AT Miles Hiked: 1899 - 2000.3 September 30, 2018 - October 7, 2018 | Pictures from the New York section of the Appalachian Trail  Pochuck Boardwalk, NJ
 
 Prospect Rock   
 
 Somewhere in the vicinity of Fingerboard Shelter  Drying out after a thunderstorm  William Brien Memorial Shelter 
  View from Bear Mountain 
 The Hudson River  Shenandoah Mountain   RPH Shelter  Water pump at Morgan Stewart Shelter
 Boardwalk  Train station leading to NYC   Closing in on the NY/CT border!  2000 miles hiked!  Green: Completed in 2017 | Pink: Completed in 2018
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AT Miles Hiked: 1861.6 - 1899 May 31, 2018 - June 2, 2018 | Father-daughter trip | Pictures from the Connecticut section of the Appalachian Trail
  Hang Glider View  Pine Swamp Brook Shelter 
 
 Hoyt Road on the CT/NY border. Connecticut: Complete!  Green: Completed in 2017 | Pink: Completed in 2018 1861 Miles on the Appalachian Trail (2017) | CT and NY (2018)In 2017, I completed 1861.6 miles of the Appalachian Trail. I set out to see how far I could go, to test my limits, and conquer my fears. I decided to continue section hiking the rest of the trail in 2018, and have completed 2000.3 miles to date. These blogs record my journey. Highlights
Georgia Day 0: Hiker Hostel Day 1: Amicalola Falls and Springer Mountain Shelter Days 2-4: Horse Gap to Neels Gap Days 5-10: Low Gap Shelter to Betty Creek Camp North Carolina/Tennessee Days 5-10: Low Gap Shelter to Betty Creek Camp Days 11-12: Winding Stair Gap and Franklin, NC Days 13-17: Winding Stair Gap to Fontana Dam Days 18-23: Through the Smoky Mountains Days 24-28: Standing Bear Hostel to Jerry's Cabin Shelter Days 29-33: Weaverville, NC to Greasy Creek Campsite Days 34-35: Roan High Knob and the Roan Highlands Days 36-37: Zeros in Banner Elk, NC Days 38-42: Moreland Gap Shelter to Damascus, VA Virginia Days 38-42: Moreland Gap Shelter to Damascus, VA Days 43-47: Lost Mountain Shelter to Chatfield Shelter Days 48-54: Quarter Way Inn to Angel's Rest Hiker Haven Days 55-59: Pearisburg to Four Pines Hostel Day 60: A Trail Family Reunion at McAfee Knob Days 61-69: Daleville to Spy Rock Days 70-72: Maupin Fields Shelter to Waynesboro, VA Days 73-79: Through the Shenandoahs to Mountain Home Cabbin Days 80-83: Front Royal to Harpers Ferry, WV West Virginia Days 80-83: Front Royal to Harpers Ferry, WV Days 84-90: Harpers Ferry, WV to Pine Grove Furnace, PA Maryland Days 84-90: Harpers Ferry, WV to Pine Grove Furnace, PA Pennsylvania Days 84-90: Harpers Ferry, WV to Pine Grove Furnace, PA Days 91-95: Alec Kennedy Shelter to Clark's Mountain Road Interlude Note: I hiked northbound from Georgia to Pennsylvania, then flip-flopped several times in Maine and New Hampshire to finish those two states before continuing south. New Hampshire and Maine Day 96: Mt. Katahdin, ME Days 97-105: The 100 Mile Wilderness, ME Days 106-110: Zeroing Days 111-114: The Presidential Range, NH Days 115-116: Zeroing, with a Sunrise Drive up Mt. Washington, NH Days 117-119: The Wildcat-Carter-Moriah Range, NH Days 120-121: The Mahoosucs Part I, NH/ME Day 122: The Mahoosucs Part II - Mahoosuc Notch, ME Days 123-125: Slackpacking from The Cabin, ME Days 126-127: South Arm Road to Rangeley, ME Day 128: The Saddlebacks, ME Day 129: Camped at the Carrabassett River, ME Day 130: The Crockers, ME Day 131: The Bigelows, ME Days 132-133: To Caratunk, ME Days 134-136: To Monson, ME Days 137-141: Zeroing Days 142-144: Franconia Ridge, NH Days 145-147: The Last of the White Mountains, NH Days 148-151: To Hanover, NH Vermont Days 152-159: Vermont Part I Days 160-165: Vermont Part II - to Massachusetts Massachusetts Days 160-165: Vermont Part II - to Massachusetts Days 166-175: Massachusetts Days 176-180: Connecticut - from Massachusetts Connecticut Days 176-180: Connecticut - from Massachusetts Connecticut: Housatonic River Road to Hoyt Road New York Connecticut: Housatonic River Road to Hoyt Road New York: County Road 517 (NJ) to Hoyt Road New Jersey New York: County Road 517 (NJ) to Hoyt Road 1861 miles on the Appalachian Trail I return to the trail two days later, after the storm ravages western Connecticut. Blowdowns litter the paths, and large puddles still pay tribute to the past two days’ rain. As I hike up Mount Everett toward the Massachusetts-Connecticut border and Bear Mountain, I run into Shaker, a section hiker. “I dove into music - really put my all into it...Ten years down the road, I realize that I can’t retire on it, or support a family. But those ten years were some of the best in my life.”  View from the trail  View from the trail  View from the trail Every so often, he pauses for a smoke before continuing on. We reach the border at the same time. Shaker lights a couple incense cones, rolls a cigarette, and recites a poem by Oriah Mountain Dreamer: “It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. ... It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.” We summit Bear Mountain in the dark, clambering over boulders almost reminiscent of Maine. The full moon lights our way. It's freezing outside.  Fall colors  Blowdowns  Mt. Everett  View from Mt. Race  View from Mt. Race  View from Mt. Race  Shaker looking out from Mt. Race
 One river crossing...  Shaker standing atop Bear Mountain After weighing the risks and benefits of continuing, I decide to end my hike. I came to the trail to test my mental and physical limits, and I have found them. I have pushed myself farther than I thought I could go, confronted my limits time and again, and found friends who became family. A jumble of memories echoes through my mind. "If you want to walk fast, walk alone. If you want to walk far, walk together," Tom had said, many months ago. "Man is the sum of his adventures." Silas. The mountain ranges of Maine and New Hampshire, each seared into my mind. Difficult, yet breathtakingly beautiful. My trail families. The fun times down south. The hard times up north. Facing my fears alongside Nighthawk and Tenacious. Adventure has challenged me. Adventure has changed me. If nothing else, it brought me face to face with people from all walks of life and forced me to work through situations that took me to the brink of my capabilities. Nowhere have I felt more acutely aware of human striving than on the Appalachian Trail. I completed 1,861.6 miles of the Appalachian Trail. If I decide to section hike the rest of it over future years, I will have 328.2 miles left. For now, this adventure has come to an end. It is time to start the next chapter of my life: time to start a career. I couldn't be more ready for it.  Dawn  View from the trail  Interesting rock  View from the trail  View from the trail  View near Housatonic River Road 1861 miles on the Appalachian Trail The town of North Adams, MA, lies in the shadow of Mt. Greylock. The mountain looms over homes and roads, forming the backdrop of Greylock School. A crossing guard in a bright orange vest stands near the road, waving students on. Children line up on the front steps. “Fourth grade!” a teacher calls. “Fifth grade! Sixth grade!” It is strange to hike through a town and watch the townspeople go about their daily lives, to be so close to civilization and yet so far away. I cross a bridge lined with colorful handprints. Then, it’s time to climb Mt. Greylock, my last 3000+ ft mountain on this trail.  North Adams, MA  Handprint bridge; Mt. Greylock in the background  View from Mt. Prospect, a peak on the way to Mt. Greylock The climb is long. Not hard; just a steady uphill. An austere stone tower, a Veterans war memorial, caps the mountain. Nearby stands Bascom Lodge, a hotel and restaurant with great views of the surrounding valleys. A paved road leads directly to the lodge, and countless tourists dot the summit. I spend an hour enjoying the war memorial and eating lunch at the lodge. I buy a Diet Coke, too, which fizzes and spills everywhere as soon as I open it. I rush it to the bathroom, where I discover, to my dismay, that the soda has frozen into a solid block of ice. Ah well. Lunch was good. A few dayhikers wish me luck on the trail. A couple tell me that a couple guys are just ahead, but I never find out who they are.  Steady climb to Mt. Greylock
 View toward Mt. Monadnock from the top of the war memorial  Inside the war memorial
 View of the summit  Heading down Mt. Greylock By the time I walk into Cheshire, the sun is setting. I stop by the Dollar General for drinks, then hurry to the local church; my AT guide notes that the church allows tenting. I'm supposed to rouse the reverend and ask permission, but the windows are dark. I circle around the church, trying each door. No luck. I see a group of teenagers across the parking lot, parkouring across the rooftop of a nearby building. As I leave, I see them climb up the side of the church. And so, I walk out of town, past rows of lighted houses with manicured lawns. The smell of dinner from a dozen households lingers in the air. A pang of longing shoots through me as I think about my meager dehydrated meals. Reluctantly, I re-enter the woods and throw down my tent in the dark. The spot is lopsided, but beggars can’t be choosers.  Approaching Cheshire, MA  Field in Cheshire  Dusk approaching  Cheshire, MA I lie awake listening to the sound of the wind, chipmunks, and barking dogs for most of the night. Exhaustion dogs my steps the next day. All morning, I trip over acorns in the woods. Clusters of them line the trail, like handfuls of marbles underfoot. Leaves conceal any roots or rocks beneath me; in some places, the blanket of leaves is so thick that I can sink ankle deep into them. I grab lunch while passing through the town of Dalton; by the time I reach the shelter, I am spent.  Fall colors  Fall colors  Fall colors  Dalton, MA
Luckily, I get a good night’s rest. I leave at first light, with a reach goal of Upper Goose Pond Cabin. The cabin lies 0.5 miles off trail, 18.3 miles away. I should have just enough time to arrive before sunset, even in the shorter fall days. The fall foliage is stunning. When I get to October Mountain Shelter - over halfway to Upper Goose Pond Cabin - just shy of 12:00 pm, I know I will make it in time. The only question: Is the cabin still open? A northbound section hiker told me they’d close as soon as a bunch of firemen arrived for their yearly celebration, which could be 'any day now.'  Dawn  Fall colors  Warner Hill  Warner Hill  Warner Hill A lean older man sits at the picnic table of October Mountain Shelter, his belongings spread across one of the bunks. He introduces himself as Nomad, a 2012 thru-hiker. We start chatting. I tell him I grew up in a university town. “Oh. Education. It must be so different growing up these days," he notes.  Fall colors  Fall colors  On the way to Upper Goose Pond Cabin  Fall colors I arrive at Upper Goose Pond Cabin in the middle of a full-scale party. Men fill the porch, drinking and playing cards. There is a flurry of introductions. Wayne. Frank. Brian. Wayne and Frank are caretakers - Frank’s the cook - and Brian will close up tomorrow morning. Wayne is an older gentleman, so old that he remembers Kay Wood, the namesake of one of the shelters nearby. Almost all the men are Wayne's friends or family. The shelter is the best I’ve seen on the trail, fully enclosed with a fireplace and bunk beds on the second story. “How do you like prime rib?” one man asks. "That sounds amazing," I say. “Are you guys the firefighters?” “Are we the firefighters?” They all look at each other. “Firemen. Firebugs, maybe.” They are not firefighters, but 'firemen' who come up every year to restock the cabin with firewood. “Prime rib’ll be done in 30 minutes,” someone says. I head upstairs to choose a bunk. Every lower level bunk is occupied, so I throw my stuff on an upper bunk. "There'll be lots of snoring," the men warn me. "And farting," one adds. Well...I'm used to that by now. Then, the prime rib is ready. One of the men taps me on the shoulder. “We’ll take care of you first.” He leads me to the kitchen, where Frank doles out a large helping of potatoes, corn, and fatty meat. Yum. They give me generous seconds, too. Some of the cuts of meat are pure fat, white and glistening. As the sun sets, they light the lamps and start playing cards. I retire to the bunk room. Now and then, men come up for something or other. “And how’s your own self?” one man with a considerable beer belly asks as he digs through his pack. “Good, how are you?” “I just lost $200,” he says. I can hear them shouting and laughing downstairs into the wee morning hours, but I’m glad I pushed on to this shelter.  The cabin is open! I got there on the last day it was open.  Upper Goose Pond Cabin  A real dinner!  Sketch on the right is mine The next day, I meet Mom and return home to Connecticut for a few days: it's her birthday. Then, I return to the trail. Within my first mile out of the parking lot, I slip on a slick wooden ramp in a farm field, straight into a watery puddle of mud. Muttering under my breath, I stand up and sniff my hands, which are covered in brown slime. No poop scent. Good. Still, I thoroughly wipe my hands once I reach the woods. Many of the hillsides are barren by now; Sunday shows potential thunderstorms, which makes me nervous. I plan to hike over Bear Mountain that day.  Fall colors  Fall colors  A handful of acorns  Fall colors  Fall colors  Still waters  I fell into mud somewhere around here I spend the night alone at Tom Leonard Shelter. Every plank of wood in the shelter bears signs of porcupine damage. Flipping through the shelter, I find numerous warnings about a porcupine who enjoys coming into the shelter to eat the wood at night. There are even stashes of small rocks in the loft for scaring the porcupine away. I awake in the early hours of morning to a persistent gnawing in the shelter. Porcupine! I rap my knuckles against the floor. The porcupine pauses for a second, then resumes its work. It sounds like a saw. I look over the edge of the loft. No porcupine. Taking my phone out, I record the sound and press play, so its gnawing and my recording occur in tandem. The gnawing stops. I hear scuttling. Rapid steps on the leaves. And then it’s gone. I kind of wish I had seen it.  View on Tyringham Cobble  View on Tyringham Cobble  Pink leaves  A pond  I did not encounter any wasps, but the warning was nice The weather forecast for the weekend looks more alarming in the morning. High wind and flash flood warnings are in effect for western Massachusetts and Connecticut. For now, the weather is beautiful. Not much happens in the day: An acorn bonks me on the head, causing much more pain than I’d expected from such a small object. I spend about half an hour atop a slab of rock, taking in the view. To be safe, I decide to sit out the storm for the next few days, but for now, I will enjoy the beauty of today.  View from the trail  View from the trail
 Hay bales in a field
 View from the trail near Sheffield Egremont Road  Pink: location of this blog post | Green: completed trail |
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