Dirty Girl Hikes

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.