Sunday, August 11, 2019
Today was much better than yesterday.
I left camp just before 8:00 a.m. and got off to a good start as I hiked past Sterling Pond. I followed the wet footsteps of the two guys who shared the shelter with me. They had left about 20-30 minutes before me.
I felt much better physically and mentally after the worst day of the hike so far. But then things got interesting. I got lost.
I was following the trail on one of the ski slopes around Smuggler's Notch when I walked right past where the trail turns back into the woods. The sign for the turn was set back on a tree several feet deep. Plus it blended in with the surroundings.
One of the reasons I missed it was because I was following the tracks of the two guys who left before me. I was able to see their footsteps due to the wet ground from all the rain yesterday. After I passed the hidden entrance, I continue to follow the footsteps, mostly the wet outlines of a hiking boot on the large, bare rocks on the exposed ski trail. But then I realized I had't seen a blaze in while.
Generally speaking, the Long Trail is blazed well and easy to navigate. On ski slopes, they are often painted on bare rocks or on stakes at the edge of the slope. I was on a worn footpath on the ski slope so I knew I was on a trail but my search became more frantic as I looked for a white blaze or some sign of the LT. More time passed and more elevation gained. Pretty soon I got the sense that I messed up. Something wasn't right. I must've missed a turn somewhere.
So how did I get unlost? A bit of trail magic.
About a half a mile after I unknowingly passed the hidden entrance, I ran into a day hiker. He was up here to check out his favorite view from a popular overlook. Turned out it was his footsteps I was tracking. Doh!
I went up to him and asked him if he knew where the Long Trail was. He said he sure did, but it's a ways back. He then volunteered to hike down with me to the turn off so I wouldn't miss it again. He was the only person up there at the time so I’m very fortunate to have run into him. If I hadn't, I’d have been in Canada or Lake Champlain or New Hampshire by now. The trail will provide, as they say.
Back on track, I got going again and was making good time, but then the second mishap of the day took place. I was descending into Smuggler's Notch when one of my trekking poles snapped in half. I rely on these poles a lot. Maybe too much. They help cushion the impact on the knees on the descents and help me keep my balance when going uphill over this tough, gnarly terrain.
They were lightweight poles made out of carbon fiber. And expensive. They survived my Pemi Loop hike the month before but my luck with them ran out in Vermont's rugged north. I tried the MacGyver thing with a splint of sticks and duct tape but that lasted all of 30 seconds. On to Plan B.
About 100 feet up I found a perfect walking stick. It was old school but it did well for me the rest of the day and the days that followed.
I arrived at Smuggler's Notch around 11 a.m. and took a quick break to steel myself for what I faced next: Mt. Mansfield, Vermont's tallest mountain. I felt good and the weather was perfect, so I got to it. It was a Sunday so there were a lot of day hikers climbing with me. I prefer solitude but I couldn't blame people for being out there. Nevertheless, I fought the urges of annoyance as I negotiated the trail with my fellow hikers. I'd end up passing slower hikers or moving over for faster hikers or figuring out how to fend off people's dogs, which were often unleashed.
Mansfield is no joke as you get close to the summit. It becomes a steep rock scramble that could get a little sketchy. Still, it was fun in the dry weather. I can't imagine it being fun in rainy weather.
Once I got to the top, I took in the magnificent views. Dozens of people were there enjoying the beautiful day as well. Many of them likely came up using the toll road at the southern part of the summit ridge.
As I was traversing this ridge, I had a cool little thing happen to me. I was meandering along, saying hello to passersby, when an older woman asked, "Are you hiking thru?" She was obviously day hiking but must have been a local and/or seasoned hiker. I replied with more than a hint of pride that I was. She smiled and wished me well. I realized then that I was now part of a recognizable group of hikers - end-to-enders. I knew I wouldn't forget that moment.
Coming off the summit was as sketchy as getting up it. I took my time and made it safely to my home for the night, the Twin Brooks Tenting Site. I was hoping to get to Taylor Lodge a few miles further but I was pretty tired after getting up and over Mt. Mansfield. Turned out to be a good decision because the site was glorious. There's no shelter here but there are good tenting areas and a three-sided, roofless privy with a nice view of the woods. And more importantly, I was totally alone after a day with a lot of hikers. It was the only camp site I had to myself on my entire trip. After the tough night before, I was glad for the peace and solitude. It was heaven. Things were good again!
