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.

“And a coffee to go please.”

Acts of service are my love language, and this morning I brought Tater breakfast in bed. I was absolutely determined to give her an undisturbed morning after the previous day with the camp kids. She woke to blueberry pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs with maple syrup… Also ketchup… Because she’s weird like that. Is this a West coast thing?

She slept in til ten, then we did our usual pack, clean, vacate magic trick. We hopped the BRTA bus back to Lee, Mass and the drive was wonderfully scenic. New England homes are so ornate and unique. I’ve come to really enjoy the architecture up here.

We were dropped at the Berkshire Premium Outlets. A few rain clouds prompted us to repack some gear, and then we headed on. We hitched exactly were we had a few days before, and got a ride with a Navy vet back to trail. He was a very nice man, though quiet.

We had planned for a sixteen today, but when we made it to October Mountain Shelter, our gumption quickly vanished. Smooth, Coolwhip, and Cool Cucumber were all there, along with two ladies doing a section hike. We had met them outside of Benedict Pond.

The news of the day was the water source, reddened with tannins and not very appetizing to look at. Tater and I would have to get water here regardless of whether we pushed on or not. Being back with our only real trail fam so far though, we decided to stay.

I had packed out lunch meat, cheese, and rolls, along with half a pound of pineapple. The spread was decadent. This is how pro’s eat after town!

We caught up on all the trail gossip. The guys and their stay at Upper Goose Pond. Apparently the coffee poured freely, and the pancakes were plentiful. Best of all Coolwhip had a fire going now, and the smoke was blowing all the damned mosquitos away. Mass is such a buggy state!

When I approached and threw on a few more twigs, Cool Cucumber said:

“There is a saying from the middle ages. Those who sustain and maintain something are every bit as valuable as those who create something. This is a virtue I wish our modern society would value again.”

I really love that guy. What an onion, the layers continue!

Smooth had us giggling with his smooth anecdotes, and Coolwhip impressed Tater and I both with his undeniable game. One of the two lady section hikers began to laugh at his banter. Within the hour he had her number. If Tater and I heard correctly, he was busy showing her his tent later that night.

Two couples came in just before nightfall, along with Fox, a solo section hiker from Pennsylvania.

Tater and I would later dub the two couples “The Noobs” but they’d grow on us in the coming days.

Taking the short day was a good call for morale. Plus, Taters knee was acting up a bit. We could always push a bigger day tomorrow.

Kaydee and I decided to take our first true zero in town today. If our mileage counts seem low to the readers, they are. This is intentional.

During the first two weeks of a long distance hike the body is especially vulnerable to injury. Legs, coordination, and metabolism improve quickly, but they need to be allowed to do so. From the very first conversations about this trip, we knew we’d be doing low miles to ease into the trail.

Today would be our first “off” day, though by thru-hiker standards many of our days would be considered “nearo’s,” –very short milage days you use to get tasks done like resupply and laundry. Despite our tortoise pace, we’ve managed to keep up with a few thru’s by not take true zero days, but Tater and i both felt a need for one.

I woke first and decided to pack up and head up to McDonalds for coffee and time to write. Tater wanted a couple more hours of rest, so I bid her “good sleeps” and pulled my tent stakes.

Slugs had decided to launch a gooey onslaught during the early morning hours. I removed eight from the outside of my tent and would learn later that I missed one. Slugs have become far less gross after an internet meme convinced me they are in fact just snails without shells. A snail offensive on my home? Adorable. Slugs? Still a little yucky.

I noticed another army amassing in the field though, school-aged children. A summer camp no doubt.

I smiled and waved at one of the counselors and told her good morning. She informed me that “my friend in the orange tent needed to vacate within five minutes, so we can start our greet and cheer.”

When she started towards Tater’s tent I stopped her and explained that I’d be happy to carry the message. I also adjusted Camp Counselor By the Book’s expectations.

“I think we can be on our way in ten minutes, but probably fifteen.”

Ten minutes later a groggy Tater Tot was walking across the field with me, and boy did they start that great and cheer! A couple of kids shouted after us.

“Hikers!!!” In excited glee. I beamed. Even Tater smiled and laughed in her groggy annoyance. The other counselors wished us safe journey. By the Book did not.

We decided to go to a swank little breakfast place, the name I wish I could remember, because it was the best coffee I’ve had in ages. I had an egg and pesto bowl with feta over greens. It was out of this world! Tater opted for a more traditional breakfast spanning three plates. Hiker hunger, her’s has hit completely.

We loitered until check-in time at the Travel Lodge and got our laundry brewing. Brewing seems the most accurate term. If you’ve ever tried to wash hiker socks in a sink you’ll understand.

We snuggled up, watched a few episodes of Schitt’s Creek and went to bed. Zero’s are great like that. One of the best nights of my life.

We woke at the Shakers Campsites late, well past nine in the morning. Both of us having been feeling much better of late, but our bodies definitely needed the rest. Tater’s new air pad has been a great addition to her fine little nylon cottage.

The bear box at this site, a giant steel toolbox where hikers put their food at night, was guarded by a motion sensor activated game camera. I couldn’t help but smile and put two thumbs up everytime I heard it begin to record. No doubt it is being used to judge the efficacy of these boxes against bears and other critters.

A few of these were scattered along the trail in 2019, but they seem to have become a staple now, at least in CT and Mass. Few people hang bear bags properly, and I’ll admit that after twenty miles in the rain I’ve more than once just slept with my food. The boxes though? They’re just too convenient and secure not to use. There’s nothing worse than waking to a day’s worth of trail mix slobbered over by an enterprising mouse.

The plan today was to get back to Great Barrington, thus finishing our impromptu southbound trip from Lee. Tater remembered a fine beach spot in the Bear Town State Forest, and being the Forth of July, we needed a beach day.

Benedict Pond did not disappoint, but where as Upper Goose Pond is by hikers for hikers, here we were outliers among the clean cut, mostly Connecticut families.

At .4 off the AT, the sandy beach was a paradise. Two concerns immediately presented themselves: Where’s the potable water, and can we get a pizza delivered out here?

A man camping near the lake confirmed that the well was down, and so I searched the lake until I found a man-made spilloff acting as a stream. I gathered two liters out of this, and when the man offered us some of the spring water from his car, I told him we were fine. He was pretty impressed with the Sawyer’s .1 micron capabilites. Sure, some viruses can get through, but it easily wards against all the common North American water nasties.

Tater went to use the restroom, which still had flushing toilets but no usable sinks. (Pond water seemed way more appetizing than toilet water, for those wondering…)

In the meantime the filter also attracted the attention of two older ladies, and of course I struck up a conversation. The running joke is that if Tater leaves me anywhere for five minutes, I find five new friends. I am my father’s son!

The ladies recommended a pizza place in the heart of Great Barrington, and when Tater returned, we decided we could put off delivery and eat after hitching to down.

Now that we both had inflatable sleeping pads, we decided to blow them up and use them as pool floats in the lake. I fell off mine a few times, but eventually I was able to lay flat and enjoy the rays pouring down on this seventy-five degree day.

Tater directed my attention to a fine specimen of femininity in an orange bikini on the beach. Truth be told, no woman rivals Tater in running shorts. When my trail partner decided to get out and lay on the beach I kept repacking things in my backpack, dropping them, and essentially navigating a dumbfounded existence. Peering over at me under her roll-up sun hat, a staple of her hiking repertoire, and in my mind one of those most “Tater” things, I get all kinds of melty. Or maybe it was just the sun exposure. Sure, let’s go with that…

After a few hours on the beach our stomachs said it was time to go. Right after making the turn back onto the AT we ran into Henry Keegan, an ECT thru hiker I had met during the Bartram Loop back in NC. I actually passed him before he turned and asked if we had met before. I asked if he had successfully sold his Prius, and he had, thus giving him the funds to complete his 4’800 mile trek from Key West to Labrador.

When last we spoke, his odor was so overpowering I thought I had forgotten what hikers smell like. Today though I smelled nothing, which can only mean one of two things. He wasn’t twenty days without a shower this time, or I smelled just as bad. Judging by our fellow beach goers an hour ago, the latter is likely true.

He had paired up with another Eastern Continental Divide thru, who’s name I forgot to get. It was wonderful to see them. They had also met Bud, and looked forward to running into him again. A niche among the niche, these guys are the real deal.

We made Highway 23 easily enough and hitched into Barrington with a couple in a small Toyota sedan. We were on the curb a while until Tater finally said.

“Hide behind that tree baby boy, I got this.”

Sure enough, the very first car stopped. Even female drivers must enjoy her shorts as much as I do.

Sending your female hiking friend out to get a ride for the group is a common practice among hikers known as “hitch baiting.” Tater is damned good at it. I usually have to dance go get rides into Barrington, and it takes a lot to muster those funky rhythms on a desolate chicory-lined road.

The recommended pizza place was closed, along with most of the town. We walked the wrong direction for half an hour before finally hitching cross town to Four Brothers Pizza Inn. Like locusts we descended and ate their marinara filled dough treats of love enmass. Then we sat in the booth nursing our carb comas.

After dinner we made for the Berkshire South Regional Community Center, where I have camped three years in a row. We pitched on the far end of the field there, past two other travelers we hadn’t met yet.

Around nightfall, after a call home to Tater’s parents, fireworks became to boom in the distance. So we left camp and walked towards them, ultimately finding the best view outside of a McDonalds. Over a cinnabun and large fry we watched the satellite arrays of flash and color bloom noisily across the parchment sky.

“Merica!”

“Merica” I agreed. After the show we returned to our homes in a field where nature was putting on a finale of her own. Hundreds of fireflies. They were beautiful.

That was before the slugs came. More on that soon…

Dear readers,

I’ve been experimenting with creating posts to reflect every single day on trail. It’s a remarkably time consuming occupation, which is resulting in a ton of basic grammatical errors and typos.

It’s impossible to edit immediately after writing, but I feel a sense of urgency to share what I’ve written, even if the drafts are appallingly unpolished. Hopefully they will be readable nevertheless. Even though I typically have a backlog of two to three days, I’ve really enjoyed documenting my trail experience with this level of detail.

Days out here are full, and no two are ever the same. The variety of events which present themselves during the simple task of walking are precisely why I enjoy hiking so much.

I’m taking short bulleted notes of each day’s occurrences, and fleshing them into narrative when I have the downtime. In this way I’m actually writing using outlines. Am I an adult now?

I should also note that Tater and I are not doing a full thru hike of the AT. Rather we’re completing a long section hike from Pawling, NY to Mount Katahdin in Maine.

It’s a completely different hike than I’ve attempted on this trail before, in that we have absolutely no other agenda than to hang out and enjoy each other’s company for a couple of months. We’ve walked all the miles, there’s zero pressure, but like me, this is her favorite place.

It’s also the first time I’ve started a hike of this scale with a friend, and she’s the only one I know and trust deeply enough to try this with.

So, we’ll be spending more time in town, and walking shorter days on trail, until we decide not to, or whatever. Maybe we’ll start hiking marathon days, but more likely we’ll pet the dogs we meet and eat diner food. When the hell else will we get this time together?

Thanks for bearing with me and following along. I’ll try to provide the kind of tips two hikers with many thousands of miles under their feet can offer.

Now though, I’m going to bed. I hope you have an adventure today, and get a good laugh in with someone too. In the end, that’s about all that really matters. Be kind to yourselves.

I got up early to do some writing.  Tater is adjusting to East Coast time, but I tend to be the first one up.  I’ve come to enjoy these couple of hours to myself before starting the day in earnest. 

Our southbound plan, hatched the night before, was a good one. This way we’d only have to hitch five miles out to the trail.  The only problem was that Tater seemed to be coming down with whatever illness I had been battling, and when she woke up we seriously considered taking a full zero day. 

I called down to the office, but our room price (with an “already a guest discount”) had risen fifty dollars overnight, and that before tax.   We found a much better rate at the inn across the street, but vacillated on the decision for another hour.

Ultimately we decided to hike on.

The efficacy with which two hikers can pack, even after covering every a available surface with damp gear, should not be underestimated.  We were ready to roll in about twenty minutes.  Our decision was rewarded with absolutely stunning weather.  With temperatures in the 70’s and not a cloud in the sky, the trail gods smiled on our decision to push. 

A young energetic man in a CRV broke rank with the column of kayak-topped vehicles headed out of town.  We had our ride back to trail.  He dropped us off with offers of water, and bowed to us as a Buddhist does, palms together and lifted headward.  I returned the gesture and Tater and I wished him a fine day on the lake.

Everyone up here attends the James Talyor concert in Tanglewood for the Forth. He was headed there with the rest of the greater Barrington, Stockbridge, Lee populace. 

We found trail easily enough, though as usual I chose the wrong direction.  Tater says she’s never in her life been a better navigator than someone, but there is a first for everything.

We passed Upper Goose Pond and met many new faces.  These were all the Northbounders still a few days ahead of us.  Among them were Rolo and Bumblebeast, two of the first hikers we met when we started. 

The miles were silly easy, pine needles cushioning every step.  We stopped at a shady trailhead for lunch, and while we sat two cars pulled up.  One contained a Class of 2015 thru on an overnight with his family.  The other car contained a dog (of course) who gravitated to my hiking partner like they all do.  A young puppy with floppy ears, the owner’s choice of a huge climbing rope for a leash was comical. Though, when the pup smelled my peanut butter tortillas, I was glad he was so well secured!

For the third time since 2016 I passed this lovely drink stand in Mass.  This time there were dog treats on top of the fridge, tokens to appease the guardian beast patrolling the fence line.  Despite his robust frame, and piecing eyes, he didn’t bark and approached us assertively.  Tater the canine abbasodor had him eating out of her hand, despite warnings to throw the food to him instead.

I scarfed down the last ice cream sandwich in the fridge, while Tater annilated an unsuspecting snack bag of Chips Ahoy.  We staggered on, down the picturesque country road, with farmsteads upon which either of us might comfortably spend a whole lifetime. 

After a strong, clear-flowing brook, the best we had seen in days, we came upon the Shaker’s Campsites.

A moss adorned wall of stacked stones was the only remnant of the residents who once called this place home.  The ridgerunner was kind enough to leave a small report about the village that once stood here, founded in 1766.  Apparently these poor celibate souls, who simply wanted to live off the land, spin textiles, and make ox yokes, were constantly persecuted by their more traditional Christian neighbors. 

The nearby village of Tyringham is closely related, and according to the report, is where many families of the Fern Road settlement eventually moved.  We could see the iconic red barns and massive church graveyard for the ridge. 

The current persecutors of the site are giant Massachusetts mosquitos.  They’re thick, grotesque creatures with girthy middles and insatiable appetites.  An attempt to eat dinner at the picnic table was quickly thwarted, and so we retreated to our tents once again. 

The entire site was covered in jewelweed. A medicinal plant with soothing properties against both bug bites and poison ivy rash, I took a few leaves with me.  I applied the poultice to my feet and legs, while Tater looked on doubtfully.  More than once I’ve put trailside berries or greens in my mouth to her rebuttals about certain death and stomach aches.  I’ve had great teachers though, like Mark Warren of Medicine Bow.

We fell asleep bellies full of mac and cheese, but not before laughing loud enough to disturb the neighbors.  If any Shaker spirits remained, they left us un-haunted.  Our joy at being together was obvious and palpable.