Five of us were planning to make the hike on this springtime Saturday. With the weather forecast promising overcast and the possibility of occasional, afternoon showers, Judy opted out on Friday night. Now, we were four. Although we were certain to get wet, Herb, Earnie, Bill, and I were primed and eager for this climb.

Herb and Earnie had been out the week before. They showed pictures validating their summit reports of more than forty-four inches of snow. Bill, the other member of our group, had also been on the trail recently. His report told that the snow depths started at 2500 feet. All four of us were dressed and supplied ourselves with gear; winter boots, ski poles, winter mitts, and of course we strapped our snowshoes to our packs. We were armed and ready for the snow covered ground at the higher elevations!

By 8:10, we made our way onto the Tunnel Brook trail. As we hiked, Herb voiced some concerns about those two brook crossings ahead of us. Apparently, he had had a frosty swim during a recent hike, taking the plunge face first. The spring splash was cold. I think it made him a bit leery. As the first brook approached, a tree situated in the middle of the water, had made an island of sorts, making the crossing relatively easy. We had no mishaps and no swimming. Compared to the ease of the first crossing, the second was trivial. The water was shallow and the opposite shore was only a rock hop away.

As we hiked, our conversation turned towards the name of this mountain. It seems as though we had some disagreement as to the proper pronunciation of Mt. Clough. Does it rhyme with bluff, or does it sound like plow? As Herb made his pitch, describing why it should be pronounced like plow, I assured him that the only place one would find Cloughs, was in the sky. Escaping corroboration with the natives, I stuck to the "bluff" pronunciation; ergo we were climbing Mount "Cluff". Maybe the name really didn’t matter, as long as we got to the top.

Continuing on up the trail’s gentle grade, the air was mild and in the fifties, although I never checked. Every so often, we viewed up to our right, searching for this infamous slide that we were about to ascend. From between the budded trees, it soon shined back at us. Cairns appeared along the trail, advertising potential starting points for the ascent. We walked just a bit further, till the summit was within our bearing, and then we were there. By this time, I was roasting. I was so hot, I decided to remove my shirt. Having brought no lightweight shirt, I chose to play bodily pin cushion. This could not be worse than all that sweat.

Following some water and trail eats, we broke into the thin trees. Thin trees soon gave way to sand and gravel at the base of the slide. Right then, Herb stopped to take off his Gore-Tex pants. He too, was feeling the heat. I kept mine on, knowing that I would need them later. Besides, taking them off was too much of a hassle.

At the top of this pebbly slide, we pushed into the thick trees. Now, the real pin cushion test was on. The dense, pine-needly growth scraped at my exposed flesh. However, I was not ready to surrender. Quickly, the fir trees opened to another slide, this one of smooth rock rather than gravely like the last. It was also wet. I was certainly prepared, but not for this. These winter boots, my Sorels, were no match for the slick surface. Bill was wearing his hard shell, Koflachs. How he got up the steep, slimy rock, I will never know. He climbed to the right while the rest of us ascended via the left side. On the left, there were more trees on which to grab. This route seemed safer.

At the top of this slide, I got to play bodily pin cushion, again. The thicket was so tight, moving through it was difficult. When I emerged from this growth however, I had had enough of that skin scratching game. My skin was scuffed more than I wanted; so on with the shirt. Playing an epidermis pin cushion was only half the fun. This exercise was a double whammy, the rest being the after effects. Now all that sweat was gently worked, with soothing comfort, into my fresh scratches. My "not so tough" hide, felt the sting.

Climbing further, the woods opened. It was as though we had emerged into a meadow. Having expended energy battling the thickets and the slimy, rock face of a slide, it was break time. Following some rest, sandwiches, trail mix, drink, and talk, we were off for the rest. Three hundred feet remained till the summit. In these woods, the moose had come out to play. Their calling card tokens were many. The maze of large game herd paths mostly led towards the top. With Bill at the lead, and Herb and Earnie not far behind, we soon found no higher to climb. But where was the register? Bill’s altimeter read 3560, with no register in sight. Immediately, we continued onward. There must be a higher point, we thought. Although Bill said we were headed down, I knew there must be higher patch of ground. Fortunately, we did not have to search for long. After I had already passed the register without having seen it, Bill announced, "There it is!" Five minutes later, Herb’s and Earnie’s voices wafted from behind the evergreens; then they appeared. The time was before noon. The only views were of Mt. Moosilauke. The growing clouds seemed to slowly suffocate its upper section. In my mind, I believed that we were next. Remembering the forecast, I figured the rain was sure to come our way. With this sultry air, we would certainly get hammered!

After signing in and clicking pictures, we picked up our packs and were prepared to descend. Returning the way in which we had come, we all agreed would be a poor choice. For our new bearing, we subtracted twenty degrees.