By Marty Basch

Dreaded Owl's Head Mountain is the bane of White Mountain peak-baggers. Quite frankly, deservedly so. A long hike to nowhere, the 18-mile round-trip trek to the remote Pemigewasset Wilderness peak yields a viewless summit, precarious steep slide, loose footing on shifting scree, potentially falling rock, bushwhacking up an unofficial trail or trails and easily scores of stream crossings (a couple with strong currents in high water).

Add mud and blow-downs, and the flat, forested summit of 4,025-foot Owl's Head is a mess.

Physically and psychologically taxing as Owl's Head is routinely vilified as a remote death march, there are much better ways to spend 11½ hours in the woods.

The odyssey is also something of a multi-sport endurance test of stamina, skill and confidence. Speed-walking, hiking, climbing, creaking over downed logs, crossing rushing brooks and rock-hopping are all part of the experience.

But the hike to secluded Owl's Head does come with at least two rewards: bragging rights and an impressive look at an outstanding ridged backside - the Franconia Range - while scaling and descending that awful slide.

H20

Water is everywhere, both a blessing and a curse, on the trek to and from the hulking mountain, the center of an amphitheater containing Franconia and Twin-Bond Ranges plus and Garfield Ridge. Drinking water, with proper treatment, is readily available. But the rushing water also meant another slow pole-assisted crossing. However, that same sound was like a symphony while coming down Owl's Head, signaling nearer level ground worthy of a dirty kiss.

Using the south approach from the Kancamagus Highway along the Lincoln Woods Trail, Franconia Brook Trail, Lincoln Brook Trail and unsigned Owl's Head Path, the journey begins as a bleary-eyed trek on a popular path along the glorious East Branch of the Pemigewasset River. The trail symbolizes the lion's share of the outing, flat valley walking on a former riverside old logging railroad bed. It is also the pathway to the Black Pond Trail used by experienced hikers skilled with compass for a bushwhack shaving off miles and some river crossings.

Jan Duprey and I stuck to the established route during the pre-Tropical Storm Irene outing, changing into water shoes several times for crossing wide Franconia, rocky Lincoln and narrow Liberty Brooks and using the hand towels we brought to dry off. Other hikers - we met three on similar missions - were able to rock-hop Liberty. On the return, Jan and I hiked in water shoes for less than a half mile between a pair of crossings.

Long Day

The riverside trails are a playful romp in the wilderness for eight miles before the walk ends and the gateway to pain begins, indicated by two mounds of rocks up a well-trodden bushwhack (Forest Service rules prohibit signing unmaintained wilderness paths).

The scramble up the slide contains a menu of potentially poisonous offerings of steep, slippery, wet, loose and you've-got-to-be-kidding-me-we've-got-to-go-down-this! Time slows on the grind up the mountain. Cairns mark the open ledges. The path winds in and out of the woods. Wind whipped bending trees. Despite the pleasant mid-60 temperatures and first bursts of autumn's rich approach, darkened clouds loomed to the northwest, adding further torment but thankfully nothing more.

Once confidence arrived on the risky slope, the vista of the long Franconia Range's eastern side, highlighted by the v-like scar of Mount Lincoln's slide, can be enjoyed. Flume, Liberty, Little Haystack, Lincoln and Lafayette are in the foreground. The wild Liberty Brook valley showcases the area's remoteness while the flanks of Garfield Ridge lie distant to the north.

Eventually, the scramble eases and after cresting a ridge, a sign saying "Summit" points the way for the last quarter mile to the summit cairn, high point and mid-way of the fool's quest.

Down That Thing!

The descent is equally treacherous but oddly not as difficult as the ascent, perhaps because of increased aplomb or being punch drunk from the summit conquest. It took us less time. Also surprising to us was the pace we kept up for the return trek, and how much easier and quicker it was for the high water crossings, as we were now Owl's Head survivors.

Long after the soreness is gone and scratches heal, stories about Owl's Head will continue. They are best left told by those who certainly know of better ways to spend a day in the woods but go anyway.