<----SOUTH | Section Hike | NORTH----> |
Once again, Mike and I collaborated on an Appalachian Trail section hike. In December and February, we'd hiked the trail through New Jersey. The days were short, the trail long and our energy levels high. We'd done big miles and ended up doing a real fraction of it at night. In March, Mike did the northern half of the New York section solo. Now we would collaborate on the southern half and then shuttle me up into Connecticutt to do the northern part on my own. With expected April temperatures and daylight levels, we were looking forward to lighter gear and more daylight to work with.
Hah!
Day 2 - Arising with the sun, we shook cold bodies out and quickly hiked the nice ridge toward the Hudson. A great view was had from a side trail up Anthony's Nose before we descended and crossed the impressively large Bear Mountain Bridge. Impressive rocks and by far the largest river crossed by the AT. On the other side of the bridge is the lovely Bear Mountain State Park complete with a zoo of local wildlife (all of the animals were injured or raised in captivity and couldn't survive in the wild). Among the menagerie were various hawks and owls, vultures, a sullen looking bald eagle, a pair of cayotes, a porcupine, and a pair of rather doppy-acting black bears. Yes, I have now seen a bear on the AT! Coincidentally, right in front of the bear enclosure is the lowest elevation on the entire trail at an altitude of 120 feet. It's all uphill from there no matter which way you go!
The spectacular view from Anthonys Nose looking north up the Hudson Valley. | The Bear Mountain Bridge; oldest and longest river crossing on the AT. |
Day 3 started with a light snowfall. The five Tulaners were sleeping coldly and soundly. Mike and I started out over the frosted ground through the lovely softwood forests. At the morning water break, we found an abandoned mine with several water-filled tunnels and piles of excavated rock. Soon thereafter the sun came out and we hiked through the dramatic rock formations of the Lemon Squeezer. Supposedly, there are three places where the AT passes under stone. If that's true, then I've now been through all of them (this along with Mahoosuc Notch, ME, and the Guillotine in VA). Neat stuff!
Above: The entrance to an abandoned mine on Fingerboard Mountain. Right: Two shots of the dramatic Lemon Squeezer |
Afternoon sun on Cat Rock. |
Day 4 - another cold morning! I got a late start chatting with the two other fellows at the camp and gnoshing on leftover pizza (wonderful way to start the day). It was still chilly, but the sun was out and everything was gorgeous. I spent six or seven miles going up over Mt. Algo and a few other lumps ending up finally (after a brief jaunt into NY and back again) on the summit of Schaghticoke Mountain (no, I can't pronounce it either) where there had been a forest fire recently. It was eerie! The trees were blackenned a bit for the first few feet but were otherwise alive and well and budding out. The undergrowth was also beginning to return. But well-charred logs littered the ground and there were only a few scattered leaves here and there. It was very quiet. Hard to believe that this is a natural process of rebirth!
Back down in the valley, I spent a while along the lovely Housatonic River near Bull's Bridge where the river falls quite a ways in a series of rocky, potholed falls and rapids before meandering through canyons. After a stop at the Ten Mile Shelter (after 8 miles), I headed up and over Ten Mile Hill, crossed the border into the Empire State and hiked the remaining 1.3 miles to the Wiley Shelter.
The Wiley Shelter is an interesting, unique place. It's well-looked after with several picnic tables, a tent platform, and a well-decorated shelter repleat with tools, reading material and no less than three dial-front thermometers (none of which agreed with each other except to say that it was unseasonably cold). To say that the caretaker (one Robert Woodin) takes an active role in maintaining the shelter would be a drastic understatement. The shelter log is full of his (numbered) shelter checks which are performed five times per weekend (Friday and Saturday nights, Friday, Saturday and Sunday during the day) and occasionally during the week. He rides herd on people with improper fires, camping outside official spots, and so forth. All in all, the shelter looks good, but I can't imagine the amount of work it takes to police it. But I saw no sign on a Sunday night or Monday morning of Mr. Woodin or anyone else. The shelter floor was uncomfortable and the place spooky. I didn't sleep well and woke up peevish and sore.
The very strange MetroNorth stop along the AT. |
Day 6 - Definitely warmer today; I didn't shiver and stamp around nearly so much this morning. The weather is still gloomy but looks more promissing than yesterday. Two and a half miles of hiking brought me to the crossing with I-84, the noise of which could be heard for many miles before and after. There were some ups and downs and by the time I was crossing the rough slopes of Hosner Mountain the sun was hot and I'd stripped down to shorts and Duofold shirt. Life was definitely looking up. A splendid, lingering lunch was had at the RPH Cabin (Das Bunker) after nine miles in the bright sun and 75 degree heat.
The lovely, rugged Canopus Lake near where I almost stood on a black snake. |
Day 7 - It rained a lot in the night; my cook pot had collected about half an inch of rain and my bivy had soaked through. Everything except me was wet. But the rain was tapering off and I had slept soundly and well. Peering outside, I could tell that it was just before twilight, perhaps 5 am and it would be light soon (I don't carry a watch hiking; it never seems important). What the heck! I leapt up, packed my gear with the recklessness of one who knows he's headed back to town and was on the trail in short order. The half-pint of water left in my bottles would be more than enough to get me the two miles to Dennytown Road where there was a faucet.
The two miles passed relatively quickly in the dark. The trail was well-marked and flew past. Feeling good but a bit tired, I reached Dennytown road an hour later. The sky was no lighter. But the clouds were still thick and I was confident that dawn would come soon! Finishing off the water, I discovered that the water faucet had been shut off for the winter. Oh well, I'd keep walking the three miles to the next road.
At this point I was starting to get a bit spooked. Night hiking can be a creepy experience and doing it alone is doubly nerve-wracking. I was serious beginning to wonder what time it was. Dehydration was also setting in. Not that I didn't have the means to get more water, but I was too spooked to stop alone in the pitch-dark woods. Three miles passed at a record pace and I was soon at South Highland Road five miles from my camp. Everything was still dark as pitch; what the hell time was it anyway?! In desperation I set out for another mile to the next road resolving I would pump water and slake my thirst there dark or not.
Canopus Hill Road hove into murky view and it was still dark. I broke out the pump and sat by the stream to pump water. Well, maybe it wasn't so dark after all. I turned off my headlamp and found I could see details near me. By the time I had eaten some food and finished the water (ah, glorious water!) it was light enough to hike sans lamp.
My adrenaline spent from six miles of highly motivated night hiking, my pace slowed and the accumulated excesses of six hard days on the trail began to catch up with me. The day was gorgeous and clear. Birds chirped all around as I limped the final five miles to complete the New York section. The car was a very welcome sight indeed. The subsequent shower and soft bed were even more luxurious!
It was a good hike, though I am drained and pained after the fact. The mix of solo and companioned hiking went rather well and the territory was quite lovely to hike through. I am quite pleased to have now completed a major swath of trail from Connecticutt down to the Pennsylvania border. Total distance, 94.4 miles.
The Wilderness Journal | Neithernor |