top we looked out at the spectacular views of Sugarloaf and the Carrabassett Valley on one side, and the frozen Flagstaff Lake on the other side.
Heading back down to the col was tricky because of the steepness of Bigelow West. I almost took a spill a couple times, and Fergy wisely did some intentional butt slides. Once we got back down to the col, Fergy decided to stop for a snack, but I wanted to keep going with the hope of finding my water bottle before someone or something else found it or knocked it off trail. Thus, Fergy and I said goodbye. He was a good guy and a strong hiker, and I had enjoyed hiking with him.
Heading back down the extremely steep section was very challenging, and it was my turn to do some intentional butt slides. Doing intentional butt slides is always preferable to losing your feet and sliding down out of control. In other words, intentional slides are better than unintentional slides. I do have to admit that they're kind of fun, too. They're one of the few times as an adult that you can experience true childlike joy.
Needless to say, with the butt slides I made really good time down the steep section, and even afterwards my hiking kept up a really good pace. It wasn't too long before I saw an object lying smack in the middle of the trail. I immediately knew what it was even when I was a good distance away. It was my water bottle holder with my carabiner was still attached and my water bottle still inside. For a moment I contemplated how I was going to carry it with the strap broken, and then I realized that I was literally carrying a backpack. I stuffed the water bottle inside and kept walking.
The hike down was pretty easy until I made it back to Stratton Brook Road. On that road there were a ton of snowmobiles, and most were going too fast and not looking out for pedestrians. Add to that the constant smell of the gasoline fumes, and the snowmobiles made the end of the hike fairly unpleasant. There were a few snowmobilers who were driving slowly and carefully, but unfortunately they were the exception rather than the rule.
By the time I made it back to my car, it had been a long day. Guthook said that I had hiked 13.4 miles in total, and that felt about right to me. 13.4 miles in snowshoes is really tough, but on the plus side I kept up a decent speed and ended up with an even 2.0 miles per hour.
These Maine peaks are teaching me a lesson so far, and the lesson is that no matter how worried I might be about a particular hike, I can succeed with a combination of a good plan and good speed. They only get tougher from here on out, so I'm going to need to continue to ramp up the quality of my plans. Thanks for reading, and always remember, you can't take flight until you spread your wings!
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