August 10: Wading Through Wilderness: Battling Mud, Streams, and Cold Nights in Vermont

8/10
 
We wake up; the remnants of the hurricane have passed, and we get ready— we’re heading back to the trail. We only need to do one thing in town, and that’s drop a package off at the post office when they open at 9 a.m.
I eat as much food as I can swallow, about 1,500 calories worth, then we head out. I try to eat more in the car. I really don’t want to have to carry all this food on the trail. We stop at a Dunkin’ so Flamethrower can get coffee, and then we hit the post office.
 
Katrina, our amazing rescuer, takes us to Bennington and drops us off at the trail. This was our plan, but this isn’t where we got picked up. We figure that’s okay because we hiked 4 miles in and out to get to Vermont. Part of our reasoning was that we had been warned that the descent into Bennington was super treacherous and we shouldn’t do it in the rain. With the storm coming, that would have meant being stuck in the woods for a few days before we could descend to safety. So we ended up missing about 10 miles here. But on a journey of 2,200 miles, we’re not going to worry about them. Plus, I walked up and down the stairs in the house at least twice, so that makes up for it, right?
 
We head towards the trail and hit a privy, then we eat some nearby berries. Flamethrower tells me she recognizes a berry that I don’t know. She eats some, then I eat some. She calls it a boysenberry. I don’t have cellphone signal to check. She comments about how ironic it’ll be if I die from the first thing I trust her to feed me. I later get signal and find out that these berries were definitely not boysenberries. Thankfully, some creative googling shows they are, in fact, a different subspecies of raspberry. So this means we still have to walk 600ish more miles to Katahdin.
 
Anyway, today’s hike will be 10.1 miles and 3,400 feet of gain. We survive the first 1.5 miles and 1,100 feet of gain, but it takes longer than we planned. And Flamethrower lost one of her new expensive pole tips. But it gets worse because ultimately the pole breaks too, and the bottom comes off. She decides she can still use it, and we jokingly try to add a new pole tip to the broken part. We stop for a snack at the first shelter and are hopeful that the next few miles will be easier.
They aren’t. This is where Vermont starts living up to its name. It’s a muddy, mucky mess with lots of rocks. We spend the day trying to dodge deep mud and too often running water. I’m not a salmon; I really don’t know why I have to hike upstream in a waterfall, but apparently, this is going to be our Vermont experience. The water was awful. Worst I’ve experienced on the trail.
 
We even have a swollen stream crossing to add to the fun of the day. Normally, the stream is rock-hop-able, but not today. Today it was a frothy cappuccino foam as it flowed past us. We could see somebody on the other side putting his shoes back on, so we crossed every time he did. This necessitated taking off our shoes, crossing, then putting them back on. The water was cold and knee-deep. It looked worse than it was, and when Flamethrower approached a particularly precarious section, she paused and I thought I was going to have to jump back in to help her. She made it through on her own, then we put our shoes back on as a southbound hiker came through with his dog, and they both crossed.
This mucky river is also supposed to be our water source, but it’s too brown for me to want to drink. It’s 6 miles to the next official water, but I’m hoping to find a trail-side spring. Otherwise, I’ll run out.
We then continue to hike through the flooded trail. It was exhausting. Soon the trail stops being wet for over a mile, and we make good time, but I’m afraid I won’t find water. It was a baseless gear, however, because soon we’re hiking upstream again. I fill my CNOC from a trailside spring. I knew it was there because it was pouring out gallons a minute into the trail I was just trying to hike up.
 
Flamethrower doesn’t need water, so she gets ahead, but I pass her right before we start the final 700-foot climb to the shelter. My foot really hurts, but I make it in good time. I’m worried when it takes her an extra 20 minutes just to summit, but I know she’s exhausted.
 
We get to camp fairly late. I pitch my tent, then hunker down for a cold night. It’s dropping to about 45 tonight. I choose to stay in my tent because it’ll be warmer. Flamethrower takes the shelter. I make a quick dinner, then go to bed. Flamethrower doesn’t eat.
I shiver as the temps drop. I find and add the straps back onto my quilt and tighten it around me. I’m also extremely thankful for my new sweater. Without it, I would certainly be freezing. I’m layered in my air mesh, the sweater, and my warm hat. I am still wearing my short PJ shorts, though. The ‘slutty little shorts,’ as Flamethrower refers to them. I’m reasonably warm and comfortable. I’m a bit worried I’ll wake up sweaty, but I don’t.
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Comments 1

  • William Ludwig : Nov 5th

    You definitely take the best pictures of anyone doing the AT this year. Loved the videos. Watching Flamethrower cross that creek made me ask myself; How did she get this far?

    Reply

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