[Mile 1,720-1,795] Calm Before the Storm

8/21 – Day 113

17.6 miles from Chateauguay Rd to Thistle Hill Shelter

 

We slept past 9:00am, feeling exceptionally sluggish. When we got moving it was obvious before much longer that it was going to be an all headphones kind of day. I have been refusing to write the common acronym, PUDS (pointless ups-and-downs), when describing the trail thus far, mostly because it is loaded with negativity. Today, however, the eastern Vermont hills came one after another in relentless fashion. A steep, unrewarding haul to the crest of one overgrown hill led to a boring and tedious descent then repeated multiple times in a single mile. They indeed felt rather pointless.

 

 

We passed The Lookout shelter. A wooden ladder to a platform above the roof blessed us with a nice view. My lethargy followed me down the next hill for several miles, until we reached the road and walked to the On The Edge farm stand. Three hard-boiled eggs, a block of cheddar cheese, and a quart of ice cream wasn’t even enough to turn my spirits around. It was hot and I didn’t want to hike.

 

 

Spout led the charge over the the next series of demoralizing hills. The only saving grace was that the terrain was immaculately smooth and often padded with pine needles. We walked through a number of tall grass fields that reminded us of southern Virginia. Then, we pulled into the Thistle Hill Shelter area around 7:30pm. Tents were pitched and the shelter itself had half a dozen occupants, but nobody in the site was up and about. We plopped down in one of the only remaining flat plots and sat in the dark eating our cold dinner.

 

 

8/22 – Day 114

14.6 miles from Thistle Hill Shelter to Hanover

We set our alarm at 7:00am, hoping to reach Hanover, NH by 2:00pm where we were meeting Spout’s Aunt Carrie for lunch. Fourteen miles always seems like such a manageable chunk to knock out quickly until we are actually on the trail and realize no miles are free. The first five were mostly downhill across buttery smooth trail. For a while, I nearly forgot that I was developing plantar fasciitis in my left foot because of how nicely padded it was.

 

 

There was a mile road walk through the small town of West Hartford, VT. Linda, a homeowner with property right off the trail, offered hikers to hang out on her porch and gave us free drinks. Their family had an adorable, two-month-old black labrador puppy named Max that waddled around while we sipped hot coffee. We could not stay long, however, and soon set back out on the trail over the only legitimate climb of the day on an unnamed hill. Afterwards, we crossed a few more rural fields over the course of eight miles and before we knew it, we reached yet another road on the outskirts of Norwich, VT. Sticking to the shoulder of a large highway brought us through town, over the mighty Connecticut River, across the border into Hanover, NH.

 

 

Dartmouth University dominates the town of Hanover, with an assortment of red-brick buildings and a large, white clock tower in the center of the campus. Carrie pulled up along Main St and welcomed us to New Hampshire. She treated us to lunch at Tuk Tuk Thai Cuisine while we caught up. Spout and I did a serious number on four total entrées of pad thai, curry, and spicy u-don. After lunch, we rode with Carrie two hours back to her place in Newmarket, NH where we showered and did laundry.

 

 

To cap off the evening, we drove to Spout’s Grandfather’s house in Portsmouth, NH to visit with her Grandpa and his wife Jane for a pizza party. Their home was lovely, modern, and just a short walk away from the beach. Everyone was extremely enthusiastic about us hiking the trail and we were bombarded with questions as soon as we entered the door. We did our best to answer between bites of food and swigs of beer. As the evening progressed and hiker midnight came and went, we thanked them for hosting and they sent us off with a whole pizza to pack out. Before heading home, Carrie drove us to the shore and Spout and I felt the warm water of the Atlantic Ocean.

 

 

8/23 – Day 115

11.0 miles from Hanover to Moose Mountain Shelter

 

After a restful night, Spout mentioned that her favorite part of sleeping anywhere other than a tent is how dry everything feels in the morning. We were so fresh and clean while chilling with Carrie in her kitchen, drinking coffee and eating toasted rosemary & potato bread that we decided had too subtle of a flavor. We drove back to Hanover around 10:00am, making a quick detour at Walmart to resupply. Spout and I made our final gear exchanges in preparation for the Whites, swapping our faithful ponchos for some Frogg Togg rain jackets that should serve better as an outer layer in high wind and rain.

 

 

We stopped at Lou’s Café for take-out lunch that we ate on some outdoor tables on campus. It was after 2:00pm when we decided we had better hit the trail. Aunt Carrie told us she felt like she was abandoning us on the streets while she was preparing to drive away. Alas, it was another short and sweet reunion before heading back to the ol’ grind.

 

 

The trail continued along the sidewalks of Hanover for another mile before dipping back into the trees. The were several nice warmup miles with low elevation change to get us started. It began to sprinkle as we made a decent climb over Moose Mountain and we pulled aside to the shelter for the night.

 

 

We had been following our favorite trail angels, Doppler & Queue, on Instagram since we met in Virginia. They had recently gotten back on trail in Vermont, making their way north ahead of us. Expecting to catch them soon but not sure when, we were surprised when we strolled into camp and heard the names “Spout and Candyman” mentioned as we approached a fire in front of the shelter. Doppler just so happened to be mid-conversation with some hikers about a couple that got engaged on trail, literally summoning us as he spoke our names. We were thrilled to see them again and hear that the flooding in their house that forced them off trail was taken care of. The rain held off through the evening while we chatted with them and reheated our foil-wrapped pizza over the flames for dinner. For the first time since southern Pennsylvania, we decided to crash in the shelter for the night.

 

8/24 – Day 116

17.7 miles from Moose Mountain Shelter to Hexacuba Shelter

 

I slept pretty okay in the wooden adirondack shelter, considering the symphony of snoring from the rest of the occupents. One of the big perks of not pitching a tent is the ease of packing up in the morning. We still slept later than everyone else, but we were on our way down Moose Mountain by 8:45am. The air was thick and foggy following overnight rain and the woods of southern New Hampshire were dull and gray. At the bottom of the hill, we crossed a beaver pond before tackling a steep, 1,200′ hill that ran along a magnificent cliff called Holt’s Ledge. Despite the apparent difficulty of climbing so much elevation in a mile and a half, it looked little larger than an ant hill on the map compared to the mountains lurking ahead.

 

 

From the ledge, we rolled down the slope for a few miles and came to a grinding halt at the Lyme-Dorchester Rd parking lot. There, our friend 8-Ball’s parents had driven down from Michigan and had setup some outstanding trail magic. Beer, sodies, brats, peaches, cookies, and Dutch oven baked cobbler were just a few of the offerings. A small group of hikers gathered to feast and we spent the better part of three hours hanging out.

 

 

As 3:00pm neared, we left the oasis and began a grueling four mile haul up the western ridge of Smarts Mountain. We certainly did not feel “smart” putting our bodies through such exhaustion after slugging beers. The ascent offered multiple viewpoints as we went, climaxing at the summit with an incredible lookout from the fire tower. We saw the first of the White Mountains on our agenda, Mt. Moosilauke, standing not-so-far away. The majority of the Presidential Range was veiled in a white mist.

 

 

Spout was feeling dangerous and we decided to work our way down Smarts and push ahead to the next shelter halfway up the subsequent, Mt. Cube. The sun sets much earlier nowadays, narrowing our window of hiking. We barely had enough daylight to make the long descent, cross Jacobs Brook, and complete our bonus climb up the spur trail to Hexacube Shelter. The shelter was uniquely constructed as a hexagon, with two sides open and space for over a dozen occupents. We shared the geometric hut with Season Pass and a man named Shadow, who pitched his tent along the back wall. I had the absolute honor of using the world-famous “pentaprivy” on site.

 

 

Later, as I was sitting in the dark eating a container of guacamole next to Season Pass, we witnessed a flying squirrel climb up a tree, then leap and glide through the air majestically, landing on a nearby pine. It scrambled to the top and was gone in the blink of an eye.

 

8/25 – Day 117

14.6 miles from Hexacuba Shelter to Hikers Welcome Hostel

 

We rolled out of the hut and back down the short spur trail connecting to the AT. Already about halfway up Mt. Cube, the remainder of the climb was easily manageable. It was a clear day and the summit provided excellent views towards Vermont with Killington Peak but a tiny speck on the horizon. We took a quarter mile blue blaze trail to the North summit of Mt. Cube, which looked out the opposite direction towards the massive Mt. Moosilauke.

 

 

Mt. Moosilauke is symbolically the southern terminus of the White Mountain National Forest, supposedly the first serious climb of a 200-mile stretch of trail heading northbound that makes the first 1,800 miles of the AT look like child’s play. The terrain moving forward was a gradual series of hills we conquered without breaking a sweat. Notably, we passed a set of moose hoof prints embedded in the mud and smelled the distinct stench of deer droppings as we worked our way over Mt. Mist then down to NH25. From there, we walked the road a short ways to Hikers Welcome Hostel in Glencliff, NH.

 

 

We arrived at the hostel and picked up some packages we had shipped there: a new pair of long johns for me and a beanie for Spout. The owner, Legend, gave us a shuttle to Appleknocker’s Market where we snagged a pizza for dinner and some resupply for the next two days. The hostel had a charming “summer camp” vibe to it. An outdoor canopy was loaded with picnic tables with dirty hikers in orderly row eating their pizzas. Next to it was an outdoor shower, laundry station, and a sink for dishwashing. The bunk house was a detached barn apart from the main living space with dozens of beds that we called home for the night.

 

 

We made aquiaintence with some new hikers, Freedom, Giggles, and Aiden, while we cracked some beers and relaxed in the back yard for a short while. Inside was an impressive collection of over 200 DVDs, where our squad watched one of my favorites, The Goonies. Once Sloth saved the day and the audience dispersed, I was walking back to the bunk house when I noticed that the night sky was perfectly clear and lit up like a Christmas tree. Spout and I caught a handful of shooting stars as we sat stargazing beneath the feint band of the Milky Way.

 

8/26 – Day 118

0 miles

 

An aspect of thru-hiking that was unexpected for Spout and me is the inadequacy felt when not hiking. We awoke to a forecast calling for heavy rain and wind, with thunderstorms and possibly hail throughout the afternoon into the night. The hostel owners were knowledgeable about the area, and told us that the descent of Mt. Moosilauke was extremely dangerous to attempt in the rain and the it would be more enjoyable in fair weather anyway. We curbed our excitement to enter the Whites and decided to take another unplanned zero day.

 

 

Though neither of us wanted to admit it, being off trail another day was chewing us up inside. Apparently, it is not uncommon for hikers to feel this way. We come from a fast-paced world that is always in a rush and I have always been impatient. Furthermore, the goal of thru-hiking is literally to be done thru-hiking. We hear time and time again from past thru-hikers that they never regret taking that extra zero. For whatever reason though, it seems to take a tremendous amount of effort to slow down. To make matters worse, the bad weather never really came to fruition and we only recieved an hour of moderate rain in the afternoon. The entire time, I was checking my watch as if I had anywhere better to be than sitting around a campfire in the backyard.

 

 

What did I used to do at summer camp? The main living space of the hostel had a retractable net that stretched across the sign-in table so we could play ping-pong. After some rallying and beer league matches against Spout, Freedom, and Season Pass, we decided to organize a formal tournament. A flood of thru-hikers were coming to the hostel in refuge from the threatening weather and the best talent from across the Appalachias signed up to compete: a whopping eight contestants. In any case, the owners of hostel caught word of the tournament and sweetened the pot by offering a free bunk for both finalists and a t-shirt for the winner.

 

 

I walked in with a chip on my shoulder, easily advancing to the semi’s after a blowout win against Freedom. Spout fell early against Boom in a close match, 11-9. Next, I played Dragonball who stole the first game in a best-of-three. No pressure. I stood my ground and forced game three after a tight second round that finished 11-8. Sweating more than I do climbing literal mountains, I defeated him in game three using strong defensive strokes to counteract his aggressive playstyle. The finals were slightly underwhelming; I overcame Boom 3-0 in a best-of-five, claiming a t-shirt that I was not overly enthusiastic to have to carry the rest of the trail. Anyway, I was psyched to be crowned the ping-pong champion.

 

 

We played a few more matches of table tennis, watched a few movies, ate a few more hotpockets from the honor fridge, and spent a few more hours out by the fire. I spoke with a SOBO named Side Quest, refreshed by his positivity towards the trail that was yet uncompromised by 1,800 miles of struggles. Spout was eager to get to bed and start chipping away at that mountain looming to the north. We went back to our bunk house and called it a night before 9:00pm. I suppose there are worse ways to spend a day. It was an innocent break and an always needed recovery day before starting the next epic chapter of our hike.

 

What’s next?

 

All the hype for the White Mountains of New Hampshire!