I woke near the Wilbur Clearing Shelter around 7am.  Cool Whip was up and I had breakfast with him at the shelter picnic table.  An unintential ladies man, he had wooed a section hiker, and was looking for advice.  Maybe he just needed a sympathetic ear.

Several other hikers passed to grab their morning water from the nearby spring.  So vehement were Cool Whip’s anecdotes however, none stuck around for long.  After a time we fist bumped, then he started back towards trail to start the hiking day.

I packed a few things and waited for Tater to wake.  Honestly, I’ve been loving this rhythm.  I either have time to myself in the early morning, or I can sleep in until 9am absolutely guilt free. 

Tater woke and we broke camp.  There was a side trail down to a waterfall with fine reviews in the trail register.  It would add 1.2 miles to the day, but we had the time.  A little down trail we dropped our packs and continued the descent unencumbered.

Money Brook Falls was a little underwhelming when we arrived, but this was completely due to drought.  Photos on Google show the full grandure of the spot, but for us it was little more than a trickle.  The trail is uncomfortably dry this year. 

What water there was, was still the best we had seen in days.  Clear, flowing, and it wasn’t stained with tannins. 

We made the trek back up the hill after enjoying a half-hour completely to ourselves.  The hike down into Williamstown was pretty cruisy. 

We arrived to a welcoming stretch of road, bordered by finely kept mid-sized homes with massive yards.  A man edging around one of his oaks bid us good morning and wished us safe journey. 

When we arrived to a kiosk with trail info, our hiker eyes narrowed on the three coolers beneath it.  Trail magic!  I scooped up two bananas, a Mountain Dew, and a miniature sewing kit, of which there were dozens. 

Jeffrey, Play by Play, and Big Hungry were there, along with two new faces prepped for the Long Trail.  They decided to begin their 277 mile jaunt on Mount Greylock, which is wholly epic.  When I do the Long Trail, I’ll probably include Greylock now. 

Jeffrey scoped out the concession at a Little League game nearby, arriving with a mass of cheese covered nachos for only two bucks.  I checked it out and scored a four dollar cheese burger. 

We caught up with Play by Play and Big Hungry.  They had had a comfortable night on Greylock, despite being woken by a park ranger at 11:30pm. He didn’t make them move, but he did ask them to advise their fellow hikers not to camp up there.  Tater and I froze our asses off leaving the mountain, but I’m sure the overnight view of town they had was epic. 

Tater wanted pizza, which was a bit of a challenge as the nearest spot was in North Adams, over two miles away.  We thumbed a ride easily enough.  Jim, it turned out, was one of the kind cooler stockers at our morning Trail Magic. 

He adored Tater instantly, and chatted with her the whole way.  He was one of those men short in stature, but deep with voice and presence.  We were dropped off on a manicured square right on front of Cristo’s Pizza.  She opted for a small Hawaiian.  I went for a plate of chicken parm. 

After a while the cook came out to check on us and stuck up a conversation.  Nomadic Van Man (Instagram) is a skilled bird photographer, and one of the most interesting people I’ve met.  A former Boston real-estate manager turned raptor hunter, he goes for long expeditions in his converted Chevy van. 

He might spend eight hours with a 500mm lens for three or five perfect stills, but the man loves it.  His son owns the restaurant, and he likes to help, but it was obvious that eagles and owls were his real passion.  Or as he put it himself, building connections.  To him, this is what life is all about.  I tend to agree! 

We said goodbye and hit a Dollar General for a small resupply.  When the woman behind the register inquired about Tater’s pack and heard the “walking to Maine” reply; she responded flatly:

     “That’s crazy.”

Tater left the store laughing.

We spent a little time sightseeing North Adams, and what a lovely town.  Art museums galore, and old gorgeous architecture. 

We had one hell of a time hitching back, and walked half the trek in the stifling midday sun.  Upon seeing a graveyard cornerstone with a date in the 1700’s, we went sightseeing again.  Find you a lady who enjoys walking through graveyards as much as you do!

After exploring for a time, we found a steep hill with shade.  A place to cool off, and recline on our packs.  We discussed the brevity of life, and the absurdity of conforming one’s life around other people; all of whom will be dead in a hundred short years.  We imagined what the voices beneath the stones might give as advice.  We decided they’d tell us to dance. 

I related a lot about my mom’s final days.  If there is an afterlife, I hope she found liberation in shedding a failing body.  I hope she leapt out of it and danced. 

Water spent, we returned to the road, thumbs extended.  An F-150 pulled aside, and the man driving it welcomed us in.  Hardly a hitch, barely a mile, but we were glad.

He saw our rolled down packs and told us about the nearest grocery, but we were dialed in.  Our plan was to resupply in Bennington.  We waved and traversed the little ramped pedestrian bridge on the north side of Williamstown.  The Trail follows the driveway of a home near there, and the owners keep a hose out for hikers. We filled our bottles and made for Vermont.

Every state needs to give you one more jab in the ribs before you leave, and Massachusetts had its guard up. The rocks.  A five hundred foot climb over a boulderfield delivered the blow.  In 2016 Gandalf and I made this climb with intermittent vomiting.  We had picked up something in town.  This time though, only sweat left my body as Tater and I complained the whole way up.  Dainty section hikers that we are, we still made decent time. 

We met the two Long Trail ladies at the border sign, and they were kind enough to take our photo.  (I need to get it from Tater.)  The official start of the Long Trail, they’d be hiking with us for some hundred miles before branching off to Canada.  The AT and LT coincide for these initial hundred miles.

Seth Warner Shelter, the first on the LT, is much like Springer Mountain.  So many bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and downright frightened hikers congregate at this little piece of civilization.
In 2019 I taught a class on bearbag throwing to such a bunch.  The results were literally hit or miss. 

We rolled into the shelter to find Cool Whip cooking dinner.  He packed out hotdogs and realized they needed to be eaten that night.  I took three and boiled them up. A hiker we named Kidney Bean took a couple too.  She was starting an AT section, but had survived a kidney transplant in 2013. 

The poor thing was a nervous wreck, this being her first night on trail. Tater had her laughing and relaxed within a half hour.  I was beat, and found a decent site not far from the shelter.  Tater and I shared vestibules, as we both needed the comfort of our own homes.  I woke with my food by the door at 3am.  So much for throwing bear bag lines! 


The following morning I woke to a resonating roar, which seemed to eminate from the nearby shelter. 

Day 15.  11.1 miles.

This morning we were not the last ones to leave camp.  Jeffrey and The Noobs were dragging their feet, so we had company for breakfast.  The picnic tables, our tents, everything really, was covered in thick droplets of dew. 

In about an hour the sun poured in and began to dry the damp campsite.  We laid a few things out, but it’s the AT, and gear rarely dries in full.

We were all pumped to go over Greylock, the first big mountain for Tater and I.  For The Noobs, it would be the last climb of their trip.  Trouble was brewing in the Noob camp though, and two of them took bikes into town for coffee to boost morale.  Four days is a long trip with anyone, even a group of friends.

Tater and scarfed breakfast or “housed” breakfast as she would say.  Then we crossed some cornfields and began the six mile climb up the moody lady.  I say moody, because the last time either of us were on Greylock, we had about ten feet of visibility.

We dreaded this climb, but it went underfoot easily enough. There were plenty of flats, and 2400ft over six miles is a pretty gentle ascent.

The roots and rocks abounded, but the spruce trees told us we were close. They only grow in the cooler, higher reaches.  The next telltale sign was the abundance of “muggles.”  In this case, slow day hikers.  We overtook them all with ease.  I guess we have trail legs now?

We passed an iconic pond, and I had always wondered where my friends had gotten this picture.  When I came through last, the cabin on the other side was invisible!  Finally we saw the big stone pilon atop the mountain. 

The Bascom Lodge was open, and hopping!  Serving muggles, road cyclists, and thru-hiking folk alike, quite a large crowd had gathered.  Tater got a garden burger.  I had two hotdogs, a bread pudding, and a big ‘ol cup of coffee.

The sun was bright, and the air was cool.  We found a fully exposed picnic table and enjoyed the sun on our skin.  We met two thru’s named Big Hungry and Play by Play.  The latter was hiking with her sister, Relish, who had to get off trail for a few days to attend a funeral.  So the trio turned pair were hiking slow to wait on her. 

Big Hungry was a tall man in his fifties with strong Mike Rowe vibes.  Play by play is probably my age.  Tater and I both Iiked them instantly. 

Our weather for Greylock today was absolutely stellar.  Hardly a cloud in the sky, we spawled on the small field north of the tower.  A former Long Trail hiker gave us a couple of sodas as trail magic, and in the time, the Noobs arrived. 

I decided to do a little yoga, and gave a few pose ideas to the couples, all of whom had pretty tight backs.  It felt great to move through some twists and vinyasa’s.  I miss class!

Their ride arrived, so we bid The Noobs farewell.  By this time I had erected a kind of cabana using my rainjacket and a couple of trekking poles.  Tater and I cuddled under its shade.  We napped and talked for hours, watching myriad tourists walk by, feeling the wind gust and calm. 

The cabana did the job.  …On our upper halves.  She was smart enough to cover her legs with a jacket, while mine slowly achieved lobster status.  Que sera.

We went back to the lodge for dinner but it was closed for prep.  Then we ran into Big Hungry and Play by Play again. They told us the dinner was a fancy, four-course affair to the tune of $40.  We decided mac and cheese was preferable.  Joining them on a sheltered ridge on the northern side of the mountain, we had a great dinner. 

The muggles were jealous, many approaching to comment on our foam ground pads and stoves.  We spent some time getting to know our new friends, but as the sun waned, the temperature dropped.  The pair planned to camp on top of Greylock, but Tater and I had miles to clear.  We said goodbye and continued north.

Tater was in a puffy by the time we got moving again, and I was freezing too.  Wilbur Clearing Shelter was 1200ft lower and sheltered in the trees. We arrived just before dark to find Cool Whip chatting up a couple ladies out for the weekend.  They had a roaring fire going.  We sat till after sundown telling jokes, and consoling Cool Whip on his romantic life.  As Vonnegut would write “and so it goes.”

We pitched in the dark and Tater decided to bunk with me.  So many smells, such a small space.  So it goes?

We woke in the Econologe and asked for a late checkout.  Tater and I were both pretty zonked, and our pack/clean/vacate hiker magic trick felt a little impossible this morning.  The front desk finally answered on the third call. 

     “No, no!” Said a woman with a thick accent.  “We need to clean for our Friday rush!  We can do 11:30, no later!”

As if we were not the only guests in the building, as if this place had had a “Friday rush” within the past two decades.  It became the joke of the day:

     “Break’s over!  We have to get ready for the Friday rush!”

So at 11:27am we departed our room.  We descended the stairs to find the housekeeper literally lounging in a camp chair in the middle of the parking lot.

The walk back to the trail was easy, barely two miles, and we enjoyed the quaint neighborhoods.  The ascent out of town was gentle, and soon we were back in the mountains making miles.

We were closing in on Mount Greylock, the highest point in Massachusetts, and the inspiration  for writers like Herman Melville.  We’d hike over Greylock the following day, but by far the highlight of today’s hiking was the view overlooking Cheshire.  I had completely missed this spot during both of my previous trips through the area.

In the distance we could just barely make out the tower on top of Greylock itself.  We sat and talked with a hiker named Jeffrey, who we’ve been leapfrogging over the past fifty miles.  He headed on, and after taking a few photos, so did we. 

We descended the ridge and made our way into Cheshire.  An ice cream stand stopped us in our tracks, then some locals directed us to the Father Tom Campsite.  We walked right past it, softserve in hand!

We found it soon enough, and what a gem!  A town local named the Polish Hermit approached us with a basket of goodies, bars and snacks of all kind.  He carries on Father Tom’s legacy of helping hikers down the path. 

The campsite featured a writeup all about its namesake, along with porta potties, charging stations, and best of all bicycles to take into town.  

Here we met Waist Deep, a southbounder so named for going through the Mahoosuc Notch in waist deep snow.  Also Copter, a local aircraft mechanic on a section hiker, and a guy from Ocala, Florida who’s name I never did get.  Jeffrey was there too, even The Noobs rolled in later in the evening.

The Polish Hermit has mail ordered a box of baby birds for his farm.  Turkeys, chickens, guinea fowels, among others.  He left the box with us for a time so hikers could hold the baby birds.  Tater found this completely absurd, noting that any farm store sells chicks for pennies, and Copter rued the impending bird poop all over our tables.  Those two bonded instantly, a sassy pair indeed!

I felt completely overwhelmed by people, and Tater moreso.  One can only hear about the merits of Lueko tape, or ponder the infinite mystery whether breathable rain jackets breath, so many times. 

We had service so we retreated to my tent to watch some Schitt’s Creek.  This little tripod was a Christmas present from my sister Kelly, and never fails to earn its two-ounce keep.  After an episode, we were both dozing off, so Tater went back to her tent.

I made my usual last rounds of the night.  I brushed my teeth, filled the water bottles with glorious, clean city water, and took the portapotty for a spin.  Before turning in I stopped by Tater’s tent to kiss her goodnight. 

Lights from a nearby warehouse, and town noise kept sleep away for a solid hour, but finally my body relented.  A cool breeze blew in and settled my into slumber.  It was the coldest evening we had had so far.

We woke behind the October Mountain Shelter and besides The Noobs, we were the last ones out. As usual.

While I was perusing the morning’s entries in the shelter log, a hiker named Second Wind stopped by. An energetic thru from Maine he, like us, was excited to get back into the northern states.

The highlight of today was the Cookie Lady’s house, a long standing tradition on the trail. There is a new owner of the old blueberry farm, and thus the second or third Cookie Lady is now tasked with giving out cookies to passing hikers.

I had camped on the property in 2016. It was one of my best and most memorable nights on trail with Rev, Casey, and Frosty. The pizza that took two hours to deliver, and the grandson of the Cookie Lady, Forest, who kept us supplied with sodas at fifty cents each.

Ruth, the new owner, is a kind creative who is breathing life back into the place. New, vibrant signs adorned the farm, and in addition to cookies she had some bandanas and jewelry for sale. The highlight though, was the hibiscus lemonade she handed out in sealed mason jars. Absolutely magical stuff, we told her she should call it “Ruth’s Ruby Lemonade” and sell it to hikers, though in a lighter container.

We found Second Wind there talking with another light and fast hiker named Margeritaville. Very cool people. Due to their hiking style though, it’s unlikely we’ll see them again.

After savoring the last drops of lemonade, we continued on, passing a small pond. The banks were quintessentially northeastern in a way that’s difficult to describe. You just know them when you see them. The color of the pine needles, the scent of spruce, and the darkness of the mud, all indicated Vermont was very near.

We walked into Dalton on the blazes, past a massive cemetery. A grandpa with biceps the size of my head was pushing his granddaughter in a stroller.

“Yes darling, those are hikers!” He cooed to her when she pointed at us as we passed them.

Kids are absolutely precious on trail, and I love hearing:

“Mommy those people SMELL!” Utterd by the most honest members of our society.

We managed to land a hitch to Walmart with a guy named Jason. He is an avid backpacker and asked for tips on getting lighter. He knew most of my advice already though.

After a small resupply and absolutely gorging ourselves on Subway sandwiches, we sat in the small restaurant booth for about an hour.

We ended up checking into an Econolodge across the street. The rate was too good to pass up, but the place was in seriously rough shape. Hikers need little though, and a freshly showered Tater and I fell asleep in each other’s arms.