Dirty Girl Hikes

We woke and finished packing our backpacks. Our gear was dry, our food bags were laden, and our legs felt fresh for the trail again.

I had asked my sister to mail in my shoulder season sleeping bag, and my puffy jacket, both custom made by Enlightened Equipment. I received notice over breakfast that the items had made it to the Manchester Center post office.

This morning’s 8:30am shuttle would take Merit, Tater, and I back to the trail. Sherri and Lori would also be joining. These were the two Long Trail ladies we’d leapfrogged since Greylock. Play by Play, her sister Relish, and another Long Trailer had left on the early shuttle.

Breakfast was eggs, pancakes, and even more bacon from Merit. All told she had purchased some seven packages of the stuff. We devoured breakfast as our packs lined the downstairs dining room wall, one by one in a row, all now readied for the trail.

Casey announced that it was time to go, so we reclaimed our shoes and poles, then boarded the giant Yukon SUV.

We stopped at the post office on the way, but my items could not be found. With people waiting on me in the truck, it had to become a problem for another day.

At the trailhead, Casey seemed reluctant to see us all go, and encouraged us to reach out to her and Duffy should we ever find ourselves on the Florida Trail. They reside in Jacksonville for most of the year.

Slowly we made our way back northbound, and up the gentle ascent over Bromley Mountain. Tater and I quickly took the lead of the group, and overtook several day hikers on our way up. Flowers were in bloom, bees and butterflies were busy buzzing about the tall stands of brush.

The wide ski slopes lent themselves to open, expansive views. We passed a south-bounder on the way, only the second we had seen this trip.

We eventually crested the summit of Bromley and spread out on the exposed rocks there. A Canadian day hiker chatter with us for a time, and one by one the rest of our hostel group arrived. Merit sat next to us and took in the view. Tater was content to sit for a while in the sun, but I was fidgety.

I explored the warming hut, looking for water. Neither of us had brought enough up with us. Then I called Sage to keep him posted on our position. We would be closing in on Woodstock within a few days.

Bromley is a pretty iconic summit on the AT. The first real ski infrastructure a hiker encounters going northbound, it firmly states that you’re in the north. The ski lift was even operating today, depositing dozen after dozen of flip-flop clad tourists from the resort below.

Tater and I were quite entertained watching a group we decided must be a bachelor party. The head of the group, after exploring for some time finally announced:

“Guys, we took the wrong lift! We’re on the wrong goddamn mountain!”

“Poor dude-bro’s.” Tater lamented.

“Poor dude-bro’s.” I agreed.

We decided to push on down the other side of the mountain. Tater and I were both low on water. As we approached Mad Tom Notch, we noticed two milk crates piled with fresh, unopened gallons of water. A note said that they were from the Green Mountain Club.

Such caches are pretty common down south, and with Vermont in record drought, we eagerly poured from the jugs.

Next to the cache was a group doing trail magic. The couple looked familiar and I inquired. Sure enough, the woman was none other than Krispi, a class of 2016 thru hiker I had met my first year on the trail. She had gone on to complete the Pacific Crest Trail, and most of the Continental Divide Trail.

Her and her boyfriend’s trail magic stopped a full dozen hikers in their tracks. We enjoyed some bagged chips, and sodas. I also had the best non-alcoholic IPA of my life. Appleseed appeared, and we spoke with him for a time. Slowly but surely the man was coming out of his shell.

We continued on, leapfrogging the couple and their friends all the way to Peru Peak Shelter.

Tater and I originally planned to push to the camp sites near Lost Pond, but as we sat in Peru Peak Shelter, we observed some half-dozen thru hikers streaming by. We were definitely being caught by the wave of hikers behind us since the start. We had just managed to surf the northern edge of the crowd these past weeks, but their pace had caught ours.

Staying at Peru Peak Shelter meant only a ten mile day, and following the zero, we wanted more miles. When Krispi’s crew arrived, including her friend with a very yappy beagle, we immediately inquired about where they planned to stay for the night. When they said the lake, we knew we were staying put. The dog had whined literally the entire journey up Peru. Tater and I were over it.

It was early, but the shelter was vast, and comfortable. Tater and I had tented nearly every night, and this would be an interesting change of pace. The nearby tent sites were already taken by other hikers, so we didn’t have much choice anyway.

Not long after we had inflated our sleeping pads and began to settle in, Cool Whip and Cool Cucumber both arrived. They too were staying in the shelter. It would be a trail fam reunion! Smooth was in town spending four long days with his wife. Cool Whip and Tess intended to spend four days off trail as well, as soon as he made it to the Inn at the Long Trail, still two days ahead.

We were so happy to see our friends again! Cucumber opted for the shelter, but Cool Whip was determined to camp.

“Well, the spot I chose said it was a reforestation area but, it can reforest tomorrow.” He explained.

I was set about my calve massage duties, keeping my hiking partner in tiptop shape, when he began to cook dinner. Right on cue, GMC Caretaker Compass Rose came by and introduced herself.

“So there is a tent pitched in the reforestation area… Does it belong to any of you guys?”

Cool Whip looked up, and explained he hadn’t realized where he had setup, but that the tent was his.

“So, was that your hat then, hanging on the reforestation area sign?”

Cool Whip turned slightly pink and admitted that it was. Then he refused Compass Rose’s kind offer to help him move his tent. We giggled at him like classmates, Cool Cucumber thought it quite hilarious.

“I guess your bunking with us tonight Cool Whip!” Cucumber exclaimed.

The caretaker stayed and talked with us for a while. I asked her a million questions about her job, by this time having moved on to massaging Tater’s feet. She accepted our $5 use fees for staying in the shelter, and issued Tater and I a single card.

“Here’s one card for both of you, since you guys are obviously together.”

I explained how happy I was at all the work the GMC had put in. Since 2016 the shelters, privies, and tent pads in this section had greatly improved. Besides, as I told Compass Rose, I prefer the volunteer-based GMC over the for-profit AMC.

“Yep, we hear that a lot!” She said, and then continued on her patrol.

Over dinner Cool Cucumber related that he had hiked the Camino de Santiago four times. Tater and I asked him several questions, as we had almost hiked that trail instead of coming back to the AT.

When Tater asked if he had ever found a love interest during these European hikes, he mentioned a German woman who had caught his eye.

“However, I am a Catholic Priest so, pursuit wasn’t really an option.”

Tater and I were shocked to hear that Cucumber was a priest! Though it all made sense. A Jesuit scholar, along with all the places he had lived and taught. Cool Cucumber is the coolest priest I’ve ever met! He continued on with his account of the Camino:

“You see, so many of these cathedrals are empty, and there’s a bell in town that is rung if there is a priest staying nearby. So for these small villages I would perform mass in Spanish and English. This way the villagers would benefit, and my fellow travelers also.”

Cool Whip came back and setup in the shelter with us, remarking on how kind the caretaker was. The campsite move took him less than ten minutes.

I continued conversation withCucumber about his profession as a teacher, relating that it is the one job I had always felt called towards.

“I have taught at all levels, from young elementary children, on up to graduate students. Universally, what never changes across this whole spectrum are the excuses for not getting work done!”

We laughed and he continued:

“The most important thing though, the message I try to impress on anyone who wants to teach, is that your students are never going to remember the majority of what you teach them. At least ninety percent of the information will not be retained.

What they will remember though, is how you made them feel.”

Solid advice, and a sentiment I can viscerally verify. From Mrs. Ezell in third grade, to the absolute crackpot philosophy professor who’s class was the first I dropped as a college student. I do indeed remember how each of these people made me feel.

The sun was fading fast on our log home, and we all settled in for the night. Our backpacks were hung from hopefully mouse-proofed cords, and left open just in case. Our food was safely bear boxed, and our bed rolls were cozy.

Tater and I snuggled in together, us on one side of the shelter, the two Cool’s on the other. With the babbling stream out front, and the endearing snores of our friends, we soon slept soundly.