AT Diaries – Reflections on New England and Seeing the End

If Pennsylvania was defined by an overabundance of rocks, then New England is defined by rain and its half-brother: mud.

I entered Connecticut and was immediately greeted by monsoon rains heavy enough to completely soak my dyneema jacket and backpack and give my cold, water-soaked hands a corpse-like appearance. I had heard of trench foot before, but I never thought I would encounter a case of «trench foot.» I guess every day you learn something new.

Of course, the trace responded to excess water as expected: moving away from the solid state but never turning into a liquid. Of course, this means «mud.» Mud, like quick sand, is extremely deceptive. You never really know how deep or aggravating it will be until you’re already stuck in it. New England has a solution for this: duck boards.

Quack quack. Light step.

While I spent most of my time in northern Pennsylvania playing hopscotch over rocks at irregular heights and angles, I now find myself cautiously walking on slippery wooden boards or prancing on sticks and stones in an attempt to avoid the certain death that comes with stepping in knee-deep mud. Imagine the children’s game “the ground is lava” but with real consequences.

Of course, not all of New England is rain and mud and looking at a dead man’s hands only to realize they are yours. There appears to be an increase in the number of magical trails, despite the region’s sparse population. It could just be one person’s misguided observation, but it seems New Englanders want to go out for that final push to Katahdin, like the table at mile 21 of a marathon with Gatorade and fireball shots.

Trail magic also comes in the form of free canoes on small lakes. There theirs is Upper Goose Pond.

On consecutive days I have come across traveling angels offering excellent home-cooked meals. I don’t know where they came from, I don’t know where they’re going next, but somehow our stars aligned and I found myself devouring a pulled pork sandwich one afternoon and blueberry pancakes the next morning.

And finally, New England is where I discovered a new kind of trail magic: the great American pastime of hitchhiking. I had done this before, but only a few times and under unique circumstances. But now, in the Berkshires of Massachusetts or the Green Mountains of Vermont, I hitchhike regularly.

So far I’ve been picked up by a newspaper delivery van, a man wearing nothing but an American flag swimsuit, a nutcase who talked non-stop about dozens of topics, and a carpenter on his way to install a backsplash in a kitchen.

The trail seems to offer these exciting and sometimes strange encounters, as well as food, drink and good company. The only thing I really regret is not trying hitchhiking sooner.

Time and miles seem to slip through me Fingers like trying to catch the morning mist in my hands. The New England states are small, and every time I cross a border and find myself a mile or a step closer to Katahdin, I realize that this whole experience will come to an end. I will have to return to the real world and obey the rules of the real world, both written and unwritten. Is the weather shit? Don’t bother going out and getting soaked. Don’t get into a car at random. Don’t accept candy from strangers; Now I do these things with joy.

The only thing a hiker can do is set his sights on the last stretch of the trail and make these few hundred miles the best ones ever. Approach not just the hike with more determination, but the entire experience with the same level of commitment: take those risks, see the opportunities in the strange, take on the side quests, get dirty, test the limits of your gear, face the elements with a wry smile. To paraphrase Chicago businessman JG Shedd: Ships are safe in port, but that’s not what they’re for.

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