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.