He fell.
It happened in the middle of a rainy, foggy night in May 2003. When the clouds cleared the next morning, the profile was gone. People didn't just see a missing rock formation; they felt like they’d lost a relative. New Hampshire went into a sort of collective mourning that sounds, honestly, a bit wild if you aren't from around here. But the Old Man of the Mountain New Hampshire wasn’t just some geological fluke. He was the state's identity, stamped on every highway sign and license plate.
Twenty-plus years later, people still drive into Franconia Notch, pull over at the viewing lake, and stare at the empty cliffside. It’s strange. Why do we care so much about a pile of granite that succumbed to gravity?
To understand the obsession, you have to look at how precarious the whole thing was from the start. This wasn't a solid carving like Mount Rushmore. It was a terrifyingly delicate stack of five granite ledges. If you look at old engineering diagrams from the 1900s, it’s a miracle he stayed up as long as he did. Nature spent thousands of years carving him out with glacial retreat and then spent another hundred trying to pull him down with ice and wind.
The Engineering MacGyvers Who Tried to Save Him
For decades, the Old Man was basically on life support. This is the part of the story that kills me because it’s so "Yankee ingenuity." Starting in the early 20th century, people realized the "forehead" of the profile was slipping.
The state didn't just watch it happen. They sent people up there.
Niels Nielsen, a state highway worker, became the official caretaker in the 1960s. He and later his son, David Nielsen, would climb the mountain every summer to patch cracks with epoxy and tighten turnbuckles. Imagine being the guy responsible for literally bolting a mountain together. They used steel cables and turnbuckles to anchor the forehead to the main cliff. They filled cracks with fiberglass and resin to keep water out, because in New Hampshire, water is the enemy. It gets into a crack, freezes, expands, and pop—there goes your mountain.
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They were fighting a losing battle against the freeze-thaw cycle of the White Mountains. It’s a brutal environment. Winds at the Profile Lake level are one thing, but up on that ledge? It's a different world.
The Nielsens weren't scientists with massive grants; they were dedicated locals with a lot of grit and some heavy-duty hardware. They treated the Old Man like a family member. When the formation finally collapsed in 2003, David Nielsen told reporters it felt like a death in the family. That’s not hyperbole. That’s just how deep the connection ran.
What Really Happened That Night in May?
There’s no conspiracy here, though some folks like to joke about it. Basically, the turnbuckles and the epoxy just couldn't fight physics anymore. A period of heavy rain followed by freezing temperatures likely did the final deed. The granite ledges—which were essentially just balanced on top of each other like a high-stakes game of Jenga—finally slid forward and tumbled down the mountain.
Nobody heard it. No hikers were nearby. He just slipped away in the dark.
When the park rangers realized he was gone on the morning of May 3, the news spread faster than a wildfire. You’d think a politician had been assassinated. The Governor gave speeches. People left flowers by the lake.
It’s interesting because geologists like Brian Fowler, who studied the site for years, knew it was inevitable. You can't stop geological time. We just happened to be living in the tiny sliver of history where those rocks looked like a face. Before the glaciers moved through, it was just a cliff. Millions of years from now, it’ll be something else. We just got lucky for a few centuries.
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The Great Profile Debate: To Rebuild or Not?
Immediately after the collapse, there was this huge push to "fix" it. People wanted to glue the rocks back together or build a plastic replica. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed. The consensus among the state's Commission was that a fake Old Man would be, well, tacky. It would ruin the ruggedness of Franconia Notch State Park.
Instead, they built the Profilers.
If you go to the memorial site today, there are these weird-looking steel poles with "sculptures" on top. If you stand at the exact right spot—depending on your height—and look past the pole toward the cliff, the profile "reappears" in your vision. It’s a clever optical trick. It acknowledges the loss without trying to lie to you. It's honestly kind of poetic.
Why the Old Man of the Mountain New Hampshire Matters Now
You might wonder if the keyword for New Hampshire tourism has shifted since the face fell. Not really. The "Great Stone Face" (as Nathaniel Hawthorne called it) is still the symbol.
- The License Plates: Still there.
- The State Quarter: Still has his face on it.
- The Signs: Every "Entering New Hampshire" sign features the profile.
We’re a nostalgic bunch. But more than that, the Old Man represents a specific kind of New England stoicism. Hawthorne wrote a short story about him, claiming that a child would grow up to look like the mountain—noble, firm, and silent. That’s the brand New Hampshire wants. We like the idea that a face can be carved out of the hardest rock in the world and stare down storms for ages.
Also, the hiking in that area is still some of the best in the East. You’ve got the Franconia Ridge Loop nearby, which is arguably the best hike in New England. Cannon Mountain, which hosted the Old Man, is still a beast of a ski hill. The loss of the face didn't kill the tourism; it just turned the spot into a site of pilgrimage.
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Navigating the Notch: A Practical Guide for Modern Visitors
If you're heading up to see where the Old Man of the Mountain New Hampshire used to be, don't just pull over, look up, and leave. You’ll be disappointed because, frankly, it’s just a flat cliff now. You have to engage with the history to get anything out of it.
Start at the Old Man of the Mountain Legacy Fund’s memorial at the base of Cannon Mountain. Walk the paved paths. Use the "Profiler" sightings. It’s actually a really cool lesson in perspective.
You should also check out the Flume Gorge while you're in the Notch. It’s a natural chasm at the base of Mount Liberty. It gives you a sense of the sheer power of water—the same power that eventually took down the Old Man. If you’re feeling adventurous, take the Cannon Mountain Aerial Tramway. You get a bird’s eye view of the entire Notch, and you can see the "top" of where the profile used to sit.
One thing people get wrong: they think they can hike "to" the face. You can hike the Kinsman Ridge Trail to the top of the cliff, but you can’t exactly stand where his nose was. It’s a sheer drop. Don't be that person trying to climb out onto the ledge for a selfie. It’s unstable, and the park rangers really don't want to have to rescue you.
What You Should Know Before You Go
- Parking: The parking lot for the memorial fills up fast in the fall. Leaf peeping season is no joke.
- Weather: It can be 70 degrees in Manchester and 45 degrees in Franconia Notch. Bring a jacket.
- The Museum: There’s a small museum at the base of the tramway that has some original cables and turnbuckles used to hold the face together. It’s worth five minutes of your time just to see the scale of those bolts.
The Enduring Legacy of a Ghost
There’s a weirdly beautiful lesson in the Old Man's disappearance. In a world where we try to preserve everything forever with digital backups and climate control, the Old Man reminds us that everything is temporary. Even mountains.
New Hampshire chose not to rebuild him because there’s dignity in the loss. The "ghost" of the Old Man is almost more powerful than the rocks themselves. He’s a reminder of the people like the Nielsens who spent their lives trying to hold back the inevitable, and a reminder that nature always gets the last word.
If you’re planning a trip, don't go looking for a face. Go looking for the scale of the place. Stand at the edge of Profile Lake, look up at that 1,200-foot drop, and imagine the sound of several hundred tons of granite hitting the scree slope below. It makes you feel small. In the best way possible.
Next Steps for Your Visit:
- Download the Offline Maps: Cell service in Franconia Notch is spotty at best. Download the Google Maps area for "Franconia Notch State Park" before you leave Lincoln or Franconia.
- Visit the Memorial Walkway: Locate the "height-adjusted" viewing plazas. You need to pick the one that matches your height (there are markers) to see the profile align correctly through the steel "sculptures."
- Check the Tramway Schedule: If you want the best view of the "empty" ledge, the Cannon Mountain Aerial Tramway is the way to go, but it operates seasonally (usually May through October).
- Pair it with the Flume: Buy a combined ticket for the Tramway and the Flume Gorge to save about ten bucks and see the two best geological features in the state in one afternoon.