Mount Moosilauke (4,802')

Our first trip of back to back hiking to make the most of the drive didn’t come without any concerns. I was strategic in my planning and chose a second hike that would hopefully not cause our legs to fall off from sheer exhaustion after the 9-ish miles yesterday and I believe I picked the right one. My partner was never a huge hiker, but has always been supportive of my goal (although insignificant to him) so the fact that this became his favorite mountain we’ve hiked felt even more justified.

The day didn’t look particularly inviting for a scenic summit, I seem to attract the clouds, but the iconic sign atop ‘The Moose’ and perhaps even more iconic propensity for poor weather seemed fitting for our first trip up. We ascended via the Gorge Brook trail, the roaring water serving as a sort of calming soundscape. For what we’d accomplished yesterday, we were moving fairly quickly, though the trail was quite forgiving with only a few high-grade steep portions towards the top. For the most part, we fell silent and took in all the sights and sounds of the forest. As far as the White Mountain four thousand footers go, though well-traveled, Moosilauke stands alone in its own remote section of the Whites. My partner has a better phone camera than I do, so I played around in portrait mode capturing the quiet things that no one ever really knows are there. Moss, lichen, and spiderwebs coated the trees like lace; they gripped onto water droplets from the misty morning air.

Entering the alpine zone I was met with the most refreshing, delectable smell I lack the words to describe. Zippy evergreen pine; sweet, sticky syrup; the earthy decay of the forest floor - I wish I could have collected it in a jar and made it into a candle I could burn for the rest of my days. It had been quite some time since I’d been on a truly bald summit, trodding over rock piles through the haze. At the summit sign, I popped open an appropriately named Cloud Walker IPA and exchanged some pleasantries with a few AT thru-hikers gearing up for the Whites.

The descent was equally peaceful, despite the breeze growing stronger, whispering through the alpine grasses. Ferns and branches billowed in the wind, needles cascaded to the forest floor. It was pure sensory satisfaction today in every detail and it’s pretty incredible to think that Mama Nature made it all herself. I understand the appeal of the White Mountains; the polarity of the woods wrapping its coniferous arms around you versus the barren but beautiful ‘Life on Mars’-esque nature of the open summit. Nonetheless, I felt so at home. As we crossed the bridge back to the Ravine Lodge, I wondered if perhaps in another life I had been there before. Perhaps, I was just there to visit an old friend.

NH 3/48
New England 8/67
New England 9/100 Highest
Northeast 9/115

Camel's Hump (4,083')

If my dedication to this whole list thing was ever in question, let this be the day to debunk any doubts. Today, I turned 24. I also woke up at 3:50 am, loaded up my daypack, threw on my brandy-new trail runners (had to see what the Altra hype was about - happy birthday to me!), and jumped in the truck for 2 and 1/2 hours to Huntington for my 5th and final Vermont four thousand footer. I arrived at a misty 6:45 am after getting a bit turned around from spotty service and got right to work. There was only one other car in the lot of the Burrows trailhead, I figured must be a Long Trail section hiker as not many people would be hiking at this hour on a Monday morning.

The trail seemed to split into two sides for the majority of the way; do you prefer slick rocks or twisted roots? Take your pick! I have to say, these shoes are amazing. Recently, I’d been having a hard time retiring 3 pairs of trail runners in lieu of trying out the new, trendy zero-drop shoes. The Salomon X-Mission 3s were my go-to hiker for the last 6 years and I’d busted through my last pair on my way down from Pico two days before. I’d also been noticing some radiating knee and back pain, especially coming down steep sections, so I did my research and opted to try the Altra Lone Peak 5 - arguably their most popular model. Science dictates that humans aren’t meant to be walking with a heel drop - it’s just not natural - and with most shoes featuring an average 12mm drop, it doesn’t seem like much, but that drop rocks you onto the ball of your feet and places unnecessary stress on your knees (putting my EMS Footwear Guru training to use here!) The wide toe box and super grippy soles made them infinitely more comfortable than a standard, cramped trail runner. I moving faster and more securely, especially because of how damp the air was, making everything slippery.

Not a soul on trail today which meant an eerie dichotomy of my nerves - so many things can go wrong when out in the wilderness - and enjoying the comfort of my own company. I set my start time, my pace, everything was up to me and I thrive given that independence. Burrows trail was incredibly straightforward; you are going straight up a mountain, it will be steep but manageable. At just over 2 miles, I joined up with the Long Trail south to reach the summit at around 8:20 am. There are supposed to be stunning views of the area and that iconic rock formation that makes The Hump, The Hump, but due to wind currents blowing wildfire smoke down through Canada from the western U.S. and seemingly imminent rain, I could hardly see 10 ft in front of me. Though disappointed, I couldn’t help but think how cool it was to be up there all alone in the mist, surrounded by salamanders just doing their thing. I put on the album I’d downloaded, Cornell 5/8/77, and stayed up there waiting out to see if the clouds would give for about an hour. It just wasn’t meant to be that day, so I somehow found those white blazes and started my climb down.

I began to see other hikers about two thirds of the way down, all of them so kind and pleasant, even for an “I hate Mondays” type of morning. The trail community in the Northeast is simply unrivaled and I’m so glad to be a part of it. I made it back to the truck around 11 and started my drive back to Clarendon, that other-worldly landscape still buzzing around in my head. The sun started to peer out as I was leaving Camel’s Hump State Park; I glanced up at where I’d just been sitting about an hour and a half prior and thought - what if I’d just started a little later, waited a little longer? No. If we’re constantly bothered with all the “what if’s”, we can never appreciate the “be here, now’s.”

Anyway, I’m off to Gringo Jack’s for some tacos and margaritas.

NH 0/48
New England 5/67
New England 6/100 Highest
Northeast 6/115

Mount Abraham (4,006′) and Mount Ellen (4,083′)

In true weekend warrior fashion, we booked a room last minute in Waitsfield during peak leaf-peeping season and left at 6am Saturday morning to beat the traffic heading north for our impromptu autumnal ‘Tour du Vert Mont’. Appropriately, we stopped at Drop-In Brewing in Middlebury before some boozy apple picking just down the road at Happy Valley Orchards. We ate lunch by the creek and found our way to our little ski lodge near Sugarbush Resort.

Waking up just as early the next day, we parked at Lincoln Gap and hit the Long Trail going north for a short, brisk 2.4 miles to the summit of Abraham - a very popular day hike and for good reason. It was a steep segment of trail, but the morning light peering through the trees and the creeping winter frost kept us moving. After a final push up the rock slab to the summit, we were greeted with incredible panoramic views from the top. Fire orange, deep rust reds, and golden yellows rustled through the trees overlooking the Adirondacks and Lake Champlain to the west; Green Mountain National Forest to the south; the Whites to the east; and the Canadian border to the north. I sat atop the summit in a rock circle for a while before the chill set in once again, I threw on my puffy, and continued north while my partner rested before making his way back down.

It’s a relatively flat (for northern Long Trail standards anyway) 3.3 or so miles on a ridge to Ellen, which shares its summit with Sugarbush as a ski slope. I was a bit pressed for time with dinner reservations at a brewery for 6pm, so with the wind behind me, I hurried along back under tree line in search of a glimpse at the remnants of a plane crash from the early 70s. After that, it was smooth sailing over Little Abe and Lincoln Peak before the trees opened once again and the ski lift lined the mountain. I snapped a quick photo, thanked Ellen for a picture-perfect moment, and headed back toward Abe.

The way back simply always feels longer - maybe it’s the fatigue, perhaps the wistful sadness of returning home after an adventure, but rambling down the way we came seemed an eternity. With aching knees, we found the truck, happy to have started when we did as cars from all down the eastern seaboard (and even some from the western one) dotted the dirt road up to the trailhead. My biggest peak-bagging day clocking in at 11.2 miles, wrapped up with beer cheese nachos and a (Lawson’s) Sip of Sunshine.

NH 0/48
New England 3 and 4/67
New England 3 and 4/100 Highest
Northeast 4 and 5/115

Killington Peak (4,229')

A quick trip up to visit my mom for Labor Day weekend meant poking around for something to do right in her theoretical backyard. My grandfather was born in West Rutland and eventually made his way back semi-permanently to build a vacation home in Clarendon in the early 1970s with Killington ski resorts right around 20 mins away. While I’ve never been skiing (definitely someday!), my mom had hit the slopes there dozens of times. No one in my family, however, had ever hiked up it. I somehow convinced my mom it would be a good idea to come with me.

We started around 9:30 am up the Bucklin trail, the sloping first 2 miles were misleading for what was to come as it was straight up from there. As we climbed, the trail conjoined with a grassy summer ski path - I’m not sure if the lack of roots and rocks made the ascent easier or harder, but it was a welcome change of pace as we began to see the cascading green and lots of familiar places like VT Rt. 4 and Killington village. Nearing the top, there’s a wooden stairway up to where the trail meets the gondola where visitors can take a ride to the restaurant and tourism center around a third of a mile down from the actual summit which is only accessible by a rocky spur trail.

It was a windy, chilly bluebird day and it meant so much to be able to share it with my mom. We spent around 20 minutes at the top admiring the near 360°, wishing the fire tower was still accessible to climb up and smiling over the fact that this was my mom’s first ever four thousand footer. She didn’t need to check off any lists, but I could tell the trip meant a lot to her too. I’m so thankful to have her as a mom - she has inspired and fostered my independence, love of the outdoors, and so many other positive qualities I’ve found in myself. We exchanged pictures and spoke with a few other hikers, then headed back towards the lodge and back down to the parking lot. That night, we cooked veggie burgers out on the grill and raised a pint of The Shed Mountain Ale by the fire pit - it doesn’t get much better than that.

NH 0/48
New England 2/67
New England 2/100 Highest
Northeast 3/115

Slide Mountain (4,190')

The pandemic has proven a strange and difficult time in a lot of ways. One of them for me, plain and simple, being overworked to the point of not really being able to take any time off and leave my computer at home for the weekend. I was determined to do things differently this weekend, it was my birthday after all.

Not particularly in a position to spend a lot of money, we hightailed it up from central NJ to a shoddy motel in the Catskills near Ulster County to check off one of the only two four thousand footers there. We got a late start up the Phoenicia East Branch trail on a muggy, humid, bug-infested sort of day. Branching to the left, we took the clockwise loop up the mountain. Short mileage, only around 2.8 to the top, but stumbling over little ankle-breakers (a term I first heard from an AT thru-hiker at Delaware Water Gap coming out of “Rocksylvania”) made for an interesting ascent. I could only think of the reason it was called Slide Mountain, imagining myself busting my butt sliding down all the loose rock on my descent in an hour or two.

The heat made for a migraine flare-up, so the summit really couldn’t have come any sooner as we were being eaten alive by black flies. Few were the moments of peering through trees at the green rolling ranges of the Catskills, famously known for their wooded summits. At last, we made it to the top and took a long re-hydration and morale-boosting break before heading back down. Parting ways with our original footpath and opting for the more gentle decline of the Curtis Ormsbee trail; we needed the change of scenery (albeit still in the green tunnel) and it was far easier on the ‘ole knees.

We stopped for delicious beer and food trucks at West Kill Brewing a few miles away, but popped a flat on the Thruway going home. You win some and you lose some. I walked away with holes in my shoes and the realization that not every hike could be my favorite, but they were - in one way or another - always worth doing.

NH 0/48
New England 1/5
New England 1/100 Highest
Northeast 2/115