The Whites!!! (Aug 19th-22nd)

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.  It is the source of all true art and science.  He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed."
                                                                   ~Albert Einstein




On Franconia Ridge

The four of us woke up on the 19th excited to dive into the rest of the Whites.  We did our laundry and resupplied at the gas station across the street. At this point I had completely given up on trying to be healthy and went for whatever was lightweight and calorie dense. Gas stations usually provided these items. In fact, I did an entire pack shakedown in Hanover, getting rid of anything I didn't absolutely need.  We had a lot of climbing ahead and I wanted my pack as light as possible.  We got dropped off at Franconia Notch around 11am, ready for our hike up to Franconia Ridge and into the Presidential Range.  Our first task was to hike up Little Haystack Mountain where we stopped to take a lunch break in a small clearing.  Here I met Medicine Man and FM, they had always been a day ahead of me in the registers so it was nice to finally put some faces to the names.  They were really fun and little did I know at the time I would be spending the rest of my hike and summiting with them.  I didn't want too sit long as I was too excited to get on the ridge.

The two miles of Franconia Ridge are completely above treeline and the views all around on a clear day are suppose to be amazing.  And we had a perfectly clear day on our hands.  I emerged onto the ridge and was speechless.  Worth Every Step.  Everyone was in complete awe of the vast beauty that surrounded them. The ridge went up and over the summits of Mt. Lincoln and Mt. Lafayette.  We all took our sweet time along the ridge, stopping every few minutes to simply take it all in.  The hikers who got off before this, who never got a chance to experience this, well they fucked up.  This stretch was quickly becoming my favorite as it put every other view to shame. 

We paused at Mt. Lincoln before heading up to Mt. Lafayette. In his memoir, David "AWOL" Miller commented that the views from the top of Lafayette were bound only by the limits of his vision.  How superbly right he was. We all hung out at the summit for a bit, drinking some beers we packed out and basking in the glory of our awesome lives.  Realizing it was getting late, we all tore ourselves away and began the three mile descent to Garfield Pond.  According to my stealth list from the guys at the hostel, once you hit the pond, if you walked east off the trail a few hundred yards you will find an impacted site where a shelter from the 30's used to be.  Sure enough we found a large flattened area off the pond large enough for all of us (me, my dad, White Wolf, Pants, Meds and FM).  There was an actual shelter/campsite a mile up the trail but it was one you had to pay to use.  The fee was only $8, but is it was the principle of the thing, plus it would be full of normies, plus we had to climb up and over Mt. Garfield to get there.  That should be enough excuses.  We were happy with our pond, pond people we were.  I went to bed content and pondering how awesome the rest of the Whites were gonna be.

Looking back at everything we had climbed

The next morning my dad got up bright and early, hoping to get to Galehead Hut for some leftover breakfast.  Not interested in sprinting four miles for leftover eggs, I took my time over Mt. Garfield, taking a break with FM at a stream by the shelter.  As I continued with my descent, it seemed the trail maintainers decided to save themselves some time and effort - instead of actually creating a trail, they decided to simply blaze the stream that flowed down the mountain.  I caught up with White Wolf as he tried to maneuver over the slippery rocks.  Wondering if we were actually on the trail or just walking through a stream, we eventually decided it was both and carefully made our way down.  Eight years later, after a bit more rocky crazy trail, we arrived at Galehead Hut.  There were no guests at the moment, as they were all out doing their day hikes, so all the thru-hikers took over the porch, enjoying the view and eating $2 bottomless soup the huts offered during the day.

 As we were eating our soup, we received a pleasant surprise.  Around the corner comes Beowulf.  Beowulf was a hiker I met way back in N.C., but he was cruising and only saw him again when we both went back for trail days.  I had heard he summited at the end of July, so imagine my surprise when he strolled into Galehead, 360 miles from Katahdin.  My first thought was 'is he yo-yoing?  Am I getting lapped right now?' (a yo-yo is when you complete your thru-hike, then immediately turn around and hike back to GA. Don't ask me why, there is only one in the 2012 class that I know of attempting to do this ). Beowulf had summited at the end of July, and not wanting to leave the trail, immediately got a job with the huts.  He was at Greenleaf Hut, which we skipped.  It was his three day off period so he was just hiking around.  It was good to see a hiker who had actually finished, that this trail actually did have an end.  He was gonna stay at Zealand Falls Hut that night (in the croo quarters) so we would see him the next day.



Atop South Twin Mountain

Eventually we filtered away, off to tackle South Twin Mountain. One burly climb later, we were again sitting atop a glorious summit taking in 360 degrees of inspiring views.  We slowly made our way to Zealand Mountain. There was a side trail to the summit which I wasted my time with as it only lead me to a sign, with no view.  I got back and everyone was sitting around talking to a guy named Caleb.  He was a caretaker at Ethan Pond Shelter and told us to stop in when we passed by and he would play some banjo for us.  Eventually we all made our way down the mountain to Zeacliff pond.  FM, Meds, White Wolf, Pants and I were hoping to stealth at a view on the ridge.  My dad was taking a different approach to the Whites, hoping to take advantage of the WFS so he could carry less food.  I preferred to carry more food and avoid the huts. 





Tiny campsite...

After Zeacliff pond the five of us hiked another 1/2 mile and veered off the trail at a view to the east.  We were rewarded with a nice rock cliff and a gorgeous view, and enough (barely) flat spots back in the trees to camp.  We all agreed that we've known each other for at least two days, so we might as well be family and sleep practically on top each other.  It looked like a Big Agnes convention being FM, White Wolf and I all have the same tent.  This was probably one of my favorite camping spots.  Here in this overpopulated national park, which was bursting at the seams with people, the five of us found our own private nook with a view to the world.  We all brought our sleeping pads and bags out to the cliff to snuggle up and watch the sun set.  Only a little Norah Jones could have brought the whole scene together, which FM graciously provided.  My life couldn't have been more perfect, no where else I could think to be. Eventually we retired to the obstacle course that was our tent site, ready for the easy nine mile day we had planned for tomorrow.



With a great view...

The next morning I was the last to leave, milking every last second at this awesome spot.  I finished my descent off Zealand meeting everyone at Zealand Falls Hut.  Beowulf was there hanging out with the croo, and they gave us a bunch of baked goods for free.  The huts during the day were actually kinda cool, the guests are gone hiking so they are quiet, so the croo are a bit more relaxed and willing to slide thru-hikers some goods.  Though I still stand by the statement they would be cooler if they weren't there.  I saw from the register my dad had done WFS there the night before and was gonna try to make it to Mizpah Hut that night.  We had less ambitious plans to camp somewhere before that.  The boys were all hoping to hitch a ride at Crawford Notch to some gas station in the middle of nowhere to get more food as they were running low.  We were hoping to find a place to camp at Saco River right after the notch, saving the climb up Mt. Webster for the next day.  Myself having brought enough food to get through the Whites, I decided that instead of hitching to a gas station, I would have a waterfall themed day and take a few side trails. 




Chillin at Zealand Falls Hut

I was again the last to leave the hut, after going to check out Zealand Falls nearby.  I had an easy flat stroll (the only flat non-rock infested part of all the Whites) over to a side trail to Thoreau Falls.  I found Pants and White Wolf there having lunch and I decided to join them.  The falls rushed over a gently sloping rock face, so we were able to sit right next to the flowing water.  Pants and White Wolf took off before me to get to the notch.  I lounged a bit more, in no real hurry, but eventually got up and made my was towards Ethan Pond campsite.  I remember the caretaker we ran into the day before said he was at Ethan Pond and that he played the banjo, and, as if on cue, I heard a very melodic voice floating over the trees.  I made my way towards the music and found Caleb sitting in the shelter by himself strumming the banjo and singing.  I hung out with him for over an hour, eating second lunch as he played, pausing occasionally to direct the weekend warriors and college groups that were filtering in for the night (though it was only like 3pm, normies quit hiking really early).  Ethan Pond was another pay site so I had no intention of staying, and Caleb told me I would have no problem finding a spot by the river.  He also told me a lot of the caretakers will let thru-hikers do "Work for stay" at the campsites, which usually involved sweeping out the privy for like five seconds or something.  I said goodbye, thanking him for the afternoon tunes and made my way towards the river.

Lunchtime banjo

About a half mile before the notch I saw a sign to a side trail to Ripley Falls.  The falls were a half mile off the AT, so it would be an extra mile round trip.  Why not?  It was early and the boys were probably still at the gas station.  I hiked down to the base of the Falls and it was totally worth it.  There was a large pool at the bottom, I took my shoes off, sat on a rock, stuck my feet in and spent two hours journaling and reading at the base of a beautiful waterfall.  Not a soul came by while I was there. Most of the normies were done hiking for the day and very few thru-hikers would bother with a half mile side trail to anything, we hike enough.  I contemplated just camping there, but the river was only a mile away, and I didn't want to add a mile to my already long day tomorrow.  I had a lot of elevation gain to get to the base of Mt. Washington tomorrow, so might as well get this mile out of the way now.  I begrudgingly pulled myself away from the falls and hiked down to the notch.




Ripley Falls

Our timing was impeccable, all the boys were clamouring out of Trail Momma's car.  She had found them sitting in front of the gas station gorging themselves and gave them a ride back to the trail.  I don't know what we were all gonna do when the hike was over and Trail Momma doesn't randomly just appear to take us places.  We said farewell and made our way across the river in search of a home.  After we crossed the footbridge over Saco River we veered left off the trail a few hundred yards looking for impacted spots to camp.  We found a nice clearing complete with a fire ring.  We obviously weren't the first ones to have this idea.  Meds started a fire, we all made dinner and called it an early night.  We had a tough day ahead of us.  Eleven miles to the base of Mt. Washington.  Eleven miles in the Whites was like a 20 on the rest of the trail.  You just hike slower, the trail is too hard.  Plus if you have any appreciation for what you're doing, you don't just plow past the amazing views.  We had to climb over Mt. Webster, Mt. Jackson, Mt. Pierce, Mt. Eisenhower, Mt. Franklin and Mt. Monroe just to get to the base of Mt. Washington.  Needless to say I was hoping to get a good nights sleep so I was ready to high five all the presidents tomorrow. 

We got up early to get as much day as possible, we all agreed we would try and do WFS at Lakes of the Clouds Hut that night.  We hadn't had a "thru-hiker hut experience" yet, and though I was ok keeping it that way, there was no way I was going up and over Washington after everything else I had to do that day.  My dance card was full.  We all got going, slowly climbing up to Webster Cliffs.  White Wolf, FM and I got ahead of Pants and Meds, and the three of us hiked together most of the day.  We hung out at Webster Cliffs for a bit, and then traveled the half mile traverse, enjoying views all along the way.

White Wolf enjoying Webster Cliff

FM and White Wolf got a bit ahead of me, and as I turned a corner I came across the two of them chucking what appeared to be hamburger buns off the side of the mountain.  FM had gotten 'squirled' the night before, they had gotten into his buns and took little bites off all them.  No longer wanting to eat them for fear of getting some squirrel disease, he thought it would be fun to throw them off the mountain Stephen Katz style.  We then sat down to try and figure out where we were.  We all agreed that based on how long we had been hiking, we most certainly had to be on Mt. Jackson.  Imagine our dismay after hiking another hour and half to find a sign informing us that NOW we were on Mt. Jackson.  Seriously? That means we were only hiking a mile an hour.  I was warned this would happen, after building up our speed to 3-4 mph, you get to these mountains and get slowed down a lot.  It is very discouraging. If we're going this slow, no wonder the normies only do a mile or two a day. 

My frustration quickly subsided as I looked out from the top of Mt. Jackson.  What was my hurry? Why would I want to hike any faster? So I could leave this beautiful place? From that moment on I never for the rest of my trip cared how fast I was hiking.  I was slowly coming to the end of this journey and I wanted to savor every step.  Besides, I really had nowhere to be, and all day to get there.   

New Hampshire Part 2: Up We Go (August 17th-18th)

I awoke bright and early on Moosilauke morning and was one of the first to leave the hostel. I popped into Jeffers Brook to say hi to Pants but was too eager to get up the mountain to stay long. I started my climb and the energy I had was indescribable. I have never been more excited to physically exhaust myself. And physically exhausting it was. I usually have a rule with mountains - don't stop till you get to the top. The Whites were an entirely different playing field so I assumed this rule would have to be tweaked. But I had so much adrenaline coursing through my veins I didn't stop once through the entire four and a half mile ascent. It was a fairly steep and rocky trail, but wasn't horrible, though it did seem to last forever. I finally got to a part that flattened out, and a sign indicating a side trail to the south peak. That meant the north peak (true peak) had to be close!!!

I practically started sprinting down the trail. Moosilauke was the first time we were going to be above tree line and I couldn't wait to take in these views (the treeline is the edge of a habitat in which trees are capable of growing.  I was currently in an Alpine climate, which is the highest elevation that sustains trees.  Higher up it is too cold. This is different than a bald - if interested click here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Appalachian_balds ) I became more and more eager as the trees became smaller and smaller. At this point I truly was running, winding and wheezing in a travesty of enthusiasm to get to the top. I finally burst out into the open air and saw the north peak looming in front of me. Slow down there killer, you still gotta climb up that. I started making my way when a tiny French Bulldog began trotting along next to me. I paused to search the trail for it's owner, when a younger guy came up behind me. Relieved there weren't wild French Bulldogs roaming the mountain, I continued up the trail, bulldog in tow. Will, his owner, said it was fine as long as I kept him from falling off the mountain. So I completed my summit of Moosilauke with a dog named Pimpsy. At the top we sat to the side of the summit sign and waited for Will. There was currently a large group of college students crowding the summit, but I was fine in my corner, taking in all that I had accomplished. The Whites were going to restore my love of hiking.

Not that I had quit loving it, but after five months I was getting a bit sick of it. But not out here. The feeling you get after climbing a mountain is unlike any other. The complete joy and happiness I experienced at that moment is indescribable. Pimpsy didn't appear as touched as he relocated rocks from one pile to another pile. Will finally arrived and we chatted for the better part of an hour waiting for the crowds to clear. Will and Pimpsy were peak baggers. There are 42 peaks in NH over 4,000 ft, and they were trying to climb them all. Eventually we made our way over to the summit sign and took turns taking each others pictures. At no point did any other hikers I knew come up, but it was starting to get a bit cold and cloudy, so I didn't want to wait any longer. Deciding it was time to make my way down, I said goodbye to Will and started my descent.

I walked along the ridge for a bit before the AT turned off to a steep drop. One of the trickier things about the Whites was that the AT was not the most dominant trail. In fact, it was hardly marked. There were numerous trails weaving throughout the Whites, with names like Glencliff Trail and Beaver Brook Trail. In the Whites, rather than being its own separate entity, the AT simply coincided with one of these trails. You had to constantly pay attention to what trail you were suppose to be on that also happened to be the AT. At this particular moment the AT was following Glencliff trail but turned right onto Beaver Brook trail at a four way junction. There were still white blazes, but few and far between. The park is very popular and does not necessarily cater to thru hikers for lodging or hiking.

I switched trails and hooked right down a flatter path, and was alarmed to see a large rabbit galloping towards me down the trail. The trail was very narrow and I really had no where to go to get out of its path, so I was hoping it would soon see me and swerve, but it came closer and closer. I started to panic and lift my leg to let it by, but it ran smack into the bottom of my shoe. Oh my God I just kicked a bunny. He looked a bit startled, as if he had just noticed me for the first time. He then quickly ran behind a bush and paused there panting and looking terrified in general. What the hell little man? I offered him some words of comfort before warily continuing down the trail in the event there was some giant Liger lurking around the corner to cause such panic in this rabbit. I proceeded slowly but no threat presented itself, must have been running from a hawk.

I made my way down to Beaver Brook Shelter to have lunch and gear up for the real descent. The 1.5 mile hike down to Kinsman Notch was known to be the steepest on the AT. In fact many hikers slack pack Moosilauke going south out of Kinsman so they are climbing the north side, making it less dangerous. I prefer my journey to be one continuous flow north, so down the slide I go. Roller, Sunkist, Pants and White Wolf all made it to the shelter and we began our slippery descent. I say slippery because the trail follows alongside Beaver Brook the entire way down, but it is so steep it basically becomes a waterfall, making the rock faces we are expected to climb down very slick. This was the first time on the trail where I stood at the top of something for entire minutes, pondering exactly how I was suppose to get down without dying. This would have been much easier if I didn't have 30lbs on my back. I was beginning to see why people slack packed this part.

It took me just as long to climb the 1.5 miles down the north side of Moosilauke as it did to climb the 4.5 up the south side. Good grief.  I was beginning to wonder how I could have my mail forwarded to the mountain, as I was clearly never getting off it, when I finally burst onto the parking lot of Kinsman Notch.  That all being said, it was probably one of my favorite miles on the trail.  Hiking down next to a waterfall was a beautifully terrifying and thrilling experience and I would recommend it to anyone, unless you have vertigo.  We lurked around Kinsman for a bit before getting a ride in the back of a truck into North Woodstock.  Roller, Sunkist, Pants and I were going to stay in town that night, get shuttled back out in the morning and attempt to slack the 16 miles between Kinsman and Franconia Notch, going back into N. Woodstock from Franconia.  I say attempt because there have been several hikers who have tried to do this stretch in one day and ended up having to stay at Lonesome Lake Hut three miles short of Franconia.  It was going to be a tough day with climbs over Mt. Wolf and the Kinsmans (known to have the most broken arms on the trail).  But if my dad did it, which he did, I had to do it, right?  We said goodbye to White Wolf who was heading to the next shelter, and would meet us in town via Franconia Notch the next night.  My first day in the Whites had been an awesome success and I was off to finally meet up with my dad. 


Steep climb down Moosilauke

The next morning I woke up at the crack of dawn to start the slackpack.  I went across the street to the deli to order some breakfast sandwiches and ran into Slowfoot, who was also gearing up for the slackpack.  Apparently Miss Janet was staying at the same hotel as us and was dropping Slowfoot off at Kinsman. I called and canceled our shuttle as Pants and I hopped in her crazy van with Slowfoot.  Miss Janet is somewhat of a trail personality and we first met her back in Erwin, TN.  She was now up north making the rounds at the hiker hostels.  She dropped the three of us off at Kinsman Notch at 6:30am wishing us luck.  We immediately started our steep and horrible climb up Mt. Wolf.  A quick break was had at the summit before beginning our descent to Eliza Brook Shelter (the last free shelter in the Whites).  Headin Out was there and together we took off for our climb up South Kinsman Mountain.  It was tough and long.  And extremely steep.   I put my trekking poles away as I had no need for them during the hand over head rock climbing.  Just when I was starting to wonder if the mountain was growing as I was climbing it, I finally reached the south peak.  The views were worth it.  I could see the north peak ahead of me and started to make my way there, rewarded again with breathtaking views.  It was difficult to tear myself away from the scene, but I still had five and a half miles to hike, and I'm slower going down mountains than I am going up. 


Climb up Kinsman

 I finally made my way down the steep descent to Lonesome Lake Hut.  Now, some info on the huts: The huts are not shelters.  They exist only in White Mountain National Park and are operated by the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC).  They are actual buildings with heat, electricity, running water, and bunks.  There are 5-6 employees stationed at each hut known as the 'croo.' They are usually younger, college kids working for the summer etc... and are responsible for the upkeep of the huts and the care and feeding of its guests.  Notice I say 'guests' and not hikers.  The cost to spend the night in one of these huts is around $80-$100.  The patrons of these huts are usually people who want to get out and see the Whites, do a bit of hiking without having to worry about dealing with camping.  Now there are no roads to the huts, so the visitors do actually have to hike to them (and the poor croo must pack in and out all supplies and trash).  The hut visitors usually take short three mile side trails to the hut they are staying at, hike around that area, then head back down the next morning.  People out for multiple day trips will just hike between the huts, which are about five to seven miles apart. If you are following the AT, it is about an 8 day hike (for a thru, not a normie) from Franconia to Gorham if you want to avoid wasting time with side trails down to roads. I have yet to meet a thru hiker who has actually stayed in the huts as a guest for three reasons: you have to make reservations far in advance, and it is difficult for us to gage when we will be somewhere.  They are $80-$100.  And we actually enjoy camping.  I'm not sure if these people paying all this money are aware they can just bring a tent and enjoy the Whites for free, but they can.  It is a bit trickier though to camp throughout the Whites, and now that you understand the huts, I will explain why most thru hikers dislike them.

Before the AMC took over, there use to be shelters in the Whites for thru-hikers, like the rest of the AT.  Those have since been wiped out and replaced with these expensive huts OR designated campsite areas that you also have to pay to use.  There 'officially' is nowhere free for a hiker to stay, unless they stealth.  Stealthing is tricky as there are rules in the Whites.  We are not allowed to camp above treeline, within an FPA zone (designated by signs) or within 1/4 mile of a hut, an official campsite, or within 200 yards of water or the trail.  Whew.  Anything else is fair game.  The huts offer Work For Stay to thru-hikers, each hut will take around five to six thru hikers a night. They have to do some light work (wash dishes, sweep etc.), they then get to eat the leftovers of dinner (which there always are, the croo has to pack everything out so they view hikers as garbage disposals) and then we can sleep on the dining room floor after all the guests have gone to bed.  Essentially we are treated like dogs.  A lot of hikers take advantage of these huts for the free food and the floor so they don't have to search for stealth sites.  Unfortunately it has created a sort of competition among hikers to get there first, since each hut only takes so many.  If you get turned away, well you have a long night of hiking ahead of you since you can't tent near the huts.  The AMC has made it very difficult for thru-hikers in the Whites.  In addition they have made it very crowded.  Like the Smokies and the Shennies, the Whites are a very popular park, but the huts have made them very accessible so they are overrun with people. 

Pants and I had our first hut experience at Lonesome Lake.  Most hikers don't bother trying to do WFS at this hut, as it is only three miles to Franconia Notch.  You can hitch into North Woodstock from there, which is the last resupply stop for thru-hikers before heading into the meat of the Whites, so most of us are keen to get there.  We were curious about the huts and wanted to stop and see what they were all about.  Plus we were told during the day they sold soup, baked goods and lemonade.  We came upon Lonesome Lake and were immediately overwhelmed.  There were people everywhere.  I mean small children running around, moms yelling, teenagers looking bored and angsty at the fact they were dragged into the woods.  Pants and I popped into the hut to take a look, it was larger and nicer than I expected.  Two croo were busy preparing dinner while another, I presume guest, was reading at a table. We helped ourselves to the self-serve lemonade and plopped a dollar in the basket.  We sat down and took in the scene, watching the scores of people lurking around the lake.  Ready to leave, we thanked the croo for the lemonade and headed out the door, dodging children and overweight dads left and right. We had three miles left to hike down to Franconia Notch, where I presume most of these people hiked up from.  During our gradual descent we began an interesting discussion that I invite you all to participate in.

My experience in the woods has led me to believe that our culture (human culture) has made the natural wonders of this planet too accessible to the general public.  The huts have provided a refuge for those who want to experience the beauty of the Whites, but are fearful of their power.  They invite people to come out here, who, otherwise would never be here.  As a result, I turn the corner in the woods and encounter giant propane tanks.  Our strong desire to experience this natural wonder has prompted us to make it as accessible as possible, and as a result, detracts from the very beauty that drew us to it in the first place.  Giant buildings on top of mountains so people don't have to camp.  Roads and trains to the top of mountains so people don't have to climb.  Call me elitist, but I believe that if you want to be on top of a mountain, you should have to climb it.  I have had so many people say to me "I could never physically do what you're doing." Well, you could.  You just don't want to.  And that is totally fine.  But I feel that the total awe and power that one experiences from standing atop a mountain should be reserved for those willing to make the mental and physical sacrifice of climbing it. 

It is disappointing for those who have worked very hard, I mean extremely hard, to experience nature in the least impactful way possible only to see it tarnished by the constructions of man.  Constructions whose sole purpose is to make it easier for man to be there.  Well I got here fine without that road and I don't need that building so why must they exist? It is going to be difficult to sustain the natural beauty and wonder of these places if we continue to make them easier and easier to get to. Now I realize that the AT itself is an impact on the environment I am trying to experience, but where do we draw the line?  99% of these people wouldn't be here if they didn't have these huts to stay at or the roads that wander so close to them.  This topic was again brought up during the cluster fuck that was Mt. Washington, which you will hear abut later.....I know there are many who may disagree with me and that's ok.  I think it's a very interesting topic and I open it to you all and welcome any input or feedback you may have:)

Pants and I discussed this for the few remaining hours of our hike when we finally came to Franconia Notch.  We called Miss Janet to come pick us up and got back to town. We got to the hotel just as White Wolf was hiking in, and the three of us joined my dad for dinner and a game of pool at the bar down the street.  He beat us twice (and by us I mean the three of us on a team against the one of him).  We had a late night and went to bed not looking forward to all the chores we had to do the next day before hiking out.  We had an eight day stretch ahead of us through the rest of the Whites and we were planning to do it all in one go, fully immersing ourselves in them before surfacing in Gorham on the other side.  The good chaps at the Hikers Welcome Hostel in Glencliff gave me a list of solid stealth sites so we could avoid the huts and the people and just enjoy the mountains.  The few mountains we had done thus far had proved challenging, but worth every step, and I was pretty sure it was only gonna get better.  

Lonesome Lake

View from Kinsman







New Hampshire! Part 1: Aug 13th-16th

We woke up after our first night in Hanover rested and relaxed.  They even had giant white robes for us to wear:)  I got up early and went across the street to grab a coffee and a pastry and called my dad.  I planned out my five day hike from Hanover to North Woodstock, where I would finally meet back up with him.  We then went about the process of doing laundry and resupplying.  The hotel unfortunately didn't have guest laundry, so we had to walk down to some senior citizen community center that let hikers do laundry.  It was across from the grocery store so I knocked that out of the way, then we headed to the pizza place to claim our free slice (and many more).  I spent the rest of the day at the library, wandering around town and swapping out my summer gear for winter.  It was August, but the Whites were gonna be cold...

We ran into Headin Out and Taggin Along in the hotel lobby and they gave us the sad news that Taggin Along was getting off the trail since her hip wasn't getting better.  She looked devastated and started crying as she was talking.  My heart really went out to her as we said our goodbyes.  I can't imagine having to get off so close to our goal.  We woke up the next morning ready to hike and execute our five day plan to N. Woodstock. We had to walk through town past the senior citizen center laundry mat, and right behind the ball field and into the woods.  After getting water at Mink Brook, we started the climb up Moose Mountain to Moose Mountain Shelter, our home for the night.  If you're gonna name a mountain Moose Mountain, there ought to be a moose or two on it.  The shelter was quiet save for one other older guy, Solo, who was actually from MN but living in Arizona. I chatted with him for a bit before going to set up my tent and make dinner.

I woke the next morning hoping to get in 18 to Hexacuba Shelter.  The shelter was .3 off the trail, so I had no intentions of actually going there, but at least wanted to be in that general area.  I climbed over Moose Mountain North Peak and straight up to Holts Ledge which was a 'precipitous drop-off' with a nice view.  Pants and I took a break before making our way down to Grafton Turnpike.  Right near the fork in the road, a man named Bill Ackerly lived.  We had been told he likes chatting with hikers, gives them ice cream and soda, lets us help ourselves to water, rest, chat or perhaps play a game of croquet.  Intrigued by the variety of offerings this elderly gentleman seemed to advertise, we made our way to his large blue house. Unfortunately Bill Ackerly was not home.  He had left a note on the top of a cooler of soda indicating he was sorry to miss us but to make ourselves at home on the porch.   We hung out a bit and had lunch and I noticed a newspaper clipping about him tapped to the window.  It made me even more sorry to have missed him as he sounded like a very sweet and interesting man.  We finally left to begin our giant climb up Smarts Mountain.  Pants got ahead of me and landed himself in a bit of a predicament.  I came across him standing in the middle of the trail spasing out.  Two SoBos stood on the opposite side a bit confused as well.  Apparently he had sat down to take a break and unknowingly put his pack in a wasp nest.  He realized this once he started getting stung repeatedly at which point the spasing out started.  He was now in the process of trying to remove his pack, and various items he had taken out, from the wasp area, but seemed to be struggling.

The two SoBos and I  took turns navigating ourselves around the trail to avoid the entire fiasco.  I positioned myself up on a ledge out of harms way and offered my vocal support of his efforts.  Unfortunately the angry wasps started coming towards me, at which point I immediately left and told him I would meet him on the ridge.  I mean who puts their pack in a wasp nest?  I got up to Lamberts Ridge and waited for the wounded solider to return from battle.  He arrived angry and defeated and five wasp stings deep.  We took a break and put some ointment on his stings.  Unfortunately we were sitting on a ridge and had to finish the steep and rocky climb up Smarts Mt.  Pants beat me to the shelter at the top, since I climbed the fire tower before it to get a view, and a view it was.  I made my way to the Fire Wardens Cabin north of the summit, which was used as a hiker shelter.

There was one other hiker there, a SoBo named Gritz.  We spent some time chatting with him as he gave us a bunch of info on the Whites.  Pants decided he was going to stay, hoping it would remain a quiet night.  I at least wanted to get down Smarts and try to get within a mile of Hexacuba.  I bid them goodnight and started my descent.  The north side of Smarts was much more gradual than the south side and I flew down it pretty  quickly.  I also passed five SoBos all going up it, which meant Pants quiet night wasn't going to be so quiet.  I tried texting him but didn't get service.  He'd find out eventually, when his shelter got invaded by SoBo's, who seemed to be outnumbering the NoBos lately. I finally arrived at South Jacobs Brook at the same time as Solo.  The shelter was only a mile up the hill and he was headed there.  I saw no reason to do that, and instead found a nice little spot up above the brook.  I settled in for a nice quiet evening to myself and fell asleep to the sound of the flowing brook below me.

The next day was going to be a tough one - only 16 miles, but it included climbs over Mt. Cube, Ore Hill, and Mt. Mist.  Turns out Pants had ended up leaving the shelter when all the SoBos started rolling in and camped about a mile behind me.  He passed me in the morning while I was packing up, after which I started the steep climb up Mt. Cube.  I took a brief break at the top to enjoy the view before making my way down.  Right before the trail emerged onto NH25A, I found a nice little spot to have lunch.  The problem with having lunch under the canopy of trees is you can't really watch those lurking clouds, so while I was about to spread my Nutella upon my wrap, it started pouring on me, seemingly out of nowhere.  Annoyed, I packed up to start hiking, I'll just eat later.

I crossed the road, like three minutes later, and the sun was out shining and smiling. WTF?  Must have been just one asshole cloud.  I made my way to a flat rock and proceeded to re-continue my lunch.  It started raining again.  God must hate sandwiches.  Since I wasn't being allowed a proper lunch, I just shoved a plain tortilla in my mouth like a neanderthal, packed up and started climbing Ore Hill.  Of course the rain went away when I started walking but I didn't dare try stopping again.  I made my way up to Ore Hill campsite when I surprisingly ran into Squatch. Hiking south again, film camera at the ready, we sat and chatted for an hour, him capturing all on film of course.  The clouds started making some rude noises, forcing us to go our separate ways.  I trudged my way up Mt. Mist, excited to be done with my last climb of the day.  Now my original plan was to skip the Hikers Welcome Hostel in Glencliff, which would be down the road I was about to come across and go straight to Jeffers Brook Shelter, a mile up the hill on the other side.  But Squatch, who had just spent a few days there, told me I really shouldn't miss it as it was an awesome place to hang out.  I contemplated these options during my descent when I remembered a text DS had sent me earlier.  Her and Gribley were a few days ahead due to our extended stay in VT.  Apparently about a 1/2 mile before the road here, a wasps nest was in the middle of the trail and a lot of hikers had been getting stung.  Shit.  I forgot to look at what time it was when I was at the top so I didn't know how close I was to the road (Since I've been hiking so long, I can usually gage very accurately how far I've gone based on how long its been).

I started walking a bit faster, very wary of any wasp activity.  I guess my plan was to run really fast when I spotted a wasp?  All the sudden I felt a sharp pain in my ankle. RUN!  I sprinted down the trail but my ankle kept getting stung.  There was a wasp stuck in my shoe.  When I reached down to fish him out my other ankle got stung.  This was horrible.  I ran the remaining 1/2 mile to the road pissed off and in pain.  My ankle throbbing, I paused to look at it swelling up.  Yeah I wasn't climbing up any hill to any shelter and slowly hobbled my way down the street to the hostel.  I walked in the door and was greeted by several other hikers who had just survived similar attacks.  I went around back and found a ton of hikers who I hadn't seen in awhile hanging out.  Ranger Bill, who I hadn't seen since the Shennies, Roller and Sunkist, who I hadn't seen since NY, and White Wolf who I hadn't seen since the Doyle in PA.  Headin Out (minus Taggin Along), Slowfoot and Solo were all there too.  Squatch was right, this was a chill place to spend the night.  It was run by former hikers, there was a bunkroom upstairs or you could just put your tent up if you wanted.  They had an awesome shower and laundry room set up outside for us, as well as a giant covered picnic table and fire pit.  Fat Chap shuttled me and White Wolf into town to grab some dinner at the deli and gave us a little tour of the area, which included stops at a rock that looked like a face and a missile that was positioned in front of the church to look like an obelisk.  We spent the  rest of the night listening to Bag of Tricks tell trail stories of his days with Baltimore Jack. All these guys are considered 'trail legends' so to speak.  All older guys who have hiked the trail numerous times, like to drink and have fun and have continued their existence in and around the trail.  It truly has become a part of who they are.  I was glad I decided to stop and got the chance to meet some of them.  Pants never showed so I assume he went on to Jeffers Brook.  I finally made my way over to my tent to get some sleep as we all had a real challenge/treat the next day.  The first mountain in the Whites, Mt. Moosilauke!  From where I was I had about 5.5 miles of climbing to do the next morning.  The elevation profile looked like I would be walking straight up into heaven.  I was a bit nervous but thrilled to finally be here.  I had been looking forward to these mountains for awhile.

View from Smarts

Chillin at Bill Ackerly's house

First day out of Hanover, up we go!

View from M. Cube

Camping solo by Jacobs Brook

Sorry I Ate Your Wedding Chocolate: VT Part 3 (Aug7th-13th)

We woke the next morning excited for town (as usual) but unsure of exactly how many miles it was due to AWOL's error.  If definitely ended up being more like seven miles instead of five, but eventually we arrived at US 4.  When I got to the road, I didn't see Pants, so I assumed he already got a hitch in.  I stuck out my thumb and immediately got picked up by a french lady who had been living in the area awhile.  Just as I was putting my pack in the trunk, Pants came stomping out of the forest, yelling at me to wait.  Apparently he had stopped in Churchill Scott Shelter and was actually behind me.  He swooped in the car and we asked to be dropped off in the center of town near the Walmart.  Rutland is one of the larger towns we hit on the trail, pop. 63,000, so it actually has some stuff.  We went straight to the Subway as we were starved and that was the quickest way to get food in our bellies.  Afterwards we thought we might check out this Yellow Deli hostel nearby.  We weren't planning on staying, but were hoping to procure some showers and laundry.  We wandered over and walked into the cafe at the bottom.  We talked to a man who lead us upstairs to the hostel part to show us around.  I noticed everyone there was wearing mu mus of some type, and after talking to the guy a bit more it became apparent that we were in some type of "spiritual community."

We started our laundry and showered and passed our time in the common area and the rooftop patio that had a hammock.  This hostel was really nice....Pants and I weighed the pros and cons of staying.  It was a nice, clean hostel, the hammock out back was perfect for a lazy afternoon of reading, they made really good food and smoothies downstairs at their cult cafe, and we could go see a movie, a real treat:) Cons: well, it was a cult.  But Pants and I both agreed we were impervious to cultish wooing, so we pretended to drink the Kool-Aid and decided to stay.  I did as intended, lounge in that hammock all afternoon, until we decided to go to dinner downstairs.  It was delicious, and our new cult friends gave me some banana milk to try which was excellent.  During dinner, we got a text from Gribley and DS, they had made it to town.  They had just resupplied and were next door at the bar eating dinner.  They didn't want to stay at the cult and were going to take the bus back out to the trail and camp just out of town.  We grabbed a beer with them, but had to say our goodbyes early since we were heading to the movies to see Ted (which was hilarious, I really need to acquire some of Giovanni Ribsi's dance moves).  After the movie I went back to the cafe to have a cup of tea and try to get caught up on my journal which is a losing battle.  One of the elders was at a table next to me going over a bunch of stuff with a young girl.  I noticed she had been there all day working, but she wasn't wearing the smock, so I assumed she was in the process of joining their community.  He told her she would be sleeping in the hostel that night, when another girl came over to say that the hostel had filled while she was working and she would have to sleep on the couch.  The girl looked really bummed, I mean she had worked all day and wasn't even getting a bed.  I felt bad for her so I offered her my bed, I'm used to sleeping on the ground anyway.  I finished my tea and went up to claim my couch.  It was actually a decently comfy couch and I slept fine.

The spiritual community we stayed with

The next day we ate delicious muffins the cult made for us and we said our goodbyes.  We were gonna take the bus over to the mall to go to the EMS.  I had bought some new insoles at the one in Manchester Center and they had cracked already, and my hiking shirt was basically a few pieces of thread hanging off my body.  We got there right when they opened and the girl was really helpful in finding me the right Superfeet. We grabbed the bus back to the center of Rutland and switched lines to get dropped off at the trailhead.  We hopped on and at no point did any other passengers get on, so we just told the driver we wanted the AT trailhead on Rt. 4.  She said she knew where most of the hikers got off, so I sat back and waited for our arrival.  Instead, we flew past the trailhead and she deposited us at The Inn at Long Trail, about a mile past the trailhead we wanted.  The problem was, most hikers don't go into town via hitching off Rt. 4.  They cross the road, hike another two miles to a 1/2 mile side trail that leads you straight to the Inn. Hikers usually stay there and take the bus in and out of town.  She assumed that's what we wanted to do and when we explained that we actually needed the trailhead a mile back, she said we could either stay on the bus while she finished her loop and she would drop us on the way back, or we could get off and wait and she would grab us on the way back.  Well in 30 minutes we could just walk the mile down the road so we decided to get off. 

Most hikers would just say screw it and hike the 1/2 mile side trail back to the AT, skipping those two miles.  But Pants and I were intent on hiking every step of the AT, so we wanted to get back on where we left off.  After we got off the bus we turned around to face the Inn and noticed it had an Irish pub attached....we hadn't had lunch yet...we thought we might just pop in for a beer and a burger and then head out....Well obviously we never headed out. McGrath's Irish Pub was a really fun and super hiker friendly place.  We hung out there all night and watched the Olympics, retiring later to one of the rooms at the Inn, which had an awesome hiker rate.  The owner told us the longest a hiker has stayed was 2 weeks or something crazy.  We had no intention of doing that, but we did just take an accidental zero.  Well if you want to get technical, our total millage for the day was -1, as the next morning we had to walk down the road just to get back to the trail.  I blame the bus driver. 

We had an awesome breakfast in the pub the next morning and hit the road, then the trail.  We had to pass through Gifford Woods State Park, which was full of car campers.  Never having been a car camper, and most obviously not one now, I never understood the appeal.  I realize there are many who don't understand the appeal of what I'm doing, but if you want to go camping,  you want to get out and enjoy nature I assume?  You're gonna park your car next to your tent and sit next to a bunch of other car tents and walk over to your coin-op showers?  To each their own, but I'm telling you, the places roads don't go are far more amazing than anything you'll see sitting in your tent site #12 next to your car in your state park.  And if you're concerned about having to carry your stuff, well then don't bring so much shit.  You don't need it.  We always see these weekend warriors out with these 70lbs packs, all the thru-hikers wondering what the fuck they have in there?!?  My pack is under 35lbs always and if I can survive on that for 6 months, I'm sure you could make do for a weekend.  Just give it a try is all I'm saying...it'll be worth it. If you want to go camping that is. 

We exited the park and strolled around Kent Pond until we came upon a very quaint little scene.  The AT crosses the property of Mountain Meadows Lodge.  We came across their boat dock and decided to have lunch up on their grassy hill, where there were two beach chairs calling our names.  We ate a leisurely lunch while looking at the pond, then I proceeded to explore the property.  They were also a small farm with a variety of animals, including a small pony, goats, a sheep and a fat pig named Alice.  While I was admiring the animals I heard someone call my name from a window. Headin Out and Taggin Along where up in a room.  They had gotten there yesterday and were zeroing today to rest Taggin Along's hips.  SOS and Trail Momma were there too.  They said the place was empty but for them and asked if we were staying.  Pants and I looked at each other skeptically....well we hadn't planned on it, but now that you mention it....

We got our room, this place was so mom and pop they didn't even have keys to the rooms. We immediately noticed some delicious looking chocolates on the dresser.  We quickly popped them into our mouths as we laid back to watch an episode of 30 Rock.  All the sudden some random girl just walked into our room and looked surprised to see us there.  She explained she was having her wedding here this weekend and that she had put some stuff in the room and if we wouldn't mind just leaving it be.  We told her we didn't notice anything and she motioned to the chocolates that used to be on the dresser.  Apparently we ate her fancy monogrammed wedding chocolate.  She looked annoyed.  But look lady, if you don't have these rooms booked for another 2 nights you probably shouldn't be leaving stuff in them.  I was told to go to this room, there was chocolate, I ate it.  Sorry.  The annoyed bride to be left and Pants and I continued our laziness in peace, getting up only to greet the pizza guy.

Mountain Meadows

The next day when we realized it had taken us 3 days to go 4 miles, and we vowed to actually make an attempt to get out of VT.  We packed up and began our climb up Quimby Mountain.  The only thing I have to say for Quimby is DANG.  And I thought I was a bitch.  Pants and I recovered on a boulder at the top.  It started to sprinkle so I moved on.  Pants, the most exhausted I've seen him, seemed content sitting in the rain.  I made my way down to Stony Brook Shelter and had some lunch.  the rest of the day was boring and uneventful, mostly because it rained all day.  I finally made it to Winturri Shelter, happy with my 15 mile day and ready to get out of the rain.  I ate dinner with Longstride, Silvergirl and Count Chocula while waiting for a break in the rain to set my tent up when Pants finally arrived.  The water source there was rubbish, a pool that had a small flow over a rock that I was able to pipe with a leaf but it still took forever to fill.  Camp chores done, (at this point dinner is considered a camp chore as I never look forward to what I have to eat) I retired to my tent ready to finally warm up. 

Orange guy

I woke up the next day with my heart set on doing 20 miles to Happy Hill Shelter.  That would put me six miles outside of Hanover and (drum roll please) NEW HAMPSHIRE!  Looking at the elevation profile, that looked impossible as the entire day was a mini roller coaster.  I counted 12 peaks (albeit small ones) to climb over before Happy Hill.  Constantly going up and down is often more exhausting than just a few big climbs.  Regardless, I thought I'd give it a shot.  I informed Pants of my plans and bid him adieu.  I climbed Ascutney Mt. with ease, struggled a bit more on the steep Dana Hill and began my mini roller coaster over three nameless peaks.  I stopped atop the 3rd to have lunch with a nice view.  The entire lunch break was spent watching a very suspicious looking cloud creep closer to me.  The leaves were acting suspicious as well, blowing around and what not.  Not wanting to get caught in the rain with my lunch goods spread about, and starting to feel like a nut job sitting there by myself giving the trees the evil eye, I ate quickly and moved on.  I can absolutely not wait for the day when it starts raining and I can say to myself "Well I guess I'll go inside."  When I can sit and enjoy a meal without having to watch every movement of some dark lurking cloud.  Anywho, I made my way down to Cloudland Rd. and had a nice field walk up the hill to Thistle Hill Shelter.  I blew past the shelter planning on getting water at the bottom of the hill at Dimick Brook.  It was 3pm and I was a little over 8 miles from my goal, totally doable.  Pleased with myself, I continued my descent down Thistle Hill, which included brief interruptions by two smaller hills.

I climbed up and over Bunker Hill, and slowly, a horrible pain started happening in my shoes.  Every step I took was resulting in severe toe pain.  Along with the insoles, I got new boots in Rutland.  That coupled with the fact that I had been walking in wet socks all day resulted in some serious chaffing of my toes.  Trying to break in new boots and new insoles by doing 20 miles with wet socks was proving to be one of my poorer decisions.  I tried to ignore it but every step I took was painful.  It was only 5:30 and I was just four miles shy of my goal, but I decided I needed to stop.  Just as I stood there making that decision it started to downpour. Awesome.  I made my way to the stream at the bottom of the hill to fill up on water and looked for a flat spot to camp.  I crossed some treacherous looking bog boards over another stream and found a flat spot on top of a ridge.  I went about the unfortunate business of setting up my tent in the pouring rain.  There really is no way to do this without getting everything you own soaking wet.  I thought briefly about limping my way the 4 miles to the shelter, but my feet were on the verge of tears.  So I put up my tent and crawled in and went about the process of drying myself off.

Like most hikers, I have a very small one man tent, so my pack doesn't fit inside.  It lives under the vestibule, so it is covered from the rain, but sits outside on the ground.  The one complaint I have about my tent is that the footprint (or groundcloth) is the exact size of my tent body.  I wish it would extend out to the area covered by the vestibule too.  That way, when I unknowingly set my tent up in moose poop, as I had just done, I would just have to clean off the bottom of my footprint, and not my pack and all of the items I have taken out and placed next to my pack.  It was dark and rainy and in the spastic setting up of my tent I had done something horrible to myself.  I was now sitting in the rain, in moose poop with bleeding feet.  Things have been better.  But the faint glimmer of light that was town tomorrow gave me the calm patience to slowly clean off my things, dry myself off, make some dinner and go to bed.

Around 11:30pm I was awoken by loud, boisterous drunken laughs.  I was camping about a 1/2 mile from a road, which led into West Hartford and under I-89.  I never normally camp so close to roads, but my feet were killing me and if I went on I would have had to walk at least another 1.5 miles, because once I got to that road I had a mile road walk ahead of me, including walking the I-89 underpass.  Camping near roads is one thing, camping ON roads just really isn't an option.  Unless I really want to get the feel for being homeless and sleep in the underpass, but I prefer to contain my homelessness to the woods.  So I had camped, by myself, near a road and there were now drunk locals wandering towards me.  I contemplated my options.  Well, they could be nice drunk locals, politely apologize for stumbling upon my camp and waking me up and go on their merry way.  Or they could be crazy killers out to rape and pillage.  My overactive imagination went with the latter.  I did a weapons inventory:  a small Gerber blade, 2 trekking poles and a small stash of moose poop grenades.  My best option to avoid these foes was to leave, quickly. 

I packed up my wet, shitty stuff quickly by red lamp so they wouldn't see my light, getting nervous as they were getting closer.  I figured I would just walk farther into the woods, back over the rickety wooden planks I crossed before.  They probably wouldn't come that far in and probably don't have the coordination required to cross the bog boards.  As I was hiking deeper into the woods, I laughed at the irony of the situation.  When I started this trip, many moons ago, I was a bit nervous to be in the woods by myself, let alone in the woods at night by myself.  Now here I was, four months later, hiking deeper into the woods by myself at night to feel safer.  I feel completely comfortable and safe in the woods, day and night.  The only scary thing out here is us.  In fact,  I think the only truly terrifying thing about the natural world is us and the things that we conjure.

I walked about another 1/2 mile deeper into the woods until I felt certain I was far enough back.  Exhausted, I set up my tent right on the side of the trail, didn't bother to stake it out (it's semi-free standing), didn't bother with the rain fly or the air mattress, just put my sleeping bag down and went to bed.  I got up at 5am to pack up, though it would have been nice to sleep a little later, but being my tent was practically on the trail and there are some early birds out there, I thought I should get out of the way.  I was also ready to pound out these 10 miles and get to town.  I hiked back to the road, turned right and began my road walk through West Hartford.  Obviously nothing was open as it was 6am, but I was a bit dismayed to learn I would have had a place to stay in town for free. There was a sign making business that had a sign (shocking) indicating hikers could camp in back and have access to their water and bathrooms. I could have avoided the entire rainy moose poop drunken local fiasco if I had just walked the 1/2 mile into town.  But how was I to know a random sign store would let me sleep in the safety of it's backyard. I made a mental note for my next thru-hike (yeah right) and continued to the I-89 underpass.

I made my way to Happy Hill Shelter and paused to break without bothering to go in the shelter.  I hobbled the remaining 4 miles down Happy Hill to Elm St. in Norwich, VT.  From here it was a bit over two miles of road walking.  Down Elm St. for one mile, then east on Main St. for 1.4 miles right over the Connecticut River and into New Hampshire.  Like the PA/NJ border, the line was actually on the bridge.  Main St. would lead me straight into the center of Hanover and Dartmouth College.  But before I did any of this I decided to stop and see what the hell was going on with my toes. It was truly becoming unbearable.  I plopped myself down right on the side of the road, took off my boots, peeled off my socks and recoiled in horror.  My pinkie toes had been replaced by 2 bloody stumps. Most of the skin had been completely chaffed off.  I immediately went about the process of cleaning them, applying antibiotic and wrapping them.  I then decided to forgo putting my boots back on and hiked the 2 1/2 miles in my sandals.  I would never normally do this, they are flimsy and offer no support considering the weight I'm carrying, but I couldn't stand the thought of putting my boots back on.

Just as I was finishing up my impromptu foot servicing, an older guy started walking down the street towards me.  He had no pack, but had a long beard, and was wearing hiking clothes and crocs so I assumed he was a hiker.  His name was Semper Fi and had already been in the area for three days.  He walked with me all the way into Hanover, telling me everything I needed to know about the town. He thought it was the most hiker friendly town he had been too. Hikers got free coffee and donuts at the bakery, a free slice of pizza at the pizza place, the Mountain Goat Outfitter gave hikers a snickers bar and the Dartmouth Outing Club (which actually maintained the section of the trail north of Hanover) let hikers use their building as a post to store packs while in town and had computers for us to use as well.  The only negative was that there really wasn't anywhere affordable to stay.  The only hotel, the Hanover Inn, which was conveniently located in the center, catered more to the rich Dartmouth parents and not the hikers.  But the DOC had so kindly put together a list of 10-12 locals who would let hikers stay at their homes for free.  Semper was staying at Wayne's, who actually lived back in Norwich and was the first house I passed coming out of the woods.  Normally there is a free bus that runs between the two towns but not on weekends, which it was, which is why he was walking.

We got to the bridge and I took my first joyous steps into NH!!  I asked Semper to take a picture of me with the border sign, but being an older gentleman that has never touched an iPhone, I later saw that I ended up with two close ups of his nose instead.  Oh well.  I was in NH and nothing could ruin the happiness that gave me.  We finally arrived in Hanover, which was the most adorable and quaint college town I ever did see.  Right in front of me was the giant grassy mall, to my right the Hanover Inn and Main St. which was full of restaurants, shops and co-eds milling about.  Semper and I parted ways and I migrated towards a bench in the mall.  I just wanted to sit.  I found who other than Spirit also having a good sit.  She had been in town a day and was staying another to see a chiropractor about her hip.  Everyone was falling apart.  Good thing we only had the hardest section left.  She handed me a list of strangers I could go stay with, and while normally I would be thrilled to have a house to stay at for free, at that precise moment as I sat with my bleeding feet, soaking shit covered gear and puffy two hours of sleep eyes, I was really craving my own nice personal space.  Not a cult, not a pub, not a wedding animal farm, just a nice normal hotel room.  I can honestly say that was the moment I was starting to get a bit tired of the hiking and camping portion of my hiking and camping trip across America. 

Rather than make any decisions I continued to sit in the grass and wait for Pants.  I know he had gotten to Thistle Hill Shelter just when it started to rain and assumed he just stayed there, which meant he had farther to hike today.  When he arrived I learned that he had actually left and camped literally on the south side of the stream I had crossed and tried to camp by.  He had found a flat spot up the hill a bit so he wasn't right on the trail, but that means I walked right past him during my retreat from the drunks, and again in the wee hours of the morning.  We had a good laugh at this after which Pants stopped and said to me "You look awful."  I told him the Hanover Inn was $170, then showed him the list of people we could stay with.  He could tell by the look on my face that I was ready to just fork over the money to have my own space for a night and just rest.  The fancy hotel it was.  We were excited to play 'real people' for once instead of the usual 'Can I put my tent up here?' We decided we would stay two nights to rest up before the Whites.  Even though I was currently exhausted, the nervous excitement I had for the Whites was building up inside me.  But first, I had to clean the moose shit off my stuff. 

We'll Just Pretend We Didn't See That Sign (Vermont : Aug 4th-6th)

After the phenomenal sunrise on top of Bromley, we all contemplated going back to bed, but we were up so we ought to get hiking. The morning flew by quickly. Pants and I hiked past Mad Tom Notch, up Styles Peak, up Peru Peak and landed at Griffith Lake for lunch. This was an awesome site, tons of tent spots right on the lake, a nice fire pit and a privy. Since the elevation profile showed an easy afternoon, we decided to take a long lunch here. Very few hikers walked by as we swam and did crossword puzzles all afternoon. Around 3pm, when we were thinking about packing up, the sky started to darken and we could feel a storm coming. Looking at the sky, it looked like it would pass quickly, so our options were to start hiking now and deal with it, OR we could quickly set up our tents and wait it out. We got our tents set up just in time for the nasty storm that blew over the lake. It lasted about an hour, and I spent that time making warm whiskey drinks and finishing my crosswords. By the time the storm passed it was already past 4pm, I was a couple hot toddies deep, my tent was cozy and I wasn't going anywhere. Pants agreed and we called it a seven mile day. This would not be the last single digit day in VT for Pants and I.

To make up for our short day we vowed we would do a 20 the next. It looked like it would be an easy 20, with only one small climb over Bear Mountain (yeah another). We got an earlyish start, went past Baker Peak, past a few shelters and after Big Black Branch Bridge (say that 3 times fast) decided to have lunch at a stream. We tucked ourselves deep inside the trees and took our shoes off to soak our feet. After lunch Pants got hiking a bit earlier than me, but I eventually pulled myself away from the cool water and started hiking. I made my way up to White Rocks Cliff, where I encountered some bizzare rock sculptures on the trail that must be from the aliens.

On my descent, right outside Greenwall Shelter I ran into a group of young guys wondering where they could find water, as the shelter was known to be dry, and currently was (if you are wondering how I know these things, my guidebook indicates if a water source is reliable or not, this year it's safe to assume all unreliable sources are nonexistent, so plan ahead). I asked if they were going north or south, confused by this, I pointed in the two directions. They indicated south. I told them it was three miles to the stream where I had lunch.  They looked distraught, and I asked why they didn't get water at Bully Brook, which they would had passed, and I was about to in a mile and a half. Instead of answering my question they proceeded to bitch about why "they" didn't put water up here. They? You mean nature? No one's in charge of the water kid, it's either here or it's not.  I gave them a liter, knowing I could get more at the base and wished them luck.

On my way down to Bully Brook I passed an entire group of Jewish kids wearing black pants and panting up the hill. They all asked how far it was to the top, I tried to say as encouragingly as possible it was only a mile, most of them weren't carrying anything, let alone water. Even further down I found two kids slumped up against a tree. I asked if they were alright, they said they were fine and wanted to know how far the shelter was. I told them a little over a mile and warned them about the water. A bit further down I ran into who I assume was their leader, who seemed to be struggling with another kid who was insisting on wearing his pack slung on one shoulder like a book bag. He was too cool for hip belts. I smiled sympathetically and snuck past. I was ready for amateur hour to be over.

I ran into Pants at Bully Brook (full of water!) and we started our climb up Bear Mountain, if you could call it a climb. Thank you to whoever was in charge of that bit of trail. It was the most elegantly switchbacked climb, I hardly had to exert any effort. We made our descent down the less than elegant north side to Minerva Hinchley Shelter. The only other hiker there was Falls, who we met in NY and hadn't seen since. It stayed just the three of us all night, with a few trail maintainers roaming past (to whom I thanked for the awesome trail). After a very stormy night I packed up my sopping wet tent, chatted with the ridgerunner who had stopped by and headed on my way. We were aiming for Cooper Lodge Shelter that night, 16 miles away. That would set us up for an easy 5 miles into Rutland, VT. I stopped at a nice view that unfortunately looked over the Rutland airport and headed down to Claredon Shelter for lunch. After lunch I headed up and over Beacon Hill and landed on Keiffer Rd. I found Pants trying to dry out his tent on the deserted gravel road. We crossed a small grassy area and came to Cold River Road. Here is where things got interesting.

A sign at the road crossing directed us to take a road walk detour for the next two miles, as the original trail was closed due to damage caused by Hurricane Irene. Now the ridgerunner that morning said without saying that the trail was still kinda passable if we wanted to check out the damage. Even though we were told a couple of bridges had been washed out, we figured we could deal with that and it would be worth it seeing what the hurricane did to the woods and the trail. So, we pretended we didn't see the "Warning Trail Closed" sign and made our way down the trail. The maintainers had done a pretty good job clearing the trail, but the woods looked pretty demolished. Trees and branches were blown everywhere. There were a few times where we lost the trail because it had been washed away, but otherwise we could find our way ok. We had to cross one stream that used to have a footbridge, and the bridge over Robinson Brook had been wiped out, it's sad remains scattered about. The maintainers had set a 'replacement bridge' there, which was basically a ladder laid down over a fallen tree, but I can't complain as I wasn't even suppose to be there.

We finally emerged on the other side of the Hurricane Irene section right before Governer Clement shelter. We ran into DayGlow, who had taken the detour, and seemed pretty bummed when we told him it was passable. I can't imagine what it would have been like for the hikers out in that. Living outside for the majority of the last 5 months, I have developed an immense amount of respect for mother nature. She is powerful, does not care about you or your agenda, and my current life is completely controlled by her. She decides where I go, how long it takes me to get there, and how comfortable I am during that journey.

We arrived at Governer Clement in the late afternoon and decided to push to Cooper Lodge Shelter. AWOL (our guide book) said it was 6.8 miles, but a sign in the shelter said it was only four, and that was backed up by a SoBo who had just arrived. Apparently AWOL messed up, the shelter was only 4, but the road after, US 4, was two miles further than what the book stated. So we started our climb up Mt. Killington, trusting AWOL was wrong and we wouldn't end up night hiking. The climb up Killington was insanely steep, but I enjoyed taking my time and watching the sun slowly set through the trees.

I got there before dark, unfortunately the shelter was full of some child group of some sort, but there were tent pads high above the shelter far away from them. There were two other hikers, a section hiker and another lady named Bluebird who was hiking the Long Trail. She had the same tent as me, but really had no clue how to set it up. Pants and I helped her get situated and spent dinner answering all her questions. She was genuinely eager to learn and seemed very appreciative to find people willing to take the time to teach her. We all eventually drifted off to bed. Pants and I were heading into Rutland the next day with plans to simply resupply then hitch back out, but a very friendly cult and an Irish Pub had other plans for us...