One of the primary draws of backpacking is the escape from Babylon. The chance to withdraw from the overstimulation, the flashing screens, the obligatory connectivity, the velocity of the modern world, and venture into the wilderness, where if fortunate, one finds some measure of solitude and serenity.

However, the popularity of outdoor recreation can make finding solitude difficult. One only has to venture to national parks such as Yosemite or the Grand Canyon to witness crowds reminiscent of Disneyland.

For this reason, I often avoid the more ballyhooed backpacking routes, forfeiting those places to the throng. Not to say those experiences don’t have their place. It can be rewarding to join other like-minded souls in a spirit of adventure, taking in some of the most spectacular scenery Earth has to offer. By all means, climb Mt. Whitney, traverse the Rim-to-Rim Trail in the Grand Canyon, or circle Mt. Rainier on the Wonderland Trail. There’s a reason these places are popular.

However, if you are trying to find the hush of nature where you can clearly hear the chill mutter of the creek and enjoy the silent stillness of the forest, I got one for you.

Gear Analytica co-founder Patrick McCluskey and I completed a 32-mile, 3-night, 4-day loop in the White Mountains of New Hampshire at the peak of the fall foliage season and barely saw another soul until we reached the Carter Notch Hut on the third night.

In fact, we went a full 30 hours without seeing another person.

Had we opted for the more heavily-trafficked Presidential Traverse or the Pemi Loop, it would have been a different experience. Not worse, just different.

Instead, we began at the North Imp Trailhead and ascended steadily through the hardwood forest, navigating the roots and rocks, to the Carter-Moriah Trail, with views opening out onto the rest of the range. We pitched tents on the wooden platforms the first night at Imp Shelter, with views of Pinkham Notch and Mt. Washington through the subalpine forest trees.

We awoke the next morning, packed up our tents on the dew-slick platforms and lit out on the Carter-Moriah Trail as it proceeded through evergreen woods before breaking out onto granite ledges. We stopped by a well-known overlook affording views of the Presidential Range. 

From here, we took in autumn’s mixture of flame-red maple, bright yellow of the birch, and the more subdued gold of the beech, interspersed with the green conifers and the russet foliage of the imperious oak.

After summiting Mt. Moriah, the trail plummets nearly 3,000 feet into the Wild River valley. We skirted Middle Moriah Peak, proceeding along boardwalks through an alpine meadow of reindeer lichen, bearberries, and stunted fir.

We took the tumbling path down into the valley via Shelburne Trail – the smell of decomposing leaves pungent in the increasing humidity – reaching the bank of the Wild River around lunchtime. That afternoon, we hiked up alongside the gush of the river torrents to pitch our tents in between its currents and the ruby-tinted sumac. Building a hefty fire, we hit the sack with the mumble of the river providing the soundtrack to our sleep.

Throughout the day, we saw but one group of hikers on the ridge linking the Moriah peaks, but after we descended into the valley, the entire place was ours alone – apart from the smattering of woodland creatures and one yearling black bear that we inadvertently startled and sent scurrying up toward the ridgeline.

We arose at daybreak, as the burly part of the loop began with the nearly 10-mile huck along the river and back up the ridge. The day’s final destination: Carter Notch Hut.

The first section of the hike is gentle enough, following the contours of the Wild. The trail was not well-established in parts, muddy and difficult to traverse, featuring occasional river and tributary crossings.

Just before the junction with the Wildcat River Trail, one encounters the mountain wetland at Perkins Notch, the headwaters of the Wild River, with its aroma of peat and its huddles of hunched white birch – a haven for warblers and flycatchers. Be prepared for wet trail conditions, as the trail skirts the border of the marsh. But this place is a true sanctuary – the epitome of the quiet serenity one seeks in the wilderness.

It was a little more than 6 miles from camp to the junction with the Wildcat River Trail. From here, the trail steepens through deciduous woods, with color-framed views back down to the river valley. The challenge grows as the bouncy pine-needle carpet turns to rock-riven switchbacks and the increasing prevalence of spruce and fir signals a return to the high country.

As we labored upward, the thinning forest offered compensation: our first glimpse of Carter Dome and its surrounding cliffs of granite and schist. The sight provided much-needed motivation as we navigated past The Ramparts, a field of large, impressive boulders. Finally, the Carter Notch Hut appeared, tucked in between Carter Dome and Wildcat Mountain.

All told, the four-mile reach from the junction to the hut gains about 1,000 feet in elevation, with difficult terrain that forces you to scramble up and down granite outcroppings intruding on the trail. Not easy at the end of a 10-mile trek with a heavy pack. 

A little worse for the wear, Patrick and I were happy to forgo setting up tents, eat a warm meal in the comfortable environs of the hut, browse the well-worn books filled with various items of lore unique to this northern subrange of Appalachia and its historic system of trails and huts before grabbing a bunk.

Dawn revealed a transformed landscape – the stunted spruce surrounding the hut wore a ghostly sheath of frost, the resinous scent of spruce setting the tone for what would prove to be our most challenging day in the high country. Shouldering our packs, we took a brief detour to Carter Lake, a small alpine tarn, which, on a windless day, reflects the jagged cliffs of Wildcat Mountain and Carter Dome.

The ascent from the inviting shore of Carter Lake to the top of the Carter Dome, towering at 4,832 feet, is the true crux of the loop. One gains about 1,500 feet of elevation in 1.2 miles. The terrain is steep and granitic, not recommended on a wet day as conditions can become slippery and treacherous. Trekking poles are recommended even if conditions are clear, but we managed without. I can still recall the feel of the cold granite, stippled with lichen, as I strove to find consistent purchase.

The top of the dome affords only limited views westward, but awards a magnificent look down into the glacially-carved notch from whence you came. The rest of the hike is easy by comparison, but by no means easy. 

The half-mile stretch from Carter Dome to Mt. Hight might look innocuous on paper, but each step reminded us that in the Whites, distance alone tells only part of the story. The precipitous descent and steep climb back upward is rugged, characteristic of the terrain on this section of the Carter-Moriah Trail.

Mt. Hight affords the best 360 degree panorama of any of the summits on the loop. One is afforded uninterrupted views of the Presidential Range to the west, but equally open views back down into the Wild River Valley, with its spangles of fall color.

We made sure to pause at this breathtaking juncture, taking in the surroundings before continuing the final high-elevation push. From here, the path pitches steeply back into the spruce-fir dominated forest, before rising again to culminate at South Carter Mountain, with limited summit views. The segment runs about 1.2 miles.

It’s another 1.3 miles of strenuous up and down from South Carter to Middle Carter, with the downs being harder than the ups, particularly with the pack weight. The route then traces yet another saddle, from Middle Carter to North Carter, representing about 1.5 miles through dense conifer.

While North Carter is the last major summit, the grind is not over, as the trail makes a breakneck descent to the junction with the Imp Trail, featuring prolonged stretches of trail exclusively on granitic shelves that are difficult to navigate and hard on the knees.

Accustomed to the gentle grades of the American West, I learned not to underestimate the White Mountains’ steep terrain, despite their modest elevation. 

I discovered this the hard way, developing a slight knee injury that hobbled our pace and we only emerged from the forest at nightfall, feeling tattered and spent. Little wonder, as the fourth day’s hike came in at 10.3 miles, with about 3,330 feet in cumulative elevation gain, while summiting five of the 48 White Mountain peaks that come in above 4,000 feet.

Nevertheless, the journey was absolutely worth it, especially as we spent two full days in the heart of the White Mountains at the apex of its autumnal bloom without having to jostle with the crowd.

Far from it.

Including the fellow who ran the hut and a couple of other through-hikers, we saw a total of ten people the whole trip. If you’ve ever been to the Whites during the fall peak, you know this is no mean feat.

Again, make no mistake – The Presidential Traverse deserves its renown, particularly when autumn paints the highlands. The quest for all 48 of the White’s 4,000-footers will serve you well, company notwithstanding. But there is no feeling like re-entering the din of Babylon after a spell in those few remaining wild pockets of solitude, where real wilderness still prevails.