“Mount Kancamagus is a bold wooded ridge which may be ascended by way of the Flume Brook, but nothing is to be gained by the journey.”

It seems as if Mr. James Osgood fancied panoramic views and other high places of interest of the White Mountains over this beautiful 3,500’ ridgeline band of mature spruce and fir. Perhaps he was stuck in the spruce traps and young, ensnaring balsam boughs of ~3,100’ when he wrote that “nothing is to be gained by the journey”, in 1876.

While I never looked into trekking the entire ridgeline until just this morning, I’ve had the high point, Mount Kancamagus on my backburner of mountainous ideas for several years now, drooling over topographic maps and daydreaming of the route I’d use to ascend the 3,763’ trailless peak.

I’ve often thought of the more direct approach, ascending straight up the steep slope from the small pull-off on the northern side of the Kancamagus Highway, between the Swift River and its southern tributary. My attention was drawn away from this approach when I passed by in early winter to find the pull off was not plowed.

Then, I thought about parking at the CL Graham Wangan Overlook, at 2,815’ - what this approach cut off in elevation gain more than made up for in a longer ridge traverse. I read about an AMC instructional trip which had made this climb years ago.

*Lots of conifers to weave around, dodging falling snow*

After yesterday’s double header in downtown Lincoln, I was in the market for a shorter distance bushwhack, to more places I had never been; with weather calling for blankets of clouds, the cards were finally stacking up for a favorable adventure to Mount Kancamagus.

Thankfully, the Overlook lot had been plowed from last weekends snowstorm and I was the only car in the lot when I threw on the snowshoes and hit the snowy trail at 7:59am.

Crossing the highway I entered the woods into several minutes of semi-open evergreen forest, but was soon finding myself swimming and pushing through tangled spruce branches; thinking that the forest had to open up soon, I kept pushing on.

While “breaking trail” and snowshoeing through 8-16” of powder, the lower woods occasionally opened up, to allow time to be made up from the thicker, much slower bushwhacking.

Before long I could look up and see the looming dome, a big ascent up the northeastern slope of the Northwest Peak (3,642’); I’m sure the knee-deep drifts on this side made the grade feel steeper than it actually was - one step at a time I simply kicked snowshoe steps into the wall of snow.

Once the pitch mellowed out to nearly-flat I managed to find about 20-minutes worth of snow laden balsam boughs and possibly all of the spruce traps on this side of the mountain, to say I swam through the deep powder as powder rained down is an understatement.

As with everything, however, there must be good with the bad - the thick conifer wall ended, spruce traps were behind and I had stepped into a beautifully open, mature spruce and fir canopy. Not knowing for how long my luck would play out, I bobbed and weaved, trying to gaze far into the distance to ensure I could see open forest wherever I meandered next.

*Sun trying to poke through atop the West Peak*

With the next sub-peak as my destination to follow an easterly trajectory along the ridgecrest, when the open forest allowed me to creep toward the true summit of West Peak (3,648’), I jumped on the opportunity.

With a gentle ease I crept toward the open summit, mindful of the young conifers which barely poked up out of their snow mounds - I didn’t dare get too close; in fact, I began fearing any bit of open sky in the otherwise tight evergreen canopy, knowing that each area of blowdown bred new spruce and fir, which meant hollow spruce traps for my snowshoes to plunge deep into.

Still, with fingers crossed that my good fortune of open forest would continue up toward my final destination, I hit the col and kept on rolling. The mound of Mount Kancamagus rose up before me and upon beginning the final climb the windswept snow grew 6” deeper still.

Slow and steady, rhythmically I breathed with each plunging step; like a crawling tank I crept for the long ridge of the mountain top. Walking perhaps ~20’ along what I could consider any of the nearby trees to be the high point. Glancing at ankle height through the open forest I saw the white canister; it’s otherwise clean, white PVC showing a decades worth of grunge from every White Mountain storm since it was hung.

With a change of clothes and a couple sips of warm tea, I logged my ascent in the canisters summit register, noted that the last previous ascent was about a month ago, at the end of February - even saw some familiar names in that little spiral-bound notebook.

From my snow-top perch at the high point, I could pick out Greens Cliff, Tremont and other jagged peaks from a small northeasterly gap in the tree line. Downhill travel became much faster on the return trip as navigation was ultimately minimized by simply following my snowshoe track in reverse.

Having a little time to play with, I figured I’d pay a visit to the westerly sub-peaks while I was up on the ridge; I trampled over the high point of West Peak on my initial trek out to the main summit, now I just needed to weave through a few more conifers atop the Northwest Peak to ensure I saw all that low dome had to offer.

*Northeastern peaks (toward Conway area)*

I had heard of the cliffs off the southwestern side of the Mount Kancamagus ridge but aside from those view points did not expect much in the way of views from their high points; all to find were more evergreen boughs weighed down by buckets of heavy snowfall.

From the summit of the Northwest Peak, instead of retracing steps I hooked north/northeast off the summit to meet back up with my ascending tracks further off the summit cone; it worked, I stepped back into packed snowshoe tracks just as I re-entered the thick spruce trap mess.

Opting to continue following my original tracks, I figured most of the snow had already dropped from the tree tops and post holes had been punched through so what lay ahead was at least no surprise - I had forgotten just how thick it was!

For most of the return trek back to my car I recall thinking that I could not believe a full-on bushwhack such as this began so early. While, thankfully, I have no cuts, scrapes nor bruises to show for this ascent, I did find the answer to my question - every drive past this ridgeway along the Kancamagus Highway, I’ve wondered just what is contained in these hills, what does the forest look like, is it open or completely messy, old gnarled trees or a mix of new growth?

I’ve learned that the ridgetop is simply heavenly and that I could roam at 3,500’ for a full week and not grow tired of it - it just takes one beast of a bushwhack to get up there (at least via my approach) - so, I suppose, in contrast to Mr. Osgood’s assertion, for me, there was much to be gained by this journey.

Overall stats for the day:

3.90-miles
3hr 19 minutes
2,549’ elevation gain

Mount Kancamagus Northwest Peak - 3,642’
Mount Kancamagus West Peak - 3,648’
Mount Kancamagus - 3,763’ (3,774’ by LiDAR)

Mt Kancamagus Ridgeline

Saddleback + The Horn

Whaleback South + Big Coolidge