#Skedaddle ridge trail map full#

The rocks and stone stairs I climbed up relatively easily were an absolutely unbridled cascading river now, making the descent more difficult. As it was, I was standing on the side of a mountain, a mountain that this very organized line of yellow storms was marching across. If I were a meteorologist, I’d probably say it was pretty, and even still, I did think it was kinda neat, being so well organized. Literally nothing on the radar for an hour, then bam, a knife-edge line of yellow marched across from Vermont, heading toward Portsmouth. I checked the weather, and when I animated the radar, saw the storm just popped up out of blank sky. Proving you should never underestimate a “smaller” peak.) (Edited to Add: as it turned out, my daily mileage on my watch showed I probably added about three miles to the hike - this was becoming less typical of Monadnock and more like something I’d expect in the Whites. The storm took its sweet time blowing out, and as a consequence, I got much closer to my car than the summit, leaving a lot of back-tracking.

I figured one of two things would happen: either I’d get to the car before things had wrapped up, and I’d go home, or the storm would blow out like a typical summer squall, and I’d head back up once the sun came out and started drying things up. Reality, of course, danced between those two bookends. And that’s when I decided to turn around and head back toward the car. The delicate sounds of thunder that I’d heard earlier became more ardent.

#Skedaddle ridge trail map full#

Or more to the point, it skipped the “starting” bit and just plunged head-on into a full on deluge that lasted an hour. So there I was, about the halfway point, and the rain started falling. I kept an eye toward the sky, such that you can when you’re below treeline, and decided that if things got weird, I’d skedaddle. Nothing said “rain imminent” so I kept going, figuring this was just a summer rumble, of the sort that makes a little noise, but overall, doesn’t do much. But nothing unusual.Īnd then, slight rumblings, suggesting Thor was having a touch of indigestion, came to my ear. Footing wasn’t always wonderful - not just the duff puddles, but the rocks themselves were coated with crazy slick leaf snot, and I found myself slipping and sliding in places where I should have had good traction. The trail pitched upward, and the part of the guide’s description that included words like “steep” and “strenuous” gained immediacy. (And for reference, I’ve hiked White Dot, on the other side of the mountain, more than 100 times.) I’ve never seen something like this anywhere else. Net effect was that the topmost layer was unconsolidated, and those patches were crazy slick. Oddly, there were “duff puddles” where enough had piled up, and yesterday’s rains lubricated them. There was a lot of duff on the trail, interspersed with a few roots and rocks here and there.

It starts relatively sedately, and indeed, I was turning in an 18-ish minute per mile pace in the opening mile and a half or so. Heading out, the trail lived up to its billing in the guide. I figured I could make a decent run for the summit, and there might be a few raindrops on the way down, but nothing consequential. The forecast called for a 27% chance of rain after 1400. To be fair, it was nothing even approaching a normal day. Five would have been acceptable, but seven?! Yikes! This hike shouldn’t have taken seven honking hours. If you don’t like the weather, wait ten minutes. Overcast, torrential downpour, some sun at the summit. In short, sodden. Winds were negligible in the trees, about 5-7 knots at the summit. (Book mileage.)Ĩ2 dF at the trailhead, 80 dF at the summit.