Day 1 (67), Sun 08/27, Gov Clement Shelter, 10.6
I think I’ve joined a cult. I’m weak. They put a plate of eggs in front of me and told me to eat them. I hate eggs. I ate them. They’ve got control of me and I didn’t even read any of the literature. I knew this would happen. My best “out” will be when they make me turn over my assets and discover I don’t have any, they’ll kick me out.
They were really nice. I could’ve lost my soul, but the deli was closed down “for remodeling”. As I recall, the source of the Boulder Wildfire was traced to the local Yellow Deli and they are being sued for the billions of dollars of damage that caused. They (the almighty They who are suing the Yellow Deli) are trying to say all the Yellow Delis are actually just one entity and THEY are going after all their assets. This Yellow Deli is quietly giving away their assets one roll of tp at a time.
I was in the common room trying to find the TV remote, but first I had to find the TV (🎶“no outside voices here”🎶). One of the caretakers came by and gave me a roll of toilet paper. When I went back to my bunk, there was another roll there. I’ve got tp coming out of my ass. (I’ve quit using my wet wipes because of the mouldering privies so maybe it’s not coming out of my ass but just stuck there—either way, I’ve got plenty of tp).
Sadly, there are plenty of dirt bag “hikers” that are taking advantage of this hiker hostel. I’m pretty sure homeless people have figured out that they can stay for free, without any pressure, if they can find an old backpack. They’ve already got the hiker smell down.
There was no pressure to join or read the literature, but there was a standing, open invitation to visit the farm. A few did. A few said they wished they had more time. The majority got out after 1 or 2 days. The imposter hikers had been there for weeks. Myself, I bought fuel for my stove, left a $30 tip, and caught the 9:15 free bus to the trail.
The trail continued to be beautiful in spite of all the dire warnings of “mud, terrible mud, so much mud” I got from every NOBO hiker I passed. I stepped around a few muddy patches and decided to have lunch at 1st shelter—it had been almost 2 1/2 hours since I last ate.
On the way of to Killington Summit, I ran into a girl that seemed familiar. Her name was trooper. She was hiking the Long Trail NOBO. We had met at the Yellow Deli yesterday just as I was arriving. She’s walked all the trail south of here to the Massachusetts border and told me the mud was about like this all the way—about 1/4 of the trail has mud. By my 2018 experience, Vermont is in a drought.
I met probably another 7-8 people I’d met at the Yellow Deli throughout the rest of the day. Most of them had ignored me at the YD but now they realized I was a SOBO and could answer their burning questions: no you’re not going to die, The Whites are not that bad; cut your mileage expectations in half through The Whites; resupply in Norwich rather than Hanover; stay at The Cabin, Maine Roadhouse, and Shaw’s in Maine; there’s a good hundred miles of Maine you can make time up on; the rivers are all down, you’re going to have to do something really stupid if you’re going to die in the Whites or Maine, but I have faith in you.
I ran into Shamrock again, he was slack-packing today. We originally met in The Whites and then bumped into each other again at the YD. He will finish his hike when he makes it back up to Franconia Notch. He was with the Green Mountain Club ridge runner.
I was considering going further than Governor Clement Shelter but there was something too appealing that kept me there. The shelter had chairs—real chairs with backs and 4 legs. I took one to my camping area and used it to set up camp, cook, and just sit in. It was a forgotten bit of civilization that made it out to camp. Life is good.
Day 2 (68), Greenwall Shelter, 14.9
Easy walking for the first 7 miles. I’m still looking for the terrible mud but I’m missing it. Maybe my tolerance has built up after coming through the wettest month in Maine’s history.
When I started my decent into Clarendon Gorge, I ran into an old guy coming uphill sweating bad and complaining about how hard the Long Trail was. He was telling me he and his 74 year old father had planned on hiking the entire LT, but it was too hard on his old father. He was worried about putting so much stress on his dad. They have changed their minds and will be happy with making it to Rutland and 100 miles. A few minutes later, the dad emerged from the ascent. He looked strong (and actually younger than his son). The first thing he said was “give me back my walking sticks.” The son gave him the sticks and headed on. I talked to the dad for a bit. It’s true, he’s 74 and from Kent. He’s lived in the US for 38 years but needs to go back to England to take care of his 96 year old mother. He didn’t even appear to be sweating. I’m wondering who was truly struggling.
Also this morning, I immediately hit it off with another NOBO—Conductor. We both noticed the commonalities when we were talking. We eventually got around to figuring out we were both automation engineers. Then we discovered we both worked for Bridgestone at the same time. We started naming off everyone we both knew. Geoff Hobe still works for Bridgestone in Akron but I’m on full time “run away from work” mode.
Clarendon Gorge has changed in my memory. I swear the river was running in the opposite direction. Water has been doing tricky things on the trail this year. It was still an amazing experience going over the suspension bridge.
Honestly, Vermont trails have been fantastic. Maybe going through The Whites first changes one’s perspective on the rest of the trail. I made it to Minerva Hinchey Shelter just before 5. I really wanted to start putting in 15 mile days to see if I’m even capable of longer distances. It was less than 5 miles to the next shelter. I should be able to make it before dark.
Less than 1 mile out from Minerva, it started to rain. I looked at the sky and it didn’t look to be too dark. It couldn’t last long. About a mile later, the rain still hadn’t let up. The trees were doing their part to keep me dry, but I just got the feeling I should get out my umbrella.
No sooner did I get it rigged up did the skies really let go. Once again, I was spared from the worst. It poured the rest of the way to camp. The final part was 0.8 miles up 800’ and I was feeling pretty tired. I made it to the side trail to the shelter just before dark. I needed to get water on the way in so I dropped my pack and grabbed 4 liters. When I put my pack back on, it was pitch black.
I could see stones in the trail enough that I might be able to follow the trail without falling (my headlamp was buried in my pack). It was supposed to be less than 0.2 miles to the shelter, but I still hadn’t made it by 8. I couldn’t see a thing and I was heading downhill. I tried using my phone flashlight but that only made my vision worse.
I was directly in front of the shelter before I even saw it. There were already two hikers in the shelter. They only asked one question: “Do you snore?” I lied and said I don’t know. I was hoping I’ve lost enough weight that I’m a quiet sleeper. One of the hikers offered earplugs to the other. He said “ I hate them. I have hiking poles if he snores.” I’m getting stabbed in my sleep tonight.
Day 3 (69), Peru Peak Shelter, 14.5
Mr Considerate, as I call the earplug hating hiker, answered one question definitively—I do, in fact, snore. I didn’t get stabbed. He chose a much subtler approach to wake me up. He slammed his hand on the floor making sure no one got any sleep which included the hiker quietly sleeping with his earplugs in.
When he got up at 6, he started bitching about his terrible night and complaining about everything I was doing. It was obvious he wanted a confrontation, so I stayed in my bed ignoring him and refusing to engage in any conversation until he was gone. With any luck, he’s a NOBO and I’ll never see him again. He’s definitely tainted enough to be a NOBOu who’s tired of the trail.
The other occupant of the shelter was Knees. He’s trying to hike the VT section of the AT and this is just his second day. I apologized for keeping him up with my snoring. He told me it wasn’t my snoring that kept him awake. He had earplugs.
Knees was next to leave. I was still in bed but just about done with breakfast. It didn’t take me long to get ready and head out. It had rained most of the night but I didn’t think the trail was too bad. I was feeling pretty good and making great time (in excess of 2mph).
I saw someone in front of me stumbling along. Their pack seemed to be very crooked. When I caught up to him, it was Knees. I helped him adjust his pack to help his balance a bit. He said he was not enjoying the trail because of the mud and terrain. I admitted a lot of people have been complaining about the trail, but to just remember that the suck is temporary. I wished him luck and headed on.
Not too far along from Knees I saw another hiker heading south. This surprised me because I’ve met almost every SOBO and know where they are (approximately). This must be a Long Trail hiker. When I caught up to him, it was none other than Mr. Considerate. I thought I’d try to be nice and see if he’d come around. I was, he wouldn’t. He is just an ass in my humble opinion. I just blew by him and hoped that I’d never see him again.
Little Rock Pond was only 5 miles into my day but I had been making great time and needed a break to refuel to keep up my pace. I found a beautiful spot lakeside to enjoy my break. I was almost done when Mr. Considerate passed me and said “nice spot.” Before I could respond, he’d already left. I was afraid we might keep bouncing into each other all day, but I never saw him again.
I had been warned there are a few bridges that the forest service has closed after the flooding. Between me and the shelter, I encountered my first such bridge deemed “not safe” according to the sign tacked to it. It looked good to me. It was only at most a 5’ fall. I was tired. There wasn’t a tremendous amount of water. The falls below the bridge was only about 3’. I didn’t see a camera. I went for it (spoiler alert—I survived).
It was almost dark. It looked like I might have the shelter all to myself. At least it looked promising that Mr. Considerate might not show up. It’s been a while since I’ve had a shelter to myself. If rain weren’t in the forecast, I’d rather set up my tent. I staked out my end and did all my chores. Just as I was eating my supper, I heard a massive figure behind me (I was watching the trail from the south because that was my biggest concern). It was either a bear or a NOBO. Didn’t matter which. My peace was about to be destroyed.
Day 4 (70), Spruce Peak Shelter, 12.9
I woke up several times through the night expecting rain. At 3:30, I was getting irritated that I’d been suckered again by the rain forecasters, but the rain did come through by 4, and how! It was still raining at 7 when I started my coffee. Still raining at 8 when I was done eating and started packing up. Still raining at 9 when I visited the privy. When I put my pack on at 9:30 deciding I couldn’t put it off any longer, the rain stopped. Someone is watching over me!
Styles Peak was only 3 miles in and a likely spot for me to have cell service. When I got there, I called Green Mountain House Hostel to make reservations for tonight and tomorrow night. They didn’t answer, then I saw a note in FarOut that they were closed for the season as of today. This was a wrench in the works for me. I tried calling hotels in town, but they all wanted 3x what a hostel would cost and I wanted to take a day off. If I’m going to get a zero, it won’t be in Manchester Center.
I noticed a new hostel in about 27 miles and called them. They had space and were in my price range so I booked space for tomorrow night and the next. If I can put in a 20 mile today, I could be there by noon tomorrow. It was a long shot at best. Worst case, I’ll be there by dark.
Things started looking up for me when I made it to Mad Tom Notch Rd. It appeared there might be trail magic in the parking area just off trail. Usually, people will put up a sign or flag down passing hikers. They did neither when I walked up. I pretended to be confused and was checking my phone in the hopes they might notice me. After a couple of minutes, one of the girls yelled “hey hiker, want some food?” Silly question, but I was in.
Scoops had finished her thru-hike on August 5 and was out trying to find some people she knew early on in her hike. She had found one and was deep in conversation catching up when I got to the trailhead. Since they were talking and not paying attention to me, I was able to consume a lot more calories unnoticed. I was glad she had found a friend. I spent almost an hour chowing down and occasionally getting in a comment. When I was full, I thanked her and pushed on.
Bromley Mountain was where I had hoped to stay last night but didn’t have the miles in me. It’s a mountain top of a ski range but they leave a warming hut open for thru-hikers. There’s electricity and a clothes dryer but no water. I had to settle for a long lunch with a bunch of NOBOs. When a group of high school kids came up top, I decided it was time to move on.
I’d spent a lot more time on the phone, eating trail magic, and visiting on Bromley than I had planned on. My 20 was not a possibility. My original day was only supposed to be 10 miles. I guess I had already spilled the beans to my legs and I could only squeeze an additional 3 out of them before they refused to work any more.
Several hikers had told me this shelter was nice. In return, I told them about trail magic ahead. A win-win for all parties. When I arrived, the shelter looked deserted, but when I opened the sliding door, I found a father and son playing cards. The son was only 6. I thought they might just be day hikers, but they are finishing up the AT after having done about 2/3 of it last year.
The son was well behaved and quiet. We all ate and headed to bed at the witching hour of 8. I could hear them talking and playing under their quilt but I didn’t mind. By 9, they were both asleep. Around 10, another hiker showed up. I’ll just say, he had no “inside voice” and didn’t know how to turn on his red light on his headlamp. I was a bit irked at being woken up, but relieved to have someone else in the shelter to blame the snoring on.
Day 5 (71), Kelly Stand Rd, 14.7
Town day equals extra speed and I’m definitely going to need it since I overslept. A fully enclosed shelter on a cold night is great except I was the first up at ten to seven. Two little windows don’t let in a lot of light.
The hiker who came in at 10 last night got up a few minutes after me. I’d met a couple yesterday who told me I’d meat an old guy who is slow but gets in 15 miles every day. He also hiked the trail in 1997. This was the guy. What they didn’t tell me was that he had a smaller bladder than me and would get up every hour all night long. That didn’t bother me, but the sliding door on ungreased rails did. However, I held none of this against him.
I hate deadlines. They’ve always stressed me. I have a deadline, of sorts, today. I’ve made plans to stay at Wicked Waystation and I don’t want to arrive after dark. The terrain doesn’t look bad to me, but I didn’t start until after 8. My first 15 mile day ended up with me getting in after dark. I didn’t want a repeat today.
At 10:30, I took a break and checked my progress. I was well over 4 miles in. I set a goal of making it to Stratton Pond Shelter for a lunch break at 12:30–that’s over 8 miles of my nearly 15 for the day. If I make that, there’s a good chance I’ll make my pickup location before dark.
Chris, who I had met in Norwich, was at the Stratton Pond Shelter. I thought I was going fast but here’s a guy that’s only been out a week, ahead of me. Turns out, Chris is not into purity. He’s just out for a month testing “the hiking waters” to see if he likes it. We caught up with events of the last week while we climbed Stratton Mountain and its fire tower.
Stratton Mountain is the tallest mountain on the AT in southern Vermont. This was where James Taylor, in his first incarnation, came up with the idea for the Long Trail in 1909. In his second incarnation, this life, he’s a folksy musician. Legend has it that in his third incarnation, he will assume the role of destroyer (everyone keep thinking of the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man when you hear news of the current James Taylor’s death).
From the top of the fire tower, I called for 5:30 pickup. Chris and I said goodbye and exchanged contact info. I had to get down the mountain fast to catch my ride. I was down by 5:10. This was my fastest 16 mile day yet—9 hours with 3 nice breaks. If I can get a plus 5 kick after Mt Greylock in Massachusetts, I might make it to Georgia by Christmas.
EFG