Wednesday, August 16, 2017
There are many reminders along the trail of how far I have walked and how far I have to go. Some are signs posted by trail maintainers, others are simple numbers formed with sticks or rocks to mark the miles.
A constant stream of reference points also travels with me in another fashion. These points appear in guidebooks, maps, and smartphone apps. They help me instantly see where I am.
| Weather | Cloudy, then turning partly sunny; a high temperature in the mid-60s |
| Trail Conditions | A long climb up Killington Peak |
| Today's Miles | 14.1 miles |
| Trip Miles | 1,694.5 miles |
These many ways to stay continuously aware of where I am provides an odd contrast. On one hand, I am lulled by my slow but steady progress. On the other hand, I have become sharply aware that I am nearing the end. These feelings both build and deflate my anticipation.
Now and then, I see a marker that puts the remaining distance in better perspective. I passed one of those this afternoon. It was a small, wooden sign mounted on a tree, which simply said, “Kathdin 500 miles.”
Through regular checks of my trail app, I knew when I saw the sign it wasn’t placed in the correct spot. The distance of the trail changes slightly from one year to the next, but the sign had not been moved to match the current distance. Still, it was close enough.
Maybe because I knew of the inaccurate location or that 500 miles still seemed like a formidable number, I didn’t celebrate when I saw the sign. I lingered a few moments only to smile and contemplate. Reaching the end felt more possible than ever.
Before leaving Minerva Hinchey Shelter this morning, I spent some time chatting with Skywalker and Spillz. The conversation delayed my departure by a few minutes, but I didn’t mind. I only intended to hike about 14 miles today.
The shelter was only a couple hundred feet from the trail. Once I was walking on it again, I followed it along a ridge line.
After the first couple of miles, I reached a viewpoint called Airport Lookout. As you might expect, an airport could be seen from there. The airport was located near the town of Clarendon.
I came upon a trail maintenance crew at the start of the descent from the ridge. They carried with them a two-man crosscut saw. I said to the three trail volunteers I didn’t think this section of the trail was in a wilderness area, which is where motorized equipment is prohibited.
That was correct, they told me, but they simply preferred to use this type of saw instead of a chainsaw.
Just as I was about to leave, the woman mentioned she had thru-hiked the trail several years ago. Her trail name was Mrs. GORP.
"Mrs. GORP!” I replied. "I know you from the old AT-L email list.”
She was the second person I had met who was part of the now all-but-dormant email discussion list about the Appalachian Trail. The same list was where I got to know Felix, whom I finally got to meet in person about three weeks ago.
Mrs. GORP said she knew Felix well, and I told her I hoped he would hike with me again when I reached New Hampshire.
When we finished our chat about the trail and hikers we knew, I thanked Mrs. GORP and the other two crew members for their work and headed down the trail. The trail descended steeply. On the way, I passed some of the work completed by the crew.
A footbridge was at the bottom of the descent. The suspension bridge was named the Bob Brugmann Memorial Bridge to honor a thru-hiker who lost his life while trying to cross the river in 1973. Just days earlier, a bridge on this same spot was washed away in a flood after heavy rains. Brugman attempted to cross the still-swollen river on a downed log when he perished.
I didn't know until I crossed the bridge that Clarendon Gorge was a deep chasm carved by Mill River.
Just a tenth of a mile past the gorge, the trail intersected Vermont Highway 103. A small field of tall weeds followed before the trail began a steep climb.
The climb was especially rocky at times. The day was still early, though, and I powered up the trail.
Another steep section followed, and this one went up a knob called Beacon Hill. There were no views from here, only a tall and narrow beacon tower operated by the Federal Aviation Administration.
Just past Upper Cold River Road, I saw the small, wooden sign I mentioned earlier, which said just 500 miles remained before reaching Mt. Katahdin.
Late in the afternoon, I stopped for water and a short break at Governor Clement Shelter. This was at the base of Killington Peak, which was about to be the big climb of the day.
This was a difficult climb, going up nearly 2,000 feet on about four miles of trail. The ascent was made worse by many roots covering the trail.
Near the top, I met a woman backpacking with her three children. The McClarty family was trudging bravely down the mountain over this difficult terrain. The kids looked tired but didn’t complain.
As we talked, I mentioned the problems I was having with my pack. Mrs. McClarty kindly offered to arrange with her husband to deliver a pack to me. I thanked her but said there was an outfitter store in Killington and I hoped to find one there tomorrow.
The time was past 5:30 p.m. when I left the McClartys. I knew the sky would begin to get dark in a couple of hours and I wanted to get to Cooper Lodge soon. I didn't expect there would be many camping spots there.
I thought I was near the top when I talked to the family, but I had much farther to go. Rocks were now competing with roots to make the rest of the climb more difficult. It took me another hour to reach Cooper Lodge.
Calling this place a lodge was a stretch. A more accurate term might be "dump." It looked as though some hikers planned to sleep inside the building tonight, but I could not think of a reason why.
Then I looked around for a campsite and realized one possible reason. Not only were there few campsites here, most were covered in roots and rocks. To make matters worse, they were on a steep mountain slope.
Skywalker pointed me to a potential spot, and though it was not ideal, I decided I could make it work. The space was located 40 or 50 yards below the lodge in a small, not-quite flat gap between large roots. Unfortunately, broken pieces of glass were scattered about. I picked up most of what I could find because I didn’t want to risk tearing a hole in my tent floor.
From where I stopped tonight, I have 495.3 miles to go to reach Mt. Katahdin. Each day on the trail puts me closer to that destination. I'm still mindful that each day also puts me at risk of an injury, sickness, or other calamity that could prevent me from reaching it. Still, I’m growing more confident I can get to Katahdin.
When I'm lonely, well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you
And when I'm dreaming, well I know I'm gonna dream
I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you
When I go out (when I go out) well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you
And when I come home (when I come home) yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you
I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you
But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles
To fall down at your door
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