Friday, October 30, 2015

Day 49: Harriman, NY. 806 miles from Katahdin, 1300+ from Springer

We talk about food a lot. We are both about 20 pounds lighter than when we started. I, prudently, brought along 20 pounds to lose, but Forrest is slowly crossing the line from skinny to invisible. Our calorie-rich diet is pretty monotonous: baby food for breakfast and dinner (oatmeal & instant mashed potatoes), toddler food for lunch (finger food), and snacks every two hours.
Forrest mentioned that he can't wait to cook a moose steak dinner when we get home. I told him, sorry, but we are all out of moose in the freezer-- collateral damage of going walking during hunting season. 
Connecticut, which is a suburb of New York, placed there to provide a buffer between New Englanders and New Yorkers, was completely covered with acorns, topped by a layer of leaves. When you step on this surface going downhill (which is about half the trail) it's like stepping on a roller skate someone left on the stairs. Somehow we made it through the 50 miles of Connecticut without breaking our necks.
Our one stop to resupply in Connecticut brought us to the home of an Italian widow who came to the States after marrying an American soldier during World War II. She gave us clean clothes to wear while we washed ours, drove us to and from the store, laundry, dinner, trail, etc., and even dried our shoes and fed us apple pie. She's hosted almost 200 hikers this year and treated them all like family.
In New York, we were promised lots of bears, but the first we saw were where the AT winds through the Bear Mountain Zoo, about 30 miles outside Manhattan.
Forrest wants to eek every walking minute out of every day, walking in rain, wind and snow, so one morning I was surprised to wake up to his concern that we get off the trail and find a hotel. He was watching the weather on his phone (running down precious battery), and storm remnants of a southern hurricane were headed for the New York woods. Our tent is decent, but wasn't crafted by Noah and can't protect from flood conditions.
We put on our rain gear and considered our options. We were at a weird point in the trail almost 35 miles between shelters, we crossed a road every 5 miles or so, but they were rural roads leading to nothing. We walked in increasing winds, and then light, then steady rain.  After nine hours of walking, we got to a road where our guidebook promised a deli within 2 miles. If we could get there, we could charge our phones and call a cab to take us to a motel. It was the best plan we had. It was raining harder. We saw no traffic.
One truck came over the hill and I stuck out my thumb. He slowed and rolled down his window to say, "Sorry, I'd normally give you a lift, but my driveway is just here..."
Forrest looked over my shoulder and saw the guy was wearing an Alaskan beer sweatshirt. "We live in Alaska!" 
The driver said, "Alaska! No way! Get in!"
We crammed our soaking wet selves into the back and told him our plan. He told us he hunts and fishes in Alaska every summer and was happy to take us to the deli. When he dropped us off, he gave us his number and said, "If you can't find anything, call me." He drove away.
We dried off and ate pizza and charged our phones to search for lodging. We were in a deli in the middle of nowhere. Before we could find anything, our driver walked back in the door. He said, "I changed my plans for the evening, I've got bunk beds in my guest room. You can come stay at my house. I'll drop you where I picked you up in the morning on my way to work."
His house was a taxidermy palace and we dried our shoes by the fire and swapped Alaska tales and photos with our new friend. When we were all settled in his home, he said, "Since you guys are here from Alaska, I'm gonna thaw out some moose steak-- killed it last fall in Alaska."
It rained 2 inches overnight. Multiple trees came down. We sat inside by a fire in rural New York and ate moose steak.

Saturday, October 24, 2015

Day 43: Salisbury, Connecticut: 690 miles from Katahdin, 1495 from Mt. Springer

Massachusetts: Ticks or Treats

Shortly after crossing the Vermont/Mass stateline, Forrest discovered he had been bitten by a deer tick. Ticks are tiny, bloodsucking insects that carry all kinds of diseases. If you want to get one of these diseases, you should walk the AT: The Northeastern U.S. Is basically Deer Tick Alley. Deer ticks are famous for bringing Lyme Disease to any party.
We called our favorite doctor who rescues us from all the travel scraps we get ourselves into. She got him a magic potion that-- fingers crossed-- has squelched the tick's powers. 
Then we pressed on to climb Mt. Greylock, Massachusetts highest mountain, which is a pretty easy hike compared to what we've done, but still frustrating because a road goes to the top where there is a war memorial. When we reached the summit parking lot, I was mobbed by Filipino women who declared me brave and took my picture.
The trail in Mass is the best we have seen, but they make it wiggle waggle back and forth to keep you in the small state as long as possible.
 In Dalton, a man who offers water to AT hikers let us have lunch at the picnic table in his yard. As we happily munched our pack lunch, he disappeared in his house and brought out two steaming bowls of homemade soup and fresh-baked muffins.
We thought Massachusetts couldn't be friendlier, but our dear friend Anna had other plans. While driving across the state with her mom a couple weeks ago, they crossed the Appalachian Trail and decided to leave us a prize. Armed with treasure hunting instructions, we dug for buried treasure south of where their road crossed ours. 
We were so excited for the treasure hunt and then for the contents: the 3 Bs were represented--Booze, Butter, Beef Jerky.
We sat right down on the ground and had a cocktail, cold from its underground storage, the best I may have ever tasted, and read this note:
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
Took the one on which the snacks stood,
Hidden sneakily 'twixt the undergrowth."

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Day 38: Williamstown, Massachusetts. 597 miles from Katadin, 1589 from Mt. Springer

We walked all the way through Vermont since last I spoke with you: in one side, out the other, just one 20-mile day at a time. We have over one quarter of the Appalachian Trail behind us.
In Vermont, the trail winds along small town roads, cuts through cow pastures, and then goes through the Green Mountain National Forest along the same path as the Long Trail (America's oldest ridiculously long hiking trail). 
It is neat to see how much cooperation goes into making the Appalachian trail possible: right-of-ways, multiple parks and agencies working together, and just local folks saying, "Sure, you can run a trail through my field, just don't let the cows out." If the trail happens by a house, sometimes folks leave coolers at the end of their driveway with treats for hikers, this is referred to as "trail magic."
My mom keeps asking me: "Are you having fun?" Scientists believe there are at least 3 degrees of fun:
1st degree fun is pure fun while you are doing it. Examples: eating ice cream, waterskiing
2nd degree fun is positioning yourself for first degree fun, sometimes there is some work involved. Examples: paddling out to catch a wave, skinning/hiking up to ski down a mountain.
3rd degree fun is not any fun at all while you are doing it, but later it's fun to talk about and you may have learned something from it. Examples: near death experiences, being arrested, studying for the bar exam.
Hiking the AT, for me, is long periods of 3rd degree fun, punctuated by brief moments  of 1st degree fun, like stopping in a town to eat ice cream, catching a beautiful view, seeing every color of leaf carpeting the forest floor, or having the time to have conversations with my husband that I may have never otherwise had. Example: me:"if you could morph into any animal to finish the Appalachian Trail, what animal would you be?" 
Him: after thinking for a moment: "An eagle, so I could just fly the whole thing." 
Honestly, Didn't I offer to fly the whole thing before we started!? Boys.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Day 29: Hanover, NH. 442 miles from Katahdin, ME, 1744 from Springer Mt, GA

The best part of the Appalachian Trail is eating. I could eat in contests after only a few short weeks of training. When we get to stop at restaurants, I order entire meals as side dishes to the main meal. Is French toast a side dish for eggs Benedict? Yes.
The fall colors are spectacular and apples are ripe for the picking along the sides of the trail. 
We have gotten caught in the rain again, but always manage to find somewhere to hole up and drip dry.
We made it to Dartmouth College for  Homecoming weekend, and are being put up in style by a friend met in the Alaskan summer. 
The farmhouse we're sleeping in was built in 1792, a good reminder that the crumbling stone walls we sometimes see in the forest along the trail are pieces of someone's history.
We won't linger long-- Vermont's just down the road and I could do some damage on cheese and ice cream at their dairies.

Wednesday, October 07, 2015

Day 25: Lincoln, NH (in the White Mountains) 373.1 miles from Katahdin, Forever from Mt. Springer

The White Mountains were fabled to be difficult, but they are interesting as well. We are now hiking in the country's most popular hiking trail network. The Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC), a group of rich, would-be explorers that has existed in the northeast US since the mid-1800s, manages this area. We see lots of folks-- on everything from day trips, to hut-to-hut hikes, to country-crossing slogs like ours.
We slowly summited Mt. Washington, New Hampshire's highest peak, rock-hopping scree fields in 35 knot winds and frost (while I longingly watched the road and train that also go to the top).

At their huts in the White Mountains, the AMC offers work-for-stay deals to Appalachian Trail thru-hikers. We have taken advantage of this a few times. You get a bunk (or floor space) and a meal in exchange for an hour of dish washing (or similar chore). It's been neat to meet the kids who work at these hike-in only outposts, and great to sleep out of the 4000'+ elevation wind and cold. 
These huts existed before this area was even a national forest. When one hut was remodeled in the 1990s, the U.S. National Forest Service told the AMC they were now subject to the Americans with Disabilities Act. The Galehead Hut, built in the 1930s and accessible only by a 7-mile boulder scramble, had to put in a wheelchair ramp and handicap accessible privies.
The towns we have stopped in to resupply are also Americana of a bygone era. Most used to have mills or a logging industry, now they are supported by tourism centered on foliage, hiking, ATVs, and snowmobiles. 
Most towns have a hostel for Appalachian Trail hikers, a fairly niche market. Lincoln has a speakeasy for the same. I was given a phone number and a name. When I called, I was asked a series of questions about the AT, when the man was satisfied that we were actually AT thru-hikers, he gave me his address, a few blocks off Main Street. This guy is a former hiking guide now confined to a wheelchair. He has built bunks in his garage and offers free lodging to AT hikers, in exchange for help with household chores or gifts of cheap beer. From the street it looks like a normal house, inside, the bunks, walls, and entire garage door are covered with graffitied trail names of hikers who have preceded us.
Our resupply stops are pretty calorie focused. We are burning around 5000 calories per day hiking and getting hungrier by the day. Since we are carrying everything, we won't buy anything less than 100 calories per ounce. We dump peanut butter on every breakfast and Fritos and olive oil on top of every dinner to make them more calorie rich. We don't cook anything that requires more than boiling water.  In town, we treat ourselves to cocktails and salads, but also eat like football players, packing in protein-rich meals and sneaking more than our share of foil wrapped butter servings at every opportunity.

Thursday, October 01, 2015

Day 20: Gorham, NH. 298.3 miles from Katahdin, 1887.6 miles to Mt. Springer

After 300 miles, we have learned a lot about the "AT" in our few weeks on trail. For example, we are not your typical thru-hikers. Most people that pursue this goal seem to be at least 10 years younger, have copious facial hair, and play "Magic: The Gathering" (this is basically a video game, except on cards. It takes at least 20 minutes to explain the 'powers' that each card has. But, when you are walking for 6 months, you've got explaining time.) It is also common for AT hikers to take "trail names." They go by handles such as "Hoss," "Dixie," "Ginger Beard Man," or "Sensodyne." If you introduce yourself using your real name, other hikers look at you like YOU are strange.

We were poised at the top of Old Speck Mountain, less than 20 miles from the New Hampshire state line, ready to make our descent, when it started to rain. The descent down Old Speck, called the Mahoosuc Arm, is not easy in dry conditions. Sheer rock slides required careful hand and foot holds for each step. Our pace slowed to 1mph. 
Upon reaching the forest floor, we had to pass through the Mahoosuc Notch, the infamous "hardest mile of the AT", a mile of boulders as big as Volkswagens with no trail between them. Up, over, under, packs on, packs off, hand holds, knee holds, butt slides, etc. The rain soaked rocks made this no easier than normal.
We slogged a few final miles uphill, still miles from the state line.
The Appalachian Trail is outfitted with "shelters" every 10-15 miles, courtesy of volunteer trail clubs and the American taxpayer (thank you). These 3-sided log structures have a floor that serves as a sleeping platform and provides refuge for hikers and mice. 
We decided to stay the night in Full Goose Shelter, using a roof rather than our tent to keep out the rain. When we awoke the next morning, the shelter was an island, the wind was howling and rain still washing down.

When we got all our raingear on and started the final 5 miles for New Hampshire, we found the trail was a river-- in many steep places, a waterfall. We were soaked in minutes and every step was cautious and slippery, but we made the border.
We inched our way to the next shelter, 10 miles on, and waited for the storm to pass. 
A day later, when we sogged into town, even the items in our first aid kit needed to be dried out. We put every rain and dirt soaked stitch of clothing in the laundry and went to Walmart to resupply shop wearing nothing but our rain gear.
We are glad to be out of Maine and starting into the White Mountains. Fall and all its colors are coming to the Northeast.