We continued north to Mount Bond, in a counter-clockwise direction around the loop, beneath a canopy of birdsong - sparrows, thrushes and warblers. Shortly after the summit, the Appalachian Trail joins the Pemi Loop where the chance to see an elusive thru-hiker, if spotted, will certainly inspire, if nothing else.

The Appalachian Mountains express themselves differently as small changes are made in latitude, elevation, geology and the ecology that follows, not to mention the user interface that governs the experience mainly in the form of a trail - an immensely rugged trail. Several trips to New England over the past several years have instilled in me a respect for the diminutive mountains of the Northeast with their rounded, tree covered mountain tops and humble elevations, if for no other reason than the trails demand it. 

Historically, the fall-line trails that make up The Pemi come from a different era of trail building - meant strictly for hikers. Unlike most trails out West that were cut by teams of horses thereby limiting the steepness of a given trail to a casual 5%, New England trails, for many reasons, embrace a more direct approach. Sturdy geological features also count for something when it comes to the resilience of these weather-beaten paths - beneath the carpet of underbrush and duff is generally solid rock. So, what little erosion occurs as a result of rain and human traffic does little to the trail following the loss of that topsoil.

We moved up and over Mount Lafayette, the high point of the trail, glancing over to our left at Mount Bond and Bond Cliff across the vast valley where sunrise had greeted us several hours prior. The morning birdsong of sparrows, thrushes and warblers quieted to make room for the sporadic trill of the dark-eyed junco, flittering about the trees, curiously keeping pace with us. Going counter-clockwise, the trail following Mount Lafayette is a consistent downward trajectory back down to the East Branch of the Pemigewassete River. Though not inconsequential, the summits of Haystack, Liberty and Flume seem to exist as mere viewpoints in comparison to their predecessors from earlier in the day.

The remains of the railroad bed at the base of the mountain welcomed us back to the valley floor, simultaneously reminding us of a by-gone era of gratuitous lumber harvesting. We jogged the final couple miles back to the Lincoln Woods Trailhead where a river pool helped wash away 32 miles of mud and sweat. 

The Pemi in a day, I thought. Classic, indeed.

There is no question that the Pemi enjoys much of its enduring popularity thanks to the number of 4,000’ peaks that can be consecutively summited (with four additional out-and-back summits from the loop if one has the extra stamina). Much like the 14,000’ peaks (Fourteeners) of Colorado, the height of the peaks brings both hikers and runners together for a cohesive and compelling challenge on their way to tagging the 48 4,000’ers of New Hampshire and/or the 67 of New England. 

Before the Pemigewasset became a destination for hikers and runners in New Hampshire’s largest wilderness area), it experienced sixty-plus years of unchecked logging at the hands of J.E. Henry’s lumber operation based out of neighboring Lincoln, NH. In total, Henry laid over 60-miles of standard and narrow gauge railroad throughout the region to harvest the local forests. Not much for conservation, Henry once boldly proclaimed “I never see the tree yit that didn’t mean a damned sight more to me goin’ under the saw than it did standin’ on a mountain.” 

The period prior to the logging era of the White Mountains followed a similar story line as much of the Appalachians from the 17th to mid-19th centuries. First came the explorers, then the trappers, then small scale farm and agriculture concurrent with the forced removal of the indigenous population which, in the White Mountains of New Hampshire was the Abenaki - a linguistic sub-group of the widespread Algonquian-speaking people that were spread across much of modern day eastern and central Canada as well as the Great Lakes and coastal New England. The Indian Removal Act forced the few remaining indigenous tribes of the White Mountains north and west to Quebec and elsewhere. 

Though the geological story of the Appalachian Mountains is rather complicated, a very brief overview of the White Mountains can be summed up with two outstanding events - the first occurred 100 million years ago when the North American Plate glided over a mantle plume or “hot spot” of magma. A weakness in the plate allowed for a magma intrusion thus creating the entirety of the white granite ubiquitous across the White Mountains. The second event occurred much more recently - 80,000 years ago up until 10,000 years ago when glaciers carved U shapes throughout the valleys.

Check weather conditions! While you might get lucky with the same weather we had, you might also get unlucky with some of the weather that the White Mountains are infamous for. At the neighboring summit of Mount Washington, a world record wind was recorded at 231mph. While you might not experience that level of wind, you can be assured that White Mountain weather is nothing to be reckoned with. 

Clockwise vs. Counterclockwise: Most folks seem to prefer to do the loop in a clockwise direction which heads directly up Mount Flume after just two miles on the old railroad bed. Going this direction, you’ll descend from Bond Cliff back to the railroad bed that will take you back to the parking lot over the next five miles. We preferred to do those five miles at the  start, in the dark, and be closer to the end once off of Mount Flume. Six one, half dozen the other, as they say. 

As is common with ridgetop running, once above the valley floor, there is very little water to be found. Seasonal streams can sometimes be running directly down the trail while at other times, be bone dry. Camel-up at  Galehead Hut. Treat yourself to a coffee and a pastry. Once back at the parking lot, soak in the East Branch of the Pemigewassete River just downriver of the pedestrian bridge.