Mount Sugarloaf – The Hardest Way

Mount Sugarloaf – the hardest way

Matthew and Eric Gilbertson
Oct 29-30, 2011
35th Highest Peak in New England

Things were getting urgent. The clouds had suddenly unleashed an unexpected tornado of snow that rapidly began to turn the ground from brown to white. Wearing heavy overnight backpacks we strained to pedal our mountain bikes up the rocky gravel road through the darkness. We were searching desperately for the spot where the Appalachian Trail crossed Caribou Road. Our plan was to camp right at the trail crossing and then hike Mt Sugarloaf the next day. But in the now-raging blizzard it was becoming impossible to see more than twenty feet through the swirling wall of white. The light from our headlamps reflected painfully back into our eyes like a car’s highbeams in the fog.

“We ought to be there by now,” I said to Eric, “we passed your GPS waypoint a quarter-mile ago, but I didn’t see anything.”

Wearing nothing but shorts and a t-shirt we knew that we couldn’t last much longer. The once-dusty road was becoming more and more slippery and the bikes began to slow us down. The ferocity of the storm had come as a surprise to us. Tonight would be the night that winter began and fall ended for the western mountains of Maine.

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But this was all part of the plan. We had set things up to ensure that this trip would be as difficult as possible. Originally the plan had been to hike three peaks on the New England Hundred Highest List – Sugarloaf, Redington, and Abraham – all in one day with the help of our mountain bikes. We hoped to hike six other NE Hundred Highest Peaks the following day. But with snow in the forecast our plans began to change on the drive up to Maine Friday evening. We didn’t want to be stuck miles up any non-plowed gravel road when the storm hit, so we opted to swap days and hit Abe, Red, and Sugar on Sunday.

An optimal balance of risk

It was Saturday evening and, relieved, we had just finished hiking Boundary Peak, White Cap, Kennebago Divide, and Cupsuptic Snow Mountain. As we passed through Rangeley I decided to call Amanda for an updated forecast. She said “you’re under a Winter Storm Warning right now, with four to eight inches expected tonight and a few more tomorrow morning, changing over to rain.”

Four to eight inches of snow! We were astonished. This storm had come out of nowhere, and was especially unusual for late October. So we decided to reassess the plan. Do we drive up the gravel road and assume we’ll only get four inches tonight? No, because if we got eight inches then the car might be stuck in the wilderness until April, and Budget wouldn’t be too happy. Do we play it safe, and just camp next to the main road, and climb Sugarloaf via the ski trails the next day? No, that’d be pretty lame. What about biking up the five miles tonight, climbing Sugarloaf tomorrow, then bike back through the snow? Yeah, we figured that would be the optimal balance of risk. We knew we could bike through four inches of snow, but probably not eight. How likely is it that we’ll get eight anyhow?

There wasn’t a moment to lose. Amanda’s forecast predicted snow starting at 9pm and with only an hour to bike the five rugged miles with heavy packs through the darkness time was getting thin. We pulled up to the Caribou Pond road turnoff and parked our black Crown Victoria close enough to the main road that we could pull out easily even in deep snow.

Mechanical engineering in the wilderness

“Aw man, I forgot about my derailleur,” Eric said.

On the way down from the last mountain that afternoon Eric had inconveniently gotten a big stick caught in his chain and spokes, which twisted his derailleur into a sickening shape and mutilated several links in his chain along with it. Without a spare derailleur or chain tool the only way that we’d be able to ride is if we straightened things out. With the light of my headlamp and two crescent wrenches I very carefully and quickly bent the derailleur back into its more familiar shape and straightened out the links. We threw our overnight gear into our backpacks and my two bike panniers and proceeded up the hill into the darkness.

We found it hard to believe that in just a few short hours the landscape would turn white. We hadn’t seen snow falling for the past six months and we were still in the summer mentality: you hike in tennis shoes, wear shorts and a t-shirt, no hats or gloves, and don’t have to store your water bottle in the tent at night to prevent it from freezing. But soon the snow began to fall and we were brought back to reality. It was actually kind of thrilling knowing that a major storm was coming. The trees around us probably didn’t know what was coming but we had the inside scoop.

The snow and wind rapidly picked up and soon we found ourselves in the midst of a raging snowstorm. We needed to find a place to camp fast because any more biking and we’d be soaked. We couldn’t see more than 20 feet so we picked a wide spot on the side of the gravel road and raced to set up our tarp for some shelter. We had originally brought the tarp to cover the bikes from the snow at night, but it soon became apparent that the tarp would be more beneficial over our own heads.

It was time to turn on survival mode. Throw on the jackets, the long pants, the hats, the gloves. Unpack the tarp. Uh-oh, no fallen branches that we can use to support the tarp. Well we can attach it to some little trees instead Uh-oh, no rope. Well we can use bungee cords and sticks to tie the corners to the trees. Uh-oh, no place to anchor the other corners of the tarp. Well we can use the bikes as anchors. Uh-oh the bikes will fall over. Well we can flip the bikes upside-down and they’ll be more stable. Uh-oh the ground’s already covered in snow, it’ll be cold sleeping tonight. Well let’s grab some of that dry grass and make a little bed beneath the tent.

We worked through the challenges and soon found ourselves with a cozy little shelter under which we could escape the snow. Winter had begun for the forest around us, but as far as we were concerned is was still fall underneath our tarp. We set up the tent and cooked a nice little feast of spaghetti + meat sauce. As we dined we reflected on the blizzard raging outside our shelter. It was actually kind of exciting to witness the beginning of winter. If it stayed cold for the next few weeks, we figured that this snow would stay all winter.

The beginning of winter

Before we went to bed we took bets on the predicted snowdepth in the morning. In just an hour there was already more than an inch on the ground. I predicted 6.3”, Eric guessed 5”. In a few hours we’d see who won.

We were looking forward to a peaceful sleep in our cozy little shelter but alas, for me it was not meant to be. Due to repeated abuse my air mattress had acquired an exactly two-hour leak. So every two hours I would wake up cold and roll over to reinflate it.

But during the third wake-up around 2am I noticed that something was amiss. Our tent was becoming severely asymmetric under the weight of the tarp that was filling up with snow rather than shedding it. I knew we had to do something about it or the tent poles could break. It wasn’t pleasant, but I tore myself from the comfort of the sleeping bag and tent and went outside to push the snow off. The snow was really piling up and I had a feeling that even my prediction of 6.3” would be an underestimate.

Indeed, when we woke in the morning the snow had tapered down, leaving a solid eight inches on the road! We had zipped up the tent door in fall, and opened it up to find winter! It was exciting to see serious snow for the first time since April. But now wasn’t exactly the time for celebration. We were five miles down a remote gravel road piled with unbikeably-deep snow; it wasn’t going to be easy dragging our bikes and overnight gear through all of that without snowshoes. We broke down camp, packed up, and hopped on the bikes anyhow, hoping that the snow might be light enough that we could ride through it. But we quickly realized with dismay that the snow was just too deep and dense. We’d be walking out.

24hrs of effort for 2mins on top

But it was still early in the day, and we hadn’t come all the way down this little road for nothing. We had come to climb Mt Sugarloaf. For the moment we pushed aside any anxiety about our predicament and turned on hiking mode. We searched around for a while and finally located the Appalachian Trail crossing. We had missed it in the dark! After half an hour of dragging the bikes through the snow we found it 0.27miles from the waypoint I had marked on the GPS. I recalled then that the previous evening when we were just 0.26miles from the waypoint that I instructed Eric to start looking for the crossing. That meant that we had missed it by 0.01miles! Just 53ft!

But at least we had found it. We now had a 2.6 mile hike to the top. We’d worry about getting back to the car when we got back. For now we’d just leave those worries with the bikes. The route started out with a big stream crossing, which given the snow seemed weird because normally during a winter hike the creek would be frozen and we could carefully walk across. Using our creek crossing skills that we had honed years ago hiking with our family in the Smokies we crossed without incident and continued up the mountain.

From here on up it was just a routine winter hike. A half a mile from the top we scarfed down some food to sustain us for the final climb. We topped out on the summit of Mt Sugarloaf – the 35th highest peak in New England – at 12:10pm. The wind was ferocious on the summit and the conditions were no different than you’d experience in mid-January. So we paused for just a minute or so to snap a few pictures before heading down. It seems ridiculous, spending an entire day’s worth of effort to bring yourself to one specific spot – one particular rock – that marks the summit of Mt Sugarloaf, and then to leave that spot after no more than two minutes. But such is mountaineering. The enjoyment isn’t at the destination, it’s in the journey.

Getting what we paid for

Now our morale was improving. We had reached our goal and now we were getting closer to the car, not farther from it. We had miles of downhill to look forward to and with any luck we might get some mountain biking in. Our food had started to kick in and we were on fire. We blasted through the 2.6 miles and rendezvoused with the bikes in good time.

Now the real adventure began. It was going to be sheer drudgery dragging these bikes through eight inches of snow for five miles, but at least we knew what we were up against. We suited up, put on our game faces, and began the long, slow slog back to the car.

But after about fifteen minutes it was time for a little experiment. We had dropped down the mountain a hundred feet or so and the snow was seeming a little thinner. We came upon a nice, steep downhill in front of us that we figured we could ride, regardless of snow depth. Indeed, even with a good six inches on the ground we managed to cruise down the hill in style. The big surprise came when Eric kept pedaling and realized that the snow was just barely shallow enough to be bikeable. I hopped on my bike and tried to keep up, but my tire kept slipping. I discovered that the key was to get a bit of a running start and then I wouldn’t need to provide as much torque to my tire which had caused it to slip.

Pedaling through that much snow was still hard work, but it was a sheer pleasure compared to the drudgery of pushing the bikes. As we descended the snow grew thinner and thinner until eventually we came upon some tire tracks that must have been created that morning by a heavy-duty truck. Victory! Riding in the tire tracks was almost effortless. Soon we turned the corner and suddenly there was the car. We had expected to arrive hours later.

We had been looking for a challenge and Sugarloaf had delivered. As we drove back to Boston we formulated our plan of attack for the remaining twelve of the New England Hundred Highest Peaks on our list. Stay tuned for our progress…

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