A Thru-hike of Vermont’s Long Trail: Part One
Williamstown, Mass. to Churchill Scott Shelter: 102 miles
Day 1 (6/4/20): 8 miles
Williamstown Motel to Seth Warner
On June 4, 2020, around 8:00AM, myself and a tiny jumping spider began the drive north to Williamstown, Massachusetts. I didn’t notice the spider’s presence until we were already well on our way. When I finally glanced over at my gps, I saw it crouched, waiting patiently on the handle of my emergency break, watching me. I saw a sign for a rest stop and turned on my blinker, my riding companion crept silently onto my thigh, apparently signaling we had reached its stop.
I cupped the eight-legged creature, with all its eyeballs, in my palm and deposited it in the grass near the bathroom, “You’re missing out, you know; I could’ve taken you to the mountains, you could’ve gone all the way to Vermont.”
In an instant, it was gone.
It was sweltering hot when I arrived in the parking lot of the Williamstown Motel, in Massachusetts. I quickly organized my gear into my mostly packed, backpack, and threw everything I didn’t need into the trunk of my car. I’d been instructed to leave my car key and payment in one of the motel rooms, so as not to expose the motel owner to COVID-19, in the event that I was infected.
Then I started walking, out of town and towards the Pine Cobble Trail, which would eventually lead me to the southern terminus of Vermont’s 272 mile Long Trail.
Why did I come? The question resonated in my mind as I climbed the access trail.
I came to the mountains to fully think my thoughts, to fully feel my feelings, to take every fear, doubt, frustration, and rejection I had experienced over the last 3 months since my return from Chile, and leave them in the dirt as an offering to the trail. I came to sweat and be uncomfortable, to be completely exhausted everyday, to wake up and walk until it was time to lay down and go to sleep again. I came to commune with nature and gain perspective, I came for the solitude and the loneliness. I came to grow stronger, I came to heal.
And so, as I reached the MA/VT border that night at roughly 6PM, I offered up my intentions and began my journey.
Day 2 (6/5/20): 26 miles
Seth Warner to Kid Gore
I’d camped near the Seth Warner Shelter last night, approximately 3 miles north of the sign marking the start of the Long Trail. When I woke the next morning I felt nervous. And seven miles into my hike I was overcome with anxiety. I felt wholly engulfed by the forest, what was I doing? What greater purpose did this walk serve? Why did I think that coming out here would solve anything at all? Why did I feel so lost and stressed out and sad? I sat down on a boulder near some unnamed dirt road that crossed the trail and I cried. I sobbed loudly and wasn’t afraid that anyone would hear me. I let myself feel my emotions in full and then I prayed out loud, begging God to ease my worried mind and my troubled heart. I was so tired of feeling torn apart inside.
And then, without warning, I was swarmed by mosquitos.
But rather than getting angry or annoyed, I began to laugh. I ran down the trail, outpacing the vicious winged things; for the first time since arriving in the woods, I felt entirely present and my mind was quiet. I walked the remaining 19 miles that day in a state of contentment, even when my feet started to pang around mile 20, I still managed to smile. It was only when I reached camp and found myself in a windless clearing, swallowed by a cloud of biting black flies, that my spirits wavered. I set up my tent in a hurry, quickly dove inside with my pack, and then spent the next 5 minutes making a mural with the smashed corpses of insects that managed to sneak into my safe little haven.
Exhaustion overcame me. I ate quickly and checked in with my family—they reminded me to enjoy the journey—and then I passed out before before the sun had even begun to set.
Day 3 (6/6/20): 27 miles
Kid Gore to base of Bromley
The next morning I woke before the black flies and made my way to Story Spring Shelter through a thick fog. It was going to be another warm day. At the spring, I refilled my water, drank some cold brew coffee (as I wasn’t carrying a stove), ate a protein bar, and then trucked on. I felt incredibly tired and I’d barely made it 5 miles yet that day. At Kelly Stand Road, I began to get excited for the climb up Stratton Mountain, the day before I’d had an excellent view from Glastonbury Fire Tower (for the third time in a row), but I’d yet to get a view from the top of Stratton. Now the early morning fog had lifted, revealing a relatively clear day and I felt hopeful.
Sure enough, once in the fire tower, I could see for miles around. I sat down after soaking in the view, took my shoes off and massaged my aching feet. I still had about 15 miles to go that day, but I was determined to enjoy this breezy reprieve from the bugs for as long as I could.
After 30 minutes, I heard voices below and so I jammed my feet back into my dirty trail runners, packed up, and descended so that others could enjoy the view.
A thunderstorm broke out above me in Lye Creek Wilderness, similar to my experience on my AT thru-hike in 2017; I was soaked instantly, through and through, regardless of my rain coat—the purpose of which was to keep me warm and wet, more so than dry—I reveled in the dramatic weather and raced along through the woods, suddenly super charged with energy.
The rain let up as I passed Spruce Peak Shelter, and I remembered both occasions in 2017, when I last stayed there.
At the parking lot before Bromley, the sun came out and I collapsed in a tired heap to eat some dried bananas. I only had a mile left before I would make camp somewhere stealthy near to the Bromley Shelter. I could do this, I thought, as I willed my stiff body back to life and shrugged on my pack. My feet hurt so bad I thought I would puke on the gradual climb up the base of the mountain. But the pain didn’t worry me, it was a familiar discomfort, one that I welcomed.
Shortly after I pitched my tent and crawled inside, it started to rain lightly. I was filled with gratitude for the day and for my physical health and capabilities. I stuffed food into my mouth quickly, hung my bear bag, and fell asleep as soon as I was horizontal.
Day 4 (6/7/20): 28 miles
Bromely to Minerva Hinchey
When I woke on the morning of the 7th, I felt destroyed. I could feel the 54 miles I’d walked in the last 2 days pinging away through every inch of my body. After not backpacking for 3 months, and then diving full force into the Long Trail, my body was screaming at me to slow the hell down! But I didn’t want to. I proceeded to grind out 28 miles over the course of the next 11.5 hrs. A slow and agonizing day, which took me over Bromley Mountain, Styles and Peru peaks, Baker Peak, White Rocks Mountain, and finally, Bear Mountain. When I reached VT 140, at the southern base of Bear Mountain, I thought I’d sleep right then and there. I got water from the stream next to the road and then hobbled across the black top to pick up the trail on the other side. I gazed hopelessly up at the steep hill before me and then started to climb.
I told myself all sorts of lies to get over the mountain—there’s cake on the other side, you can sleep at the top, this is the last mountain you have to climb ever in your life—but somewhere about halfway up, right around the time I spotted red columbine flowers growing next to the trail, I didn’t need to lie to myself anymore, and I began to actually enjoy the burn. I powered up the mountain at break neck speed, careening over the summit, all the way down to Minerva Hinchey Shelter. I didn’t bother to visit the actual shelter, I just found a flat spot near by and made camp as darkness fell around me. It felt lonely and creepy there, all I wanted to do was sleep and wake up, and get on with my hike.
Day 5 (6/8/20): 18 miles
Minerva Hinchey to Churchill Scott
I didn’t sleep well, I was positive a porcupine was lying in wait above me, plotting to steal my salty shoes. I could smell the salt rash coming on, so I put on clean socks before beginning my hike that day. I’d wash the others in a stream at some point, I promised myself, not wanting to incur the brutal chafe sure to accompany an accumulation of salt crystals in my footwear.
First thing that morning, I climbed down into Clarendon Gorge, crossed the suspension bridge, and then scrambled up out of the gap via the steep and rocky boulder pile across VT 103. After that, the walk to the base of Killington was lovely, and I knew my day would be short so I didn’t rush. I saw dozens of pink lady slippers and several white trilliums with pink starbursts in their centers. I enjoyed the cool breeze and warm sun and when it came time to climb, I was ready. At the top of the mountain, I climbed the essentially vertical, .2 mile spur trail to the actual summit and sat up there for well over an hour. A man pointed to all the mountains I’d climb in the coming days. Though at the time I didn’t recognize the shapes of any of them, the outlines of Camel’s Hump and Mansfield would come to be guiding beacons for me.
Once down at Churchill Scott Shelter, I met up with a trail angel who would provide me with a ride into the town of Killington the next morning so that I could resupply for the first time along my journey. I was grateful that I wouldn’t have to walk the highway into town, even though it was only 2 miles away.
Tomorrow I would cross Route 4 and shortly there after, encounter a sign marking the Long Trail’s divergence from the AT, and subsequently the beginning of new terrain for me. I’d hiked the first 104 miles of the LT four times now and I couldn’t have been more excited to see what lay ahead, directly north, on my way to Canada.
I want to take a moment to both acknowledge and remember the black lives we’ve lost to human rights violations between the years of 2014 and 2020: Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Laquan McDonald, Tamir Rice, Walter Scott, Freddie Gray, Jamar Clark, Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, Stephon Clark, Botham Jean, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd. These were human beings with hopes and dreams, families and friends; in each one of them was an entire universe, equal in magnitude to the universes contained with in you and me. These people took up physical and emotional space on this planet. Their lives mattered.
