A Thousand and One Appalachian Tales
part sixteen
Back On Track
Back in Albany, Düg could not sit still, he had to go back. The Trail was calling him. He had unfinished business; he had to get to Maine. As the days rolled by, it became clear - short of a lobotomy, nothing could get the Trail out of his head. He began to prepare for his triumphant return. He bought new boots, an extremely comfortable pair of Hi-Techs which felt more like sneakers than boots, but with extra traction. They had good grip and that was what mattered most. He hadn't mailed himself any food past Mt Washington, so he did that as well. Then, when he could put it off no longer, he loaded up in Mark's van with Damian and Bago and headed out. The three of them were part of Albany's alternative music scene. Indeed, one could say they comprised the totality of it. Mark played in a band called Grim Surprise and Damian and Bago played in an Industrial Noise band called Condemek, which stood for Contemporary De-mechanization. Mark went on to form Kill-Tech while Damian is currently producing his sixth CD with a group called Skyline down in Manhattan's music scene. We're not sure what ever happened to Bago.
The van full of music majors and a monk did not travel south to New Jersey but instead headed east to Vermont. Düg realized that if he returned to where he got off, at the Delaware Water Gap, he wouldn't make it to Katahdin before the end of the season. He wanted to get back on in Massachusetts but after a late start, decided on just east of Bennington, Vt. It was a little after four when he said goodbye to his friends, turned, and headed into the woods.
A mile and a half later, he arrived at the Melville-Nauheim Shelter for the evening. Amazingly, who should be there, standing on the porch watching him as he walked up, but none other than Ken Bushpig! Ken stood there speechless. He could not believe it. Neither could The Monk. This was the last person he saw before getting off the Trail. He took this as a sign, as if the Trail itself was welcoming him back with open arms. It filled him with gratitude. He was glad to be back.
Also in the shelter was someone with the strangest backpack he had ever seen. It had a specially constructed frame which arched over the hiker and extended out in front of him. This could serve no practical purpose, thought The Monk. But then, he discovered who the pack belonged to -- none other than
Lynne Whelden, producer of the infamous Five Million Steps: The A.T. Thru-hikers' Story! It turned out he was working on his next big documentary, this time on the Long Trail.
Extending some 270 miles from Massachusetts to Canada, the Long Trail is the oldest long-distance hiking trail in America. For it's first 97.1 miles(in 01988, today that number is closer to 105 miles) from the Massachusetts-Vermont Line to Sherburne Pass, the Appalachian Trail "takes a back seat" to the Long Trail. That is to say they share the same path but for historical purposes it is called the Long Trail. Then, at Sherburne Pass, the Appalachian Trail turns right and continues on to Maine, while the Long Trail continues straight, all the way to Canada.
Lynne was out filming, this time to document the Long Trail. He had specially constructed his packframe so that he could mount a camera. His idea was to have the camera either on himself, so he could narrate his journey as he walked, or on the Trail, so it looked like it would if you were hiking it yourself. It would be the closest thing to being in the front row, without actually being there. The Monk had never before heard of or seen anything like it. He wondered if a tack and pulley system was required so it could be lowered down onto Lynne from above. Lynne admitted it was sometimes difficult. Lynne demonstrated by climbing into the center and lifting the apparatus up onto his shoulders like it was made of Helium. No problem.
Also rounding out the shelter was Mr. Rogers and another hiker out for the weekend. The Monk spent much of the evening catching up and reading the Trail Register. One thing he noticed was that Zero was now calling himself Lizard Boy; somewhere along the way, he started to grow a tail and he was documenting it's most notable characteristics. He also seemed to have had a falling out with Pablo and Mom, whom he had hiked with almost all the way from Georgia through Pennsylvania.
Apparently, this turned out to be quite a story. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, the group had encounter a heavy piece of steel shank. Zero, noted it's weight and said, off hand, how amusing it would be if, as a practical joke, someone carried it in their pack without knowing it. He thought no more of it and quickly forgot about it, but when he wasn't looking, someone did just that - to him! They buried the heavy piece of steel deep into his pack. All throughout the day Zero complained that he thought his pack seemed heavier but no one let on that he was carrying the heavy piece of steel and somehow he did not put two and two together. Then, at the end of the day, when they reached the next shelter for the evening, Zero discovered the steel shank when he was unpacking his gear. Needless to say, he was very upset. He felt that it would have been funny for about five minutes but all day was simply too much. He felt this was simply sadistic and cruel. The Monk had to agree. He would have been more than a little upset if that had happened to him.
The next day, The Monk took it easy. He wanted to get his walking legs back before attempting anything major. Nevertheless it was a long slow ascent to the summit of Glastenbury Mountain(3,748 ft). To get there he had to pass over the summit of Porcupine Ridge (2,815 ft), Little Pond Mountain (3,100 ft), Little Pond lookout (3,060 ft) and a nameless peak (3,331 ft) before arriving at Goddard Shelter in the early afternoon. Goddard was massive, looking more like the soundstage for Monsters of Rock than a shelter. It had an enormous open view to the east for sunrise and was very close to the summit of Glastenbury, with it's abandoned firetower, for sunsets. All in all, it looked like an ideal place to take a large group, were it not for the long difficult climb it took to get there. The Monk would have loved to spend the night. Alas, it was far too early in the day for that. He made a mental note to stop back someday and went on to the firetower for splendid 360 degree views.
Continuing on, the Trail ascended yet another nameless peak (3,412 ft) before crossing the shoulder of a nameless ridge. From there, it was a short distance further to Story Spring Shelter where The Monk arrived in early evening. There he ran into Guido John Lennon and his girlfriend. The last time he ran into Guido was way back in Virginia. It was good to see him again. Interestingly, way back in Virginia, Guido had nothing but rave reviews for his freeze dried dinners. Now however, after consuming so many of them, he practically begged him to trade. The Monk, tired of his dinners as well, could not help but find this an attractive offer.
The following morning began with an easy hike to Black Brook and Arlington-West Wardsboro Road. The Trail ascended over a ridge before reaching Willis Ross Clearing at the SE corner of Stratton Pond. This is the largest body of water on the Long Trail and the most heavily used location on the Vermont AT. To keep impact to a minimum, GMC caretakers were stationed there to supervise use. The Monk passed a large tent belonging to the caretaker. After following the eastern shore of Stratton Pond, the Trail ascended several minor ridges and crossed the Winhall River via a footbridge before reaching the Lye Brook Wilderness. After passing through a few wet areas and crossing a few more streams and ridges, the Trail eventually brought him to Spruce Peak Shelter for the evening.
Spruce Peak Shelter was affectionately known as "The Palace" and with good reason. It was simply one of the finest shelters on the Trail. It had a sliding front door, two floors of sleeping areas, and a wood stove. It also had one heck of a fresh, piped spring. One got the sense that they took their shelters very seriously in Vermont.
As the evening progressed, Buddy Bear and Bare Bait arrived. They were happily surprised to see The Monk. They had read his Register entry at Melville-Nauheim and wondered if that was him. As they chatted around a small campfire, it began to feel as though he had never left. It was wonderful to be back in such good company.
The next day, The Monk hiked with Buddy Bear and Bare Bait to Routes 11 & 30. The Bears had a food drop in Manchester Center. Although, The Monk did not, this turned out to be an easy hitch and as there was room for three, The Monk joined them. They stopped for lunch in a small cafe before returning to the Trail in late afternoon. As the days were getting shorter, they barely had time to reach Mad Tom Shelter before dusk. That night they enjoyed the company of one of the few southbounders heading to Springer Mtn. He mentioned Pickin' Keith behind him and recommended, should they see him, to stop him for a tune.
As the Monk scoured the Trail Register, one thing he noticed was a few entries detailing the latest craze sweeping the Trail - hiking naked! Apparently, this started when, during a moment of wet weather, a few northbounders realized they could keep their clothes dry (or drier, anyway) by simply not wearing any. The hype was somewhere between a Fruit-of-the-Loom and a York Peppermint Patty commercial. It gave him the willies just thinking about it. He wondered what they did when they encountered other hikers.
The next day, The Monk felt like he had never left the Trail; all his energy and stamina returned with a vengeance. He sped ahead, reaching the summit of Styles Peak (3,394 ft) like it was a cake walk. From there, the Trail dropped steeply down before ascending once again, this time to the summit of Peru Peak (3,429 ft). There, atop the peak he encountered Pickin' Keith. As he approached, The Monk recognized him immediately by the guitar strapped to his pack. On request, Pickin' Keith dropped his pack and played the entire Tangled Up In Blue, by Bob Dylan, right there on the summit! It was awesome, a singular moment. The Monk thanked him and wished him all the best in his journey to Springer. Then, the two went their separate ways.
From Peru Peak, the Trail once more descended, this time to Griffith Lake. This was another GMC caretaker controlled area so he stopped for a chat before ascending over Baker Peak (2,850 ft) to Lost Pond Shelter for a late lunch.
It was looking like rain was on the horizon so The Monk decided to push on. He passed two more shelters -- one, a mile east on a side trail, called Old Job Shelter, and the other Big branch Shelter -- before reaching Danby-Landgrove Road. From the road, the Trail followed Little Black Branch before reaching Little Rock Pond. At the north end sat Little Rock Pond Shelter where he stopped for the evening. No sooner had he reached the shelter than it started to pour. And pour it did.
He enjoyed a cold rainy evening alone in the shelter reading the book he had brought with him for the journey, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert M. Pirsig. He was amazed at the eerie parallels and how it seemed to be the perfect book for the occasion. Before he left the military, he read Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. He marveled at how he had a knack for reading the right book at the right time.
It rained throughout the night and continued to do so through morning. The Monk contemplated staying there another day but grew restless. He needed to continue on and decided a little rain wasn't going to hurt him. He contemplated hiking naked like many in the Trail Registers had done but could not bring himself to do it. Instead, he stripped down to his shorts, put a rain cover over his pack, a giant poncho over both him and his pack, and headed out. The rain made the going tough. His ascent along the ridge of White Rocks Mountain was made treacherous by the rain. The ground was so soaked it would at times give way beneath his feet. As he approached Greenwall Shelter he noticed tarps in front. Expecting a few lone hikers he was surprised to see 5 or 6 thru-hikers huddled inside, waiting out the rain. He did not think he could make it to the next shelter so they made room. It continued to rain throughout the day and evening.
The next day, the rain showed no signs of stopping and the others no sign of leaving, so The Monk threw on his poncho and headed out. The Trail passed through a pasture and by a farmhouse before crossing the gravel Sugar Hill Road. From there it was a short distance to Wallingford Gulf Road before passing old ruins and ascending steeply up Button Hill. Thankfully, by this time the rain had stopped and The Monk was able to do without the poncho. He stopped in briefly at Minerva Hinchey Shelter to read and sign the Trail Register before continuing on to Mill River, at the head of Clarendon Gorge. There, he crossed the river on a high suspension bridge before reaching Rutland-Bellows Falls Highway, aka Vt 103. There he was afforded excellent views of Killington Peak, off in the distance. This induced a rather Pavlovian response.
Continuing on, The Monk soon passed Clarendon Shelter and several unpaved roads before reaching the Governor Clement Shelter, in an overgrown field, for a late lunch. While there, he had to take a dump (as is the technical term) and consequently discovered first hand the strange humor of the mountain clubs which maintain these shelters.
There were three member clubs of the Appalachian Trail Conference which maintained the Trail in New Hampshire and Vermont. The Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) and the US Forest Service maintained the Trail from Grafton Notch, Maine, south to Kinsman Notch. The Dartmouth Outing Club (DOC) maintained the Trail from Kinsman Notch south to Vt 12, and the Green Mountain Club (GMC) maintained the Trail from Vt 12 to the Massachusetts-Vermont state line. It seemed they were quite competitive in more ways than one. They were competitive not just in the shelter department, but in the outhouse department as well. But these were not just outhouses, they were works of art! As a case in point, the Governor Clement Shelter area was also home to the Lt Governor Jarvis Snodgrass Memorial Gazebo! This was a polygon shaped structure with a full 360 degree screened in view and it's own Register. It was set a good ways away from the shelter so as to afford it's clientele a modicum of privacy but it still made for a memorable if not entirely moving experience.
The Monk was anxious to get going. Having watched Killington Peak grow larger as he approached, he was filled with an unbridled enthusiasm, to get up close and personal. He turned left off a logging road and began a climb steadily through hardwoods and spruce. He continued over the south flank of Little Killington reaching Consultation Point (3,760 ft) where he stopped briefly to rest and enjoy the fine views of the valley below.
Continuing on, the Trail ascended steeply to the summit of Killington Peak (4,235 ft). From there he was afforded excellent views in every direction. To the west he could see the Adirondack and Taconic ranges in New York as well as Mt Mansfield to the north. But most inspiring was his view to the northeast of the White Mountains in New Hampshire. This was his first look at mountains he had dreamed about almost all his life.
Way back in third grade he had read a science fiction trilogy by John Christopher. Set in the future when an alien race has conquered earth, mankind has been "capped" and mind controlled into obedience. The story was about a young boy's journey and how teams of free people, not under the influence of the Tripods, destroy the alien cities and free humanity. The three books, When the Tripods Came, The White Mountains, and The City of Gold and Lead, left a deep impression upon his young mind. When he discovered in the second book that an underground group of freemen lived in the White Mountains, he knew someday he would have to visit those mountains. And now, for the first time, he gazed upon those tall, majestic peaks like a life long dream come true.
The threat of rain and a cold, blustery wind compelled him not to stay too long so at last he turned and descended to Cooper Lodge for the evening. This was a large, closed stone and frame cabin, containing many familiar faces. Mr. Rogers and Ken Bushpig were there as were the Great Descenders and the Lemondrop Kid. Shortly thereafter, Buddy Bear and Bare Bait arrived.
August 27th, it was downhill all the way to US 4 and Sherburne Pass. There, it was a little confusing picking up the Trail on the other side. The Monk grew concerned for he was heading north on the Long Trail, having missed the right turn at Albuquerque. But he soon found a sign which set his mind at ease. He continued on over a spur then down into a swampy area before passing through Gifford Woods State Park. From Gifford Woods, the Trail skirted around the southern shore of Kent Pond before passing through the backyard of the Mountain Meadow Inn where he stopped for the evening.
The Inn was full of more familiar faces. Lynne Welden was there, sans the backpack from hell. Ken Bushpig was there also as were most of the folks from Cooper Lodge. It was raining again so it was a good time to be inside for the evening. The gang never got rowdy and The Monk slipped to bed early. Many folks had a quiet, nervous need to expedite their northward exodus. A sense that the season was growing short pervaded the atmosphere.
The following day, The Monk said goodbye to Lynne and wished him luck on his Long Trail adventures. Then, he turned and once more began following the white blazes to Maine.
Not Too Smarts
The Trail ascended quickly out of Sherburne Valley alongside Quimby Brook. It continued to ascend through a notch in the ridge before descending steeply to Windfall Brook, a tributary of Stony Brook. There, it crossed and re-crossed Stony Brook several times before reaching Stony Brook Shelter. It was still morning so The Monk stopped briefly to sign and read the Trail Register, then continued on. The Trail climbed steadily on a logging road beside Mink Brook before ascending the shoulder of a ridge then descending to the North Branch of Ottauquechee River. From there it periodically followed Chatauguay Road before reaching the high point of a low ridge and ascending via switchbacks to The Lookout. It then descended to Lookout Farm Road before crossing Atwood Brook. It passed through a gap between Pinnacle and Cobb Hill before reaching the trail junction which led to Wintturi Shelter for the evening.
Day 120 began with an easy hike to Vt 12 before continuing on to South Pomfret-Pomfret Road. From there it was an easy hike to Cloudland Shelter. It was only a little after noon but as the next shelter was 9.4 miles away, The Monk decided to stop and enjoy a leisurely afternoon. He spent some time reading Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
The next day was an easy push to Hanover. After crossing over Thistle Hill (1,626 ft), the Trail turned right onto the unpaved King's Highway before crossing over Bunker Hill to turn left onto the paved West Hartford-Quechee Road. There, it followed the road across a bridge over the White River to Vt 14 in the village of West Hartford.
From West Hartford, the Trail turned right onto Tigertown Road, crossed railroad tracks then continued on under I-81 where a long easy ascent over the shoulder of Griggs Mountain brought The Monk to Happy Hill Cabin for lunch.
After, he continued on. The Trail followed several old roads down to Elm Street. It crossed Hopson Road, then over Bloody Brook, before turning right onto US 5. From US 5 it bore left onto Vt 10A, to pass under I-91, then it crossed over the Connecticut River into Hanover and New Hampshire. It was a short distance further to the Edgarton House Episcopal Student Center where The Monk met up with several other thru-hikers spending the evening.
There was a poorly concealed circus-like quality to the air, so The Monk joined the others for a night on the town. There he ran into Pablo and Mom whom he hadn't seen since Pennsylvania. It was like old times and many stories were shared over pitchers of beer. They explained they had been there for a couple of days slackpacking and were leaving tomorrow. Slackpacking sounded like an excellent idea.
The next day, The Monk discovered the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet at Thayer Hall and the hot showers at Dartmouth Gym. Both were excellent. He then hit up the Post Office and the Dartmouth Co-op Hiking Shop. He did not need to buy Coleman fuel, however, as there was plenty back at the Student Center. In the afternoon he enjoyed a leisurely stroll through the Campus Bookstore then joined Buddy Bear and Bare Bait, who had just arrived, for a fine dinner at a local establishment. Life was good on the AT! Buddy Exclaimed.
That evening The Monk made plans with Guido to slackpack the next day. They went to bed early, left their packs behind and hitched out to Lyme-Dorchester Rd. It was rather chilly so The Monk made a mental note to remember to call home for some cold weather gear.
Heading south back to Dartmouth, they lingered briefly at Holts Ledges where the morning sun was warming up nicely. Thick clouds were rising up off the valley below and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, like in a dream. It was hard to leave. With monumental effort, they continuing on. They descended to Goose Pond Road before ascending steeply over the north peak of Moose Mountain (2,300 ft). There, the Trail followed the ridgeline, dropping slightly, before ascending to the south peak. Somewhere around there The Monk lost Guido when he ran into Mr. Rogers heading north. They chatted briefly then continued on in opposite directions. The Monk soon crossed Three Mile Road, then Etna-Hanover Center Road in the early afternoon. Time seemed to be slipping away from him so he tried to speed it up. But the Trail got a little confusing and there was no sign of Guido. He almost missed the right turn onto Dogford Road but somehow regained the Trail which continued on to Trescott Road. He began to feel as though he should have been back by now. He continued on passing over the Velvet Rocks in the mid afternoon. Finally, he returned "home" to the Student center in the late afternoon. It had been a longer day than expected. Back at the Student Center, he ran into Guido. Guido had apparently gotten as far as Etna-Hanover Center Road before bailing out with an easy hitch back to the ranch.
That night The Monk called home and had some long underwear, hat, gloves, and a windbreaker sent ahead to the PO at Glencliff, NH. He had it sent two-day delivery. Then he went out and enjoyed a final night on the town.
The next day, after a late start and a bit of difficulty finding a hitch back to Lyme-Dorchester Road, he at last found himself staring at the trail which led up Lambert Ridge to Smarts Mountain. As he had a package being shipped to the Glencliff PO, he found himself in the unusual position of being somewhat ahead of schedule. He wasn't quite sure what to do. It perhaps would have been best if he had simply stayed an extra night in Hanover. But he did not really consider this an option. As The Philosopher's Guide pointed out, in 01987 "so many people had converged on this place [the Student Center] that the minister was left feeling used and abused by the end of the season." He was very thankful for the opportunity to stay at the Student Center and did not want to contribute to any ill feelings which may or may not have been present.
But now The Monk was plagued with another logistical problem. Today was Friday, September 2nd. He had to wait at least a day to allow for his package to arrive and he was still at least a day and a half away from Glencliff, NH. Yet this would put him there on Sunday. Thus, he reckoned, he had two days to kill atop Smarts Mountain.
It was warming up to be a hot day so he decided against following the Trail up Lambert Ridge. There did not appear to be any water that way so he decided to take the Smarts Mountain Ranger Trail instead. This was a very steep ascent which followed a stream bed much of the way. He enjoyed the tough, incredibly steep, ascent and soon found himself at the summit of Smarts Mountain (3,240 ft) in the early afternoon. Already at the summit was a large contingent of folks from the Dartmouth Outing Club. It seemed, Dartmouth had a requirement that all Freshmen participate in the Outing Club as part of orientation. Luckily, they were all staying at the Firewarden's Cabin. This left the Smarts Mountain Shelter available. It looked like he would have this all to himself.
After dinner, he strolled over to Firetower with a can of beer and climbed the rickety ladder to the top for sunset. He had some company from a few of the Dartmouth people and together they watched an awesome spectacle. The sky filled with a dazzling display, passing through all the colors of the rainbow, before the stars came out. The Monk climbed down and strolled back to his side of the Mountain for the night.
The next day, he was all alone, the Outing Club had moved on. He made coffee and enjoyed a leisurely morning regaling in the sights, sounds and smells of Smarts Mountain. He loved the smell of fresh pine. Later, he strolled down the path to the outhouse to discover that even there, atop Smarts Mountain the creative juices of the Mountain Clubs were working overtime. The outhouse was designed like a Delorian, with angel-wing doors, a steering wheel and seat belt. It had a horn, speedometer, windshield wiper and footpedals. On the back was a sign which read, The Ultimate Driving Machine. It was situated at the top of a steep hill which had been laboriously clearly away to lend to the joke that, if you were perhaps rather constipated, and you pushed hard enough, you just might drive right off the edge. It was too much and The Monk laughed for hours.
He returned to the shelter and read the Trail Register a second time. He read more of his book and made soup. But in the end, he began to go just a tad stir crazy, sitting up there with nothing to do. How was he to make it another day? Thankfully, just about near wit's end, Buddy bear and Bare Bait arrived looking fully exhausted from the climb. They felt this had been the toughest climb on the entire Trail so far. The Monk gingerly reminded them of Albert Mountain in Georgia but they had taken the fire road on that occasion.
Bare Bait did not like the looks of the Shelter so she opted for the floor of the Firewarden's Cabin instead. Buddy Bear joined her. Later, Guido arrived with his girlfriend so the Monk had some company in the Shelter.
After dinner, they all joined together for the scheduled sunset show atop the firetower. They stayed up late gazing into the coals of a fire Buddy Bear had built over by the Warden's Cabin. Finally, The Monk drifted back to the Shelter and went to sleep.
The next day, he could not stand another minute atop Smarts Mountain so he joined Buddy Bear and Bare Bait as they headed on. The Trail descended steeply following Mousley Brook most of the way down. From there they followed a well worn road for a ways before making a sharp right turn to begin a steep ascent up Mt Cube (2,911 ft). From the summit, the Trail briefly followed the ridge before descending steeply via switchbacks to NH 25A. The Monk, not sure what to do, decided he would continue on to Jeffer's Brook Shelter. This was only a little ways past Glencliff so he thought, at worst, he could hike back next morning to retrieve his package.
Crossing NH 25A, the Trail entered a swampy area before ascending gradually. They soon reached NH 25C then continued on over the summit of Mt Mist (2,220 ft). They descended steeply, reaching the saddle between Mt Mist and Webster Slide and Wachipauka Pond. From there it was an easy hike over Wyatt Hill to NH 25 and the town of Glencliff. Since he was already there The Monk decided to stroll over to the PO to see what time it opened tomorrow. To his surprise, he discovered the PO was someone's house! He knocked politely on the door and when the man came to the door, explained his situation. Within minutes he had his package and was back on the Trail. He could hardly believe it. The Trail magic had worked once again! A few minutes later he arrived at Jeffer's Brook Shelter for the evening.
It was a full house and some had pitched tents. Ken Bushpig was there as was Mr. Rogers, Chris and Beth, The Great Descenders, and a few others. The Monk found room in the shelter and unrolled his bag. As he cooked dinner, conversation turned to the inevitable end-of-the-Trail blues. Many were chagrined by that which laying waiting for them on the far side of Katahdin. Some talked of sabotaging their journey to avoid the defeat of victory. Others mentioned the infamous Yo-yo who could not let the good hike end and turned around and headed back again.
The Monk had no answers. He knew the end was, baring the unforeseeable, a forgone conclusion. Why avoid the unavoidable? It seemed to him silly to come all that way just to turn back at the last instant out of some strange sense of nostalgia. The end was the end, with or without reaching Katahdin. Better to complete the journey than to leave it unfulfilled; better to reach Katahdin than to forever wish that you had.
It was late so he cleaned up and went to bed. In spite of everything, he was excited. Tomorrow he would enter The White Mountains! He could hardly wait. It was a lifelong dream come true.
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