White Mountain Water Wonder

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Travel, like life, rarely goes exactly as planned.

On this trip, I got something quite different than expected, initially worse but ultimately far better.

This weekend, I planned to hike the White Mountains in October foliage for the first time in several years.

The hiking time to a vista and back nearly matches the amount of daylight available this time of year, so I need to camp out the night before.

Lots of other people have the same idea, so spots must be reserved months in advance.

That means taking a risk with the notorious White Mountain weather;the range sits where three weather systems collide and has some of the worst weather in the world.



On the drive up, it appeared I had rolled snake eyes.

Rain was falling in sheets, from a wave of thunderstorms along a cold front.

In low elevations they are an annoyance; in high they can be deadly.

Just before I reached Franconia Notch, on the western side of the White Mountains, the rain finally stopped.

Once at Lafayette Campground in the heart of the notch, I discovered a worse problem; I had forgotten my tent!

My only real choices were to sleep in the open and risk the weather or head home.

I took the risk, layering clothing to deal with the cold and wrapping my sleeping bag with my ground cloth for some moisture protection.

Fraconia Notch

The following morning, I woke up to cloudy skies and acres of yellow trees.

The latter is what I came for, glorious New England foliage on tall granite mountains.

Walking to the campground entrance shows the surrounding peaks, long past peak at high elevations (and many with full leaf drop) but a carpet of color lower down.

At the ranger station I get even better news: the cold front has moved through and the day will be cold but dry.

I’m used to that, so the hike should be fun.



Soon afterward, nature shows that hiking will truly be wonderful.

In fact, I now have very unexpected and difficult choices to make.

Lafayette Campground sits on the bank of the Pemigewasset River, which flows through the notch.

The river is running very high.

In fact, it’s almost overflowing its banks.

A great deal of rain fell over the last few days, and a large portion of it is now flowing into area streams.

That provides the opportunity for a rare hiking jackpot, waterfalls at full volume.

Surrounded by mountain foliage, they are going to be even more special.

Vast vistas of foliage or impressive waterfalls, how to choose?



In the end, I decided to postpone it.

A trail starts at the campground that can provide both, if I want.

The Falling Waters Trail runs up a steep valley on the side of the notch, passing three of the area’s more impressive waterfalls in the process.

At the last one, I’ll make my choice.



(LATE UPDATE) The White Mountains suffered a direct hit from a hurricane in 2011, causing historic levels of flooding.

Most trails were damaged, and many temporarily closed.

While the paths described in this blog are now open, they probably look very different to what I saw.



The trailhead gives a nice view of the notch’s most famous feature, Cannon Mountain.

The mountain resembles a tiny New England version of Yosemite’s Half Dome, with the entire side sheared off by a glacier.

The northern end of the face used to hold the ledges that made up the Old Man of the Mountain, the symbol of the state (and pictured on every New Hampshire road sign and license plate.)

They fell after one too many winter storms in May 2003.



The path soon enters a world of colored leaves.

Some trees are still green, but the rest have turned yellow.

They are all deciduous, a mixture of beech and birch.

After a rise, I hear a low roaring noise, growing steadily louder.

The path soon reaches the source, a brook running over granite boulders at full flow.

The water looks like a continuous sheet of white.

Surrounded by a forest of yellow, it’s especially nice.



The trail splits here, the left branch following the brook upstream and the right crossing a bridge.

The former, Old Bridal Path, one of the oldest trails in Franconia Notch, ultimately climbs a ridge to Mount Lafayette, the tallest peak in the area.

The right trail, Falling Waters, passes the waterfalls before ultimately climbing to the summit of Little Haystack, another mountain in the same range.

It’s possible to ascend one trail, hike the range, and then return on the other; creating a tough and popular eight mile loop with unbeatable scenery.



After the bridge, the Falling Waters Trail follows the stream, Walker Brook, for a distance.

The roaring noise grows much louder. Looking upstream shows a steep boulder filled waterfall called Walker Cascades.

Normally, it’s not very impressive; lots of rocks make it look like a steeper version of the regular streambed.

At this level, on the other hand, the water covers all the rocks making the presence of the waterfall obvious.

This one is just the teaser.

Stair and Swiftwater Falls

After the waterfall, the trail pulls away from the brook and climbs the rise on the far side.

The path passes through a world of yellow trees, with lots of old birch.

The thick trunks and white bark stick out from the yellow all around.

Just when it’s all starting to get repetitive, the trail drops into the next valley over.

A low roaring sound appears, and steadily gets louder.

Finally, the trail reaches the bank of Dry Brook.



Dry Brook, unlike Walker, flows over bare granite ledges in many places.

At normal water levels, it flows mostly down the middle, leaving whitish granite on either side.

That granite gave the brook its name.

Today, it is anything but dry.

The water pours across the granite, covering it from one bank to the other.



Although it will make for glorious scenery later, right now the high water level is a serious problem.

The trail crosses the stream without a bridge.

Normally, it’s a nice easy rock hop, but not when most are under water!

Hikers tend to react one of four ways depending on their experience and adventurousness.

The most timid just turn around.

Many more gingerly step from wet rock to wet rock, constantly wobbling, trying to keep their balance and not fall in.

Those with experience search in the woods for a fallen tree branch to use as a walking stick; balancing on the rocks then becomes easy.

The most fearless, of course, just remove their boots and wade the stream.

I chose the third option, and was quickly across.



On the far side, the trail follows the brook upstream, through yet more acres of birch trees.

The scenery looks really familiar by this point, but it’s certainly not boring!

Pines start to mix in with the birch, their eternal green really sticking out against the yellow and white.

As the trail continues, it becomes steeper.

Granite rocks start appearing, and they grow bigger.

Before long, the trail has to clamber over them.

This is the White Mountain hiking I know and love.



In case it isn’t obvious, waterproof boots are a necessity on a hike like this.

Beyond the stream crossing itself, parts of the ground are really damp.

In one spot, a spring that only appears after a hard rain is pouring water on the trail.

What has been a hike so far is now a wade in a tiny brook.

Hiking on the banks instead is tempting, but that will only make the wet area wider.

Finally, the water flow pulls away into the main stream.



The brook and trail reach the first waterfall.

Dry Brook drops over a series of narrow granite ledges, at least twenty feet high total.

They look like a staircase, and early settlers named the waterfall accordingly.

At normal levels, it’s a pretty unimpressive waterfall, with the water flowing through the center of the stairs.

Today, it poured down, a sheet of white froth reaching from bank to bank.

With the foliage around it, Stair Falls was well worth seeing.



Beyond Stair Falls, the valley narrows into a true ravine.

Hikers must scramble over lots of fallen rocks and walk next to dripping ledges.

Hemlock pines now appear in abundance; they prefer the cool shade the ravine provides.

Moss covers the boulders in many places.

The stream, flowing over endless granite slabs, provides some truly picturesque cascades that barely register at normal levels.



The ravine finally ends at a set of rocky cliffs.

The brook pours over them through a narrow notch, forming sixty foot high Swiftwater Falls.

Surrounded by yellow trees, the falls is quite nice.

Ironically, it looks less impressive than it normally would, thanks to all the other similar-looking cascades lower down.



Anyone not used to White Mountain (and New England) hiking can be forgiven for thinking the trail ends at this point.

The obvious path reaches a small pool near the bottom of the waterfall and just disappears.

Careful observation reveals where it goes next.

An exposed slanted granite slab sits across the book from the pool, directly in front of the waterfall.

It has trail markers painted on it.



Although the climb looks insane today, it’s easy enough in low water.

After a rock hop, the dry rock can be easily friction climbed.

Today is a different matter.

Not only are all the rocks below the pool under water, the slope is soaked with spray from the waterfall.

Neither part will be any fun.

I slipped on the crossing, even with the walking stick.

Thank the heavens for waterproof boots!

The rock climb had to be done slowly and carefully, checking the hold at each step.

Finally, I reached the top of the ravine and waterfall.

Cloudland Falls

Past Swiftwater Falls, the ravine widens out again.

I’m now in the heart of autumn color.

In the White Mountains, thanks to the temperature drop at higher elevations, leaves change color at different times depending on altitude.

It’s a wonder world: yellow and orange mixed with abundant green pines.

Many of the deciduous trees are birch.

The top of the falls also has the first good view across the notch, a near mirror image color wise.



The trail now becomes a long hike through autumn majesty.

It goes through many large groups of rocks, alternating with pine trees and endless yellow birch trees.

Except for the rocky sections, the grade is pretty gentle.

Gaps in the trees provide a view of the brook, endless series of little cascades, which at high water are quite impressive.

The beauty just goes on and on.



One section of trail passes through a grove of truly strange birch trees.

Trees expectedly grow straight up.

These are bent over into wide curves.

Fifteen years ago, this area was hit by an ice storm that lasted nearly a week.

At this altitude, the ice caked on the trees heavy enough to bend them, but just below what would cause them to break.

Miraculously, they survived and are still growing.



A short spur goes to an open rock ledge next to the brook.

It shows a long series of cascades.

The water pours over a seemingly endless series of falls, each about three inches high.

The finale is a three foot ledge drop.

At normal water levels, these wouldn’t merit a second glance.

Today, they are impressive, a long string of continuous white foam.



The beautiful trail feels wonderful, but I know all along it’s just a sideshow.

The path clambers over a pile of rocks to a pool, and the real reason this trail is called “Falling Waters” appears.

I’m now face to face with eighty foot Cloudland Falls, one of the ten highest waterfalls in the White Mountains.

Remarkably, at high water it’s shaped like a Christmas tree, starting from a relatively narrow top and spreading out as it falls.

Its base is almost forty feet wide!

Unfortunately, that wide base generates tons of spay, which is soaking the viewing area.

The entire falls is filled with roaring white foam.

I want to spend a long time watching its beauty, but the cold spay ensures I won’t be able to.



Like other parts of this hike, the trail appears to just stop here.

An old rock slide sits to the left of the viewing area.

Sure enough, trail markers appear on the rocks in the slide.

It’s steep with tricky footing, but careful rock scrambling gets me up.

Along the way, it provides some pretty views of the waterfall from halfway up, showing its actually an incredibly steep slide instead of a vertical drop.



The slide climb ends on a narrow rock ledge with a number of birch trees.

A steep cliff towers above.

Jumbled rocks cover the ledge, but they are firmly wedged in.

Careful hiking reaches the end at the top of the waterfall.



This spot provides some unexpected scenic pleasures.

First, the cliff containing the waterfall has a wonderful view of the ravine I’ve climbed up.

The walls are filled with yellow birch trees and green pines.

With a little imagination, it could pass for central Colorado.

Second, a side stream drops into the main brook just above the waterfall, forming its own six foot ledge drop as it does so.

At regular levels it must be quite narrow but today it pours.



Beyond Cloudland Falls, the trail runs right next to Dry Brook.

The water flows through another long series of cascades.

These are steeper than last time, two foot high drops.

In between, the water flows over open granite, ever changing tapestries of white rivulets.

At this water level, they stretch from one bank to the other, a waterfall lover’s dream.



The show ends when the trail crosses the stream again.

Unlike those before, this one requires a wade.

The stream cascades continue for quite a distance beyond, but this marks the point where the trail turns to begin its climb to Franconia Ridge.

I now must make my choice: do I want to see fall foliage from above tree line, or do I want more water wonder?

I ultimately took the latter, because I can see foliage every year while it may be years before I see water levels in autumn like this again.



The hike down is pretty much the reverse of the hike up, which at this time of year means lots more yellow leaves and scenic beauty, along with the waterfalls and cascades.

The rock scrambles are scarier going down, because they look much steeper.

At the stream crossing below Swiftwater Falls I saw some hikers attempt one of the more enterprising methods of crossing the stream, across a fallen tree!

This one requires significant balance and the result of an error, to put it mildly, will be both wet and painful.

I prefer taking my chances on the wet rocks.

Finally, I reached the trailhead and the Pemigawasset River.

The Basin

A trail follows the river south through the notch to another major waterfall area.

It’s mostly flat.

The river looks calm and dull, except for little rapids in several spots.

In reality, it’s moving with a swift current, and getting too close would be a bad idea.

Surrounded by yellow leaves everywhere, it’s a quite beautiful hike.

Hard to believe the entire length sits less than a hundred yards from a major highway; that’s how well this park was engineered.



After almost two miles, things pick up when the river drops through an six foot cascading waterfall.

At this water level, the river roars.

It flows into a pool.

An obvious highway parking lot sits on the far side, with a sign reading “The Basin”.

The trail works its way around the pool, at one point walking right on the edge of the bank above it.

This stretch also involves the sketchiest bridge crossing I have ever seen, across a side stream.

The bridge logs have rotted and partially fallen in, forcing hikers to descend down the logs to stream level, and then ascend them again on the other side.



Beyond the pool, the river enters an area showing the power of flowing water to carve hard rocks.

The Pemigawasset splits, with the left branch dropping over a wide waterfall two feet high.

The right branch pours over a boulder worn smooth by the water into a narrow channel.

At regular levels, this branch just dribbles.

The flow drops through multiple cascades until it reaches the top of a huge, smooth, and nearly flat rock.

Most of the flow loops around the long edge while the rest spreads out over the surface.

It’s mesmerizing.



It’s also just the warm up.

The water leads to a ten foot granite cliff.

The other part of the river pours over this cliff onto the edge of a huge round hole with smooth walls worn directly into the granite.

A high overhang covers the back part of it.

This is The Basin, sometimes called “the Old Man in the Mountain’s toe print”, one of the best example of a glacial pothole in the United States.



At normal water levels, most non-geologists probably wonder why this feature is so significant.

A big smooth pool in solid granite is certainly unusual, but not that spectacular.

Today, the reason behind its fame is obvious.

The high water flow sets up a violent clockwise circular current in the hole.

A tree branch is stuck in it, swirling around endlessly.

At the end of the last ice age the huge water flow from a melting glacier did the same thing on a huge scale, carrying rocks and sand that slowly and steadily enlarged a tiny depression in the granite.

Most natural potholes are small; this one is a rare exception.

Cascades Brook

The Basin marks the trail head for the last water hike in Franconia Notch, the Basin Cascades Trail.

It follows Cascade Brook deep into a side valley.

Cascade Brook has the name because the bottom portion is basically one long cascading waterfall.

The stream flows over slanting exposed granite, creating a seemingly endless series of water features as it goes.

At normal water levels it dribbles and meanders across the rocks in most places.

Thankfully today is a very different day.



After a quick scramble through trees, the trail reaches the brook roughly at the bottom of the cascades.

It flows as a wide sheet over the rock, turning to white foam around obstacles.

A nice roostertail appears at the bottom, with an orange tree directly over it.

The trail runs right next to the brook the whole way.



Trails like this are dangerous close to the end of the day, because they urge me on and on.

Every turn promises a new wonder, always more to see.

The risk is reaching the end in fading daylight, without enough to get back.

If that wasn’t enough, the open granite has a nice view of the valley and notch, all yellow and orange leaves.



The initial exposed section ends at the first waterfall, a wide three foot drop over a ledge.

Above it the stream breaks into strands across the smooth granite surface.

They remerge just before a short pool, above which the stream flows from a narrow steep ravine.

Much of the flow becomes bunched against the far wall, a churning ribbon of white.

The middle section features another beautiful roostertail, on the lip of a shallow glacial pothole.

Above this is still more, a nice five foot cascade.



Above the cascade, the stream exits from a steep rocky slide. That leads to more open granite, where the brook pours over a six foot broken ledge containing a narrow ravine.

At this volume, water pours into the ravine from three sides creating boiling whitewater in the middle.

This is Kinsman Falls, the first named waterfall on Cascades Brook.

It marks the culmination of the major cascades; the steepness of the brook drops noticeably above it.



Reluctantly but necessarily, I forced myself to turn around at Kinsman Falls.

Daylight is already low, and if it gets much lower I risk not getting back.

I hiked as quickly as I safely could, and made it back to the Basin in time.

Useable daylight faded out ten minutes later.



Normally, this would be a rather large problem, since I’m still a long way from my campsite.

Not in Franconia Notch.

Several years ago, park managers created a paved bike path through the entire notch.

It’s smooth, almost completely flat, and relatively easy to find by looking for gaps in the trees.

Since it’s also paved, I’ll know very quickly if I lose it.

It passes directly in front of the trailheads for the Basin Cascades and Falling Waters trail too.



I found the bike path easy enough to follow, and was soon back at my campsite.

The clouds have gone, leaving a glorious carpet of stars in the sky.

Sadly, the mountains on the sides of the notch cut off a large portion of them.

I have to sleep outside again, wearing as many clothing layers as I can stand; the temperature drops below freezing tonight.

It’s well worth the discomfort, in return for one of the better White Mountain hikes I’ve ever done.

The weather gods give and they take away in this range, and I got much more of the former on this trip.

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Photos

Falling Waters Trail
Full Cascades and fall foliage along the Falling Waters Trail

Little Haystack Mountain
Little Haystack shows its colors in Franconia Notch

Cannon Mountain
New England's version of Half Dome, in Franconia Notch. The Old Man of the Mountain was once at the far right.

Walker Cascades
The first, normally unimpressive, waterfall along the trail.

Adventures in brook crossing
The way most people try to get across Dry Brook

Stair Falls
First waterfall on Dry Brook in very high water

Brook foliage
Fall foliage along Dry Brook

Swiftwater Falls
Second waterfall on Dry Brook. The trail climbs the granite on the left

Fall foliage
More glorious foliage along Falling Waters Trail

Cloudland Falls
An eighty foot waterfall along Dry Brook in very high water

Side brook falls
Unnamed waterfall on a side brook directly above Cloudland Falls

Dry Brook cascades
Glorious high water cascades along Dry Brook above Clouldland Falls

Dry Brook valley
The valley of Dry Brook from near the top of Cloudland Falls

Tree crossing
If crossing the brook over wet rocks seems too sketchy, this is always an option instead

Waterflow near The Basin
A branch of the Pemigewasset River flows over open granite near The Basin

The Basin
A huge glacial pothole containing a fast clockwise current at this water level

Cascade Brook
Lower cascades along Cascade Brook with foliage

Cascade Brook
One of many cascades along the brook

Narrow gorge
Cascade Brook spills through a steep narrow gorge

Kinsman Falls
Cascade Brook's first named waterfall, in very high water.