8/13 – Day 105
15.9 miles from Seth Warner Shelter to Porcupine Lookout
We talked with the SOBO Fuzzy Duck in the morning as we packed up our tent, got our food out of the bear box, and dug out some breakfast. We talked about the screeching bird we heard overnight, told each other what to expect for the next few weeks of hiking, then said goodbye, we walked north, he walked south, and we’ll never see him again.
Vermont is rumored to be muddy. Fortunately it hasn’t rained in a few days, so the ground feels soft and it’s nice to walk on. On some stretches, there are still heavy roots and rocks. We are on a keen lookout for moose near the ponds, as other hikers have reported. The forest along the ridge past Congdon Shelter is dense, overflowing onto the trail at many points. The weather has cooled off and is optimal for hiking. We are not sweating much at all going uphill, sometimes we even sit in the sun during our breaks.
The descent of Harmon Hill was a long rock staircase that dragged on and on down the slope. At the bottom, we crossed Rt 9 that leads into Bennington, VT. In the parking lot, there was elaborate trail magic from two different trail angels. They had a charcoal grill cooking some glizzies, bottles of Yuengling, watermelon, Gatorade, and more. We spent two hours in reclining folding chairs talking with them about the trail. We were joined by some Long Trail thru-hikers heading NOBO who just began the previous day.
We didn’t go into town and instead climbed out of the hollow, into the Gastenbury Wilderness. We hiked past the next shelter to the Porcupine Lookout and found a sweet campsite flattened out with a fire ring fifty yards from the viewpoint. There was a collection of firewood already gathered that I used for tinder while struggling to get a fire lit. I spent the better part of an hour re-kindling a small pile of sticks before accepting that the wood was too full of sap to burn well. I eventually broke through using strips of birch bark and soon had a roaring, yet high maintenance, fire that kept us nice and toasty. The night was completely silent, out of range of traffic or voices other than our own. The crackling of the campfire and its warm glow reflecting off the leaves was all that existed.
8/14 – Day 106
22.0 miles from Porcupine Lookout to Stratton Mountain
We left camp at 9:30am. It was a brisk morning, cold enough that Spout began hiking wearing her fleece jacket. We began climbing along the southern slope of Glastenbury Mountain, passing more hikers than usual now that we were colliding with hikers on the AT going SOBO and those doing the Long Trail. We handled the climb with ease and were rewarded with a spectacular panorama atop the fire tower of the vast Green Mountains to the north and Mount Greylock to the south.
We were motivated to hike quickly and make it as far as possible today, so that we could shorten tomorrow’s hike into Manchester Center, VT. The terrain continued to treat us well and we had no problem maintaining a 3mph pace with the occasional snack break. Aside from the mountains, the highlight of the state so far has been frequent, isolated ponds.
Our bodies were in sync and we both felt like we could hike indefinitely as long as the temperature stayed cool. We steamrolled ahead eighteen total miles to Kelley Stand Road, arriving just as a car pulled in and dropped off three “thru-hikers” whom we knew well. They were known yellow-blazers, a term used to describe hikers who skip large portions of the trail that they don’t feel like hiking by driving ahead. The number of people we have met who regularly do this is truly shocking. I’d wager that fewer than half of the reported thru-hikers each season have actually hiked the full trail. Though I try not to care about how others choose to hike, I’d be lying if I said that cruising past a group of hikers who drove to the trailhead didn’t boost my ego and propel Spout and me up the next mountain in record time.
Stratton Mountain was gently graded over two miles among dense conifers. We reached the top around 7:30pm as the sun was setting. The view from the fire tower was quite possibly the best we’ve seen since North Carolina. The mountains were magnificent, forming an aesthetic gradient with the vast peaks far to the north. We pitched our tent on a not-so-stealthy patch right at the base of the tower. Icarus, along with Jay Douglas, hiked by in the dark, explaining that they planned to night hike fourteen miles to town because they had no cold weather gear and could not bare another night in the 40s.
8/15 – Day 107
13.7 miles from Stratton Mountain to Manchester Center
We set our alarms at 6:00am to avoid getting busted by the mountain police for illegal camping. That, and we desperately needed to make it to town for showers and a warm bed. Coming down Stratton Mountain brought us to Stratton Pond, another lovely body of water that glimmered in the light of the new day. It looked like it would make a great swimming hole if the brisk morning air wasn’t refreshing enough. Pushing ahead, we came across Icarus again, unsuccessful in his endeavor, camped across Lye Brook with a small campfire.
We followed a short gravel road to Prospect Rock, offering a great view of nearby peaks and Manchester Center below. Checking the time at 10:30am, we realized we were nearly on pace for the legendary, “12 by 12”, where you attempt to hike twelve miles before 12:00pm. It is generally more of a testament to how early you wake up rather than how fast you hike. Spout was disinterested, but I accepted the arbitrary challenge and strode ahead unnecessarily quick for three miles, running for short bursts, and reaching the twelve mile mark at exactly 11:59pm. Then, I sat down to wait for my fiancée who arrived eight minutes later.
We completed two more easy miles across level, muddy terrain and reached VT 30 before 1:30pm. A lady was posted up by her car handing out homemade blueberry coffee cake and 16oz Gatorades. Simple, but some of the best trail magic we have ever recieved. From there, we hitched to Manchester Center, courtesy of a very old couple who dropped us off at the Price Chopper in town. We completed our usual chores: resupply, McDonald’s mukbang, check out the local gear outfitter. The outfitter was clearly marketing towards posh, ski-town folks. Despite a piece of paper reading “Hiker Friendly” on the door, we didn’t feel welcome. One of the employees could simply not understand why I let my trekking pole tips get so worn before replacing them. A customer at the front desk was complaining to the cashier about homeless people in town and was angry that the police are not locking them up. Maybe he thought we were homeless?
We had to hitch again to the Econolodge on the outskirts of town, since the local hostel was fully booked. It was basic but provided us with everything we needed. The worst part about hotels is cable television. We watched Jumanji in between two hours of commercials and shoveled pints of Ben & Jerry’s down our throats in honor of Vermont. Oh, I also drank some excellent beer from Foley Brothers that was readily available from the grocery store that offered a wild selection of craft beer.
8/16 – Day 108
14.8 miles from Manchester Center to Lost Pond Shelter
Before check-out, we swung over to Bob’s Diner next door. It was a classic, retro diner that served us some tasty breakfast burritos and french toast with local maple syrup (but FYI most places charge extra for “real” maple syrup in VT). After we left and packed up, we hitched back to the trail by 11:30am. The second car that passed scooped us up, a yoga instructor with a cute dog named Baxter riding in the backseat. She told us that, “nobody else in this snooty town would pick you up”.
From the trailhead, we began a serious climb to Bromley Mountain. In typical Vermont fashion, it was steep but still felt particularly easy due to the smooth, unobstructed trail and cool temperature. Eventually, we broke away from the trees and began walking up a ski slope to the summit. At the top of the mountain, a sign marking “Easiest Way Down” for skiers was posted and the dismount of a ski lift was directly across an open field. We sat on one of the parked lift chairs and took a snack and beer break.
The trail dipped 1000′ down to a road crossing, then shot back up to Styles Peak. A rock ledge with a heavily tree-covered, one degree view to the east awaited us. Pressing on, we stopped to filter water at Peru Peak Shelter when an unexpected reunion occurred. Stryder, the crazy Canadian who once drank maple syrup out of a bottle to assure its quality, had finally caught up with us after three months. Unfortunately, we probably won’t be seeing him much longer anyway, as he is bumping up his pace to summit Katahdin on 9/15 and continue hiking on the IAT (International Appalachian Trail) back home through New Brunswick. A strange realization occurred that we can more or less choose our summit date at this point. Though we personally feel content with our fifteen-miles-per-day average landing us at the northern terminus of the AT around 9/20. Maybe we’ll slow down. After all, “the last one to Katahdin wins”.
The next half mile was mostly plank-walking through overgrown brush past the outlets of Griffith Lake. We scrambled over the jagged rocks along Baker Peak then descended to Lost Pond Shelter for the night. Spout threw up the tent while I made another fire, this time feeding it the white bark like a thru-hiker in an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.
8/17 – Day 109
18.6 miles from Lost Pond Shelter to Clarendon Shelter
It was another cool and cloudy morning. The deep woods was already buzzing with life that awakened long before we did. Hiking with Season Pass, Spout and I made our way through the Big Branch Wilderness and arrived at Little Rock Pond some time before noon. We stood on the shoreline admiring the rippling water while catching up on the latest trail gossip.
Moving right along, we crossed a rock garden several miles later. A SOBO was monitoring a mysterious pillar of smoke rising from underneath the heavily rooted ground. It was fascinating. Somehow, something under the earth had ignited and continued to burn out of sight, possibly due to a careless campfire. Apparently, the fire department had already been alerted. We took a break and Spout built new cairns to accompany the existing rock artwork among the garden.
The remainder of the day’s hike brought us through more of the serene beauty of the Green Mountains. The trail crossed the gushing Bully Brook, then made its way up the third Bear Mountain since New York. As we were walking in line, I spied a prickly creature among the branches of a tree just a few feet overhead. A porcupine lay completely still. At first, it appeared to be sleeping but then we noticed it kept one watchful eye open, studying us carefully. I was devasted when I realized the poor buddy will never be hugged in his entire life. We left him in peace and hiked on.
Motivated by an upcoming deli, we stomped ahead to VT 103 by 6:00pm and began walking a full mile on the road towards Goucheberg Farms. Once we arrived, it began to rain while we took refuge under the porch of the deli with fresh sandwiches and beer to keep us occupied for an hour or two. Hoping to avoid another mile of extra walking, our plan was to wait until closing time and see if one of the employees offered us a ride to the trailhead. Not expecting such a horrible plan to work out, we were amazed when the twenty-something cashier offered us to hop in his GMC and went out of his way to shuttle us back to the AT.
The next shelter was exactly one mile from the road. The exciting part was that it was dark, slippery, and the trail climbed straight up over an understated rock staircase over 400 feet. We refused our headlamps for the majority of the haul, refining our night vision with the light of the waning half moon. Spout, who previously struggled with her fear of night hiking, managed to hold it together as we made our way through the spooky Appalachian woods. The only sounds were the soft chirping of insects or the occasional hoo of an owl perched on a tree an unknown distance away. In length, we reached the shelter area, setup our tents, and dove for cover before the rain picked up yet again, falling asleep to the steady patter of raindrops on our tarp.
8/18 – Day 110
16.7 miles from Clarendon Shelter to The Yellow Deli
We got dumped on by rain all night long and well into the morning. Again, we had condensation issues in our single-walled tent and woke up laying above large puddles of water. We reluctantly began the miserable packing up process around 9:00am. Our tent gained an additional pound of weight with all of the water it sopped up and the toe box of my quilt felt like it was full of wet tennis balls. The AT punished us for starting so late, sentencing us to a 500′ climb in the span of only a half mile up Beacon Hill. We were forced to walk mostly on our toes, save for the exposed roots from erosion that served as excellent foot stools.
Spout and I hiked as a duo for several miles. At last, the trail began to gradually incline steeper and steeper. We began climbing up the formidable, Killington Peak, the second highest point in Vermont and the first 4,000-footer since Virginia. Spread out over nearly five miles, the ascent felt practically endless, yet was exactly the type of mountain we have been sorely missing for so long.
The AT intersected a 0.2 mile spur trail that led up an extremely steep scramble to the summit. Outstanding views to the north provided us with a truly on-top-of-the-world experience, despite feeling dwarfed by the monstrous mountains surrounding us. Vermont has been nothing short of incredible so far.
We took a short lunch break at the lodge at the bottom of the spur trail, laying out our wet gear to dry, then began the downclimb which turned out to be much more gradual than the way up. We navigated a scenic spruce forest for a handful miles until reaching Rt 4, leading to Rutland, VT. Our hitch driver got lost heading to Walmart but we did eventually make it to town, then walked two minutes to the Yellow Deli Hiker Hostel.
Alright, so there is a lot of controversy regarding the Yellow Deli. They are operated by an organization known as Twelve Tribes. Look them up on Google if you want to learn about their specific beliefs, but they are, what most people would consider, a cult. Despite this, or perhaps as a result, they run a hiker hostel in Rutland, VT connected to a deli. They provide donation-based or work-for-stay overnight bunks, showers, laundry, breakfast, a kitchenette, and more, all in a convenient location in the middle of Rutland, VT. It is basically a no-brainer stay for most thru-hikers.
The controversy is that Twelve Tribes is known to, ‘exploit their members for free labor’, operating as a global community with locations all over the world in various trades, sourcing all of their ingredients from their own organic farms that their members run for zero personal profit. There are much more egregious accusations towards the organization floating about, such as child abuse and racism, but I cannot speak to their validity. Our experience when we arrived was entirely positive. We ate a delicious meal at the deli and spoke to a few of the members at the hostel, who were all quite friendly. Their strategy seems to be to “prey” on thru-hikers for new recruits, possibly because they feel we are more likely than the average person to share a similar mindset.
Spout and I are not worried about getting sucked in. We were, however, interested in meeting people with a completely different mindset and gaining insight into how communes operate. We would stay the night, take advantage of all the free amenities, and hike out twenty miles the next day, never looking back. You see, people like us, we don’t get got, we go get.
8/19 – Day 111
0 miles
We decided to go work on the farm with the Yellow Deli. How fun! It is great to feel like we are part of a community. Giving back only felt natural. Spout changed into her Sunday best, questioning why she ever wore garments besides a long floral dress and a straw hat. I fit right in with my blue plaid button down and unkempt facial hair. Spout, Chef, Swing Dancer, Season Pass, and I loaded into Zahar’s van and drove an hour and fifteen minutes to Basin Farm in Bellows Falls, VT. Along the way, we stopped at a market in town to see the handmade products sourced from Twelve Tribes communities all over the globe.
Once we arrived on the farm, Zahar gave us a tour of the operation. There were forty acres of land dedicated to various crops, as well as two or three large wooden barns used for everything from housing livestock to processing produce. Afterwards, we were put to work. It was harvesting season, the “fun” part of farming. First up was green beans. We crouched down among tight rows of bean plants and one-by-one plucked the beans from their leafy stalks and filled up long, black crates. After forty-five minutes or so, the lunch bell rang and we carried our harvest back to the barn.
Lunch was a rice dish, mixed with eggs and potatoes, with a side of coleslaw (picked fresh the day before by other hikers). They served us a mysterious green beverage called Yerba Maté without our asking. The Twelve Tribes community seems to be obsessed with this stuff, a green tea from South America. It is literally served with every meal. After drinking the proverbial kool-aid, it was time to go back to the farm and do more work for the common good. Next up was picking out red and white potatoes from the roots and dirt, pulled from the ground by a tractor. After two sweaty hours of labor, we collected several bins of spuds and our work for the day was complete.
A magnificent waterfall and swimming hole was located on the farm’s property. Before they took us back to the hostel, Zahar dropped the five of us off by the falls and told us to go crazy. The water was as deep as ten feet in one part of the pool. A fifteen foot tall, rocky outcropping adjacent to the waterfall made for an incredible cliff jumping spot. Though we really had not worked that hard overall, it felt like we had earned a refreshing dive or two.
On the way home, a young man named Yosef was driving and told us quite a bit about his way of living and how he had traveled from his local Yellow Deli in New Jersey to lend a hand for the weekend. Something interesting we noticed is that every member seemed incompetent in basic geography. When we told him we were from Pittsburgh, he repeated the name a few times, contemplating it as if it was the first he had heard of its existence. It was a strange experience hearing from young tribe members how they viewed the community. Never at any point did we feel pressured to take part in any of their customs or join the commune. It was purely our own curiosity and fascination that made us venture to the farm. I could write much more about the experience, but I feel I’ve already dragged on enough and will leave it at that.
Once we arrived back in town, our evening proceeded more like a typical zero. We resupplied at Price Chopper, ate some fried chicken, then explored a street party that was taking place right outside the hostel. We capped off the night with drinks at Rutland Beerworks, then listened to the finale of a Prince tribute set on the main stage at the end of the street. It was no doubt an interesting day, beginning with work on a farm for a religious cult and concluding with an extended outro of “Purple Rain” in the fog-filled streets of Rutland.
8/20 – Day 112
14.6 miles from The Yellow Deli to Chateauguay Rd
The Yellow Deli provided all hikers with free breakfast both mornings. Spout and I left our gender divided bunk rooms and walked downstairs into the rustic, uniquely themed dining room of the deli. A few dozen hikers were spread around the tables. Coffee and, of course, Yerba Maté were served alongside a bowl of grits, biscuits, and fresh cantaloupe from the farm. After eating we packed up, stripped our bed sheets, and slipped away to catch a bus that ran from the nearby parking garage to the trailhead near Killington, VT at 9:15am, successfully escaping the life-long vortex.
We needed to make it to Killington, VT to pick up a package containing Spout’s winter gear before the post office closed at noon or we would be forced into taking another zero day waiting for it to reopen on Monday. Fortunately, we only needed to hike three and a half miles over one minor hill. We came to a sign denoting the Maine Junction, where the Appalachian Trail and Long Trail split, heading dead north to Canada or northeast to Maine, respectively. Though we jokingly considered hiking the remainder of the Long Trail and then jumping back on the AT when completed, we turned right and stuck to what we originally set out to do.
Thirty minutes of hiking later, we reached VT 100. We walked for ten minutes to the post office, noticing that it was much warmer out in the sun than it was in the past week, just in time for Spout’s 10 degree sleeping quilt to arrive from my parents. She also recieved her debit card from her brother, which was important once we realized neither of our cards were active and we could not get cash from ATMs. Afterwards, we walked next door to a deli with a massive Vermont craft beer selection and I split a four pack of Party Jam Guava with Season Pass. We sat on the porch, sipping our beverages in the company of four other hikers who were also sharing brews. Eventually, the owner came outside and told us we had to leave since there was no drinking on the property. Whoops. It forced our butts into gear at least.
We got back on trail around 2:30pm, passing Thundering Falls, which appeared to be flowing lightly. Then there was a difficult, 1000′ climb over a hill with no view. We hiked with Season Pass, a geography wizard, who quizzed us in the most populated cities of the country, then world, to distract ourselves on the way up. Two more equally unimpressive hills followed.
The trail had left the Green Mountains and was headed east to New Hampshire through a remote stretch of thick maple forests. We hiked until dark, snagging a nice campsite just off a dirt road. Season Pass and I built a roaring bonfire with the surplus of wood scattered about the site and told each other our best spooky stories.
What’s next?
Leaving the Long Trail, there are fewer than fifty miles remaining in Vermont before we cross into our second-to-last state, New Hampshire. Our excitement is building. Most hikers consider NH and ME to be the best sections of the entire trail.
Stay Dirty,
Candyman & Spout