Why Not?

October 4
Highway 103 to Williamstown, Massachusetts

I cant count the same section of trail for two hikes without hiking it twice.

So after rain that didn’t fall, I was back on trail, hiking with an AT hiker I had met a few times. We soon caught up with another AT hiker, so the three of us walked together to Bromley Mountain, and a warming hut, available for hikers to use. It had rained during the day, September 30, some times quite hard. Remnants of a hurricane had spun out of the Caribbean, covering the entire eastern seaboard. Vermont was not spared. So the three of us sought shelter in the warming hut, where we stayed... and paced, and slept, and ate and paced... We took one entire rest day, staying out of the torrential rain.

On the morning of the second, the three of us left, walking out into the cold clear morning.

After visiting town for a quick snack and a little extra food, we began the arduous process of hitching back to trail. Buhne (pronounced boon) managed to acquire a ride from an elderly couple. After driving up a dirt road, turning around, driving back, going up a different road... we asked to be dropped off back on the main road. It took two additional cars to get the three of us back to the trail, a mere five miles from town.

The afternoon was brilliant and sunny, but with the crisp cool of autumn. The leaves in southern vermont, were not quite at peak color. Or the ones that were... ripe... had been knocked to the ground by the torrential rain. My peak color, I believe, has passed.

On the morning of the third, I left early, parting company from the other guys. I had a plane to catch. I had 50 miles to walk in two days.

Stratton Mountain is the last prominent peak going south on the Long Trail. Going south, the trail turns violently east, climbing 1500 feet. After a quick summit and climb of the wind exposed fire tower, I descended quickly, 1500, feet, emerging just a couple miles from where the climb began. Stratton Mountain is one of the more superfluous climbs on the Long Trail, or the Appalachian Trail for that matter. The view in the cool clear morning, was spectacular.

After my brisk climb, I picked up tempo, making 20 miles by 2:00 and 30 by 6:00, finishing my 33 mile day at Congdon Shelter, my last shelter for the hiking season.

Reality donned on my during my solo walking, that my season is coming to an end. I walked much of the day thinking about my experiences, remembering the people I met, and places I have seen.

The Long Trail for me, was a way of decompressing from the AT. It was much less traveled path, and my fall hike was beautiful. The Vermont fall was spectacular. Red, gold, and purple foliage dominated with landscape. The weather, aside form one hurricane remnant, was pleasant and cool. The bugs were gone. This was the perfect time for a Long Trail hike.

On a shorter trail, relative to the PCT, CDT, or AT, one can pick their season. I cannot imagine hiking the Long Trail in any other season than fall.

On the afternoon of the fourth, I arrived in Williamstown Massachusetts, after 280 miles of walking in just over two weeks, done walking and ready for my plane ride back to California.








I have completed a short video documentary

Saunter in a Sylvan Glade

Reoccurring Themes

September 29
Jonesville to Highway 103

I panted and sweated, hoofing my way steadily up the final stretch to the summit of Camel’s Hump. This is the final peak above 4000 feet officially on the Long Trail. At the top I was greeted by day hikers. I sat in a wind sheltered nook reaching my shaking cold hand into a bag of corn chips.
“Ooo, can I have some?” A woman asked.
“Um... I kinda need these to get to Killington. I’m not day hiking”
“Your walking to Killington?”
“Well the Long Trail, but yeah”
“How many miles is that, where do you sleep?”
All the typical questions were asked. I answered, happy to educate someone about what we do out here! I have been answering such questions since my first days on the Pacific Crest Trail.

I would happily give somebody food while hiking, but for a day hiker to ask a thru hiker for food is... bizarre. “Sure you can have some corn chips. They are stale and are covered with hiker germs. There might be giardia, e coli, staff... Go ahead, reach on in there. I haven’t showered in a week!” I felt like saying. I feel bad denying someone food, but in this case I think my decision was smart.

From Camel’s hump, the terrain started to mellow The big climbs were done. Now it was just short steep sections such as the ups and downs of Mount Lincoln. I stayed in the Stark’s Nest ski warming hut, warm and dry, out of the elements. The next morning was foggy and drippy. I caught up with another hiker named E-Z, a hiker who I met on the AT near Erwin, Tennessee.

The weather improved as I approached Killington. So did the color. Leaves changed more rapidly as the days passed. I caught another southbounder named Jim, a man from Long Island with a replaced knee. It makes any complaining I have done in the past about my knees seem silly. I commend anyone for taking a hike, and for someone with surgically replaced knees to hike the steepest of long hikes takes some serious guts. I always tell people that anyone, physically, can hike. The mental game is the most important, and most difficult attribute to conquer. Jim had that part dialed.

As I sat on a curb in Killington, chatting on the phone, a car slowed, the passenger leaning out the window yelling, “Hiker trash!” A a friendly greeting between hikers. “San Gabriel?” The guy asked shocked.
“Buhne?” I asked similarly amazed. We had hiked in reasonably close proximity in Maine, and had also met in Virginia. He was finishing a section from Vermont, south the the Delaware Water Gap. We hiked together to Cooper Lodge near the top of Mount Killington, another 4000 footer, but one that the trail does not officially summit. I passed on a second summit of this peak as I had already been here on the AT and summited on a brilliant day.

With a chance for torrential rain, Buhne and I got a ride to Hanover where he had family, and I had friends. I have now hiked every inch of the Long Trail. The southern section shares tread with the AT. I could pretty easily head home with a successful summer of backpacking under my belt.

If the rain lets up, I will get back on in a couple days.

Here I Go Again

September 24
Canada to Jonesville

In 2010, the Long Trail is celebrating its 100th anniversary. As I found myself back east in fall with a month to go before the weather typically gets thoroughly unpleasant, I figured, “why not hike the Long Trail?” This would be a solo endeavor. A way to decompress from this summer’s experiences and adventures on the AT. It would also prove to be a spectacular fall hike through colorful deciduous forests and rugged terrain.

I started September 18th. A friend of mine, who we figured out has been at the northern terminus of all my major hikes, drove me to the northern terminus of the Long Train at the Vermont, Canada border. We hiked together the first three or four miles south of the border swath, a narrow corridor of cleared brush at the Canadian border. Then I was alone, for the first time since the southern AT.

Hiking by my self, there is not much to do but walk. I started talking to my self again, not in an unhealthy manor... And so I walked about 10 miles after an afternoon start. My first shelter of the trip had one other occupant and a couple of guys hammocking outside.

It rained the night of the 18th, soaking the ground, making the glacially polished rocks slick. I walked carefully about 20 miles on the second day, not quite making my planned destination. After the quickly moving storm, the temperature dropped and on the night of the 19th, the temperature dropped below freezing. I slept on a thick bed of dry leaves under the stars.

I saw my first north-bounder on the 20th. He reported a bear sighting! I haven’t seen a bear since Pennsylvania... and still haven’t. The bear at Butternut Mountain eluded me. Maybe I smell a little too much like a human.

Many people talk about the Long Trail being fiendishly difficult. The trails are supposedly steep and rocky, often requiring scrambles. I didn’t scramble until Mount Mansfield. After a successful short hitch hike into Stowe for extra food and an all you can eat CHinese meal, I was back on trail, dragging myself up a suddenly steep section of trail, deep fired chicken sloshing uncomfortably in my stomach. The final 300 feet to the top of Mansfield, the tallest mountain in Vermont at 4300 feet, I encountered a chimney with steps cut into the steep wall. This was the scrambling I have been told about.

I enjoy a challenge. Instead of looking at steep trail as a chore, I find it an interesting diversion from all the walking I do. Steps, ladders, rebar staples, boulders... It feels like a different activity.

After a windy summit, darkened by ominous clouds, and a hint of blowing moisture, I descended to Butler Lodge, a four walled shelter run by the Green Mountain Club. I was alone again here. I sat at the table, looking out the window over Lake Champlain to the mountains of New York. I felt like Edward abbey, alone in his fire tower, or Thoreau in his cabin. I wrote by candle light until after dark.

The next day was rather wet so I put my head down and chugged, making quick miles, stopping only to pick up a post office box full of food shipped from home. Next up would be the 3500 foot climb up Camel’s Hump, the biggest climb on the Long Trail going south.

MacKaye's Monadnock

September 13
Monson to Katahdin

The 100 mile wilderness is the longest stretch of trail without a paved road on the AT. It is the longest section to hike without towns. Mount Katahdin is the biggest climb on the AT, the steepest, the most prominent mountain... “Are you worthy?” The mountain asks. Northbound hikers have traveled over 2000 miles, and have been proven to be strong, and resilient, only to be given a fairly rude final exam.

A rumor circulated that there was no appropriate mountain on which to end the AT. The rumor continues that Avery and MacKaye, trail founders, hired legions of workers, prisoners, volunteers, CCC members... to build a mountain in Northern Maine. Rocks to be piled, were mined from a ridge in Southern Maine. The remaining rift left by the mining operation was called Mahoosuc Notch. Katahdin was finished sometime in the 1920s and designated as the northern terminus of the AT.

Sounds reasonable I think. Katahdin does look like a giant rock pile, but a magnificent alpine rock pile. I can’t think of a better terminus.

One day before arriving at Mount Katahdin, the clouds finally parted, revealing the monolith in all of its glory. At a mile high, Katahdin stands above everything in Maine, and especially everything in Baxter State Park. The surrounding terrain is low and rolling, dotted with countless lakes, big and small. Beech, Birch, and Maple dominate the lush forest, just starting to blush in color in mid September. Every opening in trail, grants a spectacular view of the beastly mountain though, particularly north facing openings over lakes.

Friends from past trails met Ladybird and I just south of Katahdin. And they brought a whole watermelon, and a pie! We ate at Rainbow Ledge, with a view of the mountain.

The weather was somewhat less fantastic on the climbing day however. Clouds hung low in the sky, a visible front moving swiftly to intercept us. There were views on the ascent, but I was too busy holding onto metal rebar staples and boulders to look out. The trail up to the Table Lands in steep. Hands are required as the rout scales several boulders and steep pitches. It heads straight up a wind blown treeless ridge. Then comes the treeless windblown Table Lands. Baxter Peak, the highest point of Mount Katahidin, is only a few hundred feet higher than its surroundings. The top of the mountain was blanketed in Mist. Tiny moisture droplets formed and condensed, making everything wet. Eventually the mist turned to some sort of miserable sleet.

Mountains like Katahdin create their own weather. Clouds gather around the summit. I am not bitter about my summit day. Sure I could have waited three days for the weather to clear, but this is part of the experience. When there is rain, you get wet. When it is sunny and humid, you sweat, and still get wet... Hmm. I have no regrets, only fond memories.

I had a beautiful summer with far less rain than a normal year. Only near the end of my hike, did it start to rain more often. I had a more social experience than the other trails. One I enjoyed very much. After fastpacking the CDT, I learned to enjoy my self when not walking again. I enjoy walking, and when walking solo, often there is nothing else to do but walk. This year, I learned to enjoy swimming, the people around me, and just sitting and taking in the world around me.

I am sad to see this trail come to an end, but I know I will be back out there. Canoeing, biking, and hiking. Stay tuned for my Long Trail journey, starting September 18.

Knee Deep in the Mud

September 6
Gorham NH, to Monson, ME

All of the sudden, it is wet. The ground was muddy, the rocks were slippery, and the roots were bare of bark and without texture. Stepping on one meant an instant seat, in the mud, or on a sharp rock.

Goose eye mountain, of course, was blanketed in clouds. Ladybird and I approached a mud pit on a bog bridge. seeing a plank six or so feet away, I decided to jump for it. With one foot back, and my right foot on the edge of the plank, I threw my body forward. Limbs flailed as I flew forward. I reached out with my feet, and hit the plank. Panic struck as I started to slide. My arms went into a frantic windmill trying to maintain balance as I slid on a thin film of mud. Then one foot lifted up. Then the other, as my momentum changed from forward to upward. Now parallel to the ground, I rotated 180 degrees, now facing downward. Then the mud approached. My right leg hit first, then my right trekking pole, 12 feet away. I was helpless to stop as my right leg buried itself to the thigh in cold mud. Then my right arm did the same and my face ended up inches from the surface.

After recovering I was back on the bog bridge. Lady bird walked effortlessly atop what I had jumped. Convinced that the bog bridges hid a mere inch below the surface of the mud I walked fearlessly forward, sinking up to my left thigh.

Then there was Mahoosuc Notch. Often described as “the hardest mile on the Appalachian Trail,” Mahoosuc Notch is a mile long stretch of trail... rout, a jumble of rocks, through which hikers climb and tunnel. It can take up to five hours for some hikers to travel the distance, but typically takes about two. Due to the recent rain, Ladybird and I were cautious. I still managed to draw blood from my right shin.

There are so many attractions in Southern Maine. It is an underrated section of trail. There is Spec Lake, the highest lake in Maine. Spec Mountain has a lookout tower and spectacular views. The Baldpates are, well, bald domes of granite, devoid of plant life in convenient locations for holding on the decent. When wet, these peaks are extraordinarily slippery.



Maine is also home to countless lakes and ponds, which offer excellent swimming. There have not been so many opportunities for swimming since Virginia. However, the cooling weather dissuaded me from swimming as often as I would have liked.

I can see returning to Southern Maine.

Miles of Razor Sharp Rocks

Franconia Notch to Gorham, NH
August 28

The Presidentials in the White Mountains of New Hampshire rise from the green north eastern forests to rugged piles of rocks. This is the home of Mount Washington and “the worst weather on earth.” The day Ladybird and I walked the ridge from Mitzpah Hut to Madison Hut happened to be one of the most glorious days I could imagine in New Hampshire. Temperatures during the middle of the day were around 60 degrees and only a few wispy high clouds and small puffy cumulous clouds wafted by.

The summit of Washington, however, was a circus. Hundreds of people hiked up the couple dozen stairs from the parking lot or waddled off of the famous cog railway to fight for a spot atop the peak with the sign, “Mount Washington, Elevation 6288.”

I am told that in the early days on the Appalachian Trail planning stages, Mount Washington was considered for a possible northern terminus. I cannot imagine having to fight for a moment alone at the Appalachian Trail terminus at the top of a peak where people in sandals or heels can stand, with their cars parked 100 yards away. Mount Katahdin was a wise decision, I hope.

Several miles from the summit of Washington, all day hikers were gone. Ladybird and I bagged the other peaks on the way to Madison Hut. The terrain gets steadily more rugged. boulders become bigger and sharper. Mount Jefferson resembles a giant cairn. Mount Adams was similar. The difficulty in Adams, however, was the decreased temperature and diminishing daylight. Still a mile away, the sun had sunk to just above the horizon, below a bank of distant clouds which had increased as the day grew older. To the west, the setting sun illuminated the sky in neon red light, reflecting off the bottom of the clouds, highlighting the numerous ridges. Ladybird and I arrived at the hut, cold, in the dark, but pleased with a spectacular day.

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The huts in the White Mountains offer “work for stay” to Appalachian Trail hikers. They say there are two spots per night available at each of the eight huts. Ladybird and I were given “work for stay” at both Mitzpah and Madison with more than two hikers there. When we were asked if we wanted to work at Carter Notch Hut just after noon, we couldn’t refuse. A warm sunny day lounging by a lake, swimming, reading, visiting with the hut “croo” and other hikers? Typically “work for stay” is not granted before 4:00. Why not. We stayed. 3.2 mile day.

I Want to See Mountains!

Vermont and New Hampshire to Franconia Notch
August 18

Onrushing clouds broke around the rocky peak like waves on a rugged coastline. Ominous banks of billowing moisture bowed before Mount Killington, refusing to unleash fury upon the mountain top.

Northbound on the Appalachian Trail, Mount Killington, at over 4000 feet is the highest point since central Virginia, and the first peak bald peak in many miles.

The peaks in the south, balds, are often grassy and can grow trees, but due to harvesting and grazing remained bald. The mountains in the north climb into the alpine zone. Trees become stunted and windblown and eventually decide better of it, and refuse to live much higher than 4000 feet.

Climbing Glastenbury, Stratton, and Killington, I saw the increase in conifers. Spruce and Balsam Fir are omnipresent. As elevation increases, the needles surround and clutch their branches more tightly, growing thicker. This protects the trees from the surprisingly harsh conditions.

4000 feet in the west is laughable. There is typically not any snow that sticks around for the entire season in California at 4000 feet. But in the north east, 4000 feet is alpine. No one lives that high, barely anyone lives higher than 2000 feet.

The Appalachian Trail in New Hampshire goes over the summits of over 20 4000 footers. All of them are rocky and exposed. None of them have verdant deciduous trees.

Ladybird and I decided to tag a couple additional 4000 footers taking the Flume Slide Trail from Franconia Notch. The Flume slide trail is not recommended for south bound hikers. The ascent was at a 45 degree angle, sometimes steeper, up damp, slabby glacially, polished rocks. We scrambled, slipping backwards with every step, grasping violently for spindly trees, which clung loosely to the limited soil. Finally we reached a narrow shoulder and proceeded on actual real live trail to the summit of Mount Flume, then Liberty.

Franconia Ridge was spectacular in its sunlit glory. Dozens, nay, hundreds of day hikers crawled along the trail like ants on a discarded candy. Brightly colored fleece jackets dotted the rocky landscape. As evening approached, the day hikers departed, leaving the overnight hikers. This was when the gravity of the present situation hit me, pleasantly. I am alpine. I am above tree line. This Sierra boy feels at home.