Owl’s Head lies deep in the Pemigewasset Wilderness, situated between the Bonds on the east and Franconia Ridge on the west. Relatively low in elevation, its summit is only 25 feet above 4000 feet and is completely wooded with no views whatsoever. The trek up Owl’s Head consists of eight relatively gentle miles, followed by a steep mile up an unofficial, unmaintained path to the summit. In addition, two brook crossings along the route can be quite difficult if the water is at all high. With all these facts in mind, Jamie, Hunter, Guyot, and I, accompanied by Grannies Barbara Duncan, Steve Flanders, Lili, and Cathy Richmond, set out on September 30, 2014 to climb Owl’s Head.
The day was cloudy, cold, and we could see snow flurries on the higher peaks as we drove toward the Lincoln Woods trailhead, but the weather report promised partly cloudy skies by mid-morning. Since I had contemplated doing this trip for much of the summer and neither Barbara nor Steve had ever climbed Owl’s Head, we all agreed that a little cold and snow should not cause us to change our plans for the day. We hiked the 2.9 miles up the Lincoln Woods Trail at a brisk pace, paused briefly at the bridge crossing Franconia Brook, and continued up the Franconia Brook Trail 1.7 miles to the junction with the Lincoln Brook Trail. The trails we had traversed up to this point were once logging railroads, making for very easy walking, but as we began hiking up the Lincoln Brook Trail the footpath, though gentle, was no longer as easy going.
Soon we came to Franconia Brook, the first of the two difficult brook crossings, and were unable to find a logical route across. The stream was running fairly high with only the larger boulders above the water, frequently creating substantial space between individual rocks. This meant the amount of distance most of us are comfortable leaping across was just too far, especially given the depth of the water flowing around the boulders. Each of us chose a different route across and Steve, Jamie, and the two dogs made to the far shore safely. The two ladies went downstream a short distance and also got across successfully. I chose poorly and managed to immerse my right leg up to the knee in the cold water. I immediately lost my usual confidence and had to be coaxed across by Jamie and Steve. Finally across the stream, I asked everyone to wait a moment while I poured about a cup of water out of my right boot. I then wondered whether hiking the rest of the day with a soaking wet sock and boot would be a smart idea, but quickly dismissed my concerns thinking it would be stupid to forgo getting to the top of Owl’s Head having expended this much effort already.
Both my wet sock and boot seemed to dry out as we proceeded up the trail and we were able to cross Lincoln Brook, the second difficult brook crossing, without incident. As we continued up the Lincoln Brook Trail, Barbara stopped occasionally, complaining that she was unusually tired for such a gentle trail. Jamie asked her how much breakfast she had eaten and she replied she had a single muffin. He suggested she eat something right away, that probably she was “bonking.” Barbara pulled out a peanut butter and jam sandwich, ate about half of it, resumed hiking, and said she felt much better.
Soon we came to the beginning of the steep, unmarked trail that leads to the summit of Owl’s Head. Several of us thought it time to eat lunch, but Jamie urged us to climb a tenth of a mile up the trail to a good viewpoint. About an inch of new snow now covered much of the ground, but we were able to find enough bare ledge to sit and enjoy a quick lunch.
As we resumed our climb toward the summit, we encountered more snow, but the trail was easily discernible and we soon reached the top of the ridge. From here we quickly hiked along the crest of the ridge to the summit of Owl’s Head, arriving at about 2:00 p.m. With an overcast sky and only four hours of possible daylight remaining, we realized we should make as hasty a descent as possible. I stopped long enough to put on my microspikes, but the others decided to eschew them at this point. However, as we descended the steeper part of the trail, the footing became quite slippery and both Barbara and Steve stopped to put on their microspikes as well. Jamie and Cathy decided they didn’t need any such assistance and managed the descent without any difficulty.
With little or no snow in the valley, we doffed our microspikes as we reached the Lincoln Brook Trail and began the eight mile return trek to the trailhead. We hiked as quickly as we were able, but soon I felt pain in my right knee. Having never experienced any pain in either of my knee replacements, I began to be concerned since we still had many miles to cover. Fortunately, Cathy had some ibuprofen in her first aid kit and within a few minutes I was hiking along at my usual pace.
We maintained a steady pace and managed all the brook crossings without incident, arriving at the junction of the Franconia Brook Trail and the Lincoln Woods Trail just as twilight began to deepen. Knowing that the rest of the trail was an old railroad bed and that we all had headlamps, we began the last lap of our journey. Barbara and I brought up the rear, as the others and the three dogs began to fade into the darkness ahead. I soon put on my headlamp, and we continued along being careful not to trip on the old railroad ties still sticking up across the trail. As we approached the bridge over the Pemigewasset River at the end of the trail, Jamie and Guyot were waiting for us and said Cathy and Steve and the other two dogs had gone on to the parking lot. I was concerned about Hunter because earlier in the year he refused to cross the bridge and I had to guide him across on leash. We crossed over the bridge, only to find that the Forest Service had barricaded the bottom of the steps to the parking lot earlier in the day. I climbed over the barricade, and in the pitch dark failed to note that the top of the steps were also barricaded. I climbed over the second barricade and wondered why the Forest Service chose this particular day to close the steps for the winter!
Once at the parking lot, I found Hunter lying on the ground at the edge of the parking lot looking somewhat scared. He refused to get up at first but I was able to get him into Steve’s van with some effort. We said goodbye to Jamie as he headed home to Maine, and the rest of us rode home in Steve’s van. Hunter seemed to be having some difficulty getting settled in the van, and I wondered what might be the problem since he had been his usual robust self all day on our hike.
I got home just in time to see the first pitch of the Red Sox – Cardinals sixth (and final) World Series game and to find a delicious dinner meal awaiting me. I watched the entire baseball game and most of the post game celebration well into the night. No milkshake this time!
Hunter appeared very subdued the next three days, keeping his tail between his legs as he walked. He then recovered to become his usual self, and I was never able to understand what happened to him at the end of our hike. He showed no signs of injury as far as we could tell. Perhaps that final bridge crossing in the dark scared him in some peculiar way.
Our daughter Kathy emailed us the day after our hike to inquire whether “Daddy stayed up to watch the entire Red Sox game.” I quickly responded: “What sort of a fan do think I am? Of course I watched the entire game, and the celebration as well”!
