Weekly Overview
Day 85
July 26, 2019
- Route: A zero day near Great Barrington, MA
- Daily Mileage: 0 miles
Today was another zero day (my 7th zero thus far on the trail) and I was so happy to spend it with Keith and Finn in Massachusetts. They are staying at a campground up near Mt. Greylock, so I hadn’t planned to link up with them for another 40 or 50 miles. But with my knee hurting (again), I adjusted my hiking plans.
Like all my prior zeros, I didn’t actually just sit around and let my body rest. I was too busy heading into town to shop for food and gear.
I’m mostly resupplying as I go, but I wanted to put together a few small boxes today filled with my hard-to-find staples (like dehydrated refried beans). This way Keith can mail them up to Hanover, New Hampshire and Monson, Maine so I have at least some of the items I truly love.
I also stopped down to Cheshire post office this afternoon. My bounce box with my stove (and the other handful of items I mailed back in Pennsylvania) has been sitting there for weeks now. Plus, my new Enlightened Equipment quilt was finally here too. Just in the nick of time! These past few nights have been cold enough that it’s time to swap out some of my gear for warmer items!
Day 86
July 27, 2019
- Route: Great Barrington, MA (Mile 1522.8) to Goose Pond Rd, MA (Mile 1547.5)
- Daily Mileage: 24.7 miles
My zero day yesterday went far too quickly. As always, it left me wondering why time just flies so fast when you’re in town. Time on trail seems to be limitless. But the moment you get back into the front country and start all your town chores (showering, laundry, resupply), the hours seem to disappear.
Freshly showered and somewhat rested, I decided to slackpack to give my knee a bit of a rest today. I left most of my gear back in the RV and asked Keith drive me off back at the trailhead near Great Barrington with just a day pack weighing me down.
I was hoping I’d be able to maintain a 3 mph pace without my heavy pack, but the terrain just didn’t allow it. After the relatively moderate terrain in New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut – Massachusetts is a real wake-up call. I didn’t expect it be this challenging.
I was excited to open a new section in Guthook when I returned to trail this morning. I’m now on the Great Barrington to Hanover section – which only leaves me with two more new sections to open. I can almost taste the end of this trail!
The first 10 miles of the day had lots of wicked climbs, and I wondered (yet again) why I keep thinking this trail will get easier each day.
It’s NEVER going to get easier. It’s the AT.
Yet, I still can’t seem to shift my mindset toward accepting this fact. I continue to stubbornly resist the lesson and insist that I’m going to “beat” this trail. But the more I do that, the more it seems to fight back and puts me in my humble place.
At least I had a pleasant stretch of (mostly) downhill hiking from the North Mt. Wilcox shelter to the Shaker tentsite. But, then it predictably returned to more rugged trail once again. Sigh. I think it’s time for me to accept the trail always wins.
I was surprised to find there weren’t as many hikers out here on the trail this Saturday. I hardly saw anyone, with the exception of the section that went up and over the small peak of Tyringham Cobble this afternoon.
On the backside of the cobble, I passed some signs for snacks (though I didn’t stop since I have more than my share of snacks from my resupply yesterday) and then beside a pasture full of cows to a small rural road.
The road crossing signaled my 20-mile mark for the day, and it’s where I’d originally arranged to meet Keith. But I arrived more than an hour before our pre-arranged pickup time.
I could have just found a tree to sit under and wait, but I convinced myself to push a little further and text him a new meeting location up near Goose Pond Road instead.
This impromptu change of plans might have been a mistake though. The last few miles nearly killed me. The trail was steep and the late afternoon heat was miserable. I was so physically spent that I had to stop over and over. My heart felt like it as beating out of my chest and my legs had nothing left in them.
My unexpected fatigue worries me. What’s going to happen when I finally get to the Whites and there’s some actual mountains to contend with!
Day 87
July 28, 2019
- Route: Goose Pond Rd, MA (Mile 1547.5) to Dalton, MA (Mile 1571.3)
- Daily Mileage: 23.8 miles
Keith dropped me back off at Goose Pond Road at 8:15 am for another day of slackpacking. Unfortunately, this change of routine (coming to the trail from the RV instead of just rolling out of my tent) has me a bit off my game, and I forgot my trekking poles in the back of the dang car.
Sadly, I was messing with my shoes, so didn’t even realize this omission until Keith had driven off. I toyed with the idea of quickly calling him to get him to return. But, I ultimately decided against it. I was only hiking with a daypack. I wouldn’t truly need to assist me up and down these climbs.
Despite missing my poles, I found today was a far easier day than yesterday. The trail was mostly “AT flat” with just a few climbs. I was even able to maintain a 3 mph pace the entire day!
Less than a mile into the day I made it to the shore of Upper Goose Pond. There was an old stone chimney nearby and some nice views of the pond. I could imagine my fellow hikers turning off at the trail junction last night to stay in the large red cabin maintained by the Appalachian Mountain Club.
Yet, despite my expectations of people, I didn’t see a soul around. I suspect the pancake breakfast and coffee at the cabin was long over by now. And everyone had already returned to the trail while I was busy finding my way back to the trailhead.
As I rounded the pond, I spotted a red and blue kayak was parked on one of the banks. yYet still there was no one around even though it was Sunday morning and prime time to be out hiking.
HIKERTRASH
As I reached the northern boundary of the area , I saw a large bag hanging from tree with a humorous sign that read, “AT HIKERTRASH PLEASE”.
I know it was meant for hikers to deposit their trash and food wrappers into, but I got a kick out of the dual meaning of the sign nonetheless.
I’m pretty sure I (and most of my friends) now fully qualify as hikertrash. It’s not the fact that we’ve walked more than 1500 miles that gives us the right to call ourselves that. Hikertrash is more of a state of mind. And each time I find myself around my family (like these past few days), I realize how feral I’ve actually become.
For example, I honestly think I’ve lost all bladder control on the trail. I used to be able to “hold it” forever on long car rides. But out here, as soon I feel the slightest urge to pee, I’m take a few steps off trail and immediately taking care of business.
Yet, you don’t even realize this transition away from domestication until you’re in the car with your husband and son, guzzling a liter of Powerade, and suddenly realizing there isn’t any option to just stop and tinkle whenever you want. Polite society doesn’t look kindly on a middle-aged woman crouching in the bushes next to some random person’s home.
There is no such thing as the 3-second rule anymore either. If I drop a bit of candy on the ground these days, I guarantee you I’m going to still eat it. Whatever pine needles or dirt accidentally enters my mouth just counts as extra fiber in my diet.
I suspect my friends in the front country would probably be appalled by what I’ve become out here. But you know what? I really don’t care. This is the most authentic I’ve been in a really long time.
BLENDING IN
I stopped for lunch at the October Mountain Shelter with a bunch of local section hikers from Massachusetts. I realize they probably had no clue I was out here for the long haul. I was wearing clean hiking clothes and carrying my brightly-colored daypack instead of my typical dirty, stinky setup.
I didn’t dispel them of their assumptions about me though because it’s bizarre to me that hikers have this tendency to self-sort into groups like day hiker, section hiker, or thru-hiker.
I’ve encountered so many folks out here on multi-week journeys who hang their head almost shamefully as they remark, “I’m just a section hiker.” I just can’t understand this statement or the embarrassed emotion shat seems behind it.
Section hiking is not easier than thru-hiking. It’s actually much, much harder, in my opinion. Piecing together 2,200 miles of hiking over a series of years (or even decades) can be even far more difficult than doing it in a single season.
If I were I their shoes, I know I’d find myself frustrated. Just as soon as they get into a good rhythm and their feet become properly conditioned – their hike has to be paused. And then they have to endure the frustration of reacquiring all those things with each new section.
Long-distance hiking is the same thing, whether you’re hiking 300 miles, 1000 miles, or more. And erecting a bunch of divisions within the community based upon one’s abilities, desires, consecutive miles hiked, gear carried, or some other factor just seems so unnecessary to me.
COOKIE LADY
After lunch, I grabbed some water near the shelter and was appalled to see it was a bright, rusty orange – just like the nasty water back in Pennsylvania and New York. It was disappointing, but at least it was cold. And then I was off again.
Hiking without my trekking poles felt strangely bizarre when I started this morning, but I’m glad for the chance to be without them and just feel my body. My knee feels a bit better today than it has the past week, and I feel like I’m actually going faster without my poles. Of course, it could just be the terrain too.
Then, just before I made it to the trail crossing at Washington Road, I found a makeshift paper sign tacked to a tree. It said the Cookie Lady had recently fallen and broke something, and the sign asked hikers to temporarily bypass her home until she recovered.
Cookie Lady is a trail angel legend on this stretch of the AT. She’s in her mid-80s and lives on a blueberry farm only about 100 yards from the trail. Each summer she lets AT hikers stop in and sit for a spell, or camp on her lawn, or even mail packages to her home. And she cheerfully offers home-baked cookies to the hikers who pass through.
Cookie Lady and her husband have been generously helping hikers in this fashion for decades now. So it was sad to read that Cookie Lady had a bit of recent bad luck. I hope she heals quickly.
I picked up my pace for the final stretch into Dalton, Massachusetts. This was my stopping point for the evening, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I actually had the energy to hike close to 24 miles today.
Dalton was a fairly big town compared to most trail towns along the AT. As I walked up Depot Street, I noticed a small dam holding back the Housatonic River that I felt compelled to take pictured of. Then, I made my way toward this afternoon’s pickup point in the middle of town. It just beyond a red brick church that looked more like a replica of an British castle than than a typical chapel.
All told, today was a good day – despite the initial mistake of leaving my trekking poles in the car. The terrain was much more moderate than yesterday and the heat wasn’t nearly as stifling. In fact, I was somewhat surprised to dodge the rain, as there had been a 40% chance all afternoon.
The weather held off just long enough for us to drive back up near Mt. Greylock were the RV was still parked. As soon as we got inside though, it began pouring cats and dogs for the next few hours. And I can’t even say how grateful I am to be nice and dry indoors this evening.
Day 88
July 29, 2019
- Route: Dalton, MA (Mile 1571.3) to Cheshire, MA (Mile 1581.2)
- Daily Mileage: 9.9 miles
The rain didn’t end until sometime around 4 am, and I was reluctant to get up an hit the trail first thing this morning. It may be another 500 miles (or more) before I have the luxury of spending the night with my family, and I just wanted to soak it up for a bit longer.
My initial plan was to hike another 20-mile day and end near Mt. Greylock. But, as I lazed in bed with the early morning sun, I ditched that plan entirely.
Luna and Gazelle are less than 10 miles behind me. The better option (at least in my mind) was to take the morning off and let the two of them narrow the gap so I’m back on pace with my trail family before we enter the Whites.
A SUPRISE REUNION
Keith dropped me back in Dalton around 12:45 pm and I made arrangements with him to pick me up this evening after just a 10-mile day on trial.
He dropped me off back by the church that looked like a castle, which meant I still had to walk through the town of Dalton. It seemed odd to be hiking right through town. And it sort of reminded me of the stretch of the trail that went straight through Hot Springs, North Carolina.
I spent the next mile following street signs and telephone poles marked with white blazes. Plus there were even some nifty bronze AT markers in the concrete sidewalk marking the route.
The funniest sight today came on the edge of High Street though. I have to assume there must be a retirement center or some sort of senior citizens’ activity center nearby because I’ve never seen this particular warning sign before. I’ll admit, it made me chuckle a bit to myself.
Then just as I was approaching the trailhead on the outskirts of Dalton, who did I see? Luna!! Hot damn. We’re reunited at last!!
I MISSED YA, LUNA
Spotting Luna was an amazing lift for my spirits, and we hiked the entire afternoon together. It’s been soooo long since we’ve done that and I’ve missed his companionship.
I’ve seen Fancy Feast and Gazelle regularly, but I haven’t even seen Luna once since Delaware Water Gap. And thanks to his back injury, we haven’t actually hiked together since Harpers Ferry (500+ miles!)
We’ve been texting back and forth as we hiked through the past few states, so I was certain he catch up with me at some point. But, it never happened. Either I’d hike a longer than normal day or he’d hike a shorter than normal day. And we just never seemed to reunite.
The two of us spent the next 8 miles catching up and those miles seem to fly by. We were making excellent time and hiking strong together. I wasn’t even stopping to take photos because I was so lost in the conversation. And before I even knew it, we were standing on the outskirts of the tiny town of Cheshire.
ICE CREAM & SOCKS
As we walked into Cheshire on this warm afternoon, Luna and I decided we had to stop at Diane’s Ice Cream Shop. There was already another hiker being served when we arrived, so we waited patiently for our turn. We each got for double cones to take outside to enjoy while lying in the grass in the building’s meager shade.
After and enjoyable rest, it time for a quick 100-meter walk down the Main Street over to the post office. I’d already picked up my own items from the post office durning my recent zero day. But Luna still needed to pick up a package his brother sent to him. Plus, he needed to mail his old socks to Vermont.
As most long distance hikers know, the Darn Tough company offers an unconditional lifetime guarantee on their merino wool socks. It’s what one of the many things that make their brand so popular with this community.
Unfortunately, all these rough AT miles forced Luna to walk a hole in right through one of his Darn Tough socks. And even though he’d purchased a replacement pair back in New York, this was the first post office he’d actually stopped at since filing out his warranty claim online AND washing the old pair of socks.
Note to future thru-hikers: the Darn Tough Headquarters doesn’t want you mailing your stinky, dirty, worn out socks for replacement. They want them laundered first.
I had to internally chuckle as Luna told me the company actually puts this instruction on their website. Sad, but true. But then again, I’m 100% sure its only because hikers have sent dirty socks to them in the past. Gross!
After our post office stop, Luna and I said our goodbyes. I still had another 1.4 miles to get me out of Cheshire and out to the road crossing on Outlook Road where I’d asked Keith to pick me up this afternoon.
Meanwhile, Luna was going to hang out by the ice cream shop for as long at it took for Gazelle to catch up. His plan was for them to hike a mile or so out of town. Once there, they could stealth camp in the large meadows just to the north of Cheshire, and I’d catch them first thing in the morning.
Day 89
July 30, 2019
- Route: Cheshire, MA (Mile 1581.2) to a random county road in VT (Mile 1609.8)
- Daily Mileage: 20.4 miles
Today was my final day slackpacking from the RV. My goal was to have Keith drop me at the trail crossing back near Cheshire so I could link back up with Luna and Gazelle. Then I’d hike the 7 miles to Mt. Greylock, where Keith and Finn would be waiting for me near the summit so we could take a family photo near on the state high point.
Mt. Greylock would be my 15th high point (and their 13th one), so I wanted us all to be able to enjoy it together.
MISSED CONNECTION – PART I
Naturally, I figured I would catch Luna and Gazelle within my first hour on the trail, since they probably didn’t have a huge lead on me. I could see the range of mountains where Mt. Greylock rested ahead of me in the distance, and I was pleasantly surprised at how gentle the ascent toward it was.
Mt. Greylock is 3,489 feet in elevation, which doesn’t seem super tall if you’re used to peaks out West. But the town of Cheshire behind me was barely at 1,000 feet elevation, so there was a good bit of vertical gain ahead. Moreover, I didn’t know whether it would be a gentle slope upward or the typical insane AT trajectory upward.
About 3.5 miles into my hike (and closer to 5 miles into Luna and Gazelle’s day), I passed the junction for the Mark Noepel shelter. I still had plenty of water, so I didn’t bother with the 0.1-mile side trail to the shelter and pushed past it quickly.
Little did I know, Luna and Gazelle had stopped at the shelter for second breakfast and to grab some more water after dry camping in the meadows. So I unwittingly strode right by them, slingshotting myself into the lead.
MT GREYLOCK
Thanks to the gentle grade into the Berkshire mountains, I made excellent time to Mt. Greylock, arriving almost a half hour before I was supposed to meet Keith and Finn. And since I’d walked right past Luna and Gazelle, I now found myself all alone on the summit.
With time to kill, I decided to explore a bit. At the peak of the summit, there was a 92-foot tall stone observation tower called the Veterans’ War Memorial. Inside a staircase wound tightly taking visitors up to the top. But, I’d save that climb until Keith and Finn joined me.
Just a stone’s away was another impressive structure – Bascom Lodge. This rustic, Arts and Crafts style stone lodge was built in the 1930s and holds a small store and restaurant.
As I walked around the lodge, I noticed two ladies in their 60s or 70s staring upward at a framed map on the entrance’s wall. It was a map of the AT. They were using their fingers to trace the route up from Georgia and speculating aloud who would be crazy enough to walk that entire way.
I stood next to them and stared upward in amazement too but didn’t interject. After all, I was confident the ladies see some of my fellow thru-hikers with their large packs in due time.
Before leaving the lodge and gift store, I noticed a cooler up near the cash register. Inside it sat the typical bevy of canned soda and Gatorade. But, just below them was a shelf full of cold beer. As I took a closer look, I noticed one of the beers was called the Greylock IPA and I couldn’t help purchasing one so I could enjoy it back at the RV after my long day of hiking.
The lady at the register looked at me in surprise (I doubt she had too many people buying beer at 10:40 am) and she hastily warned me that I wasn’t permitted to consume my beer outside of the picnic area or restaurant. I assured her I was saving it for home, and she immediately looked relieved.
(I wouldn’t understand her bizarre overreaction until I got back to the RV this evening. When I was halfway done with the beer, I noticed it seemed to pack a major punch. I tilted the can to check out the ABV (alcohol by volume) on the bottom of the label, and that’s when I realized this wasn’t a mere IPA with a 5.5 to 7% ABV. Or even a double IPA with typical 7.5 to 9% ABV. The Greylock IPA packed had a whopping 12% ABV!!!)
MISSED CONNECTION – PART II
Around 11 am, Keith and Finn finally arrived, and we toured the tower on Mt. Greylock. The inside was really beautiful with an intricate mosaic ceiling when you first walked in. Then we tackled the stairway up to take in the 360-degree views of the Berkshire Mountains where I stood, the Tactonic Range to my west, and the Green Mountains to the north.
After about a half hour of enjoying the area together, I decided it was time to get moving. I wanted to get to Vermont today. And that meant I still had some major miles to hike. Plus, I hadn’t seen Luna and Gazelle yet, so who knew how far they were ahead of me by now. I needed to get going!
As I walked north, Keith and Finn walked south back down the one-mile trail they’d taken from the car. About halfway there, Finn he heard someone approaching him call out, “Hey Finn.” He looked up and guess who it was? Luna. He and Gazelle were just making their way up toward Mt. Greylock.
Keith recognized Luna from our hikerstrash slumber party back at Mt. Rogers, but this was the first time he’d seen Gazelle. So now he could finally put a face and name together from all my stories.
After chatting for a bit, Keith told them both I was only 15-20 minutes ahead. Though as most hikers know, you can be less than a mile ahead of someone for an entire day and never see them once.
And that’s exactly how it played out. I’d hike the rest of the day thinking Luna and Gazelle were just ahead of me. I kept doing my best to pick up my pace to close the gap. Yet, in reality I was having the opposite effect. They would just fall further and further behind me.
WHERE’S THE AT?
The decent down the north side of Mt. Greylock was the exact opposite of the ascent. The nicely graded trail was long gone and the true AT returned. It was steep, and strewn with loose dirt and rocks. Once again, I didn’t envy the SOBO hikers that would have to climb up this monster. This was descent was even worse than the north side of Bear Mountain in Connecticut.
As a result of the terrain, hiking north took me a lot longer than I expected. I’d hoped to maintain a 3 mph pace or faster since I was going downhill. Yet that goal seemed impossible if I wanted to remain upright on the loose ground.
Six miles beyond Mt. Greylock’s summit, I was walking through another small Massachusetts town just east of Williamstown and nearly lost my way.
There was a major road intersection to cross, but when I arrived, the pavement was being torn up and a long line of traffic was being detoured to another route. Large bulldozers blocked the my crossing and obscured all the AT signs and the trail’s entrance. Moreover, there didn’t seem to be anywhere safe to walk, unless I wanted my trail shoes covered in newly laid asphalt.
I finally had to ask one contraction workers nearby where the footbridge was to cross the Hoosic River. The man had no clue what I was talking about and just shrugged his shoulders and turned back to directing traffic toward the detour. I guess the AT wasn’t a priority for him just then!
I had to walk nearly a quarter mile to find a good spot to cross before backtracking on the opposite side of the street. The access point was hidden between an apartment building and a private house on the opposite side of the road behind even more construction equipment.
When I finally got to the footbridge, I was treated to a nice surprise. The sides of the bridge were completely covered in painted handprints. Very cool.
BYE MASSACHUSETTS
I ate my lunch on the fly while I was gathering some water because I worried I was falling behind schedule en route to my pick up point in Vermont. The climb ahead of me to the rock garden was nearly as steep as the treacherous hike down from Mt. Greylock. And once I got to the top I was a bit disappointed.
I don’t know exactly what I was expecting when I read there was a rock garden up here. But this setting wasn’t it. There weren’t a bunch of uniquely shaped rocks or rock cairns. Just a bunch of lousy boulders along the trail. Very disappointing.
Then I saw a sign pointing me toward the Vermont border. In another 1.3 miles I’d be entering my 12th state! Just the thought of only being three states from Katahdin put a grin on my face. I know there’s still 600 miles left to go and these next three states are going to be super difficult, but it’s still just so exciting!!
VERMONT
I made it Vermont border right around 3:30 pm, and was picking my way through the boulders toward the sign when I heard two voices. It was an unknown man and woman talking and laughing. Yet there was something familiar about it.
As I rounded one particularly large boulder I realized why I knew the sound. I didn’t know the guy, but the girl sitting on a rock was Fancy Feast! She was finally back to her home state of Vermont and was taking a breather at the border to enjoy the feeling.
She introduced me to her friend, David, who also lived in Vermont. He was joining her for the upcoming stretch of trail so he could hike the Long Trail.
This section of the AT (beginning at the Massachusetts border) doubles as the southernmost 100 miles of the Long Trail, which runs north up the entire state of Vermont for the next 273 miles.
Fancy Feast shared that she and David planned to stick together until the two trails diverged near the town of Killington, Vermont. So who knows when I might see her again. I suspect her mileage is going to need to drop as David gets his trail legs.
I waved goodbye to them both and set of to find the handmade 1600 mile mark just a half-mile further ahead.
WORST TRAILHEAD EVER
Now that I was in Vermont, I only had three more miles until my prearranged pick up with Keith and Finn. I’d selected a random road crossing along the AT called County Road. Guthook said there was a parking for about a dozen cars at the road, so it seemed as good as anything.
In hindsight though, I should have known it wasn’t a good rendezvous spot. The road didn’t even have a real name.
When I arrived, I was running about five minutes late to our meet-up. Yet the dirt pull off for cars was completely empty. That was unusual. Keith is tends to arrive early. No biggie though, he was coming from the west, so I’d just begin walking in that direction and meet him.
About 300 meters down the nicely graded crushed rock road, I came across a metal gate blocking the center of the road. Just beyond it there a big cleared area with construction equipment parked in it. What the …?!?
I pulled out my phone and soon learned I wasn’t at on County Road at all. I was walking west down a parallel utility access road instead! I was about 100 miles north of where I should have been.
I backtracked until the spot where County Road crossed paths with the AT and that’s when my heart sank. The reason I’d accidentally passed County Road and ended up on the utility road was because County Road was barely even noticeable.
There were giant boulders and washed out potholes strewn up and down the miserable excuse for a road, and tree branches turned it into a narrow tunnel. Even an OHV would have an almost impossible time driving on it. Damn it. How was Keith going to get up here to retrieve me?
Maybe he could he drive up the utility road instead. It was in good condition. But, first I needed to get a hold of him.
Unfortunately, I only had a single bar of intermittent service on my phone. And If I moved too far one direction or the other, I lost service completely. Standing as still as possible, I tried calling Keith, but the call with straight to voice mail. Damn it!!
I moved to higher ground and to a spot with slightly better cell service (2 bars) and tried calling over and over again.
After going straight to voicemail six times, I finally got through. Finn answered the phone and told me they were on County Road too. They made it a couple miles from the turn off from Highway 7, but then the road became impassible. By my estimation, they were probably a mile west of me right now.
Their cell service was equally spotty, so Finn stayed behind in the car just in case I called. Meanwhile, Keith was currently walking my way, so I hurriedly set out on County Road in his direction.
After 10 minutes of walking on the horribly wet and rocky path that was supposed be County Road, Keith and I finally made contact. He told me what I’d already gathered from Finn. They’d encountered a boulder the size of a coffee table in the middle of the roadway and realized there was no chance they’d make it to me in the Subaru.
Reunited once again, it was now time to head back to the RV for my final night with the family. I sure hope this first experience in Vermont isn’t foreshadowing more major obstacles in me near future!
Day 90
July 31, 2019
- Route: Utility service road in VT (Mile 1609.8) to Goddard Shelter (Mile 1622.9)
- Daily Mileage: 21.3 miles
After our miserable experience with County Road yesterday, I did a little satellite map recon of the area to try to circumvent the issue. According some of the comments in Guthook, it looked like we *might* have a better chance of accessing the trail if we tried approaching it from the east.
Our plan didn’t work though.
County Road was called Ricky Ranch Road from this direction, and it was just as miserable and undriveable as the opposite end. So we pushed a bit further north, in hopes that the using the nicely groomed utility service road I’d been on yesterday was open.
Unfortunately, we were out of luck there too. A metal padlocked gate blocked our access at the base of the road. We weren’t going be be driving up that road either.
So, with a sigh of resignation, I shouldered my pack and set off on foot. I’d just have to hike the 1.5 non-trail miles up the utility service road to get myself back to the AT.
A BRIEF REUNION
The pressing weight of my pack dug into my tender shoulders the entire way up to the trail. These past few days of slackpacking through Massachusetts had been a nice reprieve from carrying a full pack, but that was behind me now. I had a pack full of gear and enough food to tide me over until my next town stop in Manchester, another 50 miles north.
Around 10 am, I caught up with Luna. He’d and Gazelle had spent the night at the Seth Warner shelter – less than a half mile from the trailhead where I’d hoped Keith would have been able to drop me off at this morning.
Gazelle was somewhere ahead of us now, hiking with someone named Ghost (a guy she’s been casually hiking with lately and seems to be sweet on). So it was just Luna and I together for the next hour and a half.
When the two of us arrived at Cogdon Shelter, Gazelle and Ghost were already there. They planned to head into the nearby town of Bennington, Vermont, to resupply and Luna agreed to join them since he needed food too.
Given my recent departure from the RV and heavy pack, I begged off. I’d continue on the trail ahead of them and hoped they’d meet back up with me by the end of the day.
RAIN, RAIN, GO AWAY
After saying our goodbyes, I was all alone once again and decided to hang back at the shelter for a bit of an lunch. It looked like rain, but the storm held off the entire time I sat in the shelter.
As soon as I packed back up and took five steps away from the protection though, I felt the first giant drops of hit my face and shoulders. I hoped the rain would remain light or pass quickly, but neither of my wishes was granted. Instead I’d get pouring rain that lasted the next two and a half hours.
The trail was still wet and muddy from the storm that have come through two nights ago, and this deluge only made it worse. As I pulled out my trusty UL umbrella to keep my head and chest dry while I trudged through the muck, no longer wondering why Vermont’s nickname among hikers is “Vermud.”
The worst though came as I hiked down the steep slope from Harmon Hill down to Route 9. Trail maintainers built a stone stairway that worked its way all the way down to the busy highway.
I’m sure these steps are a splendid addition for SOBOs hiking upward or NOBO hikers who experience it in dry weather. But today it was like trying to walk down 10 stories of slick, icy stairs during my descent. I’m just grateful I didn’t break my neck in the process!!
BAD BEAR MANNERS
My intended destination for this evening was Goddard Shelter – another 10 miles beyond Route 9 where Ghost, Gazelle, and Luna had gone into town.
The Goddard shelter was infamous this year thanks to one particularly persistent bear nicknamed Bruno. He overcome all fear of people and was regularly coming to the shelter to aggressively scavenge for human food.
Shouting voices and noise no longer seemed to have any impact on his bad manners, so some AT and Long Trail hikers had even resorted to stockpiling rocks at the shelter to throw at the Bruno as he approached. Yet, Bruno was only more determined and more forceful with each visit – stealing backpacks and destroying hikers’ tents. (Click HERE to read more about the situation).
The Green Mountain Club supplied a giant bear box for the shelter to deter the Bruno and his friends this season. But the final straw came when Bruno wrecked havoc on the shelter’s privy while going after a loaf of moldy bread that some jackhole hiker dropped down into the pit instead of packing it out. As a result, game wardens had to come to eliminate him.
I was hopeful that resolved the bear problem, but I had to admit I’m still a bit apprehensive about stopping at that shelter tonight.
A NEW MINDSET
As I hiked further north, I was really trying to appreciate southern Vermont. But so far, I wasn’t off to a great start.
Between the extra 1.5-mile walk to the trailhead on the stupid utility road, and the heavy rain, and my clean socks getting soaked within mere hours of putting on a fresh pair, and the slick steps down to Route 9, and muddy trail, and my plantar fasciitis acting up in my right foot, and the sinus headache that set in right after lunch… well, I wasn’t in a great mood. So, I had to resort to shoving snacks in my mouth all afternoon to keep from spiraling.
The rain began to slow around 2:30 pm and that helped improve my attitude some. I could now appreciate the trail more, including some really cool giant boulders called Split Rock, which the trail was routed right between.
As I climbed higher and higher toward tonight’s destination, I passed tons of Long Trail hikers and even a few SOBO AT hikers. I plastered a smile on my face and tried to be friendly, but I was still feeling pretty gloomy.
Then just before 5pm, just as I entered the Glastenbury Wilderness, I had a minor revelation about why I was in such a foul mood. It wasn’t the gray weather or the aches and pains. It wasn’t the muddy trail or even the steep climbs.
The truth is, I’d been spoiled these past six days. I was slackpacking during the day and then spending each night in with my hubby and kid in the luxury of our dry, comfy RV. I loved every minute of my time in Massachusetts with them.
But, to be honest, it’s really difficult for me to straddle these two worlds (i.e. the trail life and my normal life). This same friction occurred when I first started the trail, and when Keith and Finn visited me in Grayson Highlands, and after my two-day trip to New Jersey on the 4th of July. Simply put, I tend to get homesick and miss my family when I’m without them.
But wallowing in a miserable funk wasn’t the answer. I needed to get my head back in the game and stay focused on the task at hand. I needed to just enjoy each day on trail for whatever it brought.
I got to the Goddard shelter just as the sun was emerging, and those rays of sunshine left me feeling some renewed optimism. It wasn’t long before Fancy Feast and David rolled up behind me too. The three of us ate dinner and spent the rest of the evening telling each other tall tales, laughing, and just enjoying each others’ company. So all told, it wasn’t such a bad day after all!
Day 91
August 1, 2019
- Route: Goddard Shelter (Mile 1622.9) to Stratton Pond Shelter (Mile 1642.3)
- Daily Mileage: 19.4 miles
Last night at Goddard Shelter was completely bear-free (thank goodness), but it rained for much of the night. Most of us – including Fancy Feast, David, and myself – spent the night inside the shelter to stay dry. Not a single one of us wanted to break down or carry a wet tent today.
Even though we had the three sides of the shelter shielding us from the elements, it was a pretty cold night. This made me even more grateful for my brand new 30-degree quilt, which is such an awesome addition to my gear set up. It kept me nice and toasty all night. I think I’m going to dig this whole quilt thing!
I was also glad to have my stove back in my pack so I could make my morning coffee again. Sometimes it’s the littlest of things (like hot coffee on a brisk morning) that can make the biggest difference.
FIRETOWERS & BEAVERS
I departed the shelter around 8 am and got to a Glastonbury Mountain fire lookout tower just 0.3 miles ahead. Instead of just walking right on past it and trying to make mile, I stopped and dropped my pack at the base of the tower. I was determined to be present in this journey instead of racing to the end. And that meant stopping to smell the roses even now and then.
After a quick climb up tower’s stairs, I was treated to a view of what Vermont looks like in the morning sunlight. Fog was still settled into the mountains, but the views were simply breathtaking.
Five miles later, I made it to the Kid Gore Shelter and was soon joined by Fancy Feast and David for second breakfast.
I’m super impressed he’s keeping up with us, given that he just hit the 28 miles into his Long Trail thru-hike. Most people aren’t able to pull such big days this early on. And I know from experience, Fancy Feast can be a beast when it comes to keeping a strong pace.
Another five miles further up the trail, there was a super cool beaver dam holding back a huge pond. I toyed with getting water there, but decided to wait. Less than half a mile further up I’d get to the Story Spring Shelter, and I could collect nice cool water from the fresh spring that the shelter is named after.
A few hours later, I had another big climb up Stratton Mountain, but was rewarded up the top with the opportunity to climb up my second fire tower of the day. Once again the views were spectacular. I can see definitely see why Vermont is called the Green Mountain State
STRATTON POND SHELTER
My feet were feeling really tender the entire way down from Stratton Mountain. The trail was covered in roots and rocks and every one of them seemed to irritate the balls of my feet. I was glad the next shelter was the Stratton Pond Shelter – where I could soak them in the cool water of nearby Stratton Pond for a bit.
The Stratton Pond Shelter was absolutely huge, with a covered porch with picnic tables on the front of it. In addition to it’s immense size, there were two levels of wooden bunks lining the inside of the shelter instead of the typical wooden plank floor.
This is one of the swankier shelters maintained by the Green Mountain Club (GMC). And during the summer and fall months they have a caretaker that collects a $5 daily fee for overnight camping here.
This nominal fee helps mitigate crowding at shelters during the peak months when both AT and Long Trail thru-hikers are vying for space. Plus it allows the club to keep a caretaker on site to maintain the privy, keep the shelter clean, and ensure people are behaving themselves.
The fee is waived for GMC members (like Fancy Feast), but the rest of us needed to have cash on hand. Since there aren’t any credit card machines out here in the backcountry, I made sure I departed Massachusetts with some smaller bills in tow for times like this.
Inside the shelter, I found a free bottom bunk and quickly spread my things across it before blowing laying out my quilt to it would loft up again after being squished in my pack all day. Then I set out to find the caretaker with my $5 cash.
Unfortunately, the caretaker was nowhere to be found. The only other person around was a quiet older guy who was out here section hiking the Long Trail.
I could see other gear and packs on about six of the other bunks, so there were clearly other hikers around. They just weren’t here. Maybe the caretaker was off with them or doing some minor trail maintenance nearby.
I shrugged to myself and tucked my cash into my pocket. The caretaker would come around eventually to collect his/her money. In the meantime, it was time to go grab water for dinner and soak my feet in the pond.
SAL PARADISE
The pond was only about five minute walk from the shelter, and when I saw Fancy Feast swimming in the cool water while two other hikers were on the banks with their swollen, tired feet submerged.
I took my cue from them and took up the same position, while we talked about our day and swapped more stories. I asked whether they’d seen the caretaker, but none of them had. They were all GMC members whose camping fees were waived, so they didn’t have much incentive to track the caretaker down either.
That’s when Fancy Feast turned to me and asked me if I saw an older white-haired guy in the shelter. When I said yes, she asked me if I knew who he was. I didn’t have a clue. He hadn’t seemed in the mood to talk while I was there.
Fancy Feast went on to tell me the quiet guy I’d crossed paths with was actually kind of a big deal out here. His trail name was Sal Paradise (after the character in Jack Kerouac’s novel, On the Road) and he was super well-known in Long Trail circles, having hiked is a bunch of times over the years.
Plus, he was the recently departed president of the Green Mountain Club where he’d served from 2015-2018. Well, what do you know! There was was GMC royalty in my midst!
NO CARETAKER TODAY
When we returned to the shelter, the caretaker was still AWOL and he never showed up. Maybe he’d returned to the front country for an emergency. Who knows.
We were soon joined by a an entire crew of trail maintainers though, and I think every single one of them knew (or knew of) Fancy Feast. Her years of volunteering for the GMC and former position as the lead caretaker on Mt. Mansfield made her notorious in this small state.
And it’s clear the local outdoor community is pretty connected. Everyone one know everyone else in Vermont. Or so it seems.
It was so delightful seeing her to get the warm welcome from so many people. They were eager to hear her stories from her current thru-hike, and peppered her with questions left and right. As she told her best AT stories (many of which I’d already heard or experienced first hand), I retreated back to my bunk to read a book on my phone until dark.
WEEK 13 summary
- Lowest mileage day: 0 miles – my first zero in nearly 3 weeks!
- Highest mileage day: 24.7 miles
- Number of days with rain: 3
- Nights back in my own bed (in the RV): 5
- Number of nights sleeping in my tent or AT shelter: 2
- Times I visited the Post Office in Cheshire, MA: 2
- Miles since I last hiked with Luna: 500!
- State high points visited: 1 (Mt. Greylock, MA)
- Biggest surprise: That Greylock IPA that nearly knocked my on my ass!! 12% ABV
- States left to complete before the end of my thru-hike: 3
- Total miles hiked this week: 119.5