Training for the long road

Long Trail Training Shakedown, Day 1

04/11/2026

Tomorrow

Today started like any typical Saturday. I woke up to my second and final alarm at 04:20. I followed my usual routine of letting the dogs out, feeding them, and making coffee. Although today was different. I was eager to get on the path and officially start training. «There is no substitute for hiking as training for a hike.»

At 05:35 I ran out the door to get to the gym. Most of my days (at least 5 a week) start at my local gym. This morning I would be forgoing the rigorous training I would normally undergo. Instead, I’d be stretching, lathering, and enjoying some much-needed time in the sauna.

Without having to work out, I left the gym, showered, and was ready for an earlier-than-usual morning of self-defense classes. At 07:30 I entered the Forged Self Defense Academy in Gonic NH. Once settled in, I approached my trainer and owner about leaving early to get a head start on the trail. He agreed to let me go after the first two classes. Which greatly alleviated the concerns I had about weather, wind and daylight.

Now it was a reality for me. Things seemed increasingly favorable. During my morning teaching I kept noticing that the wind outside was increasing rapidly. When I left the academy at 10:13, the wind was blowing steadily at 9 mph and gusting to around 15 mph. This didn’t worry me too much, however, it seemed to be outside the schedule of my diligent research in the hours prior.

At 10:27 I pulled into the driveway. I needed to clean up quickly, grab my gear, and say goodbye. It’s always difficult to leave my wife and two dogs on a solo trip, no matter the length.

Late

Getting out of town was a struggle. I needed some last minute snacks, caffeine and gas. After taking much longer than I wanted to get north, I was finally on my way. The hour and a half drive was consumed with the excitement of finally getting back on the road. I had good songs, a plan, time and a willing and capable body. Life was good.

A little after 12:30 I entered the Olivarian Brook Trail Head located off NH 112. After a quick stretch and a gear check, I arrived at the trail at 12:45. After studying the topography, I knew I could maintain a decent pace for the first two miles and then it would depend on the snowpack, ice, and the stability of that snowpack.

I made it through the first two miles, only slowing down occasionally for slightly icy spots and some mud. The few water crossings were easy and manageable without incident. However, this would not reflect the rest of my trip. Shortly after the first two miles and crossing into the Sandwich Range Wilderness, I connected with the Passaconway cutoff. The snowpack had been steadily increasing in importance and, at this point, was consuming the trail.

After a cumbersome start at the Passaconway cutoff and a long side walk to the square ledge and back, I decided it was time to take a break for snacks and hydration. During my break the wind began to pick up noticeably. The sun began to disappear behind non-threatening clouds that sharply lowered the temperature. I put on my microfleece and reviewed my map, estimated a rough location, and set a secondary checkpoint where I would stop hydrating again and fully assess whether completion was in the cards.

The next push was arduous. I battled an increasing wind as I climbed the side of Mount Passaconway. I stubbornly forgot to get microspikes because I didn’t need much help with traction. But this made me forget to use alligators. About a quarter mile from my secondary checkpoint I started “poking a hole” with every other step, sometimes up to my knee. I, stubbornly, still refused to take a break to put on alligators and microspikes. «You’re very close now. Just keep pushing. This is good training for the long haul.»

My secondary checkpoint arrived quickly, by this time it was approaching 2:45pm and the wind had increased to 20mph sustained with gusts up to 40mph. I was cold, my boots had filled with ice and snow and I was beginning to doubt my desire to continue forward. After a brief pep talk consisting of swearing and being hard on myself: I dusted off my boots and moved on and up. Fighting against the wind, technical foot and the occasional knockdown. It was close and I could feel it. Knowing that my hands would lose dexterity if it got much colder; I put on my wool liners for preventative protection.

I reached the summit of Mount Passaconaway shortly after 3:00 PM via the Walden Trail. After a brief stop, I circled around the south side of the mountain and descended to the Camp Rich campsite via the Dicey Mills trail. Time was now of the essence. The temperature was dropping, I wasted no time getting familiar with the tent site and its surroundings. I found a flat clearing practically free of snow. To one side of this clearing was an area of ​​sturdy looking trees that offered some protection from the wind. Under the trees was a flat spot suitable for my two-person tent. The place needed minimal cleaning. After checking for widows and dead branches, I efficiently set up my tent, inflated my sleeping pad, inflated my pillow, spread out my sleeping bag, and put on my windproof layers.

Evening

The heat was necessary and so was a mental break. I huddled in my tent for a while to meditate and check my phone for service. To my surprise, the service wasn’t much, but it was enough for me to send a text to my wife letting her know I arrived safely at camp. Lying there I began to assimilate all the sounds. The wind being the most notable thing. I could hear it running and whipping over the field, but somehow my tent was firm and unbreakable. The place I chose to collaborate was doing its job well.

The cold prompted me to move a little more. At 5:00 p.m. I had a second snack and made myself a coffee. The winds were relentless and it suddenly hit me: I hadn’t seen a single person the entire trip. In fact, the only sign I had seen were snowshoe tracks at least 24 hours old. I dismissed this as probably typical of the season. Although it had no comparison. “Everyone else knew something I didn’t know”? The doubt was accompanied by another drop in temperatures. Moving around the store no longer kept me comfortably warm.

Huddled inside my tent, I reorganized my backpack, put on dry socks, and plotted my departure route for the morning. My sleeping bag and mat did their job warming me up quickly. I made a quick call home and then went back to meditating and looking at my map for other hikes I planned to complete this year.

I hadn’t fully realized that I would probably spend the night in complete solitude until an hour passed with no sign of anyone. I found it hard to believe that people wouldn’t be out on the first decent weekend in April. Solidarity had never been a concern or concern for me in the wilderness, but combined with this being my first early season hike in The Whites and the cold it made me look forward to other hikers.

Like an answered message, I heard the familiar crunch, the crunch of footsteps in the snow coming from the campground’s access road. Curiosity won and I stuck my head out of my tent. I was instantly and warmly greeted by a gentleman who had walked in the opposite direction with an earlier start up Dicey Mills to the top of Mount Passaconway. After brief introductions, he informed me that his two friends were a few minutes behind him and would be arriving soon. Tent space was an immediate concern for me, to which I offered any assistance in moving and clearing the area. My new friend assured me that I would be in a hammock and wouldn’t need any space. He also assured me that his two friends would be fine in another clear spot adjacent to mine and that they would share a tent.

Evening

The cold is a great motivator. As a team we collected firewood and bark to make a fire. We established an area for cooking and eating; which I had already been using before to walk and eat something. Darkness came quickly. With a steady but warm and conservative fire and headlamps, we ate, shared stories, and did what most hikers do at mealtime. By 9pm I was exhausted and said goodbye to my new friends until the next morning. As I walked up the trail toward my tent, I was grateful not only for this but for all my experiences in nature. Freedom, peace and self-reliance have become an integral part of me.

“Here and now, where everything begins.”

Until next time

Minuteman

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