National Parks and Recreation

I’ve been semi-dreading writing this post. I want to do the feelings I felt on this day justice because it was really bad. And I want other people who do something similar to this journey know that it’s okay to feel this way. It will get better. You are strong enough to pull through it. And tomorrow will be a better day.

Saying all that, I really wish I had taken pictures when I was having a not good time. Not that you all necessarily want to see a picture of me shivering in the rain with tears streaming down my face, but you know what? That’s what life on the trail was like sometimes. It wasn’t all sunshine and mountain views and beautiful foliage. A good majority of the time, it was pain and discomfort and loneliness. That may make most normal people ask, then why the hell would you put yourself through that? But that’s kind of the point. To challenge yourself and truly find out what you’re made of. And above all else, this day truly showed me how strong I was. It wasn’t weak to be reduced to tears, feeling defeated, vowing to quit as soon as I could. It would have been weak to actually let it defeat me. To hike off the trail that second and never go back.

But I didn’t.

So without further ado: Day 8. The worst day on the trail.

Long Trail Miles: 6.7
10.2.20
45-50˚ and raining
Smugglers’ Notch Ski Hut

The day started with me waking up at about 3am to a text message from my mother telling me that the president was Covid positive. It made me think about how people would find out big news like this in the “old days” on the trail. A lot of people nowadays do these hikes without phones, but you’re still always near other people who do have them, so news travels fast.

Anyway. I woke up again around 6am to the girl who had arrived late last night absolutely sobbing. The person she was with was consoling her and I quickly deduced that nothing was specifically wrong, they had just had a very rough day the day before and emotions were high. I remember thinking at the time, “geez, girl, get a grip!” (That thought will come back to haunt me.) I laid awkwardly in my sleeping bag for a while to give her some privacy, but eventually had to pretend to just wake up.

I learned that they were friends who decided to do this together after their senior year of high school was taken away from them due to the pandemic, and they were waiting a year to do college for the same reason. They apologized to me for the late arrival. I told them no big deal, I don’t sleep early anyway. And I assured them that the next several miles for them were going to be very, very easy (they were going the opposite direction as me). She told me to not be concerned or discouraged by her emotional state and that they had just had a really rough day. And they both encouraged me that the next section of trail was going to be a lot of fun. In turn, I tried to reassure them that they were almost done! And had already done all the hard stuff.

They actually ended up being very funny. We discussed the president’s news and the Melania tapes. And they told hilarious stories of other people they had encountered on the trail. They were a riot. Ah, to be young again.

Finally, I said my goodbyes. Put on my waterproof pack cover and poncho. And headed out on the trail right as the rain began to come down.

Remember that thought I had earlier? The “Girl, get a grip!” thought. Welp. Cut to: four hours later. Just three miles into my hike. I arrived at the next shelter soaking wet, threw my stuff on the ground, and called James in tears, basically hyperventilating. Luckily, I managed to say, “I’m not lost or hurt, I’m just probably going to start crying” before the water works started. So at least I didn’t give him a heart attack.

It had been a brutal few hours. The climb up Whiteface Mountain was a lot tougher than I had anticipated. It was over 2,000 feet in elevation gain (that’s the same elevation gain I’m going to do tomorrow to get over Mansfield). And the trail was brutal. It was all slippery rocks and roots and lots of mud. As brutal as the hike up was, the hike back down was even worse. It was less than half a mile, but it was straight down and very slow going. It took me over an hour to hike half a mile just to keep from falling down every two seconds. And even still, I did fall. And in the stupidest spot. I was slowly crossing a wooden boardwalk on level ground and it was just so slippery that before I even knew what was happening I was on the ground. I managed to get up much easier than previous times with my heavy pack on, but I did end up ripping my pants and scraping up my knee a bit. But I didn’t even care about a scrape at that point. Everything else was just going so miserably wrong that I almost forgot it immediately. I was just moving so slow and everything was awful.

I was supposed to make it halfway up Mansfield by the end of the day. But I was still 10 miles away and the sun was setting in six hours. I wasn’t going to be able to make it. I could barely convince myself to take even one more step on the trail. Luckily, I am way too stubborn of a person to have allowed myself to only hike 3 miles in a day. So I gave myself half an hour to “talk to James” (AKA cry on FaceTime while stuffing cheese in my face and whine that I was a failure and didn’t want to do it anymore) before picking myself up, putting my wet poncho back on, queueing up the Hamilton soundtrack on my phone, and heading back out. The next shelter was about 3 miles and one small mountain away. I could do it.

It took me longer than the Hamilton soundtrack to make it (which is insane because it’s two and a half hours long), but I finally made it to the next shelter. Then it was decision time. I was at Sterling Pond shelter which was an open lean-to that didn’t provide much protection from the elements. It was obviously dry, but I was freezing cold. And it wasn’t even 3pm yet, I couldn’t exactly get in my sleeping bag already, I would go crazy. But the next shelter was almost seven miles away and most of the way up Mount Mansfield. The road was four downhill miles away and I thought I would be able to find a place to pitch my tent down there, but that would mean setting my tent up in the rain and potentially getting poured on all night.

So I was scanning through the Guthook app, trying to see what my options were and I read some of the comments about Sterling Pond shelter. A few people mentioned that the Smugglers’ Notch ski hut was only .1 miles past there and they left it unlocked during the fall and summer for hikers. The idea scared me a little bit, but I would’ve done just about anything for an enclosed shelter so I decided to give it a shot. I came around a corner to find a ski lift and knew I must be getting close.

And then let me tell you, when I saw this beautiful, beautiful building, I just about wept. I nervously tried the door and it WAS unlocked. I can’t even begin to explain how relieved I was. It wasn’t heated, but even just being enclosed and dry, it was at least 15 degrees warmer inside.

I hung up all my wet stuff and realized I needed to go get water. Luckily, Sterling Pond was right down the hill from me and the rain had started to let up.

The pond was crisp and clear and a very easy water filling site.

And then a miracle happened. The sun came out!

Of course, being me, now that the sun was out I immediately felt guilty that I was ending my day so early with so few miles under my belt. I knew I still couldn’t make it to Taft Lodge, but maybe I could hike down to the road? (Luckily, I talked myself out of this and decided to just settle in for the night, because it began torrential downpouring again like an hour later and intermittently throughout the night.)

I truly did get really lucky with the hour of sunshine I did have. It allowed me to explore the surrounding ski area and get some really nice pictures.

I make it sound like a I did a complete 180 and immediately felt happy and ready to go, but this wasn’t exactly the case. I still seriously considered quitting. Or taking several days off. I was done. So I texted my friend Canada just to complain about what an awful day I’d had. I knew that if I asked her to come get me, she would in a heartbeat, but I really didn’t want to have to do that. I was only 2 days away from my scheduled pickup. I could make it 2 more days, couldn’t I?

All the same I sent her this text about how I was not having a good time and had had a mental breakdown of epic proportions this morning. And I’m sure I had ulterior motives. I think I secretly wanted her to respond saying she could come get me. And then I could definitely find the strength to hike down to the road and then I’d be done!

But she didn’t offer that. (And I don’t think I ever thanked her for this.) Because instead she said, “Oh no! Anything I can do to help? Want me to drop off ice cream?” Not ‘want me to come get you?’ Which of course she would have if I’d asked. She was willing to drive all the way out to me just to drop off some comfort food for god’s sake. And there was something about her saying that, about her not even suggesting that I would want to quit, that did it for me. Of course I wasn’t going to quit. I think James knew it when I was crying on the phone that morning that I was just saying it and didn’t really mean it, but it took me until that text from Canada to realize myself. I was going to keep going and tomorrow would be better.

So I settled in for the night as the torrential rain started again. I FaceTimed my mom for a long time as I ate a combined lunch and dinner. I hung out and read my book. Watched the mice run around. (It’s amazing how quickly you get use to them running around you. Or at least for me it was.)

Finally, the sun started to set and I deemed it late enough to actually get into my sleeping bag. I was lying there for awhile reading my book and editing photos as it got completely dark outside. Then I saw some lights dancing across the ceiling. And–even though I was a week into my trip–my first thought was still that it must be a car driving by outside. And then I literally double-taked when I realized I was on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. And then I heard two people talking and realized it was probably fellow hikers looking to camp for the night. And I had locked the door like a jerk because it was late and I didn’t think anyone else was coming.

So I tried to determine how to get up and let them in without completely scaring the crap out of them. I would’ve freaked out if a person emerged from a dark, seemingly abandoned building in the middle of the night. I was also acutely aware that I was a young woman by herself on top of a mountain (this was genuinely the only time all trip I can remember actually feeling nervous about that), so I grabbed my pocket knife and head lamp and went out to greet these late night intruders. Of course they were just fellow hikers. I think I did still scare the crap out of them, but alas. I told them there was plenty of room inside, but they wanted to pitch their tent instead. Fine by me! It was almost comforting to hear their muffled voices as they set up camp and I tried to calm my heart rate down enough to fall asleep.

So thank you, Smugglers’ Notch Ski Hut! I truly don’t think I would have made it as far as I did on the trail if it weren’t for you miraculously appearing on that cold, rainy afternoon when I needed you most. And remember: even on the most awful, horrible, no-good days, just try to find that hour of sunshine that can push you through to the next day.