At last it can be told. The true story of the Miracle of Madison Gulf.
It was Sunday, August 5, 2007. Rob and I had discussed our plan to climb Mount Madison for the third time. On two previous occasions – affectionately known as “Dolly Copp ’04” and “Dolly Copp ’05” – we had hiked from Dolly Copp campground up the Daniel Webster Scout Trail to the Summit of Mount Madison and back. We both regretted missing 2006. On the drive up to the White Mountains I said that I know he probably had a new and different challenge in mind for Dolly Copp ’07, but that I wouldn’t mind just doing the same old hike we had done before. It would be familiar and we knew we could make it. He agreed. That was our first mistake.
We made camp Saturday night and agreed we should get a good night’s sleep. Sunday morning we were in no hurry to get up early. That was our second mistake. When we did get up we casually tossed a few provisions in our day packs, including a sweatshirt, windbreaker, a lunch, some gorp and three half-liter bottles of water each. After all, this was just an easy day hike. That was our third mistake.
We left Dolly Copp about 10 a.m. We agreed that the old, familiar Dan’l Webster Trail seemed a lot tougher than it had two years ago. It couldn’t be that we were getting old, could it? Well, at least we were smart enough to rest often and drink plenty of water. We knew the hard part came above the tree line, but that darn tree line was a lot higher than it had been before. We decided the mountain had gotten taller. Once we finally did get above the tree line, the blazes and cairns were a lot harder to spot than before. Several times we got a little off track and had to retrace our steps to find the right trail across the boulder field. The AMC book said it was 3.5 miles and should take 3 hours and 30 minutes. It was after 3 o’clock when we got to the Osgood Junction, not even all the way to the summit. It had taken us 5 hours.
From the Osgood Junction, we had a choice of either continuing up to the summit or cutting across the Parapet Trail to the Madison Hut. Since we were almost out of water, and the Madison Hut was a place to refill our water bottles, we decided to go there. The Parapet Trail was only one mile. The book said it should take 40 minutes. Another choice would have been to turn around and go straight back, but we didn’t seriously consider it. That was probably our fourth mistake. The Parapet Trail turned out to be all rather difficult boulder scrambling that took us more than an hour. We got to the Madison Hut after 4:30, filled our water bottles and contemplated our next step. We could have stayed there overnight, but figured we could make it back safely. That was definitely our fifth mistake.
It was nearly 5 p.m. We knew it was getting late and we had only about three or four hours of daylight. We needed to find a faster way down the mountain than the way we came up. We did not want to go back across the Parapet Trail and back down the Dan’l Webster. That would take too long. But we consulted the map, and saw that the Madison Gulf Trail went directly down the mountain, and then connected with the Great Gulf Trail, which appeared to be an easy, nearly flat tail along the Peabody River, leading right to Dolly Copp Campground. It was longer than the way we came up, but we figured we could get off the mountain and down into the valley before darkness. If we had to follow the river in the dark, that would be easier than a mountain trail. I’ve lost track of mistakes, but that was the biggest.
Moving as quickly as we could, considering that we were already sore and tired from seven hours of hiking, we headed down the Madison Gulf Trail. We couldn’t believe how difficult it was. At one point I faced a sheer cliff and said to Rob, “OK, time to break out the technical climbing gear.” He said they really ought to put in an escalator. From the map it looked like the trail crossed the stream twice before meeting up with the Great Gulf Trail. Every time we crossed the stream, I said, “One more stream crossing and then the junction.” We must have crossed it a dozen times. At one point we seemed to be climbing down a waterfall. It was the most difficult climbing I had ever done. The trail went on forever, and we didn’t get to the junction. We decided we were lost.
I was carrying the AMC book in my backpack, but neither of us read the paragraph about the Madison Gulf Trail: “Caution: The section of this trail on the headwall of Madison Gulf is one of the most difficult in the White Mountains, going over several ledge outcrops, bouldery areas and a chimney with loose rock. The steep slabs may be slippery when wet and several ledges require scrambling and the use of handholds – hikers with a short reach may have a particular problem. The trail is not recommended for the descent… allow extra time…” and so forth. Oops.
Around 8:30 it was getting dark and I announced boldly, “You know, Rob, I have a feeling this is going to work out just fine.” I had no idea what I was basing that on, so I added, ‘Hey, I’m traveling with a minister – what could go wrong?”
Rob asked me to tell him about my hometown back when I was a little boy. He told me later that he started praying “real hard.”
It was about 9 p.m. when we came to a junction. There was a sign there, but it was too dark to read it. What we could make out didn’t make any sense. It directed us to the Osgood Cutoff, which I thought was back up at the summit area. We were pretty confused. At that point a group of four hikers appeared from our right on the crossing trail. Two of them were wearing headlamps, and they were arguing. We said hi, and they asked where we were going. “We’re lost,” I announced casually. “We were trying to get back to Dolly Copp.”
There were two men and two women in the group. One of the men said, “Well you had better stick with us, we’re going that way. But then there was some confusion. First of all, the other man in their party thought they should camp overnight and continue the trip in the morning, when it got light. But the others wanted to press on because one of the women had an urgent appointment back home in the morning. Another problem was that there was some confusion about which trail to take.
The first dispute was solved when one of the men pointed out that if they didn’t continue down the mountain these two other guys without flashlights (Rob and me) would be stranded. The other confusion was resolved when a person camping in a tent we had not seen in the darkness turned on a light and told us we had missed the tail and should go back 50 feet and take that one.
So off we went – Rob and I led by friends we discovered were Jonathan, Chris, Isabella and Isabella. One of the Isabellas was from Quebec and spoke French. The conversations switched back and forth from French to English the whole way back. At first it was hard to see, but Jonathan arranged for the two Isabellas wearing headlamps to be third and sixth in line, each illuminating the path for the two men in front of them. It worked perfectly. The six of us made our way down the Great Gulf Trail in the pitch-black darkness getting to know each other.
They all appeared to be in their early 30s. Chris is a professor of comparative literature at Harvard. Jonathan is a professor of environmental studies at Bates College. They were both very interested in religion and philosophy. All four of them were extremely knowledgeable about any subject we discussed and could discuss it intelligently in two languages at least. Not only did Jonathan know about Thich Nhat Hanh, but he had visited Plum Village. Not only did Chris know about Lutheran theology, but he had read many of the same books Rob studied in the seminary. It was nearly 11 p.m. when the six of us reached the Great Gulf Parking area, where they had parked their cars.
Jonathan pointed out that the trail continued another mile or so through the woods to Dolly Copp Campground, and Rob and I could probably find our way in the dark down it. Then he laughed and said, ‘I’m only kidding! Come on, we’ll give you a ride!” Their cars were loaded with camping gear, but there was room for one of us in each of their two cars, and they drove us to the campground. We kept repeating “Thank you very much” and “Merci beaucoups.”
Lying in our sleeping bags in our tent, Rob and I couldn’t believe what had happened. We had done everything wrong, ending up in a remote trail junction after dark, and four strangers just happened to appear at exactly the same place exactly when we needed them, and they led us safely right back to our campground. If we had been a few minutes earlier or a few minutes later, we never would have seen them. They were the only people we saw the whole trip down. It seems pretty miraculous to me.
