1558.8 miles.
Supreme day.
Supreme start to a supreme day -last night we stayed at Upper Goose Pond cabin, a beautiful place on what we Virginians would surely call a lake, not a pond. We got our first real skinny dip of the season in, took the canoe out for a whirl and watched the sunset, then slept on a mattress under a roof and woke up to a pancake breakfast the cabin caretaker prepared for us. Bellies full and fully caffeinated, we set out to do 21 miles through the mud.
Massachusetts is beautiful -huge hemlock groves, pretty views, cold clear creeks. It's not her fault we've had 24 days of rain so far this month.
On top of that delicious breakfast, we encountered three doses of trail magic today -two separate coolers filled with sodas and snacks and a lady who allows hikers to get water from the spigot at her house, then gives them cookies. Too great. It was a needed lift to the spirits.
We're making great strides here doing 20 mile days, but my legs have had about enough of that. Our plan was to scale it back starting tomorrow, but we got into Dalton this afternoon, and we hear that Tom, the awesome guy who lets hikers stay at his house for free, will drive you 23 miles up the trail so you can slack pack back to the house and spend the night again, then get a lift to the same spot the next day and continue north. Too good to pass up, so how about the next day we'll start taking it easy. . .
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
June 28: East Mountain Retreat Center, MA
1519.1 miles.
Raindrops aren't falling on your head. They're being shot at you from Mother Nature's own nail gun. You're wet. You're tired. You're cold. You're not gonna make it.
Or are you?
(an ad for Power Bars in a Backpacker magazine I read at Lois Rose's East Mountain Retreat Center)
I read this and smile. There's a power bar in my backpack that i'll eat in an hour or two when we get back on the trail. It will taste like peanut butter soaked cardboard and fill my belly for another few miles. I can relate to the woman in the picture -she's running, straining, pushing herself. And the rain is coming down as though on a mission to make her workout harder, to test her limits. I smile because I know it's not the power bar that will get here there. It's something else inside. Something you must dig for. Something, by digging for day after day after day, you've come to trust in.
You're going to make it. Not because of what you eat, not even because you're in rock solid shape. You're going to make it because you've decided to, because you've seen what you're capable of, and you trust yourself to keep on doing it.
Many days to go. Many miles to go. But we'll make it. All we've got to do is keep on walking.
Raindrops aren't falling on your head. They're being shot at you from Mother Nature's own nail gun. You're wet. You're tired. You're cold. You're not gonna make it.
Or are you?
(an ad for Power Bars in a Backpacker magazine I read at Lois Rose's East Mountain Retreat Center)
I read this and smile. There's a power bar in my backpack that i'll eat in an hour or two when we get back on the trail. It will taste like peanut butter soaked cardboard and fill my belly for another few miles. I can relate to the woman in the picture -she's running, straining, pushing herself. And the rain is coming down as though on a mission to make her workout harder, to test her limits. I smile because I know it's not the power bar that will get here there. It's something else inside. Something you must dig for. Something, by digging for day after day after day, you've come to trust in.
You're going to make it. Not because of what you eat, not even because you're in rock solid shape. You're going to make it because you've decided to, because you've seen what you're capable of, and you trust yourself to keep on doing it.
Many days to go. Many miles to go. But we'll make it. All we've got to do is keep on walking.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
June 25: Limestone Spring, CT
1485.2 miles.
Remember running the mile in gym class?
Four laps around the track. The first you're feeling good, setting the pace, having a good time. The second lap you're doing okay, trying to keep your speed even, almost halfway there. The third lap sucks. You wish this thing were over, but you're not even close. The fourth lap you stretch it out and give it your all.
Hiking the Appalachian Trail is kind of like running the mile, just 2,000 times longer. And here we are in the third lap right now. I knew this wouldn't be easy -that was part of it's allure, but we were up for the challenge, and really I thought all we'd have to do is walk somewhere every day.
Walking is nice. People do it all the time -for fun, for exercise, to get to work or to the store. Put a pack on your back and it gets a little harder. Add some rocks and roots and stumps and creeks in your path and the excitement factor is on the rise. Then throw some mountains in there -and don't skirt around the side, we're going straight for the top and back down again. Finally, toss in some rain -good long soakers, and take away the possibility of a hot shower at the end of the day, a warm bed, a roof, or a change of clothes. Now we're walking.
So I get it; it's hard. Not just physically hard, though it is. Hard in ways that go beyond the body. This experience has demanded a kind of humble persistence, a slow, steady, quiet determination. A daily, sometimes hourly pep talk to the brain to stay positive, to the feet to hang in there, to the legs to keep on truckin.
Every day for the past month we've seen nearly the same thing all day long: thick forest at our sides, and rocks at our feet. The views doesn't really let on that we're actually getting anywhere.
But look! We're in Connecticut! Tomorrow we'll be in Massachusetts! We are really, truly walking north and ever so steadily working our way towards Mt. Katahdin, Maine.
Tom and I are both excited to get into Vermont; we hear it's beautiful country up ahead full of beastly mountains and epic views. One more week until we're there. I know we can do it. I know at this point, having come so far, that we'll be part of that 20% that make it to the end.
And I know, yes I'm certain, that when we're done and it's time to head back home, I'll miss the heck out of this life, this experience, this walk in the woods.
Remember running the mile in gym class?
Four laps around the track. The first you're feeling good, setting the pace, having a good time. The second lap you're doing okay, trying to keep your speed even, almost halfway there. The third lap sucks. You wish this thing were over, but you're not even close. The fourth lap you stretch it out and give it your all.
Hiking the Appalachian Trail is kind of like running the mile, just 2,000 times longer. And here we are in the third lap right now. I knew this wouldn't be easy -that was part of it's allure, but we were up for the challenge, and really I thought all we'd have to do is walk somewhere every day.
Walking is nice. People do it all the time -for fun, for exercise, to get to work or to the store. Put a pack on your back and it gets a little harder. Add some rocks and roots and stumps and creeks in your path and the excitement factor is on the rise. Then throw some mountains in there -and don't skirt around the side, we're going straight for the top and back down again. Finally, toss in some rain -good long soakers, and take away the possibility of a hot shower at the end of the day, a warm bed, a roof, or a change of clothes. Now we're walking.
So I get it; it's hard. Not just physically hard, though it is. Hard in ways that go beyond the body. This experience has demanded a kind of humble persistence, a slow, steady, quiet determination. A daily, sometimes hourly pep talk to the brain to stay positive, to the feet to hang in there, to the legs to keep on truckin.
Every day for the past month we've seen nearly the same thing all day long: thick forest at our sides, and rocks at our feet. The views doesn't really let on that we're actually getting anywhere.
But look! We're in Connecticut! Tomorrow we'll be in Massachusetts! We are really, truly walking north and ever so steadily working our way towards Mt. Katahdin, Maine.
Tom and I are both excited to get into Vermont; we hear it's beautiful country up ahead full of beastly mountains and epic views. One more week until we're there. I know we can do it. I know at this point, having come so far, that we'll be part of that 20% that make it to the end.
And I know, yes I'm certain, that when we're done and it's time to head back home, I'll miss the heck out of this life, this experience, this walk in the woods.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
June 18: Little Dam Lake, NY
1371.4 miles.
Lotta dam rain.
New York, so far, has been really steep, and really wet. They say this is the rainingest June on record. Tomorrow we'll head into New York City to play with friends for the weekend -a welcomed break!
p.s. New Jersey deserves a better name. The armpit of America, at least its northwest corner, is really quite beautiful.
Friday, June 12, 2009
June 12: Delaware Water Gap, PA
1283.6 miles.
Three months into this adventure and we're still alive!
Woke up yesterday to more rain. After a rockin midnight thunderstorm and waking up many times from my legs cramping, I feel like junk. Tom's already up, making coffee and oats with the fresh blueberries we picked the day before on top of a rocky summit. He looks whooped, too. Despite the promise of a yummy breakfast -usually my favorite part of the day- and the weak high five we give to celebrate our three month anniversary with this beast of a journey, the rain's got me down.
Our tent is soaked and splattered with mud. I have one pair of clean, dry socks and one pair of stank nasty, wet, dirty socks. To put the clean ones on would be three minutes of bliss, then they'd soak through and I'd have two dirty pairs of socks and no clean ones. With a sigh I reach for the stanky ones and pull them onto my whimpering feet. My eyes water up and a tear rolls down my cheek. I don't know what's got me today, but it's got me good.
Tom sees my dismay and laughs while he hugs me. I laugh, too. This is just part of the glory. It wouldn't be an adventure if it were easy. It wouldn't be one of our proudest accomplishments if we didn't have to work for it. These wouldn't be some of the greatest days of our lives if there weren't a few moments of agony thrown in there.
We pack up our sopping tent, squeeze into our disgusting shoes, and head back to the trail, rain falling and rocks awaiting. Tonight we'll make it to the Delaware River and the border of PA and New Jersey. With our gear wet and dirty, our legs tired, and our shoes shot, we decide to take a day off in Delaware Water Gap, just fifteen jagged boulder ridden, slippery, sloppy miles away.
I never thought I'd be so happy to cross into New Jersey. Pennsylvania has been the toughest state so far. The terrain is pretty flat, but the rocks are ferocious, rain has been a constant, and the trail is flanked by dense forest, affording few views that let you know you're getting somewhere.
Monday, June 8, 2009
June 8: Allentown Hiking Club Shelter, PA
1229.8 miles.
For months we've heard threats about the trail in PA. Though it's pretty flat we heard over and over, "yeah, but it's rocky." The first 100 miles in we stepped over a few boulders and thought, man, this is no big deal at all. And then the rocks began.
Fist sized rocks, head sized rocks, couch sized rocks, cow sized rocks, house sized rocks. They come in all shapes and sizes and, no doubt about it, they are right there in the middle of the trail. It's like every Pennsylvanian collected all the dinner plates and bowling balls they could find and scattered them along the path. Sometimes there's no dirt in sight, just thousands of small sharp stones that roll when you step on them. Sometimes there are boulders, big slabs of rock two or three feet high and just as far apart -up to you if you want to leap from one to the next or crawl up and over each one. But when they're wet, leaping is a risky venture. Even when they're dry they're jutting up at an angle, not nice and flat such that you could just put your foot out and step on one with confidence. We look like a bunch of toddlers walking around out here -slow penguin steps, arms out ready to catch you when you plop down, trip, or slide.
I'm sure Pennsylvania has some beautiful views, but I wouldn't dare look up to check it out.
Oh look, just started to rain. That'll make it even more fun.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
June 4: Peters Mountain Shelter, PA
1148.6 miles.
We are cruisin! Over the last week we've averaged more than twenty miles per day, and we're feeling great -no aches or injuries. We crossed the half way point of the AT two days back (1089.2 miles), which called for a celebratory drink from the whiskeypus -a platypus, which is a plastic bladder for carrying water, except ours is filled with knob creek. There are plenty of occasions that call for a toast out here, so it's pretty much carrying its own weight.
Mom came up to meet us in Boiling Springs the night before last. What a blast! We went out for dinner at the tavern and stayed at a cozy bed and breakfast in town, where they cooked us up a great breakfast, then we got on the trail and went a few miles together before mom hiked back to the car and headed home. How great of her to come up and see us and experience a little slice of life on the trail.
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