Connecticut/Massachusetts (July 10-16)

July 10.

I woke to the whine of mosquitoes outside my tent around 0430.  I dozed for a while longer, then prepared to pack up at a buggy campsite.  I put on my rain pants and coat and packed everything up as quickly as possible.  I looked over at Trashman and saw that he was also packing up hastily to avoid more bites.

Mosquitoes hovered over Trashman and I for the first few miles of hiking.  It was a bit miserable, as a thick wet humidity hung over everything under a white misty sky, and mosquitoes whined around us all the time.  We were both dripping sweat by the time we made it up to Caleb’s Peak.   

We stopped to eat breakfast at the peak.  I was feeling wet, gross and weary, but amazingly, a mild breeze swept over the outcropping and we were able to eat and catch our breath there.  It was a much-needed reprieve, after worrying that the entire day would be as miserable as those first miles.

We enjoyed a good break, both drinking our morning drinks, be it protein powder or instant coffee, then descended to the Housatonic River.

The trail followed the Housatonic River for several miles, flat hiking that was enjoyable and that we’d been looking forward to.  Hiking at a steady pace helped to keep the mosquitoes from landing.  Before following the trail up into the mountains, away from the riverside, we stopped and soaked in the water for a while.  It was wonderful to feel clean and refreshed, if only for a brief part of the day.  

It was hot hiking as usual in the afternoon.  I hadn’t expected otherwise, so I was pleased when a breeze picked up and healthier, thicker forest overgrowth provided more shade than we had been hiking under, earlier.  Mountain laurel appeared again in the understory- I hadn’t seen that in a while.  The breezes often drove the gnats and mosquitoes away, if only for a moment, which was extremely satisfying.

That evening we camped in a pretty pine forest with breezes whispering through the treetops.  It was a pleasant campsite and evening.  

July 11.

Our campsite was relatively free of mosquitoes on this morning.  It was truly a relief to not relive the morning before. 

We hiked by Great Falls and took the side path down, sitting by the falls for a while and looking them over.  It was an impressive one, with multiple rock layers on the way down to the base.

The conditions were much more comfortable than they had been, with cooler temperatures and slightly less humidity.  We weren’t dripping sweat with every step.  It was also breezy at times, and the hiking was on wider paths under pines, the breeze whispering through the forest.  I enjoyed great hiking all the way to the town of Salisbury.  It’s amazing what a slight change in temperatures and humidity can mean to you, when you’re living outside day after day.

July 12.

I hiked out of the town of Salisbury around noon, and started the climbs ahead.  The hiking wasn’t terribly difficult, perhaps in part because I was refreshed after a town stay.  I appreciated the pretty pine needle path under tall pines.  Northern Connecticut and then Massachusetts, which I’d cross into later on this day, were much more scenic than I’d remembered.  I could feel and see the transition from the mid-Atlantic to the wilder landscapes ahead in New England.  The day was full of pretty views of forested mountains and shimmering blue ranges ahead.

A young hiker from Russia, Bright Eyes, caught up to me in the afternoon.  He was full of energy, always laughing or with a twinkle in his eyes, and seemed happy to find another hiker to talk with.

I had no particular mileage goals for the day, and enjoyed his laid back, enjoy the wonders of the moment attitude.  He often paused on the trail to look back at me and get a point across, or pick blueberries, or sit on a log (“Blueberries!  We stop and pick!”, or, “We sit now.”).  I couldn’t remember ever having hiked with another thru hiker who was willing to physically pause throughout a conversation to explain or question something.  We’re usually so focused on moving forward as we talk.

I enjoyed his natural wonder at the surroundings.  We crossed the border from Connecticut into Massachusetts, then hiked up pretty Race Mountain with a neat path along ledges and a stunning sunset at the summit.  He asked, “Do you remember this from 7 years ago?”. I told him no, and that he might forget this scene as well, given the mountains he’ll hike through further north, but he looked around and said softly, “I’ll remember, I’ll remember.”

It truly was one of the prettiest sunsets I’d seen.  Piercing sunshine outlined a cluster of dark clouds with a rim of gold, and pink clouds tinged the horizon.  It appealed to Bright Eyes’ stomach as well as his heart: “It looks like a plate to me, with beef.”  I laughed.

We hiked until dark, then camped at Race Brook Campsite.  I wouldn’t choose to hike into the night every day, but it was a nice change of pace for this one day, and allowed us to see the stunning sunset.

July 13.

I woke early and packed up, with no stirring from Bright Eyes.  I was looking forward to reaching a daily trail magic set-up by local church congregants: daily for weeks, volunteers ran a trailside picnic with burgers, snacks and drinks for any hikers passing by.  They sat under a huge tent made of tarp and birch logs that looked like a giant teepee.

I reached an overlook and looked out across the valley ahead.  It looked as though the trail would be crossing over some boggy, quite possibly buggy sections.  I was glad I had the trail magic to look forward to.  

It was a good feeling to reach the road where signs indicated the nearby tent and volunteers.  I sat in a lawn chair after being offered a burger off the grill and filling a plate with snacks.  The four volunteers were very kind, serving hikers and answering my questions about the trail magic project.  They mentioned that there’d been a lot of community interest to volunteer for the project, so much so that they had had to limit volunteers to signing up for no more than a single day.  I’m always glad to hear of community enthusiasm for hikers- this trail magic station had been a positive experience for both the hikers and the volunteers, who had enjoyed meeting hikers from all walks of life, some with stories to share.

I hiked several miles throughout the afternoon and met another trail angel at a parking area ahead.  She kept a cooler filled with water and snacks by the trail throughout the day, then came by in the evening to sit and visit.  A shuttle driver also drove up and sat with us as I ate and visited.  They clearly knew one another well.  I thought it was neat to see the network of locals that get to know one another over their shared interest in the trail community.

I hiked on to the next shelter, fueled by my latest round of surprise snacks.  I met a hiker named Pony Express there, so named because he was hiking southwards and offered to deliver any messages a northbound hiker had to a friend further south, if he crossed paths with them.  I thought that was a neat idea, and wrote out a message for a friend.  Pony Express took my piece of paper, made sure the recipient name was on the outside, and sealed it with duct tape.  It was more involved than I’d imagined, and made me laugh.  He told me a few stories of hikers who had received messages and how fun it had been to see their reactions and be the bearer of a good surprise.

July 14.

I packed up some things inside my tent, ate breakfast inside because of whining mosquitoes, then packed everything else up.  It was a buggy morning, not unbearable, but buggy enough that I wore my head net all morning.  Whenever I tried to take it off, it wasn’t long before I put it on again to keep the bugs at bay.

I had hiked through this area, including the Shaker Campsite, a few years ago.  The mosquitoes were unbearable at that time.  It’s the nature of life that conditions constantly change, but I still marveled over the fact that I could stand and collect spring water calmly at a place that I’d danced around a few years ago, swatting at all the mosquitoes. 

I hiked several miles to a farm stand along Jerusalem Road, a small red shed with snacks inside and a white AT sign on the outside.  Sodas were priced at $1 each.  It was good to sit at the picnic table there and refresh with a cold soda.  

The day had a flow to it, with good breaks and things to look forward to every couple of hours.  I hiked along an impressive curvy boardwalk in Tyringham Valley that, per comments on the hiking app, is sometimes submerged, so that hikers passing through walk through waist-deep water.  It was hard to imagine.  The area was boggy, with muddy creek holes surrounding the bridge in places.  It wasn’t the kind of water you’d want to be submerged in.

Though I’d already been treated a few times in the recent days, it was a weekend and a popular time for trail magic.  I kept checking my phone to see where the next roads would be, and tried not to stuff myself with a snack before a road crossing where someone might be offering food.  I climbed up Baldy Mountain and was pleased to hear from southbound hikers that there was trail magic ahead.

I came out to a gravel road and saw a large canopy and chairs, and met a kindly older man whose daughter had hiked the AT a few years ago.  He enjoyed supporting her on her hike, and then continued to offer trail magic to hikers in the years following her hike.  He seemed to use it as a reason to travel, saying that he’d be up in New Hampshire offering more snacks in a few weeks.  

He had fresh veggies, bins of snack foods and coolers of drinks.  He told me that it’d been a process, and he’d learned more about what hikers want.  Sometimes they weren’t enthusiastic about foods that they tended to carry themselves in their backpacks, like ramen or beef jerky.  I really enjoyed sitting with him to chat, pulling our chairs out to the shade at the edge of the parking area, and of course, eating.  He said that I was number “20” to pass through that day.

The rest of the day consisted of a nicely graded climb up Becket Mountain, and a bear cub sighting.  The bear ran away as soon as I saw him, which is always ideal.  

 July 15.  

The day started with a hike by a large bog.  I heard the familiar sound of frogs croaking, like rubber bands twanging.  Aside from a few mosquitoes, the trail was pleasant, often passing under tall pines.

I enjoyed pretty easy hiking to the town of Dalton.  When I came out to the rail line crossing that separates the trail from Dalton, I could hear electricity tingling on the rail line.  Soon I heard and felt the train coming, then watched for several minutes as the cars passed by and their wheels scraped along the ties.

I spent some time in Dalton, eating and sitting in the cool air-conditioned library.  Then I hiked the long suburban path the AT follows through town, under a hot sun.  Some of the homes were neat to see, but mostly I was just glad to get under the shade of the forest again at the end of that road.  

The trail leaves the town of Dalton to hike several miles to the small town of Cheshire, Massachusetts.  A view from Cheshire Cobbles offered a view of Cheshire Reservoir and the valley below, before the descent to Cheshire.  

I hiked through the suburbs of Cheshire, passing house after house with running pools in their backyards (and feeling envious) before reaching the Ashuwillticook Rail Trail and the Father Tom Campsite.  The campsite is a large patch of grass designated as a camping space on the edge of town for thru hikers, with charging ports, spigot and port a potties available.  Apparently Father Tom was a local reverend who allowed hikers to stay at a nearby church for years.  Now hikers can stay at this designated campsite that was named in his honor.

It was nice to have a flat, open area to set up my tent, and that night it was being utilized by many other hikers as well.  I counted 20 other tents.  I set up my tent and walked up to the benches along the rail trail to call home.

I hung up as thunder rumbled, and ran over to my tent right before rain poured down.  I always like it when the rain hits at night, and hope that it will bring clear skies in the daytime.  

July 16.

I enjoyed eating breakfast at a picnic table at the Father Tom camp site, then set off to hike up Mt Greylock, the highest point in Massachusetts.  I hiked up through a few meadows, then into the forest.  

It was a steady climb that leveled out at times.  As I gained elevation, the scenery changed to sweet-smelling pine forest and blessedly, I lost the ever-present gnats.

The pine forest alternated with beech forest, with clintonia and hobblebush, two old favorites that grow all along the AT from Georgia to Maine.  I really enjoyed hiking up above 3000’ after spending much time at 2000’ or less.

The views from the summit of Mount Greylock were pretty, and the Veterans War Memorial Tower was open for climbing and more viewing.  The Green Mountains of Vermont were visible ahead as well as the upcoming steep descent to the town of North Adams.

It was a long steep descent to North Adams, where I stepped out into sticky heat coming off the streets.  I was happy to see trail magic coolers from a local church under a kiosk ahead.

The church had provided several coolers with contents including snacks, drinks, and medical supplies.  I pulled out several snacks and a water bottle, then sat cross-legged in a narrow shade patch to eat.  I had been running low on water, and was especially grateful for the cold drink on a hot day.

Eventually I continued on, crossing the bridge over the Hoosic River and climbing up to Eph’s Lookout and the Vermont border.  The initial miles were pretty alongside burbling Sherman Brook.  As I climbed higher, sweating under a bug net once again, I hoped elevation would deter gnats.

I watched a moderately sized black bear run away, then climbed higher to the lookout over the valley and back towards Greylock.  Thunder rumbled as I reached the Vermont border.  I set my tent up early, and enjoyed resting inside as thunder and lightning cracked above.  The following downpour hit hard enough to cause mist to fall from the tent ceiling.

The rain passed and I slept well that night.

Massachusetts was a landscape of bogs and bog boards, frogs, mosquitoes and gnats, creeks, tall pines and bouncy pine needle trail.  It felt a lot like Vermont, the next state ahead.  It also had been a section that offered a lot of support to hikers, from trail magic to camping areas such as the Father Tom camp site.  I continued to be touched by the generosity of the trail angels and locals in these miles.  Their kindness and consideration added great enjoyment and inspiration to my hike.