200 miles in

I learned a wonderful fact about newts the other day from an invertebrate specialist we ate lunch near. The spotted red eft is the younger stage of the aquatic green newts you find in ponds throughout the northeast . Apparently before they morph into the older, aquatic green stage, they will wander far from their birth pond. Most eventually return to breed and carry on as newts do, but others go wandering in search of new ponds. This is why you sometimes see them up high on mountains- they are hiking their own hike, the same as Moped and I are. 

I bet their feet feel better than mine do. 

My body is a bit beat up- my right ankle is swollen and my left arch is sore. I’ve got something going on with two of my toes, but I don’t know what’s wrong, other than that they hurt when I walk. My legs feel tired and my body is constantly asking for both nourishment and rest. Considering the last 40 miles of trail I’m not surprised- the section from Burnt Rock Mountain to Route 2 (up and over Camel’s Hump) is relentless. Lots of elevation gain and scrambling and rock climbing don’t result in a quick and easy pace. The climb today up and over Mansfield was also tough- there are a couple of spots that a wrong step will lead to a significant fall, ladders that were not fully upright and don’t extend above the rock face, making it hard to transition between the two, and rock that had worn down from thousands of feet, making it surprisingly slick. We took it slow and steady, and I only had to take my pack off once on a ledge to safely traverse it. Moped and I have been thinking about how difficult the last three days have been- how we’ve never felt one accidental slip away from certain death before. The AT certainly didn’t have terrain this nerve wracking: even the hike up the Wildcats didn’t feel this perilous, nor did the hike down Katadhin’s Knife Edge. Take note: the Long Trail may be only about a tenth of the Appalachian Trail, but it is pretty damn tough. Our caretaker at Taft Lodge said that it’s because the people who made these trails a century ago wanted to make them short enough that they could get to the top of the mountain and then be home for dinner, route be damned. 

Despite the challenges of the last three days we’ve had some wonderful moments. Moped saw a bear lurking near the privy at the Bamforth Ridge Shelter the morning after we stayed there. Our dear friend came to visit, bearing delicious treats, hugs, and Moped’s old backpack, as his new one was torturing him. We spent the night alone at Puffer Shelter, which had a view that stretched for miles and a sunrise that shone directly into the shelter. Swimming naked in cold and clear mountain streams. The joy of knowing that every newt I see has done big mile days to be where it is. Ravens playing in the thermals. Being out here is magical and wonderful and affirming. 

I am, however, looking forward to a proper shower. In the meantime, we’ll settle for such dips in mountain creeks as we find them, and the warmth of the sun drying us before we continue along our way, and dream of high efficiency washing machines with an aggressive detergent. 

Over Halfway There

We left the Inn at the Long Trail on Sunday morning after a hearty breakfast, and have been pushing miles to try to get to Waitsfield in 3 days.  The weather for the first two days was nice, but yesterday the wind picked up and it started raining just as we were making the steep and slippery descent from Abraham towards Mt Ellen. The Stark’s Nest (a ski lodge left open for hikers at the Mad River Glen ski area) was a welcome respite; despite there being no heat or electricity, the lodge provided an enclosed space with windows to peer out of and feel infinitely grateful for no longer hiking in the elements.

I haven’t spent too many hours hiking outside of my comfort zone, but as we approached the Stark’s Nest I was starting to see the edge of it rapidly approaching. I was soaked through to the point where my raincoat only kept the wind off. My feet were sloshing around in my trail runners, which had gotten wet hours earlier. The weather seemed to be picking up, and since we were on a ridge line, we were consistently bombarded by the wind. As the sky grew darker, I kept asking myself: whose bad idea was it to do the 19.5 miles from Emily Proctor Shelter? Oh right, it was mine. But is it really a bad idea if the day ends with a warm sleeping bag and a giant bar of chocolate? 

 I’ve been thinking a lot about the people who set Fastest Known Times (FKTs) on trails. The current FKT for the Long Trail is about 4 and a half days (or more, depending on if it’s a supported, self-supported, or unsupported hike).  To put that in perspective, a FKT contender would have had to do the mileage that took us 11 hours and then do 40 more. I can’t even imagine having that level of fitness. My body is holding up okay- my feet are a bit sore, but I don’t seem to have the hiker hobble that characterized much of my AT thru hike. Im tired and sore, but I feel good and competent and happy (and so very filthy).

We hitchhiked into Waitsfield when we got to Appalachian Gap this morning, and resupplied for the next 60 mile stretch, which will take us over the final two 4,000 footers: Camels Hump and Mansfield. We decided that after 56 miles in 3 days we deserved a short day, so we are spending the afternoon at Lawson’s Finest Liquids, where we are eating real food and having a celebratory beer.

Recharged, we’ll make our way back to the woods and cap off a short day with a meal made from perishables: Chorizo, a red pepper, shallots, and instant mashed potatoes. Mostly perishables, anyways. I’m looking forward to having more vegetables in my life again. 

105.5

We reached Maine Junction yesterday after a brief hike from Churchill Scott shelter. It had been a pretty great couple of days- my sister drove out from central NH to feed us vegetables,  and seeing family after a week on the trail was like a shot of love directly into the nervous system. Yesterday,after a shower and a light nap, we had dinner with other non-trail friends at the Inn at the Long Trail. Today we head north, saying goodbye to the AT friends we’ve made, as that trail veers eastward towards NH.

My feet are holding up remarkably well, and the trail runners I’ve been hiking in dry out quickly once the rain ends. I’ve made a few other changes from my days on the AT- I’m hiking with gaiters to keep sand out of my shoes, and use body glide between my toes to keep the blisters in check. 

My sleep hasn’t been great- my neo air and sleeping bag are very slippery, and at night I slip and slide all over the place like a flopping fish out of water.  A few nights ago I slipped off my pad and fell out of a shelter bed, waking up mid fall, and banged my elbow on the way down. It was only about a foot fall, so no damage done, just a bit to my pride when I told Moped about it in the morning.  I’ve had a few other falls, most recently up Killington, where I tripped over something, and twisted around to grab a small tree. The tree snapped, and I handed hard on my back, my backpack breaking my fall. I was briefly stuck there, upside down, like a turtle resting on its shell, legs akimbo. Not my most graceful moment.

I continue to love every moment of this trail- the beautiful ponds with loons calling in the twilight, and the rivers and streams with water so cold that a dunk in gives me a dizzy feeling. The views of Vermont’s Green Mountains, with occasional glimpses of theAdirondacks to the west and New Hampshire to the east. The way I feel in my body, even when tired: strong, beautiful, and wild. And, of course, having someone to share every moment with, from the delight of a surprise porcupine chilling in a pile of mulch by a privy, to irritation over finding that a mouse nibbled it’s way through our food bag, sampling both the trail mix and the cheese. I’m so glad that Moped and I found one another, and that the delight of hiking continues to bring us even closer.