Are you afraid of the dark? New England Trail – Day 2

See you in the morning.

The sun simply rose too early the next morning after a long first day of travel. The cold, crisp air once again filled my lungs as I consumed some calories and packed for the day; Once again, I reluctantly ditched my bloated bag into the main compartment of my backpack. Walking those first, stiff steps onto the paved lot of Wendell State Forest, fog rose from Ruggles Pond. As I passed, I saw an otter glide up and back under the rippling water. I saw trillium flowers among the residual hail that covered yesterday’s leaves. Despite the frost, the greenery bloomed. My breathing and my steps were the only things that disturbed the stillness. Quiet mornings on the trail are my favorite for times like this.

Remnants of the sporadic hail storms of day 1.

Finding my pace on the relatively flat trail, I ran into a hiker with her two dogs. One, a gray-muzzled veteran who walks laboriously alongside his owner; the other, a little puppy who was very interested in continuing wherever I went. She asked me if I was walking the trail. I said yes, and I’m enjoying it so far! He said he loved this section and brought his canine companions here every morning. After a brief exchange, he wished me luck. Even though I wanted to keep moving, I couldn’t help but laugh when the younger dog backed up to follow me 2, 3, 4 times. I helped gather them and continued on my way.

We’re just getting started.

Old dirt road walking on the RED.

For most of the morning I was making very good weather. The miles were easy, winding through state parks on well-graded dirt roads and old forest service roads/trail rides. As I hit mile 20 around 12:45 pm, it became increasingly apparent that the first marathon of my day was just a warm-up. Leaving the gentle flow behind after descending Mount Lincoln, I entered the well-traveled Holyoke Range. Although not very high, the seven miles of ridgeline are (in)famously jagged and technical. Here you would find most of your daily elevation gain, in the last 12 to 14 miles. As expected, the more difficult climbs had better rewards.

Long Mountain lived up to its name, at least it had a nice view.

Here I found, in addition to the steep and crumbling PUDs (‘useless’ ups and downs), a lot of interesting geological features. Traversing the endless Long Mountain, the climb to the range’s highest point, Mount Norwottock, is equally relentless. As you approach the summit, you’ll find a very interesting, if somewhat incomplete, pile of rocks to traverse called Horse Caves. A mini ‘Lemon Squeezer’ was not on my NET bingo card!

Let’s get technical.

Realizing that I would soon run out of daylight, I ran down the long descent from Norwottock only to shoot Bare Mountain on the other side. Up the ridge again in the blink of an eye, soon at the top of Mount Hitchcock, eyes lit up with the gradient hues of the sunset surrounding them. Between the first and the range’s namesake, Mount Holyoke, is a series of spiked basalt protrusions called the Seven Sisters. Exhaustion washed over me as I began to walk through the persistent vertical struggles followed by knees-bending falls. Panic began to set in around 7:00 p.m. I did No I want to fuck around and discover this terrain in the dark. There is still a long way to go and each climb takes a little more life out of me.

Cuevas de los Caballos on the way up.

Chasing the light of day.

I’ve never really had to hike at night on the AT, especially alone. I’m not sure why the thought of having to do it in this case made me hyperventilate and question every experience I had. Perhaps it was a feeling of guilt for biting off more than I could chew, as this would be the longest day of hiking of my life. Not being as prepared as you could have been, or a good old-fashioned case of ‘are you afraid of the dark?’ Maybe it’s more my own demons that are resurfacing than what might have been lurking when the lighthouse needed to be turned off.

Sunset from the top of one of the ‘Sisters’.

When I go out on a trail alone (as I often do), I find myself grappling with my own thoughts and experiences frequently. Unfortunately, I live in my head, which can sometimes be filled with negativity and paralyzing doubts. A big part of the appeal of endurance sports for me is this subconscious processing of (*Ahem* running away from) my problems through real movement. But you cannot get away from yourself by moving from one place to another. No matter how weak or afraid I felt, I couldn’t just stop moving; I would have to keep fighting to overcome it.

Sunsets over South Hadley.

A spotlight from my headlamp illuminated the darkening single track. Drawing on the strength of the trail community I know and love, I told myself this wasn’t something I couldn’t handle. I thought about AT friends who really enjoyed night hikes, trying to figure it out. I found solace in the hundreds of thousands of ultrarunners and FKTers who bravely storm into the night, unmolested, because the clock is ticking for no one. If they can do it, I can do it.

Blurred city lights below.

However, the biggest motivator was arriving at the Mount Holyoke Outing Club cabin. This is a reservation-only, club-sponsored building with electricity and other amenities to sweeten the pot. The relief from the cold, being able to recharge, and knowing I could sleep in before crossing the river kept me active. I reached the top of the last ‘Sister’ as the lights of the nearby university towns flickered through the trees. It took all my remaining concentration to navigate safely to the final summit of Mount Holyoke and limp down the other side.

All’s well that ends well.

Opening the door to a little cabin I had to myself was amazing. It was already late, I was still in shock at how much ground I had covered that day. While my dinner was rehydrated, I set up one of the cots for the night. My feet hurt from overuse. I don’t normally get blisters, I had two form in the same place on the balls of both feet. I guess it has to do with the repetitive friction of all the damn road rides. I fixed them before digging through my hiker trash. Lying in bed, reflecting, I considered my own limitations. How we never know what we are truly capable of until we go further. My feet were destroyed, but I was immensely proud. Overcoming discomfort shows you what you are made of. Maybe we are all more limitless than we think. Isn’t it nice to think that?

Getting ready for bed at the Mount Holyoke Outing Club cabin.

The numbers:
Start time: 6:02 am
End time: 9:21 p.m.
Distance: 41.2 miles
Ascent: 6370′
Descent: 7026′

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