What the Rockpile Taught Me (Besides How to Dress for the Arctic)

By Kathryn Hawkes

It turns out that living on the top of a mountain will teach you A LOT of things. How to forecast the weather, sure. How to run in 70 mph winds, absolutely. How to win over a very opinionated and talkative cat, without a doubt. But mostly it taught me how much I still had to learn about the place I’ve called home my whole life.

I came up here a weather and climate science enthusiast, and within days the summit was teaching me things no classroom ever could. Since the start of my internship in February, I’ve learned how to do the AMC hut call, record radio forecasts for NHPR and RVG, and write the Higher Summits Forecast. I’ve learned how haze charts work, how lenticular clouds build over the peaks, and why rime ice forms the bizarre, white crystals that make the summit look like another planet.

Some of my favorite learning, though, happened in the quieter moments too. The ones where you’re just standing outside watching the weather do something extraordinary, feeling very lucky to be the person witnessing it. And yes, I spent more time in the fog than I’d ever imagined, staring into the wall of grey and trying to remember that there is, in fact, a view out there somewhere. Classic Mount Washington.

The centerpiece of my internship was working on the second edition of The White Mountains Almanac, an annual publication released by the Mount Washington Observatory, Appalachian Mountain Club, and Hubbard Brook Research Foundation. Becoming a mini-expert on a variety of fascinating topics, I dove deep into snow-to-liquid ratios, flowering patterns across elevational gradients, foliage timing, drought dynamics, and wild winds (of course), to name a few. Researching the full sweep of how climate change is reshaping the rhythms of this landscape showed me that these mountains and valleys are telling a story in data. Learning to read it felt like learning a new language.

I also leveled up my coding skills considerably, which I’m choosing to frame as a thrilling personal journey and not as many afternoons spent arguing with my computer. Plus, a huge part of making the research come alive was the ongoing creative ping-pong with Athena, the climate science communications intern and my companion in this incredible project. In a partially productive and partially delusional frenzy, we bounced ideas off each other constantly, putting all of our efforts into this second edition. Through this, I was able to deepen my understanding of the places I love most, which I can’t wait for everyone to read about when it comes out in fall 2026!

Of course, no farewell would be complete without honoring the small things that made summit life so incredible. First and foremost, “Remix Tuesdays”, which introduced me to a variety of crazy music and was quite a jarring way to start one’s Tuesday morning — though I do hope the tradition continues for shifts to come. Among endless memories is sledding down the drift on the Yankee Building (objectively an excellent decision), cornhole, snowball fights, kite flying, murder mystery parties, and way too much Mario Kat (and yet, not enough). Plus, I caught some of the most breathtaking sunrises and sunsets I have ever seen. Seeing the sky electrified with color and the sun shining down on the ice- and snow-covered summit was truly a magical experience. And I can’t forget the view of the Northern Presidentials from the weather room, which is arguably the best “office” backdrop.

And then there is Nimbus. Obviously, Nimbus. I will not pretend I didn’t bother him more than he would have preferred, but in my defense, he is extremely adorable. A few things I can now tell you with authority: feed him at exactly 6pm or he will become very vocal about punctuality and responsibility. His after-dinner zoomies are entirely legitimate and a genuine highlight of any shift. And somewhere in the middle of all the wild weather, research deadlines, and fog, he has a way of wandering over and reminding you that the most important thing on the summit is simply being present. And while being present, you must pet him. What a wise cat.

Most of all, I’m grateful for the people who made this experience so remarkable it is hard to put into words. Karl, Bailey, and Maddie: thank you for your generosity with your knowledge, your kindness and curiosity, your ingenious ideas, and for modeling what it looks like to do this work with both rigor and genuine joy. Fellow interns Ryan, Athena, Alek, and Kristen: thank you for the collaborative spirit, creative energy, love for science, and goofy atmosphere that brought the intern cave to life. To the volunteers: the warmth was wonderful, the stories were hilarious, and the recipes were even better. This small community, unique to the summit, is one I will miss more than I can say.

Also special thanks to my advisors and mentors on the Almanac: Jay, Georgia, Sarah, Nina, and Ellen. This project would not be as incredible without you all!

Growing up in the shadow of these mountains, I thought I knew them. This internship showed me how much more there is to know, and deepened my love for this wild, foggy, windy, breathtaking corner of New Hampshire in ways I genuinely didn’t anticipate.

Until next time rockpile, stay windy!