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Saturday, June 20, 2009

Goodbye 09ers, Solstice-eve Ridge Run




















The blog was in danger of falling off the internet due to inactivity, and our seniors just passed into the next world, so the time was high that we bid them a blog farewell. Sam, Fiona, Emily, and Liz were a great bunch and they will be deeply missed. Hopefully we'll see them around in the years to come, and Liz is basically coming back for a fifth year, but it will be sad not to have them around for the everyday things.
I'm not really sure what they're all doing post-ski team, except that Sam's taking his band to the people (to become the next Nickelback, he tells me). But good luck to all of them!

And with some more current news, an update on what Caleb and I have been doing: I have been taking pictures (my "job") in the brief lapses in the impenetrable cloud-cover that has shrouded the valley. Caleb, meanwhile, just back from a visionquest to the Pacific Northwest, is also taking photos and is currently building a sauna in his North Conway home. Wild times! But blogs are for pictures, so here is a recap of today's ridge run along the Presidential range of the Whites.


The run was point to point, with a car spotted the night before. Joining us was our friend Pete Ostroski, a familiar face to many on the team. We were on the trail at 6:30 and the mist was heavy as we made our way up Mount Adams. On the left, Pete and Caleb inspect a mountain lake.











In the Great Gulf, we came across this massive glacier, which stretched for miles on either side of this photo.















As we approached Washington, the fog lifted and (poetically) so did our spirits.





























Rubble flanks the rails of the Cog- a nasty sight.



A morsel of knowledge: the Native American name for Mount Washington is Agiocochook, which means "home of the great spirit."















At the summit, there was glorious undercast.






















Just three guys having a good time.




















Down below the clouds, and about 20 miles in, muscles were withering. But we did the math, and turning back (20 miles) would have taken us longer than finishing (8 miles).














28 rugged miles, and a smug sense of accomplishment.

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