Whitney-Gilman Ridge Mutha Fucka!
A few weeks back I flew out to Boston with the sole intention of drinking and climbing, which should not be confused with “drinking while climbing.” A quick skip up to White Mountains of New Hampshire to trad what Tim had already free-climbed…that crazy fucker. This was my first experience New Hampshire rock climbing. The trip basically came down to a plane ticket set to expire thus utilized for bike rides around Boston and the content of this very post. New Hampshire’s white mountains were nothing I’d imagined…same for New Hampshire in general. Tim was very adamant regarding his opinion that New Hampshire was one of the country’s best kept secrets and I’d have to agree. I simply thought the mountains would be rolling lumps of dirt with no real place to climb jagged-steep rock. That initial opinion is why you should not judge books by their cover. The use of travel is to see things as they are and not how we imagine them to be. Moving on…
After loading the car with gear, beer, and…beer, we drove due north towards two gigantic liquor stores living on the state line. I have to hand it to New Hampshire, these monstrosities were properly constructed to lure in Bostonians north, incentivized with a zero state liquor tax. For all tense and purpose, it was exactly the stop needed before a large climb even with all the beer sitting behind the car seats.
The drive up and initial approach to the climb was masked by a sea of white canyon cloud. This made the talus field manageable because I couldn’t see what the hell I was getting myself into. Head down, step by step we crept closer to the base. In retrospect this white blanket was positive. I’d definitely shit myself if I had seen the sheer mass of rock we’d be ascending. For the record, this was my second trad climb so shaky nerves were the last thing I needed on a 600ft overhang.
We climbed to the top. FIN
AS ALWAYS—YOU CAN FOLLOW THESE ADVENTURES ON INSTAGRAM