The rain began at 5 AM, just as the weatherman had promised. Steady, heavy rain in large drops, blown around by gusty wind at the lower elevations. I put on my usual hiking gear, still damp from washing it last night, knowing that it would only get wetter. The nylon shirt and pants were quite wind resistant. I put on my waterproof parka, hood up and baseball cap on to shield my glasses from the rain, strapped my pack on and began the trudge up the mountain. It was not bad going - not as steep as yesterday's grueling climb, but enough to make me overheat in the raingear and sweat buckets.

The going was slow because of the wet rocks, large puddles and steamed up glasses which caused me to lose either my essential depth perception when only one lens steamed up - or go blind entirely when they both steamed up. With my soaking wet hands, I could not clear them. There was no winning. Ever upward and onward. I was really disappointed at the weather because it was denying me the much ballyhooed and must-see views from Moosilauke's summit. And, it was making me hot and clammy.

The summit of Moosilauke is really two mountains, though the other, Mt. Blue, 4530' elevation, is rarely mentioned. It is a long summit. I broke treeline about half a mile before Mt. Blue's summit, then descended briefly before ascending Moosilauke's 4802' summit. From treeline, over the summits and back to treeline was three miles. Three miles with no trees to break the wind. On a nice, partly sunny day being in and out of the clouds is a fantastic experience. Oh how that contrasts with being in storm clouds. The difference is night and day - or, life and death.

Two minutes after I climbed above treeline the wind doubled from its gusty 30 to 40 MPH and just screamed, trying its damndest to blow me over. I went from warm and clammy to icy cold and shivering. The crosswind was blasting right through my wind resistant pants and making my gloveless hands numb and lifting my pack off my back - an area that had always stayed warm. I could not have been wetter if I had jumped fully clothed into a lake. I realized the danger. The extreme wind and wet were chilling my body faster than it could produce heat: hypothermia required fast action. The awful conditionds on the long summit were complicated by the fact I could hardly see. Glasses on or off, visibility was less than 50 feet in the heavy clouds

When I entered the clouds the rain became a dense but equally wet heavy cloud mist blown by gale force winds. I can't even see from cairn to cairn (trail markers) and can barely stay upright and follow the rock scree along the trail. On the actual summit, three trails came together in a confusing jumble of rocks.

After a few tense moments, when I thought about turning back, I saw a large mound of rocks - an oversize cairn or some kind of crude shelter or windbreak looming in the fog ahead. I ducked behind it. It cut the wind to a tolerable level. The whistling and screaming of the wind hitting the rocks was a sound I never heard before and will never forget. Water condensed and ran in streams down the back side of the rock pile. I had to get more clothes on, hold in my body heat and stave off that icy chill and creaming wind. Inside my pack, everything was stored in thin plastic trash bags. I was able to get out my wind and waterproof chaps, gloves, knit wool hat, and fleece jacket without soaking everything else in the pack. But the clothes I was putting on were soaked as soon as they came out of the plastic bag. I put them on, summoned all the determination I had and pushed out from behind the rock pile.

Wham. The wind blew me right over, plunging my face into the wet, cold rocks. It must have been comical - but I was too scared to laugh. I needed to focus on getting the hell pout of here. I crawled and struggled up, planted my poles and pushed on. Each time I lifted one of my poles to move it ahead the wind blew it sideways. If I relaxed my grip even for a second, my trekking pole would blow into a near horizontal position. It took a concentrated, firm grip to correct it and plant it where it would stabilize me. I was leaning heavily into the left pole and using the right to keep me from blowing over again. To imagine what this is like, try holding your arm straight out a car window at 70 MPH. My pack cover was acting like a parasail, collecting the wind, ballooning out and trying to pull the pack off my back or pull me over. I don't know how it managed to stay on.

With more clothes on it became a matter of pushing on and getting there. I no longer felt as though all my body heat was being sucked away. I still had to fight the wind and lack of visibility and keep from losing the trail. This experience taught me - fleece and wool ARE still warm when wet - as long as the wind does not get through them.

At the summit I saw a big rock pile with wooden signs sticking out of it, barely visible in the fog. When I struggled close enough to read them, I could see they pointed out a change in direction of the AT. I turned and followed the scree path. Soon I saw treeline on the other side. I hiked down, quite steeply for about an hour before I regained enough body heat to stop and wring my clothes out and pour the water from my hiking boots. It seemed to make little sense, really, now back in the pouring rain. But I was out of that fierce wind. I ate a couple of candy bars for energy and pushed on. The Moosilauke ordeal was over. It sure reinforced my appreciation of the comforts of home.

I bypassed the Jeffers Brook Shelter at the base of the mountain's southern slope and went right into Glencliff for my resupply. The post office was all set up for hikers with an outdoor packing and receiving area, including tools and supplies under a porch roof. And they were very nice, hiker friendly people.

Right across from the post office was a hostel. It was a very casual, laid back operation. I checked in, more or less. They had an outdoor, open-air shower, a washer and dryer and a roof over my head. The hostel was full of (smart) hikers waiting out the storm. I called home, reorganized my pack with my fresh supplies and dried out. It felt so good to be out of the rain and dry again. About 6 PM there was lots of thunder and lightning as the tail end of the storm front came through and cleared the clouds away. Many of the hikers rode into town for supplies, beer and entertainment. I got my gear ready for the next day.

I met a lot of other nice hikers there, and some real characters. I met "BO", aka Screamer. He was a penniless, unemployed, ill equipped hiker that somehow was working his way northbound on the AT. A former NY City bike messenger turned trail bum, he lived from hiker box to hiker box, on the generosity of other hikers, and dumpster diving. He acted like he dropped one acid tab too many but was a harmless and likeable sort of fellow. I was happy to give him my surplus food and trail mix. He livened up the evening, to be sure. Soleman, a nice hiker about my age, shared a meat loaf with me and bought some bread and butter for Screamer. Soleman and I reflected on the generation gap present at the shelter as we listened to music and observed partying that was not of our choosing. Now warm and dry, my hunger satisfied, I turned in early while most of the others stayed up and talked, played music and drank beer.

Drying out at Glencliff "Hikers Welcome" hostel.