The beauty of the stars glistening in the sky overhead was slightly interrupted throughout the night by trucks passing on the nearby highway. We woke with the sun, the air cooler and more crisp than on other mornings, and I began packing up camp immediately as Dani prepared us a quick breakfast. We had one mission: make it to the Lake Louise parking lot before the masses of other visitors arrived; the focus of our day was entirely on a Pinterest-worthy “Tea Hut Hike”. Due to my incredible campsite finding skills the drive to Louise took no more than five minutes, and we arrived early enough to secure a parking lot just a few cars from the trailhead entrance. We packed my 66L Cold Cold World bag with the appropriate gear we’d need for a day hike, and though the bag itself probably appeared to be overkill to anyone walking by us, it served us well. I included a light windbreaker for myself, my camera bag with a few lenses, an extra liter of water for us to share when our primary ones ran dry, and the usual bag of minor medical supplies and a headlamp just in case. The snowshoe straps on the exterior of the bag worked phenomenally as a place to fasten my aluminum tripod to, and there was plenty of space left in the backpack to fill with Dani’s extra layers as the day got warmer. We made a final restroom stop in the gorgeous Lake Louise Fairmont hotel and made our way to the trailhead alongside the lake’s shore as hundreds of people gathered to take photos of the water as we had a few days prior.

My alarm quietly went off as programmed at 01h45. I rolled over and silenced it, putting my headlamp on and unzipping the tent door despite the majority of my body begging me to go back to sleep. The moon shone brilliantly as I slid my shoes on, lazily stepping outside and fumbling to locate my camera’s tripod. I was immediately disappointed with the angle the moonlight was hitting Jasper’s mountains, but made a quick decision to change the angle of my intended shot for something facing more north. I framed the Big Dipper in my viewfinder, knowing that the nearby star Polaris would find the entire night sky circling around it. I adjusted my settings in accordance with the light I was working with, attached my remote shutter trigger, and went back to bed. Over the course of the next two and a half hours the camera would take roughly three hundred images of the night sky, hopefully leaving me with something beautiful to work with in the photo’s post-production phase; I was by no means let down. While I didn't attach the "star trails" image, I did include a single photo of the northern lights below.
 
Dani and I woke up at 08h00 to much colder temperatures than either of us had expected. With the day before peaking in the high 70s, I was a bit shocked to see the high 30s on my thermometer. She, a true Florida girl, was frigidly cold, lying in the sleeping bag with a long sleeve top, my REI quarter-zip fleece, and my Patagonia down jacket on, still on the verge of shivering. As the sunlight crept its way through the sky and began to cast shadows on the tent, I convinced Dani that we should get up and get a move on the day. We packed up lethargically, still in awe of the mountains that surrounded us, filtered another two liters of gorgeously clear and delicious mountain water, and headed up to the communal picnic tables to eat a small breakfast. We spoke again with Jessica and Jessica, the two women we had met the night before, and talked more about long distance trails, the National Parks we were visiting, and how it was absolutely necessary for Dani and myself to visit British Columbia for more exploring. By the time the two of us were on the trail it was nearly ten, but the opportunity to talk with two provincially-local hikers was unique, enlightening, and well worth the time.

 We climbed back out of the river basin as the air temperature began to rise, and I was immediately grateful to have shed all of my insulating layers before we left the campsite. I’ve found over the past few years of more aggressive hiking, mainly on Vermont’s Long Trail last winter, that keeping my SmartWool skull cap on and nearby is one of the easiest/fastest/lightest ways to adjust my internal temperature. It doesn’t involve taking my pack off, stuffs into my pocket, and has a surprising amount of sway in my overall warmth, while not being bulky or limiting my movement. I kept the hat on for the half hour or so before eventually taking it off as we began to climb out from the Athabasca River. While the majority was a gradual incline, there were a handful of sections that had rather steep ascents; we slowed on those parts, as the elevation (my maps say roughly 4,400’) were quite a bit over the sea-level elevations Dani is used to exercising at. Even with pacing ourselves and enjoying the morning hike, we were back into tourists and civilization by 11:30, packing up the car and heading up the road from the Sunwapta Falls trailhead to a small café for lunch.
 
After hot sandwiches, cold drinks, washing up, and a quick outfit change, we were turning out of the parking lot and making our way south on Alberta-93, or the “Icefields Parkway”. With over 200km until we reached Banff, the drive would take us on a winding route through some of the most impressive mountains and landscapes I’ve ever laid eyes on. The road changed elevation frequently, taking us from a just under a mile high to well over 6,500’. We followed different river systems, each seemingly more vibrant and turquoise than the last, and gawked out the window at the monstrous rock formations that make up the Canadian Rockies. As I drove, Dani used our dash-mounted iPad to reference GPS software for the heights of the peaks that surrounded us – many were well over 10,000 feet tall.  About an hour into our drive we arrived at the Columbia Icefield Discovery Center, a jam-packed tourist destination where we had the opportunity to walk up towards the ever-receeding Athabasca Glacier. I was not surprised to see that despite multiple signs warning of crevices people have fallen down and died, visitors were still stepping well beyond the marked boundaries, crossing over ropes to get a “better” view or just to take a selfie. We snapped a few photos, spent a moment or ten in awe of the scale of the glacier and the impact it has had on the surrounding area, and then walked back to the car to carry on with our drive.
 
The rest of our drive was continually gorgeous and relaxing as we made our way south. We’ve been making the most of my Sirius XM satellite radio, not having to worry about switching out iPods or CDs, and settled on “Siriusly Sinatra”, a station dedicated to Frank and the rest of the Rat Pack. The sun shone through the open sun roof and Dani took a brief nap as the car began a 2 mile climb to the Bow Summit parking lot for Peyto Lake. After a short hike up a paved path we found ourselves on a wooden deck overlooking Peyto itself; one of the most vibrant lakes in the Rockies, it boasts an incredible turquoise hue that stands out against blue skies and evergreen trees surrounding it. I snapped a few photos and we bathed in the sunlight before walking back down to the car for the final stretch to Banff.​

The next day was again relatively unplanned, however we had a new campsite reserved in the backcountry wilderness of Jasper National Park and would need to backpack a few miles into it before the sun went down. I was excited to get away from the heavily trafficked areas of the Park and actually spend a quiet night in the woods. We woke around 08h00, immediately getting to work as Dani made sausage breakfast sandwiches on the camp stove and I broke down camp. We had a few hours until we needed to be out of the campground to make way for the next people staying at our site, but each wanted a quick shower before we headed out into the world. Cleaning and packing up our cookware and utensils into their Pelican case, we made a brief stop at the campground showers and then turned back onto Alberta 93 North to head back towards downtown Jasper.
 
One of the points of attraction we had wanted to visit the day before was the Maligne Canyon, located just a few miles up Maligne Lake Road on the outskirts of town. The parking lot was absolutely packed when we arrived so we backtracked a few hundred yards to the same scenic overlook we had visited the day before and parked in the relatively empty lot. After a few minutes walk we arrived at the trailhead for the Maligne Canyon walk, a graded and paved trail that followed along the Maligne River as it downstream from Medicine Lake to the Athabasca River. Over the course of a few kilometers walk you can see 5 different waterfalls within the canyon walls, the water flowing nearly 160 feet below the spanning bridges at the canyon’s deepest point. We visited the first three waterfalls, sharing the limited space with countless other visitors before heading back to the car, turning our sights an hour south to Athabasca Falls where we’d stop for another quick visit to soak in the scenery.

​ 
In the early afternoon we arrived at the Sunwapta Falls trailhead/parking lot where we finalized our gear packs for our overnight backpacking trip to the remote campsite along the Athabasca River. For the trip I chose to bring my Cold Cold World “Chaos” backpack, a 66L alpine mountaineering bag that I purchased for my Long Trail thru-hike attempt last winter. Made by hand in Jackson, New Hampshire, it’s as sturdy a bag as you could ever imagine, with a mono-tube design and 1.2 million attachment points for extra gear (i.e. snowshoes, crampons, ice axes, climbing rope, water bottles, etc) on the outside, making it a great option for a versatile backpack for the duration of our Canada adventure. I filled it up with most of our gear and food, packing Dani’s ~30L Mountainsmith backpack for our sleeping pad and her clothes for the overnight. It took about an hour to be ready to hike out, first passing on a bridge over Sunwapta Falls itself before carrying on down the Fortress Lake Trail. Our hike to the Big Bend backcountry campsite would cover 6.3km on a moderately wide trail, mostly downhill through endless pine forests. Dani had never been backpacking before so we stopped a few times to adjust the shoulder, waist, and sternum straps in an effort to make her more comfortable. The time and terrain passed quickly as the afternoon sun baked down on the woods, and within two hours we arrived at the Big Bend camp, nestled in along the indescribably blue Athabasca River.
 
Big Bend was comprised of four tent sites, two picnic tables, and a bear-bag hanging line to suspend food fifteen feet in the air overnight. The entire area was subject to panoramic views of the surrounding mountains, and the warm air and sunshine made for a gorgeous scene as we set up the tent alongside the river. We wandered around for a little with the cameras, and after checking with the five or six other backpackers staying at the site, I took a few minutes to fly the drone and capture the area from the a few hundred feet above. We cooked a pasta dinner at the picnic tables using the frigidly cold glacier river from the Athabasca River that I had filtered with the same Sawyer Squeeze I carried for all 2,200 miles on the A.T. three years prior. We made friends with Jessica and Jessica, two other hikers from the Alberta area who were out for the weekend, talking for an hour or so about hiking and the vast beauty of the National Parks as the sun set and cast warm light on the glacially capped peaks to the south.
 
Rinsing out our dishes and hanging the food bag on the bear line, we sat on a log bench by the river and watched the water flow by without much conversation between us, simply enjoying the serenity of the mountains around us. Retiring to bed around 21h30, I set my phone’s alarm for shortly after midnight in hopes of waking up and capturing photos of the stars overhead in the night sky. After a busy day and great hike in on the Fortress Lake Trail, we fell fast asleep to the white noise of the Athabasca River rushing by, our short time in Jasper having already seemed to desensitize us to the bright glow of the sky in the late hours of the evening.

Mileage: 7.6
​Time: 3.5 hours
NH 4,000 footers: Mt. Osceola & Osceola East Peak
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I woke up on a June 16th to a quiet morning, my first day off in a few weeks, with nothing major that needed to be done around the house. As I debated what to do with my day, I got a burst of inspiration to go hike a mountain. Throwing on some New Balance activewear, I grabbed my 40-liter LowePro Rover backpack and threw in miscellaneous hiking gear that I thought would come in handy for a single day trip in the White Mountains. With my camera, a small tripod, a few granola bars, a liter of water, and my REI quarter-zip fleece packed into the bag (with tons of space to spare), I hopped in the car and began the 2.5 hour drive to the Kancamangus, a 34 mile scenic highway that stretches across mid-New Hampshire and winds past a handful of trailhead parking lots that lead to notable 4,000' peaks. To be honest, I didn't check the weather report before leaving the house, something that I'd expect myself to do but for some reason forgot; about an hour from the trailhead my windshield wipers kicked on as a light rain began to fall, at which point I realized I never packed a rain shell... oops! 

I arrived at the Greeley Pond Trailhead parking lot at 10h45 with light rain still falling, and after a quick stretch and referencing the trailhead map, I began my hike to East Osceola's summit 5 minutes after shutting the ignition off. Per the posted sign it would be 1.3 miles to a trail split where the I would turn southwest and begin the climb to the peaks. The distance from the parking lot to the split was exactly what I needed as a warmup: gradual terrain that crossed over a few streams and one wider river, a few log bridges over swampy marsh, and otherwise typical root and rock stricken ground that is so characteristically New England. It was after crossing the first stream that I heard branches breaking behind me, turning to see a black Columbia rain shell moving through the woods a hundred feet back. As the silent hiker and I made our way further, I laughed as I recognized I had, without consciously doing so, pushed myself to maintain the quick pace I began at. It took no time at all to reach the sign at the trail split, at which point my stopping to take a picture allowed Black Columbia Jacket Guy to catch up to me. We exchanged hellos and he took the lead for the next portion of the hike. The sign had denoted 1.5 miles to the peak of East Osceola and 2.5 miles to Mt. Osceola's summit.

The trail began climbing almost immediately, though the terrain stayed more towards the dirt and roots side of things. I made it a quarter mile or so before realizing with the rain picking up, it would be worth my time to stop and pull the rain cover over my backpack earlier on than waiting until it was soaked. I lost some distance behind Black Columbia Guy, but caught up to him ten or fifteen minutes later as he stopped for a snack break. It was at this point that I asked if he was peak-bagging the 4,000-footers in New Hampshire, which he was, and we continued talking together as we moved up the mountain. The terrain became steeper by the minute, and as our conversation carried on I began utilizing my hands more and more to grip wet rocks and whatever tree trunks were possible to pull myself up the mountain. Having not climbed a mountain like that in quite a while, I definitely felt the strain on my body as I got higher up and covered the more difficult terrain. By 12h55, only an hour into my hike, the Black Columbia Jacket Guy and I reached the top of Mt. Osceola East. The completely wooded peak was adorned with a large pile of rocks against a tree denoting the 4,116-foot summit, and the worn-down trail was starting to resemble a running stream due to the volume of water falling. It was at this point, taking each other's pictures with the rock pile, that I introduced myself to Black Columbia Jacket Guy, who officially became Matt. 

Informing my new friend of the time, he asked me if I was continuing on to Mt. Osceola's main peak, another mile  southwest of where we currently stood. Given the rain and rocky conditions we encountered on the way up, I had been thinking against moving towards the second peak if it was to be alone, though he quickly interrupted my internal thought process by saying that he would add the mileage if I was going... with that, Matt and I moved on together, continuing conversations of work, life, hiking, and other adventures. Dropping steeply off the East Peak to the varied terrain of the ridge between the mountaintops, we came across two other hikers in head to toe rain gear, who we came to learn were the drivers of the only other vehicle in the Kancamangus trailhead parking lot. After another ten minutes or so we came to the bald face of Mt. Osceola where I was greeted with cold wind and stinging rain against my skin. I took a quick photo before ducking into the nearby trees down a short trail, taking a moment to pull out my water bottle for some hydration. We didn't linger long, turning around and heading another mile back to the East Peak and begin our descent out of the mountains.

We flew down the trail, using caution and our weight to get down the more difficult sections of terrain. As we crossed over an exposed face to the north of East Osceola, the thick cloud cover broke for a few moments exposing a beautiful view of vibrantly green trees that stood tall across the ridge before us. Carefully stepping across the wet rocks, my body was quick to remind me that my knees don't love descents as they started getting sore after just a little while; I always hike with my Black Diamond trekking poles, but had recently lent them to a friend who was doing a day hike in the Whites and asked to borrow them. Cutting back into the tree-cover the ambient temperature got warmer, and as our elevation dropped my damp shirt became a little bit more bearable as it stuck to my skin. After what seemed like no time at all, Matt and I approached the trail split sign denoting the remaining 1.3 miles to the parking lot. I mentioned my hunger, having not eaten anything while on the trail all day, and he spoke up about a favorite bar in nearby Lincoln, NH, suggesting we stop in for a burger on the way out of the mountains. We stepped foot in the trailhead shortly before 14h30, just 3.5 hours after beginning the hike, a time I was quite pleased with given the mileage and terrain covered. Hopping in our respective cars, I followed him a few miles west on the the Kancamangus to Black Mountain Burger Company where we had a quick lunch before we parted ways and I began the 130 mile drive back to Boston, satisfied with a great, albeit wet, impromptu day in the mountains, checking another 2 peaks off my list of the 48 New Hampshire 4,000-footers.

​As June marches on, work winds down and I'm getting closer and closer to nearly two months of summer vacation. From the looks of it there will be a plethora of adventures throughout North America with lots of hiking and photography opportunities... but I'll fill you in on that in a week or two.

Onwards & upwards,

Texaco

Mileage: 5.2 miles
​Time: 3 hours
NH 4,000 footer: Mt. Tecumseh
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Returning home to Boston on Friday night I was greeted with temperatures in the twenties and light snowfall, a stark contrast to the 85-degree sunny days I had enjoyed for a the 6 days prior while down in Florida with work. With Saturday's temperatures in the teens and relentless winds to boot, I laughed out loud when my good friend Rob (a long time member of the MA-based Jeep club I founded) sent me a text gauging my interest in hiking in the White Mountains on Sunday. Having not been in the mountains in almost exactly a month, I quickly jumped on the offer and agreed to meeting him the next morning halfway to the Waterville Valley trailhead for Mt. Tecumseh. The lowest of the 48 4,000-ft mountains that New Hampshire is home to, measuring in at 4,003 feet exactly, Tecumseh was an easily accessible trail and one that neither of us had hiked before. I packed up my equipment late Saturday night, triple checking the weather forecasts for the mountain and making gear decisions based on the predictions that temperatures would be falling well below zero once windchill was factored in. 

Meeting just over the Mass/NH border at 08h00, we hopped in his Tacoma and made the rest of the hour journey north to the Waterville Valley ski mountain's parking lot, placed perfectly directly across a resort road from the trailhead we would start from. Donning the appropriate footwear and insulating layers for the single digit temperatures outside, we made our way across the road and began our trek around 09h30. The forest was nearly perfect, covered in a few inches of snow while the trail was clearly packed down by the plethora of hikers who had made their way up the same route in recent days. Weather in New England has been nothing shy of remarkable recently, especially given the season, and the condition of the ground reflected the warm temperatures that had swept the region. We made our way up the meandering terrain at a comfortable pace, conversing as we went about a plethora of miscellaneous things. Carefully analyzing rock placement, we made our way across a river before climbing up the other side and mutually deciding to stop and put on our microspikes light traction. While the snowfall in no way required snowshoes, I had mine strapped to my bag just in case they were going to be needed further up the mountain.

A few hundred feet after the river crossing we came about a short side trail to a Waterville ski slope, finding it completely void of anyone aside the two of us hikers. I'm not sure if the weather had turned people away, but I was a bit taken aback to see it empty on such a beautiful winter weekend. Turning back towards the trail we began the 1.3 mile climb to the summit of the mountain. Unlike many other climbs, the Tecumseh route was comprised of one long incline that was consistent and allowed us to gain the majority of our elevation. I led us up the mountain at Rob's request, and we took a handful of short breaks during the ascent to talk about projects and troubleshoot technical issues with Jeeps and electronics alike. Around 1100hrs I began seeing the saturated blue sky glowing behind distant trees instead of above them, a clear indication that we were nearing the top of whatever section of the mountain we were climbing. We progressed forwards, turning north and hiking across a gorgeously snow-covered ridge as the mid-morning sun cast shadows of barren trees across the forest floor. A few thousand feet further along we came across a fork in the trail, and a crooked sign offering each path as a route to the summit. A hiker we passed on the way up suggested the blue-blazed trail instead of the yellow-blazed, so we followed his suggestion, turning towards the west side of the mountain and carrying on.

The trail climbed further as we walked a tight path towards the summit, taking in the gorgeous views of the mountain ranges to our left. It was along this section that I felt the wind becoming more prevalent, and stopped to put my Marmot shell back on, adding my microfiber face mask to my attire to try and protect myself from wind burn once we got further up. Making a sharp hairpin turn up the next leg of trail, we came to a flat area with a sign that I inferred as denoting the top of the mountain. With no ground higher than where we stood, I logically inferred that we had reached the top of Tecumseh, 4,003-feet above sea level, at just before 11h30. We snapped some photos and talked to another hiker who joined us as he measured the temperature with a far more advanced thermometer than the $4 one that I keep hooked to the side of my backpack. He informed us it was a whopping 4 degrees, and I was immediately glad to have added my extra layers before reaching the top. Rob didn't need to, as he sports a hell of a beard that kept his face warm. In looking at Waterville's temperature reports later last night I read their noon report of -10 degrees with windchill at their 3,400' peak, so I'm sure we were somewhere in the same range, if not a little lower.

We packed up and headed back down the mountain in short order, retracing our steps on the blue-blaze trail instead of bothering with the yellow route. I habitually adjusted my trekking poles to account for the descent, hoping to preemptively fight back against any knee pain I might feel the next day. Without running down the mountain per-say, we maintained a quick pace and covered the distance in half the time we took to ascend. Towards the bottom we came across a woman who had also summited while we were at the top, hiking along with her dog who wore a neon vest proclaiming "IGNORE ME". After introducing ourselves and a bit of conversation with Cynthia I correctly guessed that he was a shelter dog and had a real aversion to adult men. In a twist of irony, she knows my dad very well from hiking with him in the past, and was quick to ask how my parents were doing... I wasn't truly surprised by this as my dad is active in the New England hiking community, but it still made me laugh to be out in the woods and randomly meet someone who knew my parents.

Rob and I returned to the car shortly before 12h30, and stripped down our layers to something more comfortable for the two hour ride home. Three hours hiking and covering 5.2 miles was a great activity for a cold weekend day, and I'm exceptionally grateful he invited me to tag along. Out of curiosity I added up hikes after getting home, realizing I've climbed to 16 of the 48 four-thousand foot peaks in New Hampshire, a solid number for someone who hasn't actively been trying to check them off a list. In further conversation, Rob and I are going to try and make this more of a regular thing when I'm not traveling, which should be a nice way to get back in the woods more frequently than I'm usually able.

Hope you're all doing well. I've got another post to write about a photography trip a few weeks ago up to Mt. Washington, so keep an eye out for that in the coming days. 

Onward & upward..

Tex

Trail: Old Rag Mountain - Shenandoah National Park, VA
Distance: 9.1 miles
Time: ​4 hours

After a few days on the Gulf Coast of Florida for work I flew up to Washington D.C. for another event. Due to a miscommunication regarding the schedule, my flight home left me with a 36 hour window to explore the region however I wanted. While touring the National Mall (something I've done before) was obviously an option, a friend and I decided that exploring Shenandoah National Park was an infinitely better use of time. It is with great pleasure that I write today's post featuring a once-pivitol and popular character of this blog: my friend Pneumo. A resident of northern Virginia, he was able to travel about twenty minutes from home to get me from the Gaylord National hotel along the Potomac. We returned to his house to drop off my bags, picked up a breakfast burrito from a local restaurant, and began the two hour drive southwest towards Shenandoah National Park. As we hopped up on the highway we debated what we'd be hiking, whether or not we wanted to revisit the Appalachian Trail or find another route to undertake. Seeing as I had just spent over a hundred miles on the Trail itself I wasn't thrilled at the idea of hiking on it again just yet, at which point he suggested a favorite hike about 20 miles from the park's famous Skyline Drive entrance. We'd be undertaking Old Rag Mountain, a 9.1 mile loop over a jagged and rocky summit with just under 2,500' of elevation gain. In my research since returning from the trail I've learned it is the 2nd most popular hike in the Shenandoahs per TripAdvisor.com, and the National Park Service calls it their "most popular and dangerous" attraction in the park… interesting, but understandable!

Parking in the lower lot at the end of a sleepy Virginia backroad we deposited the nominal Forestry Service parking fee before beginning our trek up the paved road to where the trail actually began. It honestly must have been quite the comical sight, the two of us moving along. Since I packed for Florida weather and work, my most appropriate outfit for this was a pair of jeans, New Balance polyester top, and my typical NB trail runners. We each sported a black backpack, but moved along with the pace of people who have done a fair bit of hiking. Upon reaching the upper parking lot, chained off for the winter, we turned sharply left onto a wide dirt trail that began our ascent up the mountain. It was such a shock to be on a wide and easily discernible trail, a stark comparison to the hours of difficult navigation I had recently spent on the A.T. up in Vermont. Pneumo admitted he hadn't done a lot of hiking recently, and his breathing got heavier as he followed me up the mountain. With occasional and gentle switchbacks, we watched the valley floor drop below us as trees became even more sparse and the terrain more steeply sloped. As we made our way further to the top the north side of the trail we were hiking became covered with snow that hadn't yet seen sunlight or temperatures that would have allowed it to melt. Stopping for a quick break at a false summit, our first open vista, we snapped some photos before continuing upwards towards the 3,284-foot peak. The terrain became much different after that first overlook, turning to massive boulders that required hand-over-hand climbing to get up and over. Some of these rocks, measuring nearly thirty feet tall, appeared to have once split apart from each other creating narrow gaps through which the trail traversed. This part was fantastically fun, reminding me of the scramble up Maine's Katahdin, and at some points required squeezing my backpack ahead of myself in order to shimmy through the crevices. We climbed up and out of one boulder formation to be greeted with a mixture of barely discernable light snow and rain, a product of the windy and low-40s weather outside. Clouds flew overhead as we walked over the top of more rocks, descending into the trees for a hundred feet or so before we came across a lone signpost proclaiming distances to the summit, the rock scramble, and the parking lot where we came from.

We took the short side trail to Old Rag Mountain's true summit, climbing up the highest boulder, quickly observing our surroundings before hopping back down and more thoroughly analyzing the sign to see what distance lay between us and the car. A quick snack was provided courtesy of the Delta airlines biscoff cookies I keep in my backpack before we glanced at our watches and began descending the mountain. At this point it was 1430hrs, not at all bad for a two hour, 4.8 mile trek from where we began. The trail itself is a loop of sorts, with just over 5 miles of trail remaining until we got back to the car. The opposite side of the mountain where the route took us was exposed to much more sunlight than the face we ascended, and the dirt was more of a thick mud than anything else. Slipping a bit here and there we continued downward at a great pace, though missing each joking about how our knees would hurt the next day. Halfway down the mountain's moderate descent we came across the Byrd's Nest Shelter, a stone building designed as a day-use facility for hikers in the summer, though it was closed up and locked for the winter months. It was shortly after passing the shelter that we came across the first people we'd seen since leaving the parking lot, a young couple also making their way down the mountain. Pneumo and I carried on our conversation, and they took notice of the fact that we were behind them… I guess we're used to a bit more courteous hiking, because after a few minutes it was Pneumo that spoke up to ask if we could pass them. No issues, they immediately stepped aside and we moved along down the trail. Passing one more couple in the next half-mile stretch, we eventually made it down to the Forest Service road that wraps its way up the side of the mountain. Turning east, we walked at a comfortable pace down the wide dirt road back towards the trailhead.

Making a brief stop to photograph a few waterfalls before reaching the car, we pulled into the parking lot around 1630hrs. To our astonishment, Pneumo's red Subaru had been joined by a large, colorfully unique motor vehicle… none other than the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile. I have zero idea as to why this thing was parked in a dirt lot at the end of a backcountry road in the hillsides of western Virginia, but alas there it was. We snapped some photos of it before packing up in our own car and heading back towards the highway. I asked that we stop so I could get a few photos of some fascinating cloud formations behind a barn and rolling terrain on our way back, which my friend gladly accommodated. A chicken-parm dinner at an Italian restaurant local to him served as our dinner after the 9+ mile hike, and we enjoyed a beer by a fire in his family's backyard before crashing for the night.

I flew back to Boston this morning and will have a few days here before heading out again. It was fantastic to see my friend and to hike with him for the first time since we parted ways shortly before the New York state line on the Appalachian Trail almost 2 and a half years ago. We've made some plans to meet up this summer and hopefully do some more hiking, which I'll very much look forward to. In the mean time, I'll just have to find mini-adventures wherever I can.

Onward & upward,

​Texaco

Well folks, Happy New Year. Forewarning, this isn’t a something I’m thrilled to post and it was exceptionally difficult for me to write.

It is with a heavy heart that I inform you that yesterday morning Santa and I got off the trail for good. It’s most important to first note that we were not driven off by the nor’easter that came through Vermont at the end of last week. We were not underprepared, we were not physically incapable, we were not naïve to the terrain ahead, we were not, and are not, intimidated by the mountains and what they held in store for us. Friday night my hiking partner and dear friend Santa spoke to me regarding his thoughts on our hike as it stood. He voiced concern for his current mental health and happiness, noting that the distances we were covering in order to attempt to finish in Canada in a mere 15 days were wearing thin on him and his decision making abilities while hiking. His timing in bringing it up after leaving Killington was intentional; we both were one hundred percent comfortable with our gear and abilities to hike out of the warm environment at the Inn and face the weather that was headed our way. I think, though I never had any doubts, we needed to know for ourselves that we could do it.

After the first fifty or so miles of trail I was often in the range of manageable pain while we hiked, my right knee claiming most of the responsibility for discomfort as the trail twists on steep climbs and sharp rocks jut out under the snow as we move along. I can’t break the remaining 150 miles of snowy trail on my own, nor would I ever be comfortable attempting to cover the rest of the distance without a trusted fellow hiker like Santa. As luck would have it my mom was visiting a family member in western Massachusetts this weekend and was able to drive north to pick us up from Brandon Gap on Vermont’s Route 73 on Saturday morning. After long discussion and careful consideration he, partially me, and therefore we, are done with our attempted Long Trail thru-hike this winter.

I’m struggling immensely with this decision and have been since the moment I got in the car, but there are a handful of things I keep reminding myself of: primarily the facts that we didn’t quit, and that we most certainly didn’t fail. As a team we were not operating at 100-percent and the trail that lay ahead would be the most snow covered and difficult terrain yet. To go into that knowingly having hesitations on either of our parts would be a detrimental and perhaps dangerous mistake. In the nearly two weeks we spent in the woods we faced sub-freezing temperatures all but one day, sub-zero temperatures on two nights, and three days of heavy snowfall, the latter two a result of a major winter storm. When I struggled internally with the trip I would remind myself regularly that it would be “only _____ more days”... Only two more weeks in sub freezing temperatures and fighting through nearly every one of the 35,000 steps I take each day, but the desired/required mileage may very well have been out of our reach in the more challenging northern sections of trail. I’d liked to have finished, I’m driven to a fault, to a point where I’ll probably always regret not going down with my fists swinging. All that being said, the bigger and more pride inducing fact is that we covered 125 miles of the Long Trail, just under half of it’s total length in phenomenal time. I always say that it’s important to know your exits, and I believe this was a true example of that.

If you live an ordinary life, all you’ll have are ordinary stories. We went out and challenged winter and ourselves in the surprisingly secluded mountains of Vermont. It should go without saying that this awesome 100+ mile trek will serve as a phenomenal basis for an adventure/trail I’ll have to finish in the near future. I’ll conclude this by noting my most sincere gratitude for your unwavering support and enthusiasm with all that I do, and the hope that you’ll join me again on whatever journey comes next.

Onward & upward.

Texaco


​

Day #12
Mileage: 8.8
Long Trail Mileage: 124.1
Time: 9 hours
Day / Night Temp: 28 / 19 F
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Our port in the storm worked wonders last night, keeping us out of the elements and warm as another 4+ inches of snow fell on the forest floor around us. Due to our location on the inside slope of the ridge, however, we were exposed to very little cross breeze which in turn with our body heat created a fair bit of moisture inside the tent and on our sleeping bags. While the snow subsided around midnight, it picked up again around 0330hrs, the noise of flakes hitting the tent waking me from an otherwise dead sleep. From then on the night and any hope of quality rest was lost on me. Around three hours later Santa awoke, encouraging me to get up as well so we could get started on the day.

Packing up the tent and all of our gear proved rather difficult to do as the second coming of the winter storm fell directly on top of us. Cold wind made itself present, and we hurried to pack the tent up and get a move on. The plan for the day was an ambitious thirteen mile trek to the Sucker Brook shelter. After putting on our gloves and frozen shell jackets, we began searching for the nearest white blaze that marked the Long Trail's path north. It took only a few minutes before we found such a thing, faded but present nonetheless on the bark of a birch tree a mere 25' uphill from where our tent was set the night before. We had been so close to the trail, but in the pitch black of night with snow flying sideways and headlamps glaring back at us in the reflection of said snow, there was no way we'd ever have found the blaze nor the trail. This began our game of searching out the woods for the trail itself; with the help of ambient light from the sun as it rose above the ridge line we followed the curvature of snow that is unmistakably the trail as it wound through trees and over hills. Despite every ounce of energy being devoted to hiking and route finding, it took us nearly 90 minutes to arrive at the side trail for the David Logan shelter where we had intended to spend the night before. There is no way on earth we would have made it there in the dark. Having no water left due to our emergent place of residence the night before, we pulled in to eat an early lunch and fill our water bottles. Scoping out the shelter's nearby streams we discovered them both dry, realizing that for the first time in our 116 miles of trekking, we'd need to boil snow to hydrate.

It took us an hour to refill our water supplies and eat, something I wasn't thrilled about given the 8.8 remaining miles to the road gap where we intended to end our day. We packed up and moved back out, following the shelter's steep side trail 0.2 miles uphill to where it had departed from the LT. Immediately we continued climbing, gaining a few hundred feet of elevation through densely packed snow. This began an entire day of difficult, at times miserable, hiking as we progressed north on the trail. Some sections of the Long Trail are incredibly steep, some are cut into the side of a mountain with very little room for a misstep before you risk tumbling down into the oblivion that lies below. We traversed both these kinds of trail, every so often balancing them together as we carefully made our way up the trail. The snowfall depth varied depending on where we were on each mountain, from 8-10 inches deep along the ridges to upwards of 30 inches deep on the steep pitched inclines. Sometimes I would reach my trekking pole out into the snow to catch the weight of my body if I tripped, only to find almost the entire pole disappear into the snow beside me. Each step in my snowshoes was part of an exhausting battle to move forward, and we slowed to an incredible 1 mile per hour as we moved along.

The afternoon passed at a confusing rate, the time seemed to fly as our mileage moved like molasses. We were frustrated with ourselves for the speed, wondering aloud how the LT would be to traverse in the fall when the trail itself was easier to follow. Despite the frequency on other days to talk almost incessantly, we moved along in near silence today, respecting each other's seeming need without any prior arrangement. We crossed through the woods as the trail slowly became more easy to navigate, flowing through pine and maple trees with a wide berth that made it quickly distinguishable versus the rest of the forest we were in. Santa and I alternated breaking trail throughout the day as the trail continued to climb in elevation, crossing over a half dozen well groomed snowmobile trails as they wound through the same mountains we went over.

Around 1530hrs we crossed by Bloodroot Gap, marking our initial descent down from the 3,300' ridge to the gap below where Route 73 cuts through the mountains. We had only 2.4 miles left in our day, though the miserably slow mile an hour pace we had been pushing hard to move at made me hesitant for how long the remaining distance would take to cover. Thankfully we soon learned that the area was also popular to cross country skiers, and the LT's route down the mountain had already been well packed from skis despite the heavy snowfall in the last 24 hours. We flew down the gradually descending terrain, making it to the Brandon Gap parking lot where we planned to spend the night around 1645hrs, the tail end of daylight.

Today was difficult, blanketed with snow and constantly subject to more falling, but ultimately was not impossible (or impassable for that matter). Compared to previous days we covered a small amount of mileage and that fact is slightly frustrating, but I take a step back and realize we've just hiked 23 miles, through tough terrain, over a two day winter storm in New England.

Every day we do our best for one more day.

Tex

​

Day #11
Mileage: 11.2 (plus 1.4 off trail)
Long Trail Mileage: 115.3
Time: 8 hours
Day / Night Temp: 28 / 15 F
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While the Inn wasn't home to the most comfortable bed in the world, the warmth of the wood stove was everything a cold hiker could ever have asked for. I woke around 0700, beginning to pack my new food supplies into my bag as Santa joined me by the fire to do the same. We were expecting snow for 1000hrs, and aimed to be on the trail at that exact time. Breakfast was held in the Inn's dining room, a delightful dish of homemade French toast with watermelon, bacon, hot chocolate, and orange juice. With the meals included in the room cost, the Inn turned out, I believe, to have been an excellent place to stay. We returned to our room to finish packing, checking out at 1000hrs on the dot and shouldering our bags just as the snow began to fall.

The day's plan was a rather simple elevation profile, a few climbs of 4-700 feet each, with what looked like some ridge walking in between. It took a 1.4 mile hike to get back to the Long Trail itself from the Inn, at which point we hiked until we came across the Maine Junction, the point where the Appalachian and Long trails split having had shared blazes, shelters, and exact trajectory for the last 105.5 miles since the Massachusetts border. We triple checked the signage, being sure to choose the right white blazes for our trip north (the Appalachian Trail splits east towards New Hampshire at this junction) and stepped foot into the Long Trail with our sights set towards Canada. Having hiked the AT in 2014, it was a near realization that from this point forward every step was on a trail I had never traveled before. I no longer knew what was around every corner, the tricks to each shelter, etc; it was a freeing feeling of sorts.

As we hiked the heavy snow of the nor'easter continued to fall. We had on our shell jackets, hats, gloves, and goggles to protect ourselves as the snow and wind blew in sideways and seemingly every other direction. We knew the Long Trail would be marked less, so we paid a lot of attention to keeping the right targets in scope, following the right indentations in the quickly falling snow, to stay on track. Had we not been previous thru-hikers, I don't know that we would be as good at following a difficultly marked trail in such heavy winter conditions. Climbing through the hills on the ascent out of Killington, we reached the Rolston Rest shelter around 1245hours, having made great time since leaving the inn, despite the weather conditions. We made the break short, knowing there were still 7.8 miles left in the day and hiked back into the snow having eaten a power bar kind of lunch. The terrain from the shelter climbed a good 500 feet, not the most difficult but not the easiest as we stopped every 100 or so paces to verify our existence on the trail itself. Whereas the Appalachian Trail is packed down from thousands of travelers, the LT has very little depression in the ground making it far less obvious to follow. Best we could tell, the last hikers through this section were our friends Mariposa and Violet who we met towards the end of our AT thrus, who had attempted to finish the Long Trail from Killington to Canada just over a month ago. We were on our own in finding the way.

As we climbed up it became apparent that the original LT is a completely different beast from its AT sharing section. The 'ridge' we anticipated walking on was actually an 18" wide path cut into the side of a 45 degree vertical slope with very low margins for error. As the heavy and wet snow continued to fall, each step was taken cautiously with an ankle rolled to match the pitch of the terrain and keep us upright. Downed trees were everywhere and we found ourselves climbing over or under them as they sprawled across the narrow trail, having no option to go around simple due to the angle of the terrain we were crossing. We gained and lost little bits of elevation here and there, continuing to walk sideways to the mountains, and eventually came out to a snowmobile trail crossing where the trail cut across after a few hundred feet of road walking.

The sign marking the Long Trail's reentrance into the woods was comedically propped up against a tree, pointing in directions that had no actual bearing on the trail itself. We were left to search out the 'trail', covered in 12+ inches of snow, from the forest of white frosted tree trunks that lay before us. We used the GPS to verify the coordinates after wasting a few precious minutes trying to find it on our own, and were eventually back underway, again carving into the steep hillside as Goretex shells began to look wet, a hint at just how much snow was falling (and melting) on them. The drive to make it to the David Logan shelter where we planned to stay the night became even greater. At one point as we hiked this narrow trail on the slope of the mountain, my left foot slipped on a snow covered patch of ice, sending me toppling off the trail and down the incline a few feet before catching my foot on a tree and self arresting. I came down hard on my already pained right knee, and Santa stood on the trail above me asking what he could do to help. We slowly got me back on the trail, cautiously carrying on with less momentum than before. Our speeds slowed dramatically with the weird terrain and increasingly bad weather. As sunset happened somewhere far behind the thick grey clouds that covered our landscape, we donned our headlamps as we do every night we hike. Dusk was upon us quickly, and with it we got more sideways snow in near white out conditions. The glow of the headlamps beam shone back at us in the reflective snow, and we trudged forward slowly with every step.

It was around 1645 hours as the woods became completely dark that we realized we had actually (finally?) lost the trail. Santa began searching for blazes as I referenced the GPS. With the infrequent appearance of our favorite white trail marking paint, we followed the breadcrumb path of the GPS further forward until our position and the 'trail' no longer stayed in sync. We spent nearly half an hour along a ridge trying to find the trail itself, getting colder and more wet in the process as wet snow abundantly continued to fall. We were exactly 1 mile of trail from the shelter, a warm(er) and covered place to spend the night. We debated hiking straight to it, but hesitated due to the topography and slopes of the surrounding area. Santa suggested returning to a blue blazed side trail and trying to approach the shelter from a parking lot at the base of the mountain. Standing there losing body heat and getting more uncomfortable by the minute, I told him we needed to set the tent and hunker down for what would be a long night of continued snowfall. Finding a 'flat' section of ground a hundred or so feet from the top of the ridge, we used our snowshoes to stomp down over a foot of fresh powder, working quickly to get the tent up and keep it dry inside.

We're hunkered down for the night waiting for daylight's arrival with hopes of reacquainting ourselves with the trail when we can see it without struggle. I won't go so far as to say it was dumb to be hiking at night in this weather, as it's something we've absolutely done before. I absolutely think we made the right decision to shelter in place instead of wearing ourselves out by continuing to search for a trail we had little hope of finding in the pitch black on a mountainside. There's little cross-breeze now which makes me nervous for precipitation inside the tent. All our gear is dry from the night at the Inn, and it will be unfortunate when it becomes damp from a night of confined space with little ventilation. I'd leave the door open, but snow continues to fall.

The tone here is pessimistic and moral low. I've never in my life felt unsafe in the woods until tonight, which put me a bit on edge and I think cemented my unwillingness to try and make it the ONE more mile to the shelter. I've carried the tent for 115 miles for this exact reason; to be our port in the storm.

We'll find the trail in the morning and will see how far we make it. Today was almost a 12 mile day and tomorrow is slated to be thirteen. We'll have to see how my knee is after that last fall, and how Santa is feeling about all this. We've seen exactly three hikers on trail since leaving Massachusetts; 157 remaining miles is still a very long way to go, especially if we're breaking 12-18" of newly fallen powder the entire way.

Ever onwards.

Day #10
Mileage: 10.6 (plus 3 off trail)
Long Trail Mileage: 104.5
Time: 8 hours
Day / Night Temp: 25 / 18 F
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​
We've broken the 100 mile mark. Had it not been for the relatively packed trail on our north side descent of Killington, I'd be writing that the mountain whooped our asses around the block and back. For the first time on the trail I woke up the moment my alarm went off, making some kind of noise to wake Santa as well. We had business to tend to, town to get to, supplies to purchase, hot food to eat, and warm beds to sleep in; there was no time whatsoever to mess around.

We left the shelter at 0730 and began walking up the Forest Service road a quarter mile or so before the Appalachian Trail / Long Trail turned off the maintained terrain and up into the woods. The snow flurries continued on from the night before, and would for the rest of our day. The first mile or so was easy with light crunchy snow underfoot and a gradually climbing terrain. We covered that distance in about twenty five minutes, then began slowing from there. Killington's climb for a northbound hiker takes place over approximately 7 miles and gains just about 3,000 feet in elevation. The first three miles of that are moderate, and then the mountain kicks things into gear. The terrain turned more moderate, climbing upward at steeper angles as the snow became gradually deeper. It was strange how yesterday morning we hiked with no snow at all and now we were ankle deep in the stuff, no more than 7 miles as the crow flies from where there was none. We pushed on, our speed dropping as each lift of our legs became more strenuous, carrying on up a mountain with no switchbacks to be seen.

Halfway up we began being slowed down drastically by the snow. Under the evergreens was about 6" of snowfall with a thin but icy top layer crusted on from the warm temperatures and rain the day before. The real problems arose when we crossed areas with no tree cover, finding ourselves knee deep and eventually waist deep in snow drifts. The latter being the deepest snow we've experienced on trail thus far, it was exceptionally difficult to move in. I can only describe it like being waist deep in sand, pushing with every ounce of force in your body to lift/move/wiggle/force your leg forwards to make progress up the mountain. It is emotionally and physically draining, and we combatted this on and off for over a mile towards the summit, climbing vertically all the while. I switched to snowshoes from my light traction, possibly too late in the game, but Santa stayed with Microspikes as we neared in on the Cooper Lodge shelter on the back side of Killington's slopes. I'm not sure there was width in the trail, or honestly anywhere shallow enough, to have put them on earlier either way. We trudged on, me breaking trail with my now massive footprint as he followed behind. We finally arrived at Cooper Lodge at about 1140hrs, the world around us frosted in that beautifully iconic alpine New England frosty ice.

Lunch was quick, and we made conversation with a few skiers who stopped into the shelter to take a recreational smoke break from the slopes. It was at this point that someone asked "what [were our] plans for the blizzard." - the first we had heard of this storm moving in on New England, so I'm sure our responses were slightly worrying and slightly comical. We packed up, both donning snowshoes, and began the descent towards the town of Killington itself, located just over 6 miles down the trail. As it turned out, apparently the trail we would descend is infinitely more popular for hikers than the one we came up, packed down and traveled well enough that we stopped a quick mile later and traded the snowshoes for Microspikes. The 6 miles downhill went by infinitely faster than the 4 miles up, and as we wound our way down the mountain, following previous footprints through a sometimes confusing maze of switchbacks and poorly marked trail. We reached VT Route 4 at 1500hrs, turning east and walking over a mile up the highway to the Inn at the Long Trail where I had made us a reservation for the night.

Oakie, who I assume to be the manager, greeted us kindly and became even warmer to us when he found out we were hikers. He offered us town clothes, left here by others and recycled for hikers in summer months as they do laundry, and told us he upgraded our accommodations to a room with a gas fireplace. We thanked him, ran to our rooms to shed sweaty and soaked layers of clothing, and then began the 2 mile walk further down Route 4 to an outfitter where Santa had a care package mailed. I picked up some new compression shorts and gaiters (both that I began hiking with are falling apart already...) and the rep at Base Camp Outfitters was nice enough to give me a 10% discount and repeatedly encouraged our hike. We quickly visited the small market for yet another expensive New England resupply, then took the local commuter bus back up the hill to the hotel, the driver giving us the ride for free when he found out we were hiking this late in the year.

The rest of the night was comprised of a shower, laundry, cold pints at the Irish pub from Owen the bartender, hot lobster mac & cheese, and phone calls to loved ones now that we actually have service. We used the gas fireplace to dry sleeping bags, and I fell asleep to the glow of the flames dancing around the room. I don't think I've ever been so disinterested in the arrival of a tomorrow, or getting back on the trail. Today took a lot out of me, out of us, and I think the pessimistic thoughts are gaining on the optimistic.

We're aware of the weather. We've seen the reports, estimating 12-18" of heavy snow for this area over a 24 hour span tomorrow. We will be mindful of it, and safety will of course come first, especially over pride. At the end of the day though, a winter thru-hike attempt in New England wasn't going to happen without some kind of weather presenting itself.

Anyway, that's that.

Texaco