Days 125-131: My Love-Hate Relationship with Vermont

Day 125. August 15th: Seth Warner to Hell Hollow Brook – 15 miles

A beaver dam and pond from our first day in Vermont. I’d never realized their dams were this big!

Day 126. August 16th: Hell Hollow Brook to Black Brook Campsite – 18 miles

Misty views from the Glastenbury fire tower

A mercifully mud-free stretch of trail through some lovely woods descending from Glastenbury Mountain

Day 127. August 17th: Black Brook to Manchester Center – 18 miles

It has rained every day for the past week, and the mud is often ankle-deep. Nonetheless, we make good time on our first few days in Vermont. The views are frequently obscured by clouds or fog, but the woods are alive and green, and we have left behind the worst of the mosquitoes in the lower elevations of Massachusetts. The weather improves for the climb up Stratton Mountain, and we get to appreciate our first real New England views from the top of the fire tower. We reach the road into Manchester Center just before dark and hitchhike into town.

Ignoring the fact that the rickety fire towers swaying in the wind are as terrifying as they are cool

Day 128. August 18th: Manchester Center to Bromley Ski Hut – 3 miles

It rains all morning, so we spend a relaxing nero in town. We visit the grocery store, the local outfitter, the laundromat, and a Greek restaurant for lunch. That afternoon, there’s a break in the weather, so we hitchhike back to the trail and hike three miles up to the Bromley Ski Patrol Hut, which remains unlocked for AT hikers in the summer season.

The hut amenities are basic, but compared to a normal AT shelter, it feels like a mansion. It’s crowded with other thru-hikers chatting about the trail runner who’d recently passed them on his FKT attempt. I’d seen posts about the guy trying to break the record and was hoping we would get to meet him, so I’m bummed we missed him while we were in town.

(Only 10 days later, Karel Sabbe would reach Katahdin, having hiked all 2190 miles of the AT in a new Fastest Known Time of just 41 days and 7 hours, averaging approximately two marathons per day.)

It’s cold and windy that night, but I manage to stay warm, cocooned in my sleeping bag among a dozen hikers in a row across the wooden floor.

Day 129. August 19th: Bromley Ski Hut to Little Rock Pond – 17 miles

Morning views from the Bromley ski patrol hut

Finally, after ten days of rain, nature offers us a gorgeous, sunny morning, with no precipitation in the forecast for a full 48 hours. Still, all morning long, we hike through ankle-deep mud puddles. We eat lunch at Peru Peak shelter and strip off our waterlogged socks and shoes. In 1,660 miles I’ve had only a couple of minor blisters, mainly when breaking in new shoes or during weeks of nonstop rain. But now, constantly submerged in the grainy mud of Vermont, my feet have suddenly disintegrated. I have blisters on the bottoms and sides of my toes and raw, red chafing on the tops of my toes. The soles of my feet are pale and pockmarked.

“My feet look like the surface of the mooooon,” I whine from where I’m sprawled in a patch of sunshine by the creek. “Ugh, Vermont is the worst.”

I am overheard by a Long Trail hiker, who must be from Vermont, because she seems offended. “What, you thru-hikers walk a thousand miles, and now a little mud and you’re bitching out?”

I’m startled by her angry retort, and I’m not sure what else to say. Even though I’ve been genuinely frustrated by the recent terrain and the way it’s destroying my feet, my complaint was meant to be light-hearted. Besides fantasizing about town food, lamenting the weather and terrain is the main way that thru-hikers bond. If calling Vermont “the worst” was bad, this girl would be appalled at some of the language hikers use to describe the rocks of northern Pennsylvania.

Maybe she was just being oversensitive, but I remain preoccupied with the interaction when we pack up and keep hiking. On one hand, it’s unrealistic to expect to enjoy every moment of the Appalachian Trail, and this far into the green tunnel, I think it’s normal to be feeling worn-down and a little jaded compared with the starry-eyed hiker who was enthralled by every rock, root, and vista in Georgia. I don’t feel like I should apologize for wanting to commiserate about the unpleasant aspects of the AT with my companions. On the other hand, I also don’t want to come off as negative or ungrateful for the experience. By the end of each day on trail, I am physically, mentally, and emotionally spent, but overwhelmed with gratitude for the chance to be out here. I resolve to be more conscious of the attitude I’m projecting. That evening, the continued sunshine and some great views temper my misgivings toward Vermont, even though the ongoing mud offers my battered feet no mercy.

Day 130. August 20th: Little Rock Pond to Clarendon Shelter – 14 miles

View from the suspension bridge over Mill River

Day 131. August 21st: Clarendon to Churchill Scott Shelter – 15 miles

The lovely weather continues as we approach Mount Killington, the second-tallest mountain in Vermont and a well-known skiing destination. The climb is long but well-graded, and the steep, rocky slopes finally offer relief from Vermont mud. We decide to take the 0.2-mile spur trail from the AT up to the summit, where my guidebook mentions a restaurant and great views. These two tenths of a mile are the steepest I’ve ever hiked, except perhaps the scramble up from Lehigh Gap in Pennsylvania. I’m starting to wonder if the detour is worth it, but then I reach the summit and my doubts vanish.

Storms are forecast to return tonight, but even with the clouds and haze, the views are stunning. We buy overpriced food from the restaurant in the last few minutes before lunch service is discontinued. Just as we are about to leave the building, a cook emerges from the kitchen with a plate of hot French fries. “We’re closing, so you can just have these,” he says, offering the plate. I could hug him, but I’m sure the gesture would unwelcome, given my hiker smell, so I thank him instead and accept the fries with glee. Etienne and I share the food and a $6 can of beer on the windy mountaintop with the Green Mountains stretched out before us like a painting, and I concede that maybe Vermont isn’t the worst state after all.