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
--
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
--
​
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

Two years ago, we walked 2,200 miles together. This summer, we sailed in the gorgeous waters of the Caribbean as a precursor to a gigantic undertaking yet to come. In two month's time, I'd like to invite you to join me on another adventure of a familiar yet completely different nature. 

As I hinted at a few months back, my good friend Santa and I have been planning a thru-hike this winter of Vermont's legendary Long Trail. Created between 1910 and 1930, and known as the oldest long distance trail in the United States, the trail extends just over 270 miles from the Massachusetts/Vermont border up to Canada over the backbone of VT's Green Mountain range. The first 100 miles are shared with the A.T., so Santa and I are familiar with the terrain and what we'll encounter, albeit at a much different time of year. The trail is credited with being the inspiration for the Appalachian Trail itself and has a recorded 3,100 thru-hikers. The group comprised of those who hike it in one instance or compile a multitude of smaller section-hikes are affectionately known by the Green Mountain [hiking/trail maintenance] Club as "end-to-enders".

The majority, actually all but one recorded thru-hike of the trail that I've been able to find on the Internet, has been done in the late spring to late fall months when New England's mountains terrain and weather is a bit kinder to those who take it on. Most find that the trail take about two to four weeks in summer months (and therefore almost ideal conditions). True to form of loving a challenge, as well as both of our limitations of time with school and work, respectively, Santa and I have allotted 3 weeks to finish the trail this winter, knowing full well that snow and other weather at 3,500-4,500 feet above sea level will likely pose more than one challenge throughout our trek. 

At this point we plan to leave the 19th of December, the day after my birthday, and drive out to the North Adams, MA area (remember Mt. Greylock from the A.T.?) to begin at the border of Vermont. I'm building a gear list for this adventure, as most of my backpacking equipment is 3-season and will not support sub-zero temperatures that we'll likely see throughout a fair bit of the hike. I've begun building a Gear Talk page for this hike, alike the A.T., where I'm going over the equipment list I'll carry on the trail. 

I'll post occasional updates as we lead up to our departure time, highlight select gear and our more detailed plans and itineraries, and will also be attempting to blog daily, and keep the photos coming. My hope is to again provide some entertainment as you all sit in your warm homes during the chilly winter timeframe during which Santa and I will once again be living in the woods. Yes... this will be a cold one, but on the bright side I get to literally spend Christmas with Santa. Who else can say that?

Onward & upward,

​Ryan "Texaco" McKee

Day: 91

Day mileage: 19

AT total mileage: 1,759.0

Time: 7.5 hours 

--

The night in the garage passed quickly, and I woke up early per usual feeling exceptionally tired. Packing up and thanking Betsy as she headed off to work, Legs, Santa, and I headed back up the hill to the Thayer house to meet up again with Rocket and Dorothy. There were a few hikers awake when we got there just before 7, and Dorothy informed us that Rocket Girl hadn't slept well at all. She was going to try and sleep in for a while longer, a decision that was fine with me as I was exhausted as well. Eating breakfast on the porch with everyone, a list was made of things that needed to be purchase at Eastern Mountain Sports in town, as one of the Thayers had offered to drive a load of hikers in to make some purchases. As I didn't have anything I needed to buy, I proceeded to flatten myself on the wood decking of the porch next to Naila as she napped, and caught up on a few hours of sleep as Dorothy, Santa, and Legs went into town.  Waking up nearly two hours later, still comfortably entwined with the puppy, I took another shower in the Thayer's guest bathroom and got ready for some actual hiking. It wasn't until 11:30 or so that the gang arrived back from EMS and began packing up to hike out. Saying goodbye to the wonderfully hospitable Mr. Thayer, I caught up to my friends and headed towards New Hampshire. 

We would end up with 4 miles of road walking before the Appalachian Trail would turn back into the woods. Descending from a higher vantage point on the side of the mountain where the Thayer household was, we crossed under Vermont's I-89 and over the Connecticut river on a bridge that had the letters 'VT-NH' stamped in the side of the concrete. With nearly a dozen of us hikers gathered there we took a group photo - officially having completed the 12th and entered the 13th state of the Trail. Cars honked and we cheered, and I added to the festivities by mounting my amazingly awesome American flag on my trekking pole and flying it as we walked into Hanover center. The trail walks down Main Street in town only after traipsing through a bit of the Dartmouth University campus. We took a quick detour and followed Santa to the university's library where in the 'Tower' room, there was some kind of filming of Harry Potter. I'm not sure the exact details as it's very much second hand information, but the tower room in the air conditioned library was a wonderful place for us to stand for a while on the hot summer day. Exiting the library and finding ourselves back in the insane heat and humidity of the otherwise beautiful summer day, we were approached by a grad student named Shelby who was interested in interviewing us for a project she's working on. She said she was willing to hike along with us so as to not slow us down, and would meet us on the edge of town before the trail ventured back into the mountains. We hiked down Main Street, passing by hundreds of people out enjoying the gorgeous day, and found our way out to where the trail left the paved road. Situated around this area is a Co-Op grocery store, which was perfectly placed for me to buy a liter of Gatorade before continuing on with the day. Standing in the parking lot as a group we were approached by an older gentlemen who asked if we were thru-hikers. Introducing himself as The Ice Cream Man, a famous individual on the Trail, Mr. Bill Atkinson invited us to stop by his house for ice cream and a game of croquet some 16 miles north on the trail when we arrived later in the day. Noting Naila's discomfort in the heat, he also offered to take her for the afternoon so she wouldn't have to climb mountains. We thanked him profusely, finished our shopping, and met Shelby to continue hiking while she interviewed us.  The terrain for the day would include two serious climbs of over 1,200 feet each, a challenge in the heat of the late afternoon. Shelby did a great job keeping up with us, and I was actually rather quiet in responding to her questions. She spent about 3 miles hiking moderate terrain in our well-polished group before hopping off the trail at a road crossing that would allow her a quick hitchhike back into town. We hiked on, beginning the first of the two serious climbs. I hiked most of this alone, for reasons I'll now explain.

There are many approaches to the Appalachian Trail. Some people hike 2,000 miles or so, some complete all 2,185.3 miles. Some hikers skip sections via 'blue blazing' meaning to take side trails that might skirt summits or cut out more challenging terrain. There's 'yellow blazing' which means to utilize a car or hitchhike to skip mileage and jump ahead by a fair distance. 'Aqua blazing' refers to a fun and common practice of canoeing through the Shenandoah National Park, bypassing some 100 miles of trail.  There's also a common practice called 'slackpacking' a play on slacking and backpacking, where hikers will leave their full backpacks with a trail angel or hostel owner and carry bare essentials for a day instead of every piece of gear, getting their packs back at the end of the day so they can camp normally.  It's important to follow up this information by informing you of a very important phrase that's synonymous with long distance hiking- HYOH- or, hike your own hike. There is no right or wrong way to go about this adventure, and in the end it is only each individual hiker that can judge whether or not they have successfully thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail. I happen to be in the somewhat strict camp with regards to what constitutes a thru-hike. I have worn my backpack for every mile I've hiked, I've not missed 0.1 mile of trail, and I don't much feel good at the thought of having it any other way. In the end, though, it is the opinion of each individual.  Does physically hiking any distance of the trail over 2,000 miles constitute a full hike? Is it the same accomplishment even if you've utilized different avenues to make things a bit easier on yourself? I'm not sure that it is, but that's just me. 

If you'd like to comment below on your thoughts, I'd be very interested to hear. Reason for bringing this up is that the option of a slackpack was presented by a thru-hiker with a car named Bangarang. He offered to drive our packs to the road crossing just shy of the shelter where we would stay, then give us our gear back. I was exceptionally back and forth on this despite the eager nature at which my friends all accepted his offer. It felt wrong. In the end I compromised- still carrying my backpack with important gear and the like, taking out things like my sleeping back and tent which I wouldn't be needing for the afternoon. I still carried a weighted pack. I found this to be a somewhat reasonable alternative, that didn't leave me feeling horribly guilty. 

The first climb went smoothly. I did most of it alone as the others were literally running the trail with the newfound freedom of no backpack whatsoever. I eventually caught up to Rocket and Santa, noting from a vista that some serious storm clouds were moving in. An hour or so later after descending into a gap below, the sky got insanely dark in a very short period of time. Distant thunder became much closer, and the sky literally turned a sickly looking green color. At this point it was 1900hrs or so, but the darkness of the environment around us gave the impression it was much, much later at night. I stopped to put my headlamp on, a decision based on my poor vision in the dark woods and the desire to not stop during torrential rain to search for it in my backpack. It wasn't 2 minutes afterwords that the heavens opened and all hell broke lose on the Appalachian Trail. Torrential downpours were accompanied by incessant lightning and thunder in the distance, some 4 or 5 miles away. Pushing at an insane pace towards the summit, wanting to get the climb over with and find somewhere dry to stop, we hiked the steeply sloped mountain at nearly 3.5 miles an hour, a rate that's rather beyond my usual uphill speed, and way beyond Rocket's comfort zone.  We stuck together as a group, three LED headlamps marching through walls of water in the pitch black of the woods, a sharp contrast to the ghastly green hue of the sky above. At one point the cracks of thunder and lightning measured out to be less than 1/4 mile away as we neared the wooded summit of the 2,600' peak. One crack of thunder was loud enough to leave my ears a bit sore, likely having been well over 110 decibels, and the closest/loudest episode we encountered. The three of us trekked on, beginning the uncomfortable descent of what was quite literally a river gushing with rainwater and drowning what should have been the Appalachian Trail. I did my best to entertain my two friends, singing and doing anything I could to keep spirits up despite the absolute misery of the situation. At around 2100hrs we neared the bottom of the mountain, approaching a state road crossing. In this moment, Rocket cheered loudly. Following her lead a loud and low pitched scream came from the darkness ahead of me as Bangarang quickly emerged from behind a tree, causing me to jump some 4 feet in the air, subsequently scream, and involuntary throw my trekking poles at him. Laugh all you want, but if you were the first person in a group hiking in the pitch black and someone jumped out from behind a tree and screamed, you'd jump like an NBA star too. 

Bangarang led us the 0.1 miles off the trail at the road crossing to Bill Atkinson's house. In light of the ferocious storm, we were offered to spend the night. His porch was already full of hikers, but Legs, Rocket, Santa, and myself were given space on the living room floor. Cooking a dinner quickly, we still didn't make it to bed until 2330hrs or so. It wasn't an exceptionally long day, but having started well after noon o'clock and hiking through an insane storm, I think we did just fine. It's insane to think that I'm almost there. Some 425 miles from now I'll be standing atop Katahdin. If nothing else, that'll give me something to dream about tonight.

Somewhat dry on the living room floor of a trail angel and living legend of the Appalachian Trail, it's time for bed. Life is mysterious that way- from a grocery store parking lot on a hot summer afternoon to a full house of friendly people some 8 hours later while the world outside gets soaked in precipitation... I've literally found a port in the storm.

Texaco

Day: 88

Day mileage: 13

AT total mileage: 1,701.2

Time: 3.5 hours 

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I woke up at the exact same time as Santa and Legs, each of us exiting our gondolas and dragging our sleeping bags to the deck of the gondola lift. The time was 04:30 AM, and in 45 minutes we would watch the sun crest the horizon, 180 degrees from where we watched it disappear the night before. In the time between sunrise and our moving out to the deck we would watch the clouds dance across the sky as the sun began coloring them with deep reds and orange hues. Nodding on and off as time passed, we watched the sun appear over the distant mountain ridges, and then each fell back asleep. The wind was blowing fiercely, but we each hunkered down in our sleeping bags and drifted off for a few more hours of shut eye. It wouldn't be until after 7 that Rocket would wake us, a reminder that there were miles to be hiked. 

Packing up lethargically, we eventually began the trek down from the summit of Killington. The cold wind continued, but a t-shirt and shorts were all that were necessary as the physical demands of descending the rocky and steep trail we'd come up the day before kept us plenty warm.  After countless careful steps and lots of precise placement with trekking poles, we made it down to the lodge where we had almost stayed the night before. Two other thru-hikers had tented nearby, but nobody actually occupied the stone shelter. Passing by it we continued down the mountain, losing some 2,500' in elevation over the next 7 miles. We stopped briefly on the way down at a shelter for a small snack, then trudged on to the bottom of the mountain. The plan for the day was to hike into Killingon, VT for a resupply, as well as to grab my new camera and Legs' food box from the post office. We would also stop by a state park shower house where hot water was available to the tune of 50 cents for 5 minutes.  Unfortunately (a rather silly business move, I'd think) there was no change machine, so we were limited to the small amount of change any of us carried. I'd by lying if I said that 5 minutes time was enough to wash and rinse a hiker's body of dirt, grime, and general grossness.  Despite that, the challenge to become at least partially clean lay in front of us, so we used the 5 minutes time to the fullest and did what we needed to do. Donning our town clothes (I wear my Superman shirt, the girls have dresses, Dorothy- a guy- in bright pink shorts and Hawaiian shirt, and Santa his rain gear) we hiked another mile downhill to the crossing in the trail that would take us 0.4 miles to Base Camp Outfitters. A hiker friendly store that caters to outdoor activities of all kinds in the Killington area, I had my camera mailed here to pick up. Rocket exchanged some lifetime-warranty socks, and we plugged in our array of electronics to charge on the porch.   Jim, a friend of my folks and close friend of Diane and Mike, owners of the outfitters, had been kind enough to leave me a 6-pack of local beers and some Gatorade in the store fridge, which was exceptionally nice for a hot summer afternoon. Introducing myself to Diane and Mike, we made ourselves at home on the business' front porch. Diane offered to drive us to the two some-odd miles to the laundromat/pub, aptly called the Scrub-a-Dub Pub, to do laundry and get lunch. Putting in our load, which we've taken to washing as a whole, we went upstairs and ordered an array of cheeseburgers. Pricing reflected that of a northern ski town, but were fair in relation to the amount of food provided. I had a few beers, and after our laundry was done, we began the few miles of road-walk back to the outfitter. The time was already 1800hrs, having flown by as we took care of little town tasks, and we were debating the planned 7 mile hike out of town to the next shelter. 

The problem with our wonderful plan was that it was late enough into the day that hiking said distance may have been unreasonable. The first mile or two out of town was comprised of a 1,300' climb, and nobody had been to the small gas station/deli/market to pick up food for a resupply. It was about this time that Finn, a recurring character in the past few weeks who has been absent from the storyline due to hiking with another group, had met up with a lady-friend and called to offer us a ride to Wal-Mart to get our food. Due to the prices likely being significantly cheaper and the variety of food much larger, we agreed to have him pick us up and take us. Unfortunately, while extremely helpful, this added nearly an hour to our day and caused us to return to Base Camp (literally) around 2030hrs. Packing up our newly purchased food and storing fully charged electronics, we hiked in the dark down to the edge of Kent Pond. Tucked back on the trail a few hundred yards was an opening large enough for us to fit a few sleeping bags, and we all decided to cowboy camp on the edge of the lake. We hung out for a few more hours listening to music and telling stories, eventually drifting off to our beds around midnight. 

Tomorrow we'll hike on, though the heat is forecasted to be 91 degrees without factoring humidity. Miserable hiking weather if you ask me. We'll get as far as we get, likely with an afternoon break of a few hours, and continue on tomorrow. It's hard to believe July 1st is here. Come Thursday I'll be 3 months in from Springer Mountain, just shy of 1,800 miles further north on the trail. 

Onwards & upwards, per usual. 

T

Day: 87

Day mileage: 20

AT total mileage: 1,690.9

Time: 7.5 hours 

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In a unparalleled feat of machine-like hiking, I led Santa, Legs, and Naila through the first five miles of trail in an hour and a half. We had departed the shelter shortly after 7, and after a quick descent from our shelter we began a 1,300' climb to the top of an unnamed peak. The climb included some switchbacks, but was still a strenuous one that had me soaked in sweat shortly after beginning. I'm not entirely sure why I felt the need to hike it so ferociously, but it felt amazing to do so, and neither of the two hiking with me complained, so on we trekked. We had decided before leaving that we would all stop at the first shelter we came to for a quick break, not realizing we would be there so quickly. Upon arrival we relaxed for quite a while, awaiting the appearance of Dorothy and Rocket Girl. Eating a second breakfast and reading my Everest book, we were there for almost an hour before heading on, off the bat climbing a 200' rise before beginning a long descent into a gap to cross VT 103 at Clarendon Gorge. Passing some day hikers, the trail made a remarkably abrupt change to its terrain with a 1/2 mile, 800' climb up an incredibly steep fallen rock field, before descending down to the next shelter. Since we were already 9 miles into the day at this point, having hiked quickly and in a very focused manner, we stopped for lunch. The shelter was also occupied by an older guy who was a bit on the odd side, making random comments about the trail and napping on and off during our time there. At one point he woke up and questioned our presence... he seemed to be completely sure he'd been there alone.

After each of us had arrived and eaten, we slowly became lazy in the heat and humidity of the early afternoon. I laid down on one of the shelter's lower bunks and closed my eyes for a little, resting my head on Naila's furry stomach. After a few minutes both Rocket and Dorothy did the same thing on other bunks, and Legs stretched out next to me and the dog. While Rocket and Dorothy slept, she and I talked for a long while, going through photos on my iPhone of the trip, my travels, and other random bits of my life. It's quite interesting to paint a picture of the backstory of my life for someone who's never even known me without a beard. You put into scale the fact that I've only known this group for 2 weeks, and there really is so much of my life they don't know about, yet it still can sometimes feel like I've known them forever. Again, as we've discussed, the power of the trail's great equalization. We probably relaxed there for two hours before anyone moved; at one point Legs said both Dorothy and Rocket's names out loud, and upon neither responding we decided it would be most responsible to wait until they woke up before packing our gear and hiking on. Around 1330hrs they started stirring, and we began begrudgingly packing up our gear to head out. There were only 10 miles left in the day, but those miles included an exceptionally steep climb up Beacon Hill, and later the 2,700 foot climb up to the summit of Vermont's famous Killington Peak. About half way through our relaxing break at the shelter, Santa grew restless and said goodbye to Legs and myself before hiking on. We'd planned to stay at the rickety cabin atop Killington, and would rendezvous there later in the day. 

Leaving the lunch shelter and beginning the steep trudge to the top of Beacon Hill, I made it about halfway up before realizing that I'd forgotten my broken dSLR camera at the shelter. I dropped my pack and began running down the hill back to where I'd left it. Because I hike at a faster rate, it took me a minute or two before I crossed paths with the 3 others of my hiking group who stopped me, apparently having seen the camera and grabbed it before leaving. Thanking them profusely I turned around and trekked up the climb for a second time. I ended up passing them again to maintain a good clip across many of the miles the rest of the day would require. Emerging from the woods at a dirt road, I was confronted with an A.T. sign stating there was a detour due to a washed out bridge and lots of remaining trail damage from Hurricane Irene. I read the detour directions, then somewhat confused due to the lack of clarification in the writing, and hiked on in what I believed was the right direction down a dirt road. It took about half a mile for me to start doubting myself, at which point I turned around and went back to the sign. It was there that I met two southbounders who informed me that the trail was in fact passable, but it required forging a river or two and the terrain was in tough shape. By this point I had wasted enough time being confused that Legs, Rocket, and Dorothy showed up. Having settled the issue of the detour, we hiked on the normal A.T. trail despite the warning of potential challenges. It wasn't all that bad, but there's a lot of remaining evidence of the hurricane, as the riverbeds are strewn with fallen trees, trails washed out, and the obvious lack of bridges across rushing bodies of water. Luckily there was a fallen tree across the worst point of the river, which I delicately balanced across for 40' or so, crossing my fingers that I wouldn't be swimming in the river below me any time soon. 

Climbing Killington was challenging and exciting. The mountain is the first in 900 miles, when the Trail climbed The Priest in Virginia, to cross over four thousand feet of elevation. Beginning gradually at the tree-littered riverbed, the trail cut sideways across the ridge leading up the mountain. Becoming obviously steeper and more challenging as the climb went on, the scenery and vegetation changed drastically to match the elevation. Abundant oak trees turned to thin pines, more obviously weathered by decades of severe storms, with roots jutting out of the ground like an obstacle course for my feet. Some sections of the ascent included hand over hand climbing over rocks, while others were more obviously traveled and had much more forgiving terrain. Noticing these changes caused me to really think about how many people have traveled this path. We can go hours, sometimes even days without seeing other hikers, but all the while might be just a few miles behind someone else trekking. It's impossible to know how many feet have traversed these woods. It ended up taking us two hours to reach the shelter on Killington. Arriving at what can only be described as a graffiti-ridden, rock constructed, ramshackle structure, undoubtedly home to many late nights of drinking and smoking by hikers and winter sport enthusiasts alike, the Cooper Lodge was immediately decided to a place we would not spend the night. Filling water at a pristine and frigidly cold natural spring, we began an extraordinarily strenuous 0.3 mile climb up a rocky face to the true summit of Killington. From the highest point, a rock slab carved out an unfathomable sum of years ago by receding glaciers, I turned to see panoramic views of the Green Mountains jaggedly defining the line between the sky and earth. We lingered as a group for a while, soaking in the sunlight and views before hiking another quarter mile down to the unique location where we would spend the night. Perched at the highest point of Killington's machinery-accessible terrain was a lodge, closed for the night, and the gondola loading and unloading deck. Three gondolas were on deck level, doors open, and begging for us to sleep in them. We set up sleeping bags on the benches, cooked dinner in the gusting wind, and returned to the rock face summit to watch the sun disappear for the night behind a wispy clouded horizon.

I'm literally sleeping in a Swiss-made gondola. How often do moments like this present themselves?  If my natural sleep schedule holds true, I'll be awake to watch the sun rise again over the valley in front of me. The wind is howling, the gondola swaying on its cable line, and the vacation towns below are glowing against the dark and starry sky. Five friends, one dog, and the unmistakable sense of pride in having literally walked here for this moment and the many left to come. 

Day: 86

Day mileage: 23

AT total mileage: 1,670.2

Time: 7.5 hours 

--

I woke up early again, and after a quick debate in my head as to whether or not to sleep a bit longer, got out of my sleeping bag and began my day. I did my best to stay quiet, giving the four others a chance to sleep in a bit more. After eating breakfast and beginning to pack up, I woke each of them and encouraged them to start packing up. Two days earlier, our contently pathetic 9 mile day, Santa had decided to hike on to get a few more miles in than we were doing. Since then he has been ahead, but we got a text last night when we arrived at the shelter encouraging us to hike one mile further uphill to a ski patrol lodge at the summit of Bromley Mountain where we could stay for the night. The mountain owners apparently leave the building open for A.T. thru-hikers to stay in during the summer months. Having already unpacked everything and cooked dinner we decided against hiking up to him Friday night, but we had a chance to catch him this morning if we left early enough. After a somewhat leisurely morning packing up at the shelter we began the one mile climb up to Bromley's peak around 7:30. Some 20 minutes later we emerged out onto a wide and somewhat groomed ski trail which we hiked on for a few tenths of a mile before summiting and being confronted with panoramic views of the valley, framed with unused ski lifts in the foreground. Legs later in the afternoon described the ski lifts as 'abandoned' which I jokingly mocked her for, but she wasn't far off. Ski lifts in summer look horribly out of place, like a long since forgotten item left out in the elements to deteriorate and be forever unused. We ended up hanging out on the summit for an hour or so, taking group photos on the ski lift chairs and endlessly commenting on the beauty of the mountains surrounding us.

Turning north from the peak, we followed the trail down a steep incline that would bring us down to a road crossing and parking area for the national forest where many day and weekend hikers had left their cars. Our next climb would be to the summit of Styles Peak, a 3,300' wooded summit with no views to speak of. By this point we had split up into a few small sections of our group, everyone hiking at their own pace. Santa, Legs, and I kept a steady 3 mph pace up and over the mountain, arriving at the Peru Peak shelter around noon for a quick snack before pressing on another 4 miles to reach a separate shelter where we would ultimately eat lunch. After descending Styles Peak the terrain was relatively easy, meandering through the woods and doing our best to fight off the humidity of early afternoon. After making a steep climb to the rocky top of Baker Peak, we began a long descent back into the forest below. We arrived at the lunch shelter around 1345hrs, and would end up staying there for nearly two hours. After eating lunch we each sort of sank into a comfortable spot and closed our eyes for a little, savoring the warmth of the sun and the slight breeze the afternoon provided through the woods. Rocket Girl hiked on around 1500hrs, while the rest of us waited another 40 or so minutes before departing from the shelter. With only 10 miles left to hike, there was no reason to rush anything. The four of us remaining departed, staying in our simple formation as we hiked on, passing a few day hikers and eventually emerging out to another state park forest road where a dozen cars were parked by weekenders. Hiking a gradual incline for three miles, jumping and bush whacking around flooded and muddy sections of trail, we came upon a clearing overlooking Little Rock Pond. 

More of a lake than a pond, Little Rock is nestled between mountains in a gorgeous area of Vermont trails. We decided to stop for a break, as Rocket Girl was there waiting for us, and we talked with a group of recent college grads who were hanging out on a tent platform next to the lake. Out on the water was a couple in a canoe, and we each debated swimming. A few minutes later the couple (part of the college grad group) arrived at the shore and offered us the canoe. Obviously having to take them up on the opportunity, Santa, Legs, Dorothy, Naila puppy, and myself piled into the boat and pushed out for a trip across the lake. I'd love to tell you the canoe was of the utmost construction quality, but it really was just a canoe-like shaped piece of styrofoam with metal bracing keeping it together. We far exceeded its weight capacity, as made evident by the two inches of sidewall visible above water. Regardless, we paddled off into the lake. Halfway out, Legs and I recreated the iconic scene from Titanic on the bow of the boat, standing with our arms out like Leonardo de Caprio and Kate Winslet. This worked well until I nearly fell overboard, so we sat back down. Arriving at the other side of the lake, Dorothy and Santa wanted to explore a rock cliff to see if they could jump off into the water. Legs, Naila, and I stayed in the canoe, and I paddled us out and around in the water as we watched Santa assess the situation on shore. He decided he was ready to jump, but first wanted to toss down some things he had in his pockets. I parked the boat by the rock cliff some 20' under him, and he tossed two items down. Realizing that one of them would completely miss the canoe, I reached out to grab it, missing it, and extended myself far enough out that I ended up falling into the lake in an attempt to rescue this unknown object. Resurfacing after my unintentional swim, I was greeted by hysterical laughter from all dry persons around me, as I then continued the unintentionally comedic act by trying to get back in the styrofoam vessel without dumping Legs out of it. Once situated, I learned that I'd in fact jumped in the water to save a rock that Santa had been carrying. A rock. I dove in the water to rescue a rock. How's that for friendship?? Anyways, Santa and Dorothy decided to jump off the rock face and swim back across the lake, as Legs and I took the canoe back alongside them. I pulled it up on shore and we talked for a while with the grads as Santa and Dorothy finished their cross-lake swim. The weekend group offered us food, which we gladly took them up on, and one guy who lives up by Hanover, NH offered to bring us to resupply later next week when the trail crosses by his town, which we'll absolutely take him up on. As the saying goes, the Trail provides. 

We said our goodbyes and headed on the remaining 5 miles, having quickly debated spending the night next to the lake. We'd climb up a bit more before the shelter, but arrived there as a group in less than 2 hours time. Due to the proximity to road crossings and the popularity of the Green Mountain National Forest, the shelter and campsites are rather full of weekend hikers. They were happy to make room for us with half the shelter, and we easily fit our group of 5 into space for 4. Cooking dinner and passing around a water bottle of cinnamon whiskey that the grads had also given us, we talked for an hour or so before each of us got into our sleeping bags.

Tomorrow will be another 23+ mile day, perhaps even crossing the 4,200' summit of Killington. All planning has been left to Rocket Girl and Legs, I'm simply along for the ride. The temperatures are supposed to hold steady around the low 80s with a decent bit of humidity, but hopefully early starts and afternoon breaks will alleviate some of the stress that comes from humid and hot days. With only 70 more miles to the New Hampshire border, and a mere 513 miles until the summit of Katahdin, this hike is cruising along. And after days like today, on ski lifts, napping in shelters, and falling out of canoes in the middle of gorgeous lakes nestled into the mountains of Vermont, I'm quite glad I decided to be a part of this group. These are most certainly opportunities I'd have hiked right past. 

Take an extra moment to appreciate the present, and have a great weekend.