Stealth Camping through the White Mountains

Hi friends and family! Sorry for the long time between posts. I’ve been enjoying myself since finishing the hike and haven’t made the time to continue sharing my story until now. I’m going to pick up where I left off after taking four days off to help my brother move into our new apartment in DC (which is actually where I’m writing this post from).

Just after noon on July 2, I said goodbye to my parents as they dropped me off at the trailhead at Franconia Notch. After a steep climb up from the notch, I was rewarded with incredible views from Franconia Ridge.

On my way down from Mt. Lafayette I spoke with a southbound thru-hiker (SOBO) who told me that she’d just passed Smiley, a northbound thru-hiker (NOBO) that I last saw before he took a week off at home in New York. The SOBO informed me that Smiley was planning to stay at the Galehead Hut, so I made that my new goal for the night. Smiley was pretty surprised to see me when I arrived at the Galehead Hut, but our reunion was short-lived because I had to hike on since there were already too many thru-hikers doing work-for-stays at the hut.

I moved up the trail a quarter of a mile and pitched my tent a bit off the trail in a nice soft spot. (Stealth camp #1.) As soon as my tent was set up with me inside it, the rain started coming down hard! I slept well and was happy to wake up to sun. Apparently I had a visitor that night, because on my way back to the trail, I encountered a fresh set of moose tracks no more than 15 yards from my tentsite.

As I hiked along Zeacliff Ridge, I was constantly accompanied by some Gray (or Canada) Jays. They were not afraid to sneak up on me, even as I tried to sneak up on them with my camera on.

The views continued to impress from the Whites.

I hiked on to Crawford Notch and was shocked to find Hawk, Bobber, and Les waiting there for Les’s sister to show up with some trail magic. I’d assumed they’d still be days ahead of me, but I was happy to camp with them that night just north of the Saco River. (Stealth camp #2.) In the middle of the night, I heard a yell from Bobber’s tent, followed by a large crash. Apparently, some creature (possibly a moose) snuck up on Bobber, who awoke to heavy breathing a little closer than he liked. He scared it off, but never confirmed what type of animal it was.

By the way, stealth camping is when you pitch a tent somewhere other than a designated campsite. This is strongly discouraged in the White Mountains by the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC), which charges for stays at their huts and campsites. My goal was to never pay for a night in the Whites. So far so good.