Weisel

Vermont in August 2003

Photos from this the stretch of the trail that David joined Steve for are online here.

Each of the three times I have hiked on the Appalachian Trail (AT) for significant distances, I have done so as a separate endeavor and not as part of a broader plan to trek over its approximately 2,160 miles. In 2001 I did 254 miles in southern Virginia (VA). It was done on short notice. I had no really sound idea of what I was getting into, and almost everything I carried and used was borrowed. When I finished, I said, essentially, “O.K., been out there and done that,” and thought that was it for my long distance hiking. In 2002, I couldn’t resist the urge to go back out with my hiking partner George Domas – whose trail name had changed from “Rainger” to “Old Rainger.” The spelling was a play on the fact that when going through Ranger School his class endured a high amount of rain. Anyway, we hiked the 450 miles that encompassed New Hampshire (NH) and Maine (ME) – said to be “20% of the miles and 50% of the work.” Again, it was “O.K. I am now really a hiker. I have done the toughest part, covered more than 700 miles, enjoyed unparallel beauty, and climbed the spectacular Mt Kathadin. On to other things.” On my return home I did an overnight 20 miles just south of Harpers Ferry – its almost my neighborhood, and settled back into “normal” life.

The Trigger – A Wedding. Then my friends of a gazillion years, Jeff and Linda Zissu, passed the word that their daughter, Jackie, was going to be married in Vermont during August of 2003. It was a no miss deal for me. I would be headed for Vermont. Well, I hadn’t had any vacation for some time, and I had heard the AT in Vermont was beautiful and not nearly as arduous as NH and most of ME. I had bought maps for all of New England the previous year so I broke out my maps of Vermont and my guidebooks, and figured out the following. I could attend the wedding in Stowe (Northern VT) on Sunday 10 Aug. Then on Monday I would travel to N. Adams, Massachusetts (just south of the VT border) and hike the 153 miles of AT from there to Hanover, NH –just across the Connecticut River which separates VT from NH.

Hiking Partners. Once I figured out a tentative itinerary and the associated logistics, I contacted some people who I thought might be interested in joining me for all or part of what would be about ten days of hiking with a rest break in the middle. Fred Taylor (aka “Gunner”), a West Point classmate from Orchard Beach, ME and who had hiked with George Domas and me the previous year for about ten days, signed up to join me at the start and stay with me until Thursday, 14 Aug. My nephew, David Meyers (aka “Bread”) who lives in Boston and had discovered the joys of “bagging peaks” in the White Mountains, said he would come on 14 August and stay with me until Sunday, 17 Aug. Rick Domas, also from Boston and the George’s younger brother had hiked with us the previous year for three days. Rick said that he would join up for the same stretch as David, and they would jointly assist each other in getting on and off the trail. So the scene was set.

Getting Outfitted. A piece of good news for me was the minimal cost of getting ready to hike. After the previous year, I owned everything I needed except a first aid kit and a cooking pot. Those were items I had still borrowed. I bought a REI first aid kit that weighed about a pound and add and subtracted a few items. I had the most extensive first aid kit I saw out there either this year or last, but being a “fragile guy” I used the heck out of it. Despite the focus on minimizing weight, I thought that it was still a good item to carry. I also bought a titanium 1.3-liter pot. It was a sort of extravagant treat for myself, but it was just the right size, had the type of fold-along-the-side handles I liked, and was light as a feather. So I thought, “what the heck?” and bought it. The first year I hiked, 2001, I carried a 5-lb –20-degree sleeping bag. The second year I had received as a present and per my specs, a +10 degree down sleeping bag that weighed 3 lbs. It was a great bag and would have been perfect in 2001 when we got snow and 20-degree weather in April, but in Jun-Aug it proved to be too hot. When in my tent and protected from the bugs, I generally slept on top of it rather than in it. This year, at the last minute when cruising around an outfitter's (Galyans) I bought, on sale for about $80, a 45-degree sleeping bag that weighed only 2 lbs. It was perfect. I also got smarter about food, and the little odds and ends that I needed and didn’t need. In 2001, when I stepped on to the AT I had 47 lbs on my back. This included food and 2 liters of water. In 2002 I had about 40 lbs. In 2003 it would have been 36 lbs with six days of food, but I actually got it to 34 lbs because I would be getting some food from David when he joined me.

Getting Ready. Among the things that I had learned about hiking for distance, was that the only really way to get prepared for it was to hike. In terms of the continuous hiking up and down mountains as presented on the AT, you would not get trail hardened until you were out there hiking distance almost every day during the course of around a 3-4 week long period. In this physical regard, hiking the AT in chunks or sections was more difficult than through- hiking (i.e. doing it all in one half year shot.) Each time you get out there, you are starting almost totally over in terms of getting physically primed. Through-hikers have some different burdens, primarily related to the psychological impact of staying with it for so long, while divorcing themselves from “normal” worldly pursuits for such an extensive period of time. Never the less, some conditioning was better than none. I found a hiking partner locally, Nancy Limprecht. Nancy is “the real deal” when it comes to hiking. She’s not a backpacker, but she is a really a tough hiker and has hiked in various mountains in many strange and exotic places courtesy of the State Department.

Nancy joined me on day-hikes 5 different times far as far as 14 miles. As a consequence, she also witnessed me indulging in my normally suppressed penchant for 7-Eleven hot dogs with cheese and chili loaded on. Three of our hikes were such that I completed the 54-mile section of AT from Harpers Ferry to Front Royal VA. That brought my total AT mileage to over 750. It was really a pretty mundane section, and only one of the days held noticeable difficulty. That day we went through a 10-mile stretch of continuous ups and downs of mid-sized hills (300-500 ft elevation changes) called “The Roller Coaster.” We were truly exhausted at the end, and we were not even carrying full packs as I did for most of my other preparatory hikes. One another day we stopped at Dick’s Dome Shelter. It was small and strangely shaped, but it had a beautiful setting near a bubbling stream. It was a bit far off of the trail for my taste, but it wasn’t a difficult day, and it was worth the effort. On our last hike, when we were about five miles north of Front Royal, we stopped at the Jim and Molly Denton Shelter. As shelters go, it was luxurious. In front of the shelter there was a deck with benches and several built-in wooden chairs. There was also a separate eating pavilion with a table and benches. It was a nice enough spot that we encountered a younger hiker, out for a few days, who was snoozing on the deck and was spending the entire day there.

The other part of getting ready was making sure I knew exactly what I had and where each item (e.g. matches, water purification, maps, rope for hanging food bags, heating tablets, flashlight, pocket knife, insect repellant) was stowed in my pack. I had everything in my living room for several weeks and kept packing and unpacking as well as practicing knots and picking and choosing what I would take and what I would do without (e.g. headlamp, glove liners, gaiters.)

Saturday, 9 Aug – Going to Vermont. Flew via Boston to Burlington VT. I was dressed in hiking clothes, which, for me, includes long pants and a wicking tee shirt, but I wore my ultra-light, Dollar-Store, sandals that I carry on the AT. I paid $3.00 for these sandals and I can’t think of too many things I have ever bought that have provided better value for cost. I had a small carry-on bag containing my boots, a water bottle that would normally be in an outside pocket of my pack and some odds and ends. The big deal, though, was that I had to get all the stuff that normally hung outside of my pack, into it (or carry it). At the check in counter, I asked for, and they produced, a large plastic bag for my pack. I didn’t want any of the various straps and belts to get snagged. The other piece of baggage I had brought was a cardboard box in which one might ship a moderately sized painting. It contained my suit, a pair of nice trousers a sport shirt, etc. – the clothes I would need for the wedding weekend. I also collapsed and put my hiking poles in the box. I was afraid the security people would not be kind to me if I tried to carry them on the plane. The idea was that, during Monday a.m., the day following the wedding, I would put the clothes all back in the box, and send the stuff home via USPS.

The trip to Burlington was uneventful. For the Boston-Burlington leg on Comair, the plane was one of those 20+ passenger thingys that have two seats on one side of the aisle and one on the other side. I didn’t think much about the plane size until later. After getting to Burlington around 1:30, I picked up my rental car while waiting for baggage. Then I waited. Then I worried. Finally, I found that I was one of about five passengers whose bags had not shown up. The airline folks surmised (they were not sure, but it later proved to be correct) that our bags had been “bumped” because of total weight limitations on the small plane. We passengers without our bags were not a happy lot. The airline people said they expected the bags to show up on the next flight at around 6:30 P.M., and they would get them to us that evening. The mother with two very small kids who was flying back to Boston the next a.m. was not at all happy. Since I was heading about 40+ miles down the road to Stowe, it didn’t make my day either when I realized that there was no way the bags could reach me until well after that evening’s supper reception was under way.

Stuff happens, and there was nothing else to do but drive on. I got to Stowe at around 4 P.M, checked into the Andersen Lodge and Austrian Inn (neat place 800-336-7336) and explained to the owner, Trudi, about my bags, hopefully, getting delivered that evening when I would be gone. I wasn’t 100% sure they would be there, and I was a bit worried. Although I could deal with being improperly dressed for the activities associated with the wedding, without my backpack I wouldn’t be hiking. I found a nice bag of goodies in my room courtesy of the wedding party and good instructions for the wedding weekend. After digging into some of the candy, I then went up to the Top-Notch Resort to check in with Jeff and Linda, and to tell them I would be looking like a vagabond until my bags showed. Jeff helped me elevate my apparel above that of a hiking tee shirt by lending me a sport shirt that fit pretty well. I also got to meet the father of the groom, Joe Walker – his son, the groom, Joe Walker Jr. Joe Sr. is a physician who lives in Water Valley, Mississippi, and who is a very interesting gentleman. . Joe Jr. also made a very positive impression on me It was a great supper reception. One of the main food attractions was Cajun food choices, and there was a Blue Grass band from Mississippi that featured a young banjo player who had performed (and was still performing) at the Grand Old Opry. I also particularly enjoyed sitting with and talking to a couple from NYC, Gary and Kristen (sp?) Schneider. She is an art curator and he is an art dealer. Kristen was from New England, and she related with compelling enthusiasm how, while growing up, she regularly hiked in the White Mountains with her father; how knowledgeable he was about the various trails; and how positively she viewed my hiking efforts. Gary was also very interested. In fact, the next morning he hiked part way up Mt. Mansfield. When I returned to the Inn around 11 P.M., I was greatly relieved to find my bags had shown up and had been placed in my room. Whew!

Sunday, 10 Aug - Wedding Day. The wedding wasn’t until late afternoon, so after enjoying a leisurely breakfast of stuff I normally avoid because of fat and cholesterol, I got in my car and went exploring up the road to the north of Stowe. It wasn’t more than 6-7 miles till I passed Mt. Mansfield, which, at 4393 feet, is the highest elevation in VT. I continued through Smuggler’s Notch on Rte 108 to Jeffersonville, about 20 miles from where I started. The road through the Notch is very scenic and tortuous. It is closed during the winter. The driving excursion was really pretty. There had been gads of rain starting during the previous week, and “The Green Mountain State” livid up to its billing. Everything was green. After some early afternoon socializing with the Zissu clan and friends, the wedding, which had been planned for out-of doors, got rained to the inside. It was still a terrific event followed by a terrific reception. As the evening closed, I said my good-byes and went to my room to pack and prepare for a fairly early start back to Burlington.

Monday, 11 Aug. – The Approach to the Trail. Got back to Burlington, mailed my box with my wedding weekend clothes, and returned my rental car to the airport by 10 A.M. I was now in hiking gear and backpack. I had left myself plenty of time, so I forewent taking a taxi and used the public bus system to get to the Vermont Transit bus terminal. This entailed taking a bus from the airport to Cherry St in downtown Burlington and then switching buses to the Lakeside Bus to get to the terminal. The trip was interesting. I chatted with a few locals, saw a lot of Burlington, which seemed to be a very pleasant small city, and the cost for my bus trip through Burlington was one greenback dollar. The next bus ride cost $19.50 and was from Burlington to Bennington, which is in southern VT. Again, interesting trip – no superhighway. I got a look at numerous small towns as well as a bottom-up view of the ridgeline of a big chunk of the Green Mountains, which lies like a spine through the center of the state. We started at 11 A.M. and arrived around 2:45 P.M. Fred Taylor was waiting for me at the terminal in Bennington. After a few minutes we got in his car headed for North Adams, MA. Along with us was a fellow who was a retired Marine and seemed to be in his mid-40s. He had parked his car in N. Adams near the trail and we were taking him there. He said he had previously hiked the entire AT and had set off this year to hike VT’s Long Trail. The Long Trail is about 270 miles. It goes over the north-south axis of the entire state, and the first hundred or so miles correspond with the AT. Anyway, he said he was baling out. There had been too much rain and he was tired of being wet and didn’t find it to be worth it to be slogging through all the mud. I thought, “Hmm, what are we getting into?” but we tried not to let his comments dampen our spirits. We dropped him off a few minutes before 4 P.M. and coordinated at the community center (On MA Rte 2 almost adjacent to where the AT goes through the town) in N. Adams for Fred to leave his car there.

Monday, 11 Aug – A Soggy and Tough Start, 7 Miles. At around 4 P.M. when we got the car parked and had planned to get moving on our climb to the Seth Warner Shelter, a thunderstorm rumbled in. Fred and I sat in the car and kind of looked at each other. We decided to stay in the car for a while with the hope that the storm would blow through before we had to start moving. A little past 4:30, the thunder had stopped and the heavy rain had dissipated to a light shower. We headed out. We crossed a small river and railroad tracks on a footbridge, went a quarter mile down the road, and entered the woods.

It wasn’t long before the clouds opened up again, and we were thoroughly soaked. The good news was that we weren’t chilled. As it was for three consecutive days of rain, we were working our tails off, and the rain and wetness probably help keep us from overheating. As we were heading uphill through some fairly gnarly (roots and rocks) trail, Fred mentioned to me that he was carrying 4 liters of water (about 9 lbs worth including the containers). No wonder his pack seemed heavy. He had overcompensated from the previous year when he had been concerned about water. However, it was obvious that getting water was not going to be a problem. He didn’t discard any, but as he used it up, he didn’t continue to carry that much. I started carrying two liters, and later, there were days when I carried less.

One of our concerns because of the late start, the slowness caused by the mud, and the early darkening of the woods because of the weather, was reaching our destination before dark. We sure didn’t want to be hiking that first day under these conditions after dark. Also, if there were decent camping areas along the way, I sure didn’t spot them. After the first half mile, it was an uphill venture, and we charged up the hill at what seemed to be breakneck speed. Actually we didn’t cover much ground per hour. We were pretty soft so far as trail hiking goes and the conditions were yucky, but we were busting butt. Around 8 P.M., along with the last vestiges of light, we exhaustedly arrived at the shelters. I was in front, and, as we approached from the side, I called out, “Hello. Any room in the shelter?” I was surprised at the response I got. A woman called back resoundingly, “Hell no!” As I got to the front of the 8-person shelter I learned that there were already 12 people, to include a group of half a dozen teenage girls, crammed in there. The good news was that it had stopped raining about a half hour before we arrived, and there was a good area to throw our tents. Fortunately this particular site had drained very well. By the time we got our tents set up, put up a line to hang food bags and clothes, and settled in, it was dark. We had been soaked for several hours, and I was exhausted. We opted not to try to cook anything but, rather, to eat some “bars” (bars could be candy bars, powers bars, breakfast bars) and get in our tents. We each had lightweight one-person tents. We were able to get on some stuff that had stayed dry thanks to the wonders of plastic bags. I put on a dry tee shirt and dry cotton shorts. Boy did that feel good! We lay on top of our sleeping bags for a while and quickly entered the “land of nod.” Sometime during the night it got cooler and I crawled into my bag.

Tuesday, 12 Aug – First Full Day, 13.1 Miles. Around midnight the rain came again. It was steady and moderate, until about 4:30 a.m. Then, as if someone had pulled a cork out of a plug in the clouds, rain came down in a deluge. I thought it was time to start lining the animals up, two-by-two. The din on the leaves and on the tent obviated any potential for further sleep. I lay there hoping, big time, it would not continue long. After about half an hour there was a change. However, it went in the opposite direction from what I had hoped. To my amazement since I didn’t think it was possible, it started coming down even harder. It was like a continuous chain of buckets of water was being dumped on us. Fred and I lay in our tents without communicating. The noise from the downpour was too loud to even try. Until this latest downpour, the inside of my tent had stayed dry, but now, although the tent wasn’t leaking, a little water started blowing in through some of the small mesh under the rain cover. Just when I was worried that I might get carried out to sea, the rain let up. By 5:30 when light was dawning, it had stopped. Fred and I got out of our tents and started poking around. Fred broke out his Esbit Stove (a little metal box that uses heating tablets) and cooked up some Raman Noodles. We ate bars as we dressed in the wet stuff we had worn the previous day. Nothing had dried one iota. I had brought my boots into my tent but they remained totally sodden. We knew it was going to be raining again soon, and the trail was so wet and muddy with standing water that there was no chance of our feet or anything else staying dry. It took us a long time to break camp – about an hour and a half, as we packed up our wet tents and other gear while taking great care to use waterproof bags for things like sleeping bags and nighttime clothes. In the area where we camped, there were a few other tents and one Hennessey Hammock. We didn’t have much communication when we arrived, and when we left, everyone else was still in the sack – or at least not yet ready to venture out.

Tuesday, 12 August – First Full Day of Hiking, 13.1 Miles. This day we were looking to cover 13.1 miles and get to the Melville-Nauhiem shelter. It rained (sometimes very hard) off and on through most of the day. The trail remained gnarly and very muddy. There was absolutely no potential for keeping your boots dry, and when they are totally sodden, the extra weight – no less continuously pulling your feet out of the mud, consumes energy. We started out uphill for about two miles. Then we went up and down for a while, crossed two strong and very beautiful streams (Roaring Branch and Sucker Pond Outlook Branch) and arrived at the Congdon Shelter. When we got to the shelter we took a break and tried to air-dry out a bit. When leaving the shelter, we covered about 4 miles of rolling terrain before a very steep and slippery descent of about 700 feet in less than half of a mile. At the bottom of the descent we crossed VT 9, which leads to Bennington a few miles to the West. Since the road is in a deep valley, after crossing it and another picturesque river we had a very steep climb. We went up about 600 feet in less than half a mile to a geological oddity called Split Rock – the name being pretty descriptive of the massive bolder that we walked through. Then we continued to go up another 600 feet in another stretch of slightly more than a mile to arrive at the Melville Nauheim shelter. We were darn tired after our first full day on the trail, but it was only about 4 p.m. and we felt good about ourselves. We decided to stay in the shelter versus putting up our tents, but again I put up a line in the futile hope that we might get some stuff dried out. There were two other people at the shelter when we arrived, and others came in shortly.

One of the great pleasures of AT hiking is that the distance hikers form their own subculture. Most, though solitary during the day, socialize, with great enthusiasm, albeit briefly, at the shelters and other places that they might meet. This day we met several through-hikers with whom my hiking partners and I interfaced during the remainder of my trek. They are known to me only by their trail names and included Krazy K (an aspiring school teacher from the Mid-West), Shifty (from NY and some sort of “art handler” in real life), FOZ (had been laid off and decided to hike in lieu of finding another job right away), Green Turtle, Charity, Moon Shadow, Coyote, and Nothing Decent. All except Coyote had reached this point after months of hiking that started at Springer Mountain in Georgia. Coyote was from Connecticut and was a college student at the University of Vermont. He was a was hiking the Long Trail back to school in Burlington. Moon Shadow was a girl who just seemed to revel in the social interchanges around the table at the shelter. Charity was a really pleasant 20+ year old female from Maryland who was out “finding herself.” Krazy K and Nothing Decent were almost look alikes in that they were both about the same size, age (mid to late 20’s) and build. They both had bushy red beards and curling mustaches that made them look like candidates for a Schweppes commercial. However, they were not easily confused because Nothing Decent hiked in a skirt. He said that he started out wearing the same sort of clothes all the other male hikers wore, but some place along the way found out that wearing a skirt was far more comfortable, and it was how he solved the problem of rashes and keeping his body aired. I asked him what he wore underneath, and he told me, “Nothing” – I didn’t check. By the time Fred and I got our water, set up our areas and cooked some Lipton's stuff (I had red beans and rice) for supper. The area had become pretty crowded. At this point I broke out my first aid kit and did what became my nightly ritual of tending blisters, other foot problems, and rashes. I don’t normally get blisters, but being fresh on the trail and hiking in wet boots and clothes had a very deleterious effect on my tender body. About the time it got dark, vicinity 8 P.M. those sleeping pads, dry tee shirts and shorts, and sleeping bags felt glorious and we were off to sleep quickly.


Wednesday, 13 Aug – A Huge Challenge, 17.4 Miles. The next a.m. Fred and I were again the first ones up. After pulling our kit together with little discussion but muted whispers so we wouldn’t disturb those still sleeping, we were gone by about 6:45. When I prepared the tentative itinerary for the trip, this day was the longest I had proposed. Coming so soon after getting on the trail, the day before, both Fred and I had mused about its difficulty and the potential need to stop early. The only problem was, if we did so, we might have real problems with the linkup the next day with David and Rick, and it could become a real mess. So amidst the continuing conditions of rain through the bulk of the day, mud, roots and rock, we set off pretty determined to push on until we got to our planned destination of the Story Spring Shelter. We passed over Maple Hill and Hell Hollow Brook and went past a couple overviews/lookouts on Little Pond Mountain and Glastenbury Mountain. The big negative with the overlooks was that the visibility was so poor we really didn’t have much of a view. Since we couldn’t see squat, we didn’t linger. We did stop about mid-day at the Goddard Shelter and we aired our feet. We then stayed up on high ridge for a while, dipped down after about 13 miles, had a steep climb, crossed another gorgeous brook and after another 4+ miles arrived at the shelter. It was about 6 p.m. An interesting thing about this day was that during the more than 17 miles we covered, we did not cross even one road of any size -- not even a backcountry road. We had kept up with the hardened through hikers for this piece of trail and, although a few had passed us during the day, and arrived before us, we had about the same group at the shelter as we did the previous night. We were tired, wet and really pleased with ourselves. Fred knew that the next morning he was heading home. I knew that Rick and Fred who were meeting us would have some real breakfast food and beverages to perk us up. I remember that we got the last two spaces in the shelter and slept immediately next to each other. When a shelter is at capacity, people have about 3ft of width per person. Again, we were amongst the first to get to sleep. This is a pretty good tactic since if you get to sleep first, you tend not to be kept awake by the snoring of others – one of the arguments for using your tent versus the shelter. As we were lying there settling in to our sleeping bags, I turned to Fred and said, “Well, did you get out of this what you want.” He responded, “I sure did.” Then we were quickly doing our own snoring.

Thursday, 14 Aug – The Transition, 3.6 Miles. It wasn’t raining! There was still plenty of mud, puddles like minnie lakes, and sodden boots and gear. But it wasn’t raining! Life seemed sweet as Fred and I covered the 3.6 miles down to the Arlington-West Wardsboro Road where we were going to link up with Rick and David at a point about 7-8 miles from both of the towns the road connected. We arrived around 8:30. It was a hard-packed dirt-and gravel road. Nearby was an inviting stream, the Deerfield River. Near the road there was some open grassy area with a sign announcing we were in Green Mountain National Forrest. We sensed that we would have to wait a while, but made good use of the time. It was a little tough to get to the river, which was down a steep embankment, but Fred went down and bathed in the river, and then he put on his dry, relatively clean clothes. I went down to the river afterwards and rinsed out some of the stuff I knew I had to continue to wear and washed some as well. More importantly for me was that I got to lay out in the sun and have it start drying out my ubiquitous rashes. I actually lay on the road to avoid some of the bugs that were more abundant in the grassy area. About the time it was actually becoming hot, David and Rick arrived in David’s Jeep. Rick brought several quarts of orange juice and a bunch of bacon and egg sandwiches prepared by his wife Elice. The juice tasted like magic elixir, and the sandwiches were fantastic. David brought me some trail food re-supply in the form of Baby Ruth Bars and Lipton’s dishes. About the time we had eaten our fill and with some food still left, three other hikers arrived in quick succession. The remaining sandwiches and juice were dubbed “trail magic” and were quickly devoured. Fred took the Jeep and headed back to N. Adams where his car was stashed. He left the Jeep there and headed home. Shortly afterwards he sent out this upbeat note:

“It was 3 pm August 14, Bennington, VT. The sun was shining brightly. It was a hot humid muggy steamy afternoon. The air was close, not moving at all. Steve, The Hammer, stepped off the bus with his backpack, full of energy and ready to hike. A half hour later, as we were driving south on VT 7 headed for North Adams, MA where the AT crosses US 2, the clouds burst and the downpour began.

In the parking lot in North Adams, we cowered in the car waiting for the storm to abate. When it seemed to be but a heavy sprinkle, we jumped out of the car, put rain covers on our packs, and struck out headed northbound on the AT. By this time it was 4:30. Fifteen minutes later, the skin drenching rain began again, and we realized we were going to remain in Waterworld for the foreseeable future. Since the temperature stayed mild, being wet wasn't so bad, but the ankle deep muck made the footing a little greasy.

Three and a half hours and 7+ miles later we arrived at the targeted shelter to find it full (12 people in a 7 person shelter). So it was pitch tents in the fading dusk. In fairness to the weather gods, it did not pour continuously all night, but there was a major cloudburst in the wee hours of the morning. And so it went for the 13+ miles the next day and the 17+ miles the next (except we did not have to pitch our tents again). Finding a water source was not a problem on this trek!!

Day four, Thursday, was a beautiful sunny day. We hiked the 3+ miles down to the spot where Steve's nephew Dave and Rick (Boudreaux) met us with a glorious breakfast (and Dave's car for me to use to get back to mine). I waved goodbye as The Hammer, Boudreaux and Dave disappeared on the trail north, not envying them the immediate 3+ mile steep incline they faced, while not relishing my upcoming 5 hours in heavy traffic.

What is amazing about this soggy saga is that we had a fantastic outing. Steve and I shared a delightful camaraderie as we cussed the mud and rain and reminisced together. The lack of gorgeous vistas was compensated with beautiful babbling brooks, colorful salamanders, cool air, soft footing, playful toads skipping across the puddles just ahead of our boots, crystal clear ice cold springs. We met some very interesting characters who were through hikers. We won't soon forget Nothing Indecent. He carried and cooked real food, like eggs and flour tortilla rollups. Yet he had one of the smallest lightest packs on the trail. His solution to sufficient airflow to prevent crotch rot was to wear a skirt!

Most memorable was the full gainer Steve did as he skidded sideways down a hill, hit a top of the calf high log at a curve in the trail, flipped over the log, and landed on his back on the downhill and off trail side of the log - with full sound effects. Gave it a 10!

Keep your socks dry (didn't quite manage to this time)….. Fred (Gunner)”

Thursday, 14 Aug – Over Stratton Mountain to Prospect Rock – 12.5 Miles. After Fred was gone and we had finished eating, Rick, David and I started an almost four mile climb up 1,800 feet to the top of Stratton Mountain – and down the other side even more precipitously. The trail was good trail in that it was not gnarly. In fact the vast remainder of the trail heading to Hanover was good trail and became better as we went along. The downside was that it was still very muddy and with lots of standing water. David, a spry mid-30s in age, could outdistance Rick and I on the hills, so we developed a pattern where he was going ahead of us, and then would pause while Rick and I caught up. After a while, it was apparent that Rick had done himself no favors by coming out on about 3 hours of sleep and was feeling it. Soon we were all three hiking a short stretch apart and then closing up together. When we got to the top of Stratton Mountain, there were no views unless you climbed to the top of a tower that was situated there. As Rick and I splayed exhausted near the base, David scampered up and took pictures with his really neat digital camera. I had started out carrying a throwaway camera, but after three snapshots, it was jammed – perhaps it had gotten too wet, messed up during on of my falls, or whatever. Bottom line is the portion of the trip prior to linking up with David went undocumented. While David was out with me, however, he took a really nice set of more than 50 photographs which can be seen on the web.

Once we went down the north side of Stratton Mountain we came to Stratton Pond a very inviting and picturesque place. At this point we had hiked seven miles together. There were a couple people at the pond. After some perfunctory exchanges, David and I were ready to push on, but Rick wanted to chat some more with one of the southbound hikers. Rick told us to go ahead and he would catch up later. David and I did so and headed around the lake on a really long series of “boardwalks” – doublewide planks set to keep hikers above areas where there is marsh or other obstacles. We were moving so quickly, it took us a while to realize we weren’t seeing any of the white blazes that mark the AT. After we realized this, we had to double back. In doing so, we didn’t encounter Rick who we thought wasn’t far behind. When we got to where we had inadvertently left the trail, we went forward not knowing if Rick was behind us or ahead of us. However, after awhile, we caught up with him and found he hadn’t missed the turn. Rick related that, during his conversations at the pond, he had received a suggestion that we consider not staying at our planned destination of the Douglas Shelter, but push on another mile and stay at Prospect Rock, a scenic overlook where there were good tent sites. We agreed that we would get to the shelter and then make a determination whether to push on that extra mile. We were hiking in an area of the National Forrest called the Lye Brook wilderness area, and we did take a nice pause to rest when we got to Lye Brook. As we hiked over the remaining distance to the shelter, we again split so each of us could hike at our own pace. When I arrived at the side trail leading to the shelter, David was waiting for me. We were both mud-splattered close to our knees. A short while after I arrived, Nothing Decent came up. He stopped and chatted with us for a while. Then David noticed that his hiking shoes appeared almost clean. We asked him about how he could possibly keep his shoes clean since there were areas we thought were totally impassible without tramping through very deep mud. He murmured something about months of experience, etc. but this seeming impossibility was a topic that David and I mused on several times over the next few days. Nothing Decent also told us that he had passed Rick not too far back. He related that Rick was resting, but seemed in good spirits and said he would be along shortly.

When Rick arrived, we jointly agreed to push on to Prospect Rock. It was a great decision. As it turned out, after crossing a stream, the mile or so to Prospect Rock was a dirt road. We covered it quite quickly. In fact David and I walked right past the turn-off to the area we were seeking, and we started up the side of a mountain. However, Rick saw what looked like it ought to be the place and beckoned us back. It was only when coming back did we see the small sign, which, about 15 feet off of the ground, seemed geared for giraffes. What a great spot! It wasn’t dark yet but we didn’t have a lot of time to set up. There was a fantastic view. Rick and I set up on some grassy patches in the open and within spitting distance of the rocky overlook and David found a spot not far away in the trees. We truly gloried in the beauty as we prepared our meals, put on dry stuff, and watched a gorgeous sunset. It had been a tough first day for David and Rick, and although I was a little more hardened, it was tough for me too because I had hiked 3.6 miles before linking up with them.

Friday, 15 Aug – More Skiing Mountains, and Sitting in a Stream, 14.6 Miles. The out of the way camping spot where we had spent the night was so wonderful. Though the price of getting there was steep, it was well worth it. As the sun came up, the view was surreal. We were looking down into valleys whose base couldn’t be seen because of low hanging clouds or fog that we were above. It was tremendous. Our target this day was to get to the Pico Peak Shelter. Each day as we headed north, the trail seemed to have better footing, and be less gnarly, and less muddy. We started this day with a short climb and then relatively easy going for about 5 miles until we reached VT 11 and VT 30, which coincided where we crossed them. We stopped to take a break and joined a few other hikers already there or who arrived shortly after us. At this point Rick told David and me that he had decided to leave the trail. He felt that he had started out on the wrong note because of lack of sleep, didn’t want to slow us down, and needed to regroup and be more prepared when he came back out for his next hike. David and I talked with him about changing the targeted distances, but Rick was firm in saying that he had made up his mind. I had mixed emotions, in that Rick was a great companion and I know he had looked forward to the trip. On the other hand, I was concerned that if Rick didn’t feel ready at this point in time, I didn’t want to try and push him forward into a situation where he could hurt himself. On that note, Rick agreed that what he would do was to make his way down to N. Adams. Once there he would pick up David’s Jeep and then drive the Jeep up to the where Rick had left his car in N. Clarendon. Rick and David had planned to leave the trail near N. Clarendon, and they had left Rick’s car at the Country Squire Motel, about two miles from the trail. The plan was that the day they left the trail, I would spend the remainder of the day and that night at the motel. Rick was about to start hitchhiking, when we noted some people getting into a car at the trailhead. We asked and they acceded to give Rick a ride to the nearest town. I think it was Manchester. Rick later related that rather than wait several hours for a bus, he took a taxi to N. Adams from where he was dropped off. Also, when I talked with Rick later, I was pleased to hear that he still had enthusiasm for hiking, and he was looking forward to an excursion in which all four of the Domas brothers were planning to hike together in Scotland.

After a nice rest, David and I started up Bromley Mountain. It was a steep climb. As we approached the top, the AT coincided with open area that was obviously ski trail. As I came out of the woods onto the open area, I thought I was near the top – and glad of it. I was mistaken. There were a number of false crests, and the sun was beating down really strongly. However, even though I was physically pressed, there were great views as we approached the top and even better on the summit. Once we finally reached the top, we found a tower and a ski patrol hut with tables, real windows, and even a telephone that could be used if you had a calling card. Among the hikers we encountered taking a blow here were Green Turtle, Charity and a through-hiker who had started in Georgia with the trail name of Morph and with whom Charity seemed to be hiking at this point. Morph looked older than dust. He had a snow-white beard and hair to match. I later found out that Morph was seven years younger than me. So much for looking older than dust. It was only on this day that I first was able to get my boots even partially dried out. In the cabin, we got our boots off – at least I did, and I just laid down on one of the tables. After a while, we wandered around outside for a little bit and took in the splendor of the scene. David again went up the tower while I kicked-back down below.

Next we hiked 2.5 miles down the mountain. Yup, most of the time you are either going up something or down. While going down is a relief in that it takes less energy and stamina, it is far harder on your body – particularly the knees, and if there is any trail that’s rocky and/or requires and scrambling, going down is more dangerous. For me, because my feet had been tenderized by being totally wet for four days, the pounding they took going downhill, really tore them up. The bottom of the downhill took us to another country road crossing – Mad Tom Notch Road (USFS 21), and the Mad Tom Trailhead for the Green Mountain National Forest. What was really neat here was that there was a water pump that brought up some cool, delicious water. We drank our full, filled our water bottles, and I doused my head. At this point, having gone from rain to unusually warm hiking, every chance I got when crossing a stream I would douse my head and face and use my bandana to bring up some more water and drape it over my neck.

After we had caught up with ourselves and before getting too sedate where we would be more than a little stiff when we started out, we braced ourselves as we climbed Skyles Peak. We went up about 1,000 feet in elevation in a little more than 1.5 miles. From Skyles Peak we went along ridgeline with some lesser ups and downs until we got passed Peru Peak, and then we pounded our way down 1000 feet in elevation in a bit more than a mile to the Peru Peak Shelter. The Peru Peak Shelter is less than half a mile from the Griffith Lake Campground. There is a full-time caretaker for the campground and shelter and a tent platform next to the shelter. The presence of a caretaker has two significant results. One is that the shelter area and items like the privy (outhouse) are well maintained. The other is there is a fee ($6) for using the shelter or tent platform. Lots of young hikers resent having to pay a fee. David and I were in agreement that such resentment is misplaced. At any rate there was no one else around when we got to the shelter, around 4 P.M. but we new it would not stay that way too long. We decided that, rather than use the shelter, we would use the tent platform that was just right for two tents. After we got setup, we head to a wonderful little nearby stream. This was now my fifth day out, and my clothes and I were obscenely funky. With no one else around, I stripped down, and sat down in the water downstream from the best place to fill water bottles. It was cool but not too cold to stay in the water. All I can say, is that on a scale of 1 to 10 for pleasure, as I luxuriated in the water, cleaned myself and rinsed out my clothes, this episode rated at least an eleven. At first David seemed hesitant about taking advantage of the stream, but when he decided to follow suit, he quickly understood why I had encouraged him to do so. All I could say about it was, “Yahoo!!” About the time we finished doing our stream thing, other hikers started coming in. The caretaker, a very attractive young woman, and her big dog also showed up. The caretakers in these scenarios have large tents and pretty much backpack in all their supplies. They have relief caretakers so that they get to civilization every week or so, but they are pretty much on their own in the woods. However, some forms of civilization follow. I was able to show her a credit card and provide her my credit card number to cover the $12 for David and me.

Saturday, 16 Aug – Bad Maps, and No Place to Stay, 16.6 miles (est). We were again up and out before there was any other real activity around the shelter. Although we didn’t know it, it was going to be a really long day. As an aside, when I am hiking in warm weather, it doesn’t take long before I start daydreaming about ice cold cola – or as my hiking partner for 700 miles, George Domas, tells me they would say in Mississippi, “a cold drink” – with heavy emphasis on the word “cold.” From Friday till Sunday, the topic of a “cold drink” scarcely left my mind, and it was one I mentioned to David repetitively. Well, this day started with us going up over Baker Peak. Enroute, we were passed by the caretaker of the previous nights shelter who was out jogging toward the peak to train for a marathon. The last fifty yards or so to the peak was up a moderately steep rock scramble/wall with beautiful views when you carefully paused to look around. When we crested over the top rocks we encountered three young guys (20’s) who had come up he the previous evening via moonlight and headlamps, and had slept in the open on a very scenic overlook. There were just starting to shake the cobwebs of sleep out of themselves when we came by.

By 11:30 we had covered ten miles. At this point we were totally soaked through our clothes in sweat but we were feeling good and the woods seemed friendly. At this point we also came to Little Rock Pond and tenting area. As we started around the pond we came to a caretakers tent site – similar to that used by the caretaker for the previous nights shelter. It was also next to a very inviting opening to the shore of the pond (Most of what are called “ponds” in New England would be called “lakes” elsewhere.) I asked if there was any problem with going in for a swim. He said there wasn’t. Again, I shucked everything I was wearing. I put my clothes on branches of trees, on rocks, and draped them over my hiking poles to dry out. I then gingerly stepped down to the pond and worked my way in. As was the stream of the previous day, this was a true delight. After 10-15 minutes, I came out and let myself get air-dried. About two minutes after I got most of my clothes back on, a couple and their two children and who had hiked in from someplace, came around the bend to where we were. Guess my timing was good.

The caretaker told us three things. One was that we would hit White Rocks Mountain after 3.6 miles, and he described this multitude of little cairns (piles of rocks normally used for marking trails) that couldn’t be missed and which we would encounter. The second was that if we had tents, rather than stay at the shelter that we had been targeting, we should consider going on a little bit. If we went a couple miles beyond the shelter we would cross VT 140. About half a mile past there, we would cross a jeep track, and just beyond the track, we would encounter some fields that were really good for pitching a tent. The third thing was that the AT map for this area was all screwed up. He showed us how the map profile and the trace of the trail didn’t even closely match in some places. Regarding the first thing, the caretaker led us to believe that the cairns were at the top of White Rock Mountain. In fact we were saying pretty negative things about him when we knew we had hiked beyond 3.6 miles and still hadn’t found them. I later realized the cairns were more than half a mile beyond the top of the mountain. We decided to take him up on going beyond the shelter and camping out at the great sites he had described. Among other things, this decision was cemented when we noted that the shelter at which we had planned to stay, the Greenwall Shelter, seemed to be a long way (.3 miles) off of the trail. After crossing VT 140 we almost immediately went past a large parking area, crossed a dirt track and went through some land that had obviously once been an orchard. It was flat and would have been great for pitching tents, but it was too close to the road and the parking area for our taste. Besides, we had been told there was great sites about a half mile further on. Well, as we continued on, the trail got steeper and steeper, and there was no sign of any place at all that was even a decent campsite. After a while we realized that the area we had noted just past the road must have been what the caretaker had had in mind. There was no way we were going back. We trudged on and by this point were really drained. We realized we were climbing Bear Mountain – a formidable climb and which wasn’t on the map’s terrain profile but was on the map itself. I kept up a steady pace and after a while, we agreed that if we could find an even half-decent place to camp, we would do so. We had enough water because we were carrying what we needed to randomly camp. Still we pushed on like automatons and found no place. Ultimately, not far from nightfall and very fatigued, we found a spot where we decided to camp. It was far from decent, but we decided, “This is it.” Normally, people are told to put up tents well away from the trail. To this we figuratively said, “Sorry Charlie, this is as good as we can do. Besides, there isn’t going to be much traffic, if any, past this time of day.” David found a small patch, which was almost level about fifty feet from the trail. I tried to pitch my tent on a spot about twenty feet further in. It certainly was not level, but I had hoped it would do. It would not work. While we were going through our evening ritual, one of the thru-hikers, Crazy K came trudging up the hill. He paused to chat with us. We knew he was exhausted because he seemed almost zombie-like with fatigue and was moving in slow motion. He said he was sure we were close to the top and was going on. We said we were done for the day and wished him well. After he moved on and it was apparent that it would be dark very soon, I moved my tent (good that I had a freestanding tent) to a place much closer to the trail. It was still lousy - sloped. But I put my pack under the foot end of the tent and, in essence, slept with my feet propped up on the pack. The good news was that, somehow, we still got a fairly decent night’s sleep and felt good as we zipped into our tents for the night.

Sunday, 17 Aug – Rest and Recuperation after a Week, 5.5 miles (est). Sunday a.m. we started out around 6:30. It wasn’t long before we went over the top of Bear Mountain and by 8:45 we were at VT Rte 103. This was a moderately busy blacktop road and at which there was a trailhead parking lot. The downhill hiking had hammered our feet – mine in particular. Meanwhile David had been nursing a rub on his Achilles tendon that had gone done through several layers of flesh and was looking very ugly. We were upbeat because we knew food, showers, clean clothes, and refreshing soft drinks were imminent. In route we paused momentarily at an overlook (called the Airport Overlook) that had a nice bird’s eye view of the town of Rutland area and, yes, the Rutland airport. When we reached VT 103, David was going to leave his pack with me and walk up to the Country Squire Motel (802-773-3805) in N. Clarendon where his car had been left. Then he would drive back and get the packs and me. He wasn’t sure, exactly how long that walk would be. Fortune shined on us, however. We started chatting with a fellow in the parking area, and the next thing you know, we were in the back of his pickup truck and he drove us the two miles to the motel.

I checked in, and in the process we met Betty Mengels, the owner who I will talk about more later on. I offered to pay for a double room since David was going to use the room to shower and would hang out there a good portion of the day. Betty would not have it. Our sequence was: drink soft drinks; go to room and shower; drink soft drinks; give Betty a bag full of the smelliest, yuckiest clothes you can imagine to launder. She had told us she had a washer and dryer we could use, but they were being used for the motel lines. She said if we gave her the stuff to be laundered, she would do it for us. Then, drink another soft drink.

Next we got in the Jeep and headed to the Whistle Stop Café. We had passed it on the way to the motel. It is on VT 103 about a half mile from the trail. It is also one that hikers know about from guide books and to which they will detour from the trail. Betty also told us it provides lots of good food at a reasonable price. The Café was neat. It consisted of two Railroad cars with a nice deck covered by an awing in between the cars. When we showed up we found Krazy K and Coyote sitting at a table for four. David and I joined them. All of us ordered the same thing -- a huge platter of food that contained pancakes, French toast, eggs, sausage and bacon. I had a couple soft drinks. As we were about 2/3 through our plates (eventually there was not a crumb left on any of them), Coyote noted that on another nearby table where a man had been sitting by himself, the man was no longer there and there was a huge mound of home fried potatoes left on his plate. Coyote looked at me and asked if I had noted whether the man had left (versus simply gone to the men’s room or something). A moment later the waitress came by, so I gestured to the apparently abandoned plate and asked if the guy who had been sitting there had left. She looked at me quizzically and indicated he had left. Coyote immediately asked, “Is it O.K. if we take his potatoes.” At this point, the waitress sort of pulled her head back and tilted it as she looked at us with an expression as if we might have been Martians, and then, shaking her head slowly, said, “knock yourself out,” or something to that effect. Coyote immediately grabbed the plate, set it down in the middle of our table, and all four of us added home fries to our already bountiful platters. When Krazy K and Coyote had finished eating, David gave them a ride for the half-mile back to the trail. While he was gone Foz came in and we socialized for a little while till David returned. David and I then went back to the motel.

At this point, I had another soft drink. There may be a pattern emerging regarding soft drinks. Lest anyone bother to try and count, I had 9 or 10 colas, lemonades, power drinks, etc over the course of the day. Then we drove to Rutland where we went into a Walmart to buy stuff to doctor our feet. When we got back to the motel our clothes had been laundered and set on a chair outside of my room. We hung around for a while and were going to get more food, but we weren’t really hungry yet. Around mid afternoon, we went to a supermarket and bought food for me to eat in the room later in the day. Then David hit the road for the long drive home to Boston. Someplace over the course of the day, while sipping a soft drink, I had a long conversation with Betty Mengels and she seemed pleased to have the socializing. She was a widow in her 80’s and was originally from Brooklyn. She and her husband, a World War II veteran, had lived in a Quonset hut in Grave’s End after the war. They then moved up to north central Massachusetts and, followed by moving to VT 33 years ago and bought (or had built) this 12-unit motel that was on a few acres that had been carved out of an Apple Orchard. It was a truly delightful spot on that beautiful day. In fact David bought a basket of apples at a roadside stand just past the motel driveway. When we arrived on Sunday a.m. we could see that there had been no vacancies the previous night and the room I went into had just been made up. However, on Sunday night when I stayed, I was the only paying customer. She had told me she was letting a couple rooms be used without charge in support of some charity/fund raising event. She was running the place herself with some people hired to come in and do some of the work, but I can’t imagine she will be there too much longer. Too bad! I spent the rest of the day sitting in the sun to heal my rashes, getting my boots fully dried for the first time in a week, and laying on my butt in front of the TV when I wasn’t eating. Since I was planning on being underway by 6 A.M. the next day, I paid for my room, laundry and soft drinks (there was an honor system refrigerator in the lobby) on Sunday evening The total was about $38 so I told Betty, honestly, she hadn’t charged enough for the laundry and rounded it up to $40.

18 August, Monday – Over Killington and on to the Inn at Long Trail, around 19 miles. A couple things set the scene for this day’s start. The first is that the map profile of the hike over Killington scared the heck out of me. It was, undoubtedly a really big climb. The second was I knew I had to get back to the trail from the motel, and the thought of hiking 2 miles before getting to the trail was one I did not relish. The previous day I asked Betty Mengels if there was the possibility of getting a taxi to take me back to the trail since I wanted to get an early start. She had said, “You don’t want to do that. It will be too expensive, $10-$15. Just go out to the corner and you’ll get a ride.” So that’s what I did. By 6 o’clock I was on the corner with my pack and my thumb out. It looked like a good spot -- a nice straight road with good visibility. It was moderately busy, but easy enough to pull over onto a wide shoulder. Lots of pickup trucks were going buy. My experience was that it was less threatening when hitching if people could say, “jump in the back” (of a truck.) Also, this was an area where people were familiar with hikers. Well I stood there and stood there. The longest I had ever waited to catch a ride on my previous hikes was 20-25 minutes. After a while, I debated about starting to walk, but, if I knew I would get a ride, I would be willing to sacrifice a little time to save my feet and energy. Finally, after 40 minutes, I started hoofing it while continuing to put my thumb out. After walking about a mile and a half, I got a ride (and was glad to have it) for the last half mile. So now, at 7:30, I was heading onto some intimidating trail, more than an hour later than I had planned, and with already having hiked 1.5 miles. Some times a plan doesn’t come together.

It was an overcast day and the trail began an immediate climb out of the draw in the mountains through which VT 103 travels. The mile up to the Clarendon Shelter hadn’t caught my attention when looking at the map, but there was an elevation gain of 600 feet and it was surprisingly tough. It got me into a full-flowing sweat pretty quickly. Past the shelter, there was the normal series of uphill and downhill challenges through verdant forest and that slowly gained in elevation as I approached the Governor Clement Shelter about 7 miles from VT 103. I hadn’t been hiking all that long before thoughts of cold soft drinks started flitting through my brain. Then there was magic – “trail magic.” After hiking about four miles from VT 103 I crossed a stream. As I was about to continue, I noticed a sign some one had tacked up. It said, “Cold Drinks in the Stream. Help Yourself,” and it was signed “The Hiking Gnome.” I turned back to the stream and quickly found, just downstream from the crossing, a mesh basket with about 20 cans of Sam’s Choice soft drinks. I had a Cola and said a blessing for The Trail Gnome. The nearest road was up ahead, but whoever the Hiking Gnome is, he/she had carried the drinks half a mile to put those drinks in the stream.

The Governor Clement shelter, at the base of the south side of the climb up Killington, is one of the oldest shelters on the trail. I had planned to stop there and take a short break, but I did not. It was partially built of stone and was as dark and dingy as a cave -- a very unwelcoming place. Various updates regarding the trail recommended that people not stay here because it was too accessible to a road, and, apparently some hell raisers liked to come up there, drink, and raise a bit of Cain. Just past the shelter there was a dirt track that went for more than a quarter mile and which was the start of the ascent on Killington. I held my pace back a bit and went steadily uphill. The path was really good. My feet had hurt pretty badly earlier in the day, but I guess I had pounded them into oblivion and, while I was hiking they weren’t bothering me. About 80% up the more than 2000 foot gain in elevation, and just as I was coming to the only rock scramble of the day, I got drenched by an afternoon shower. I note that, had I gotten an hour earlier start as I had intended, the rain would have missed me in that I found out from hikers coming towards me that it hadn’t rained on the north side of the mountain.

When I reached the top my energy felt quite good. Instead of looking to stop at the Pico Camp Shelter as I had reflected in my early planning, I decided to push on to the Inn at Long Trail. Previous year hikers had told me this was a really good place to stop, and I knew a lot of other hikers would be congregating there to socialize. So, I when I got to the Pico Camp Shelter, I took a nice break and sat in the sun for a while drying out and getting sun on my rashes. Then I pushed on to the Inn. I was now extending myself into hiking further than my non-trail hardened body was ready for. By this point in the day my feet were about numb from the pounding and, for the first time my knee was sore. Although I am not a pill guy, I took a large Motrin tablet to help alleviate the discomfit. It did its job, but my assumption was that masking the pain was probably not doing me a great service. For the last push to the Inn I took a route that had formerly been the AT but was now called the Sherbourne Pass Trail. This took me across, and for a little way, down a ski run. It was quite pretty.

I met up with at least 20 hikers at the Inn or who had arrived before me or not long after I arrived. They included most of the same people I had been encountering during the past week plus new people. Among them were a young couple, both engineers who were Georgia Tech grads, Bobo and Plumber. They had been hiking from north to south but were now going to leave the trail. Also I met Leaf who was hiking the Long Trail and Manzanita. Manzanita, which is the name of a mountain shrub native to Nevada, was one of the few middle-aged hikers I met. My guess is that he was in his late 30’s or 40’s. He had got on the trail in Connecticut and was hiking till he was “out of time.” There was a great camping spot outside, but most of the hikers were staying inside, and I decided to shell out the $42 for a bed and shower. (No TV or phone). The Inn was beautiful and apparently relatively historic. Large downstairs gathering rooms with huge fireplaces (for the winter) had large TV’s, comfortable chairs, and magazines, and there was a bar and casual restaurant. After downing a couple large lemonades then cleaning up and tending to my feet, it was back to the bar and restaurant to socialize and eat. There were some great stories told, and lots of remembrances by the through-hikers who had set out that year with the sitting there but who had dropped out along the way. The fact is, depending on whose numbers you accept, only about 10-20 percent of those who set out to hike the entire trail accomplish this feat. I ate a huge salad, and a great burger. When it got to about 10:00 P.M., awfully late for me on the trail, I went to my room, prepared my gear for a quick start in the a.m. after the breakfast that came with the meal, and was out like a light.

Tuesday, 19 Aug – My last Night on the Trail, 19 miles. When planning for this day, I knew that I was ahead of schedule, but frankly, I was hoping to keep it that way so that I could spend an overnight and relax the night before catching a bus to the Boston airport – as opposed to my original plan of finishing my hike in the late a.m., hoping to shower in a frat house and then immediately catching a bus to the airport. I had planned to stay at the Stony Brook Shelter, but, now, it was only 9 about miles away – too short a day. The problem was, the next shelter, the Winturi Shelter was about 19 miles. I wasn’t sure I was up to hiking that far, but decided to see how I felt as the day went on. The first thing was breakfast where I joined a couple professors from Chapel Hill, NC – and their driver. They were out for a couple weeks of hiking. Their driver was dropping them off at trailheads or road crossings and then driving to road crossings further up the line to meet them. It’s certainly a nice alternative to backpacking. The morning’s hike was very challenging – especially a 1,300 ft elevation climb from River Rd and the Ottauquechee River to a mesa-like ridge on which the highest section was Quimby Mountain.

My dogs were in pain at the start, but I just kept pounding them and soon got into a rhythm. The trail was good, and the weather was pretty nice, but unusually warm and, in fact, hot for hiking. My knee was a little sore but not very painful. At one point I met a couple hiking toward me who were from Maryland. They were about my age, and they were hiking without packs. They had been hiking on the AT for years. Their approach – at least this year, was to drive to the area they were going to hike with two cars. Park one car, drive to their start point where they left the second car. They would then hike back to the first car, etc. We had a nice chat, and I didn’t expect to see them again. However, a couple hours later, as I came out of the woods onto a county road, there they were. They greeted me with a cold soft drink and some delicious grapes. It was another round of trail magic that really hit the spot. Around mid-day I arrived at the Stoney Brook Shelter. I took a boots-off break there, got some water, and rested for about 25 minutes. I decided that, though I was tired, I had enough in me to go on and, besides, it was really awfully early to consider stopping. I should have stopped.

As I pushed on to the next shelter about ten miles away, the trail was good, but it wasn’t long before my knee was hurting. I had given up on my feet and knew that once I was moving they would be O.K. I quickly tired on the repetitive hills with up to 500 ft of elevation change. I decided, after about 5-6 miles, to get water at my next stream crossing and look for a place to camp. I couldn’t find one that was decent – although there were definitely some better than where David and had camped on Bear Mountain. At this point in the day I finally took a Motrin and was also quite physically drained. Then I hit an area that was real buggy and so this motivated me to keep pushing on. Through this day, as well as the previous 19-mile day while hiking alone, I neither passed nor was passed by any one hiking in the same direction. That told me that I was keeping pace with younger through hikers who were trail-hardened. Although I took some pride in this, in retrospect, it reflected me attempting too much too soon.

The Winturi Shelter was a very nice shelter with a great stream very near-by. There were two hikers there when I arrived at 6:45, Manzanita who was sitting in some sort of lotus-like yoga position and a southbound hiker named 8-Ball. They were in the shelter and there was plenty of room. But there were also some really nice spots to pitch a tent, and I did the latter. While I was setting up my camp, another hiker who had been at the Inn at Long Trail arrived. It was Pony Boy, a hiker from Texas who also decided to use one of the spots ideal for pitching a tent. Knowing I had only been out hiking for a week, he and Manzanita expressed surprised to see me there because of the distance from the Inn. I took maximum advantage of the stream by going downstream a bit from the likely watering points where I submerged various parts of my body to cool off and used my bandana to clean up a bit. It was enough to make me very happy. No one else joined the four of us, and we sat around eating and then talking till almost an hour past dark – around 9 P.M. It was really a great spot. When I was comfortably in my tent, I could hear the friendly sound of the nearby stream, and the temperature that night got fairly cool which made it a real pleasure to snuggle into my sleeping bag.

Wednesday, 20 Aug – Finishing the Hike, Like it or Not, at the White River, about 17 miles. Although I got up and was packing my gear fairly early, Manzanita go underway a little before me. As soon as I got underway at 6:40, I knew I had a real problem with my legs and feet. Even though the trail was downhill, had good footing and was moderately sloped, I was hobbling. After a while I got into a rhythm, and made steady but slow progress. After a few downhill miles there was some climbing. Some of it seemed pretty tough – e.g. Dana Hill, Breakneck Hill, and Thistle Hill. Tough is relative, and my less than spry condition undoubtedly contributed to the “toughness” for me. On this day, more than any other day, the trail went through a number of high open fields or pastures. I hit the first one a bit before 9 A.M. and two things struck me. One was how beautiful it was to be in such a high open area that included glorious panoramic views as you went along. The second was that the field was absolutely sopping wet from dew. Being in the forest the previous evening, I guess the dew was absorbed by the trees above -- it hadn’t penetrated the tree cover to make the area on the ground, my tent, etc wet.

I was hiking alone, and, it was a very solitary day. As with the previous two days, during the course of this day no one either passed me, nor did I pass anyone. In fact, I crossed paths with only a few people coming in the opposite direction. One was a trio of two young women and a young man from Germany who I met as I neared the top of a long hill that was open meadow. I think I surprised them with my Bavarian greeting of “Grusgott.” I also met a father and son at the bottom of a monster called Dana Hill. They soberly and correctly warned me, “You’ve got a tough climb in front of you.” Around 12:30 I arrived at the Thistle Hill shelter. The shelter was further off the trail then I would have liked, and from the shelter to the water point was also further than usual for this portion of the AT, and it was downhill a bunch. However, it was a great water source – at least for me. It was a stream that had a small portion of it falling over some should-high rocks such that it was like a good shower. Not only was it beautiful, but also I could bend over and put my head under the waterfall, which I did so for several minutes. Boy, did that feel great! After getting back to the shelter, I thought about staying, but I was feeling better than I had earlier in the a.m., and the lure of getting to West Hartford was strong. When I had a bar for lunch, I also took stock of my situation and made a new plan for myself. The plan was to hike to W. Hartford on the White River. I knew, that without heroic effort, I did not want to go beyond that for another 3+ uphill miles to the Happy Hill Shelter. I would stop in at the general store then hitch to a motel and spend the night. The next day, I would leave my pack at the motel, and then get back to the trail to “slack pack” (hike without a backpack) the 9 or so miles to Hanover, NH. Then I would, hitch back to the motel where I would spend the night before heading home on Friday as planned.

As the afternoon progressed, I got really tired. I suspect it had a lot to do with adjusting my stride and walking gingerly because of my discomfort that had returned. I crossed several more high meadows. However, it had become very hot. The views were great, and the fields had dried crisply, but the downside was when in those fields, the sun beat down pretty uncomfortably. I was always glad when I got back to the shade of the forest. I pushed on steadily and was making decent time till I lost the trail. I was walking along through a very large high meadow that had been partially harvested for hay. There were virtually no blazes, but the trail seemed apparent until I came down to a road. Usually, at such points there are clear blazes for people crossing the road, but occasionally you have to look a bit in one or both directions before finding where the trail re-starts on the other side. So, I chose a direction and headed down the road looking for a blaze. I shortly came to a tee in the road where Joe Ranger Road, which I was on, intersected with some other small country road. It felt pretty isolated. At the tee I chose a direction to try first. When I didn’t see any blazes after a while, I went back past the tee in the other direction. A short way past the tee in the road I came across a man working on his barn. He was putting wood shingle siding on it using some sort of pneumatic tool. As I approached I called out to the man who was big and stocky with a fighter’s nose and who reminded me of a movie actor from another era named William Bendix. I expected a clipped New England accent, but instead heard a guy who sounded like he came from Brooklyn. I wasn’t far off. He was from New Jersey and had moved to Vermont 20-something years before. I gave him my most pathetic look, which, under the circumstances, wasn’t difficult. Being a discerning fellow he quickly guessed that I was hiking the AT and asked how I was fixed for water. I would have been willing to kiss him for a coke, but we didn’t get that far. I told him, “I am lost bigger than s—t” and asked if he could help me get on track. He asked where I was heading. I told him I was looking to get to W. Hartford and find a motel. He chuckled and told me that, beyond the general store and a few houses, there is not much else in W. Hartford -- and certainly no motels. He got me straightened out from my “temporary misorientation.” When I was in the last high meadow heading toward the roads on which I wandered, I had missed a turn. It would have brought me down to Joe Ranger Road in a different spot and where the place to enter the woods on the opposite side was clear. So I hiked back up the road, continued past where I had come to the road the first time, and got myself back on the trail. This little interlude, though interesting, cost me about 45 minutes, and lots of energy at a point when I really had little to spare.

W. Hartford is on the White River. When approach from the south, you first hit a busy road along the western bank of the river. Then you walk along the shoulder of the road for about half a mile, and cross, from west to east, a bridge over the River to VT 14. The general store, Rick and Tina’s Country Store and Snack Bar, is a couple hundred yards from the bridge on the east side of the river. When I got there I had hoped to go for a swim in the river. There was obviously, as reputed, a great swimming spot next to the bridge, and there were a few local people taking advantage of it. However, I was whipped, and it was about 5 PM. I went into the general store and had a PowerAde, a lemonade and a Vanilla Coke – each one being 20 ounces, along with a huge hamburger and large order of fried potatoes. Yum! Not too long afterwards, Pony Boy who had been at the shelter with me the previous night came in. Again surprised to see me. He was going to grab some food and drink and then head to the next shelter. While sitting there I found that my best bet was to hitch into White River Junction, a sizeable town, where there were lots of motels, especially near the interstate, and there were free local buses in White River Junction to and from Hanover. This would abet me in my plan for the next day.

My ride into White River Junction dropped me in the middle of the town near a sign advertising rooms and also near an old, small hotel. After finding out that the hotel was filled, but I met a couple local police. They told me not to bother with the place showing the “Rooms” sign as they were rented by the month. They told me that to find amotel I could go near the interstate where there were half a dozen or more national chains -- about a mile in one direction. If I was just looking for a “place to flop for the night”, there was what they described as a “roach motel” that was just about “a quarter mile or so up the road (VT 14)” my ride had taken me past. The distance to get to the motels near the interstate sent me in pursuit of the place “to flop.” Problem was these officers of the law had no sense of distance. I kept stopping and asking locals where the motel was and would get answers like, “next block,” “a few hundred yards,” “not far,” etc. It had to have been a conspiracy. If I hadn’t truly hiked a mile before I got there, it was darn close. I went to check in and the place stunk (not that I smelled like a rose) pungently – I mean bad. There were no soft drink machines, no food places or snack machines, and the guy wanted $45. As tired and sore as I was feeling, I couldn’t bring myself to stay there. I stepped back to the road and was lucky enough to catch a ride from someone who went a bit out of her way and took me to the Super 8 motel. The motel was almost filled with construction workers. I got the last room. Because the air conditioner was broken they charged me $42 in lieu of $60. I hadn’t been in AC for eleven days so it was no problem. I got the scoop from the desk clerk about how I could call a taxi and get back to the AT in the A.M. for about $5. I also found there was a Vermont Transit bus terminal about quarter of a mile away from which, when I finished hiking, I could get a ride to Boston. As soon as I got to my room, I stripped down to my shorts and hobbled to what was really a pretty dingy little pool – but I luxuriated in it. In then put on my wind pants and clean tee shirt and hobbled across the street to a place that was one of those combo gas stations, delis, snack food places. I wasn’t real hungry after eating at the general store, but bought some fruit and a couple packages of junk candy – Red Hots. By this time I was barely able to walk. My knee was swollen, I was about to lose a toenail, and I had blisters on my blisters. It was the knee that really scared me, so I made what, in retrospect, was definitely the correct decision. I would forego hiking that last nine miles or so the next day, Thursday, and head for home. I called Delta Airlines to see if there was any problem flying on the same Comair Flight a day early. They said, “No,” but that it was good that I called. I was now rescheduled in lieu of being on standby which would have been the case if I hadn’t called ahead. I then called my son, Evan, who was going to pick me up at the airport. I slept well and was satisfied that I had accomplished the vast bulk of what I set out to do - but still had some frustration about cutting short the last few miles. I’ll just have to live with that.

21 August, Thursday – Getting Home. I lounged in my room till about 11 A.M. – although I went to the free continental breakfast for juice, bagels pastries, et al, three times. It was a long, painful travail hauling my backpack over the quarter mile or so to the Vermont Transit bus terminal. I was wearing my camping sandals, and had had to get my boots, water bottles and sleeping pad into the pack so I could check it. At least I thought I had to. The terminal was housed adjacent to a Chinese restaurant having a buffet, so I did some of that while waiting. The bus trip to Boston cost a bit above $20 and took about 4 hours. When I checked my ”bags” (my pack) at the airport, I had my hiking poles collapsed and strapped on the outside. The airline folks, at my request, helped get “the bundle” into a large clear heavy plastic bag – actually they double bagged it in opposite directions, which they taped closed. It worked well and, unlike my outbound journey, my pack arrived at Reagan National Airport when I did. When Evan picked me up I could barely walk. The trip was over. It had been rewarding, trying and replete with good memories. Of course it required paying some steep dues.

Epilogue: As I finish my trip notes three weeks later, I am eager for another hike – but not quite yet. My feet took about ten days to feel much better and now they are fine. My knee is still a bit sore. I went to the doctor a day after getting home – mostly for the knee. He suggested that next time, I take the Motrin on a regular basis BEFORE feeling pain because it also works as an anti-inflammatory. He also told me I was a prime candidate for getting a series of three shots that pumps some sort of “lubricant” into my knees. We’ll see. While I was hiking I dropped about 10-12 pounds. A couple of pounds have crept back, but I am still pulling my belt in one more notch than before my hike -- and will work on keeping it that way. My thanks go to my three hiking partners. My nephew David’s pictures have already drawn lots of positive comments. I think our four days together provided terrific enhancement and a new dimension to our already close relationship. My other hiking partners, Fred and Rick, are the kind of guys you want with you, and they proved it by their comradeship and actions. As I have with each of my hiking trips, I met in passing another series of neat people who are long distance backpackers, and who demonstrated the mettle doing similar challenging tasks that creates a special bond. I have also seen another part of our beautiful and great country and met local people of all stripes. It was a priceless experience, and I recognize that my ability to continue to go out and reap the rewards of adventures such as this is indeed a blessing.


12 Sept 2003 -- Steve