If you live in the northeast like us, you’re surely familiar with what overcast days look like, but have you considered that if you climb high enough, it becomes an UNDERCAST?
As an atmospheric scientist married to a woman who is obsessed with undercasts and hike planning, Ted spends a great deal of time looking at weather models, satellite images, and maps so that we can hit the right summits at the right times. In fact, he has spent YEARS studying the various combinations of conditions that create these gorgeous, low cloud decks; keeping track of incoming and outgoing weather systems, wind profiles, temperature inversions, etc. He’s even written custom algorithms to identify where undercast conditions are likely.
On weekdays when we can’t hike, we check out mountain webcams to confirm whether his forecasts verify, and if there’s no undercast, he seeks to understand why. I’d say in general, he’s pretty spot on about identifying days where an undercast is possible, but it’s tough to predict exactly what altitude the cloud deck will form at, or how thick it will be. We’ve spent countless hours hiking in the dark to catch the sunrise above the clouds, only to see nothing but gray because the summit was IN the cloud. Disappointing, yes, to some extent, but being inside a cloud is cool too! Each trip was and continues to be a learning experience though, as we can consult weather data after to look for hints as to why the clouds set up a particular way. You may wonder why we have continued waking up at 2am to risk not seeing any view at all, and to that I will say, when you hit it right, there’s nothing like it. Imagine being able to stand ON THE GROUND, but have the view you’re used to seeing FROM AN AIRPLANE. It’s beautiful, unique, perfect.
We’ve had people jokingly ask if they can sign up for alerts, and while I wish that were a service we could easily provide, I laugh when I think of how terrible the reviews would be anytime someone put that much effort into reaching a summit to see nothing. Ted says predicting an undercast is more of an art than a science, and often, the undercast may only be seen from specific peaks that are high enough to be above the cloud deck. There are particular places that tend to favor them, patterns we’ve observed over time, areas where topography blocks low clouds from pushing further on, and frequently, there is a relatively small weather window for undercasts. Sunrise is often a good time for them, as the atmosphere is typically more stable at that time of day, and late fall/early winter can favor undercast conditions due to less solar radiation, sometimes lasting through the daylight hours. Some days, the deck is low and widespread enough to see from mountains across the northeast, and other days, it’s only good from specific peaks for a brief period of time. So when we are aiming for an undercast, Ted identifies what “type” of undercast is expected, what elevation it is likely to be at, what geographic region is most likely to favor it, and which specific peaks in that area will be high enough. That’s how we pick our peak, and then we plan timing based on when it’s expected to be good. Some days it’s sunrise, other days it’s later on as things clear and settle.
One winter a few years back, we sat on the summit of Algonquin waiting it out, as the summit was in the clouds, but Ted insisted conditions were clearing, though it was discreet to the untrained eye. A group up there with us thought we were crazy to stay, and left the summit telling us the clouds weren’t clearing, but sure enough, maybe 10 minutes later, the peak was completely above the clouds and it was magical. The ever-changing nature of the weather makes it tough to say exactly if and when an undercast will be present, and there are a lot of variables to consider. Sometimes, you just need to come prepared to be patient.
For days leading up to New Years, Ted kept telling me Sunday looked like the best weather day for hiking. I saw photos on social media of hikers at higher elevations who had an undercast on January 1, and when I asked Ted why we weren’t hiking something bigger that day, he replied with, “Because Sunday’s undercast will be better.”
After much consideration, pouring over maps, trail/road conditions, and mountain elevations, we decided on Camel’s Hump, as Ted believed it was our best chance for a good setup with winter accessibility. We just hoped the dirt road would be plowed, and decided it would be, since so many houses lined the road in. We packed our bags, charged the camera battery, and went to bed early. The alarm went off at 2am, and as usual, Ted got up first to check the latest models and confirm the current conditions. Once he determined it was still worth pursuing, he woke me up and north we drove.
The hike up was warm for winter, with my breath blocking my sight as it danced in front of my headlamp. We wore microspikes the whole way, which allowed for quick moving. Ted carried both pairs of snowshoes just in case, since I had the camera weight, but the snow depth didn’t quite warrant them. It had been cloudy when we started, and after a while, Ted stopped me, pointed out the moon and stars, and bet that I couldn’t still see my breath. I tried to blow out a few good breaths, and nothing. We had hit the dry air. This was a good sign.
Not long after, we got our first glimpse of a view through the trees, and what appeared to be a flat, uniform gray. No contrast, no city lights down below. We did it, we were above the clouds. Ted ran up ahead to get a view to the east to confirm the undercast was completely surrounding the mountain, and it was, with a red glow on the horizon as the sun was coming up. For those at lower elevations, it probably looked like a boring, overcast day, but it’s always sunny if you climb high enough.
We hopped across the rocks, avoiding stepping on any alpine vegetation, and took in the views from every angle. The sunrise was an intense red and orange to the east, and to the west was a soft pink, like cotton candy. There were so many colors in the clouds, and it changed constantly with the light. There was a Brocken spectre sitting atop the mountain’s shadow for a while, which brightened and faded as the sun rose higher. All undercasts are awesome, but my favorite ones are the ones that set up a little lower, so that surrounding peaks can peek up above the clouds, making things more dramatic than when you’re barely above the deck. This was one of those, and we couldn’t get enough. We must have sat up there for two hours, until the sun started mixing things up and higher clouds moved in. Early birds definitely got the worm on this morning, as the ideal conditions deteriorated as the morning went on, and ended up giving us a couple quick inches of snow back home later in the day.