Into the Blue: New England Trail – Day 3

Easy does it.

The next morning, I woke up to the soft patter of raindrops on the roof of the cabin. The blackout curtains covering the windows made it hard to believe that it was already 6:45 am. I told myself that I really needed to sleep after yesterday. Normally I would be logging miles at this hour, but I had arranged for a work friend who lived nearby to take me across the Connecticut River. There is no official crossing. The red line ends abruptly at the foot of the summit road and resumes on the opposite side. Hurriedly, I packed to meet her on the road. I was able to grab a hot breakfast at the cafeteria, refuel on some snacks from the gas station, and start on (what I thought would be) a gentler section of the trail. Logistically, at least.

The climb to the ridge of Mount Tom came in rolling waves. I quickly reached the top of Dry Knoll with its well-graded path. A small bench took in the view, partially shrouded in fog at that hour. Behind him, a small accounting box nailed to a tree read Share your story in bold. Little by little, flipping through the pages, I read some poems and heartfelt messages. I wrote a little haiku as I went:

Walking through the fog
Follow white flames, soon blue
Summits to sound

View of the Connecticut River from Dry Knoll.

He knew that later that day he would be walking into Connecticut, marking the end of the AMC’s dominance. Soon I would be on the blue trails of the Nutmeg State.

Walking along the ledge.

Descending to a notch in the ridge line, the trail became steeper going up the other side. A relatively long climb, since these hills are not very high but sometimes offer quite impressive views for the effort. While Mount Tom was home to radio towers and graffiti, the hike up the cliff to get to the top was incredibly cool. Unless heights bother you, this section provided a fun challenge. Surely keeps things interesting!

What can I say? I like to live on the edge.

The descent was over in the blink of an eye, once again entering PUD territory as it traversed rural yards. Many road junctions. Many posted active shooting ranges. I’m so glad I brought a deep orange mid-layer. Between the ups and downs, I ran into two NOBO hikers about 15 minutes apart. Happy to be in company here, I chatted with them both for a while. They had both hiked at least one of the Triple Crown trails and, like me, were looking for something interesting in their backyard. I was also warned about the Westfield River crossing, an oversight in my planning, just 5 miles ahead. Fording a relatively wide, waist-high river in 40° weather was not on my list of things to do today.

I get by with a little help from my friends.

Refusing to become a silly statistic or victim of a 10-mile road hike, I once again called a friend. She answered instantly, heard me, and her immediate response was, «Of course, anything to support your mission. I can be there in an hour, can I bring you something?» I would never say no to a morale-boosting Diet Coke. Over the next few miles, I reflected on where I started in hiking. I find it easy to beat myself up if things don’t go exactly as planned, and I have deep-rooted difficulties asking for help. In those moments I felt deeply grateful and proud of the community I have surrounded myself with.

A little «urban hiking» crossing under Mass Turnpike/I-90.

Friendships are something I have always had a hard time maintaining, especially with other women. Turns out he had simply been trying to fit in with the wrong crowds. Running down the trail and toward the road, I saw my friend cheering me on, ready to greet me with a hug and a big smile.
«I was bragging about you to the lady at the gas station. I told her my friend walked 40 damn miles yesterday!»
Feeling supported is feeling loved. I really have the best friends. We laughed throughout the trip exchanging trail stories, she dropped me off safely on the other side and with less than 10 miles to go to camp I was ready to cross the border.

True blue.

The last 5 miles of MA were lush and rolling, the trail covered in soft pine. A nice rest for the feet as I made it through a day’s marathon. Just before the border was a vibrant swamp reserve. It was warmer than ever the whole way up so far, a variety of bird species fluttering through the tall grass. I almost missed it, but a few minutes later I saw a blue sign that said “Welcome to Connecticut” etched into the smooth, weathered wood.

The tone changed after that. It was a special feeling to get back on my ‘home turf’ and at the same time hit the 100 mile mark in three days. This charm faded into frustration as the sun began to set, every hill getting in my way to finally reach camp before dark. With about 1.8 miles left, I sulked off the trail to prepare for the headlights o’clock.

Signs of life.

Just when I thought the trail couldn’t come any sooner, I stumbled down to the tent site ready to eat.
«Fuck, finally!» I groaned. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the faint reflective strips on a dark green Nemo Hornet through the darkness. «Oh shit, I’m sorry!» An audible whisper, as if that would make things better. Hurrying to get set up, I switched to the red light and unfolded my tarp system as quietly as the crumpled DCF and Tyvek could. Humming noises of smooth zipper openings followed.

I could barely see, but a young man greeted me. Apologizing for the noise and spotlights, he struck up a conversation asking me when I started how far I planned to go.
«Damn, over 100 miles in three days? You’re a badass.»
Not knowing how to accept a compliment, I thought, «I guess it feels good to be a gangster.»
A silent thanks escaped him: «I really like walking.»

He had just started that day at noon and had set out to hike the Connecticut section of the trail. We talked about previous hikes, about my experience on the AT, since that was one of its objectives, and the discussion fell into a spiritual direction.

A midnight gospel (hiker).

I don’t like organized religion, but there is certainly something sacred about time on the road. It’s no surprise that many long-distance hikers I’ve met are here trying to find something. Whether overcoming an addiction with a healthier one, ordering things in your head or looking for direction outside the cardinals. My motives have become clearer over time and I am very excited to know that there are people taking their own journey.

Back to the blue flames! (Not pictured: the precarious engineering feat that involved resting my phone on my trekking poles to take this photo.) I snuggled into my quilt contemplating how I have grown since my first backpacking trip. Not only in knowledge and skills, but in the confidence I have in myself. An extraordinary gift to receive.

The numbers:

Start time: 8:54 am
End time: 20:37
Distance: 31.5 miles
Ascent: 5676′
Descent: 5207′

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