Shamed on Sugarloaf Trail

Today we bring you our review of a day hike on Sugarloaf Trail, which is rated as a "moderate" hike by one popular New Hampshire guidebook.  Total distance is 3 miles (give or take a few feet) with an elevation gain of 900 feet for Middle Suglarloaf, and a mere 700 feet for North Sugarloaf.  
At the start of our hike, we encountered a young woman who mistook our unbridled enthusiasm for proven athleticism and informed us that the Middle Sugarloaf had a much better view.  

How bad could an extra 200 feet be, we wondered?  

According to our guidebook, we were promised "great views from the summits of the Sugerloafs for relatively modest effort."  This is a baldfaced lie, unless your definition of relatively modest effort includes coughing up a lung and spitting out your liver.

View from Middle Sugarloaf summit

Mount Washington in distance

The Fat Man was sweating like a pig and even I, who normally only perspire, felt the sweat beginning to drip down that little crack in a place where no sweat should ever go.  Despite our huffing and puffing, we were feeling pretty proud of ourselves for rising to the challenge.

Another hiker, who appeared to have at least 10 (if not more) years on us was making his way down the trail.  Per the custom of polite hikers, we stepped to the side to allow the old man to pass.  Since I was about 100 feet below the Fat Man, I did not hear his words, which was a good thing because I probably would have taken my hiking stick and slashed the old man's ankles.

I commented that the old geezer looked like he was in pretty good shape for his age, which is when the Fat Man informed me, rather sheepishly, that the old man had said that he had chosen this hike because it was easy and he was nursing a bad back.

"Nursing a bad back?" I cried incredulously.  "What the hell do they put in the water up here?"  Either he had some kind of bionic implant or he had drunk some powerful elixir with kryptonite or some other body-altering substance.  

It was a powerful blow to our egos, but we quickly shoved it down to that place where all painful denials are stored and pressed on.  

We made it to the summit and enjoyed a delicious lunch of half a roast beef sandwich with horseradish mayo (on multigrain bread, of course), which we purchased from a lovely little deli near the lakeside home we were renting.  Although we did find it a bit odd when the woman behind the counter asked us for our name for our order when we were the only ones in the deli.  But I digress.

Middle Sugarloaf glacial erratic

The view from the summit was stellar, and if you went around the backside of the mountain, you could see Mount Washington in the distance, which is an elevation of 6,288 feet.  A little longer jaunt that has claimed the lives of God knows how many people due to hypothermia, falling ice, avalanches, falls, as well as drowning, vehicular accidents, natural causes, and unknown causes.  Sounds like fun!

We met a lovely couple who also looked to be about 10 years older than us.  Tim took great pains to mention that this was an easy hike for them, and how much he enjoyed the deciduous plants on the way up, the conifers, and the glacial erratics.  

Middle Sugarloaf scenic view

I, however, noticed none of these things on the way up because I was barely breathing and was looking down at  my feet the whole time, praying I wouldn't trip and kill myself on the knotty tree roots and rocks that lined the footbed of the trail.

Tim's wife Janet also felt the need to mention that this was just a quick little trek for them because it was so easy.  They were from Vermont, which obviously has better water than the hinterlands of New Jersey (our home state).  Either that or they were taking steroids.  Whatever they were drinking, we had none of it.

Tim was engaged with the Fat Man, showing him hikes that we might find easier on our pathetic legs and throbbing hips.  The third time he mentioned how easy this hike had been I decided that I hated them both and they must go away.  Thankfully, they did.

The hike down the mountain would have been much easier if my legs stopped trembling, quivering, and no longer had the consistency of jello.  This is why people die on Everest, I thought to myself.  Getting up the mountain is the easy part.  Getting down alive is considerably harder.

The Fat Man did not seem to be bothered by the steep decline and had apparently grown tired of my frequent proclamations that I must have some kind of progressive neuromuscular disease that was causing my legs not to function properly.

I forgot to mention that as I started my descent, I passed a middle-aged woman and her son.  She was wearing sneakers and talking on her cell phone, jumping like a little gazelle up that mountain.  I hated her as well.

Later, when I was coming to the end of my ugly descent, I noticed that she was right behind me.  I had a sudden compulsion to whip around and tell her that I was doing pretty good on the trail, considering that I had just gotten over a broken ankle.  

I knew it would be wrong to tell such a pathetic lie but it would lessen my shame of moving like an overworked circus elephant.

Heidi's rating: ★ ★ ★ ★ The view from the summit was well worth the exhausting climb.
The Fat Man's rating: half a lung, which he lost on the way up.