Mount Washington regularly earns its tagline as home of the world’s worst weather. On any given day, at any time of year, the 6,288-foot summit might be buffeted by snow or rain or sleet. Winds reach hurricane velocity nearly a third of the days in each year. It can snow in July, and ice is a regular fact of life here.
The weather was remarkably calm, however, the day I arrived at the Great Glen Trails Visitor Center at the base of the Mount Washington Auto Road for a Snow-Coach tour. The sky was a deep, vivid blue against the bright snow-white summits of Mount Adams, Jefferson and Madison. The temperature hovered around zero degrees, and there was nary a breeze.
It was lovely — unless you’re one of those people who come to Mount Washington to experience its infamous weather, eschewing sunshine for wild winds, swirling clouds and wintery precipitation.
“Weather-related events are what bring people to the mountain,” said Mike Micucci, who has driven tours on the Auto Road — both summer and winter — since he graduated from college a few decades ago. “When the weather is a little bit more interesting, people really, truly have an appreciation for how wild that mountain can be.”
Not one to be deterred by sunshine, I eagerly climbed aboard a SnowCoach — a 12-person passenger van with four snowcat-like tracks where the wheels normally would be. Along for the ride was a couple from Deerfield, N.H., and another from South Jersey. Our driver was Dave Roy, who’s lived in the area most of his life and knows about the history, geology and weather of the place.
Each driver has a different background, said Micucci, who is the training coordinator for AutoRoad drivers, both summer and winter. They range from naturalists and teachers to retired corporate executives and former ski coaches. One thing they have in common: “We all love being on the mountain.”
“The crew is so knowledgeable about weather, geology, the history of the White Mountains,” he said, noting that drivers take their cues from their audience and steer the conversation accordingly. “Every group of people we have on board has a different interest level. I’ve had bachelorette parties, birthday parties, young kids, retirees. The tour is really determined by the level of interest of the people on board. I might do a geology tour on one trip, a weather tour on the next one, and a history tour on another.”
During my ride, we heard a little bit of all of that. Roy regaled us with details of the construction of the Auto Road in the mid-1800s, when all materials had to be carried in on the backs of horses, oxen and strong men; blasting holes were drilled into rock by hand; and countless tons of rock had to be moved without the benefit of modern machinery.
The road to the summit opened in 1861, with passengers arriving atop the Northeast’s highest peak by horsedrawn Concord Coach. Nearly three decades later, in 1899, the first motorized ascent — by Stanley Steamer — was made, and in 1902, the first gas-powered automobiles made their way from valley to summit.
These days, all manner of vehicle travel the 7.6-mile road — as evidenced by the “This Car Climbed Mount Washington” bumper stickers spotted throughout the region — and the Auto Road hosts several annual events, ranging from races that feature runners, bicyclists and snowshoers to the wildly wacky Alton Weagle Day. There’s also the Climb to the Clouds, when professional rally car drivers travel at speeds over 100 miles per hour to reach the summit of Mount Washington.
We chugged along at a decidedly more leisurely pace, which was fine by me. Sunlight filtered through the birch trees along the lower section of the road, painting shadows on the snow. Fox tracks meandered through the trees, crisscrossed by the prints of snowshoe hare. Everywhere, the snow sparkled in the bright winter day.
As we climbed from a starting elevation of 1,560 feet, hardwood forests of beech and birch gave way to the fir and spruce trees of the boreal forest. The higher we got, the smaller the snow-covered conifers were, and Roy explained that while the trees in this subalpine zone were likely about 100 years old, their growth was stunted by the harsh conditions so high on the mountain.
As the road switchbacks its way up Washington, the view shifts to include, at various points, the Peabody River Valley, faraway snowy peaks in Maine, ski trails spun like white tendrils down the side of Wildcat Ski Area, and the glimmering summits of the northern Presidentials.
The “top of the tour” for the Snow-Coach depends a bit on the weather and road conditions, but most tours — like ours — make it to the 4,200-foot mark, about 4 miles up the road from the start. That’s just at treeline, above which the landscape seems barren and white in winter. (Come back in summer, though, and you’ll find beautiful, resilient alpine flowers and sedges growing, incredibly, along rocks and in crevices in the alpine zone above treeline.)
Even this high — an elevation higher than the summits of all but a couple dozen New Hampshire peaks — there was no wind. Just sunshine and views forever. Those views make for spectacular photos — as, I suppose, Mount Washington’s more wicked weather would, too — and passengers are welcome to step down from the SnowCoach to take full advantage of photo ops.
Along with their knowledge of all things Mount Washington, the drivers are great photographers and willing to help passengers capture the moment — come serene sunshine or wild winds. As Micucci put it, “We’ve taken pictures of people in all kinds of situations, with every kind of recording device.”
After filling our eyes with the glorious vistas and our lungs with the cold, clean air, we climbed back into the warmth and comfort of the SnowCoach. I scored shotgun for the descent, so I had a front-row view through the windshield of the steep dropoffs along parts of the road. It was hard to imagine the horse-drawn, tourist-laden carriages that first climbed his road some 150 years ago — or those modern-day race cars that zoom around the precarious corners now.
During the warmer months, some 45,000 cars travel the road each year now. The only way up in winter, though, is by SnowCoach. It’s a quieter season, for sure. In summer, crowds of people reach the summit each day — via the Auto Road, the Cog Railway, or by hiking one of several trails on the mountain.
This winter day we had the mountain to ourselves: a handful of passengers and our engaging driver. The quiet of winter — and sitting back while someone else navigated the Auto Road from behind the wheel — seemed a treat.
Micucci pointed out that the Snow-Coach also can be a one-way tour. Some folks bring their snowshoes along and hike down. Free-heeled skiers also are welcomed to make the descent on their own (but no snowboards or fixed-heel alpine bindings). What a thrill that would be, to carve tele turns down the side of New England’s highest peak — and without having to make the effort of climbing up first.
Next time, I’ll be sure to bring my skis along for the SnowCoach ride.
