November 24, 2024.

8.6 mi. | 2230′ ele. gain | 4:30 hr. | Bellows Pipe Trail and AT

Photo album

Despite growing up in New England, I’d never hiked to the summit of Mt. Greylock. You’re born with a warped sense of distance when Rhode Island is your home. A 45-minute drive was like an all-day adventure where we needed to pack a cooler, activities and emergency supplies. So the idea of driving to the far southeastern corner of Massachusetts for a trip was unheard of.

On this many thousands of miles-long road trip, however, we had nothing but time. I wanted to stand on top of Massachusetts.

There are many ways to get to the top of Mt. Greylock. As the state highpoint, it sees a lot of visitors. There’s a road you can drive to the top for most of the year. But a snowstorm blew in recently and the road was closed for the season. I chose the Bellows Pipe Trail from Notch Road because it’s a lesser known and slightly longer route than the other options. “Bellows pipe” sounded cool, too. Like maybe we’d get to see some unique feature along the way.

We arrived early and grabbed the first parking spot in the small lot. We packed our layers and microspikes, not sure exactly what we’d encounter that day. In the beginning, we walked through a stark deciduous forest that looked like an army of sticks. The ground was covered with brown, crunchy leaves. The trail was well-graded; it felt like perhaps an old road. I paused to examine the only bits of green along the trail, ferns, as well as a few interesting fungi.

We marched ahead at a steady pace until at last, the trail rose up and out of the drainage. This brought us to a rough, 3-sided shelter on the Appalachian Trail. Just ahead, snow dusted the trail. Soon, we found ourselves in a winter wonderland. Snow coated the tree limbs and piled up on the trail. We were both glad we’d packed our gaiters for this hike! It had been a while since we’d hiked in snow, so it was nice to put our gear to use.

As our route converged with the more popular trail to the east, we began to encounter people. Everyone seemed to be in a rush, but we moved slowly to enjoy this pristine wintry delight. It was as if we were standing inside a settled snow globe.

Near the top, I could hear the wind through the trees. I knew what that meant, since I’d just experienced crushing wind on Camel’s Hump the other day. We paused to put on our layers and cinch everything down tight. It was already cold; the wind chill would only make things worse.

Soon we emerged on the large, flat top that had been made into a gigantic war memorial. The monument at the summit, covered in rime ice, looked like a huge chess piece. We took in the scenery, gazing down at the dark greens in the valley below. A fellow hiker took a summit picture for us, one of the rare opportunities we get a photo together on a hike.

We quickly retreated to stand outside the upper shelter to get a break from the wind and to dip into our snack supply. I was really glad I’d packed a thermos full of hot cider to warm us up before the descent. We paired that with bread and cheese, plus a brownie we picked up at a holiday bazaar the day before. A meal fit for a king.

The walk down felt longer than I’d remembered. We retreated back into solitude for much of the way, only encountering a few dog walkers and casual hikers close to the trailhead. Back at the van, we changed into comfy clothes and looked at the time: we still had plenty of daylight left!

Out of 50 state highpoints, this one is number 11. I know I won’t finish the list but I bet I’ll get at least half of them in my lifetime. With all the mountains I’ve climbed, it’s kind of shocking how few of the states I’ve completed. But, I’ve learned to prioritize joy over lists, so I’ll get to them when I get to them!

November 7, 2024.

10 mi. | 3270′ ele. gain | 7 hr.

Photo album

I first started hiking as an adult in the White Mountains, back in 2005. I’d done plenty of camping and some short dayhikes as a kid, but I never considered myself a “hiker”. But I quickly found myself bitten by the hiking bug and taking every opportunity to get out into the mountains as possible. One of my hiking buddies and mentors during this time was Arm. When I planned to revisit the White Mountains on this grand road trip, I sent him a message.

Much to my delight, Arm was up for a hike and he recommended doing the Moat Mountain Traverse. According to my meticulously kept hiking spreadsheet, I’d done some version of this hike back in September 2005. However, I left no notes and I have no photos. But I did remember enjoying it, so I looked forward to a repeat.

We met Arm at the south trailhead and he hopped in the van with us. Aaron shuttled us to the north end and waved goodbye. Sometime during the day, he’d drive back to the south end to meet us at the end of the hike. It was the perfect shuttle situation. Apparently most people do this hike south to north, but we flipped it and hiked north to south.

We reached the first point of interest, Diana’s Baths, in just a few minutes. Fall is probably the least exciting time to visit this series of pools and waterfalls, since the water is pretty low. But it was still scenic and unique. There, we ended up in a long chat with some folks who had questions about the camper van and my trip. This happens quite a bit when traveling in a camper van! After saying goodbye to them, we finally got into a rhythm on the trail.

Walking with Arm, it was as if no time had passed. We fell into conversation easily, which slowed our hiking pace quite a bit. But we had all day and the crisp fall weather beckoned us to soak it all up. It would take us 7 hours to walk up, down, up, down, etc across all three of the Moat Mountains. Each one was a little bit different, with fun rock slabs to clamber across and different views of the surrounding peaks. At each vista, Arm had to remind me exactly what I was looking at, as I’d forgotten most of my home range peaks.

I enjoyed the rugged terrain and relentless steep scrambly bits we encountered on the trail. This is what my body remembered from nearly 20 years ago. It’s classic White Mountains hiking, where covering one mile an hour is not a terribly slow pace. But unlike many of the hikes I remembered from the olden days, this one had relentless views as well. The suffering to joy ratio felt way out of balance: so much suffering but also so much joy. Most hikes involve just a little bit of joy once you finally reach a view at the top and you just keep your fingers crossed that it won’t be cloudy.

The true test came on the last descent to the trailhead. The steep trail was covered with inches of dry leaves stacked on top of roots and rocks. With each step, I was unsure just what I was going to land on. Even with poles, we moved excruciatingly slowly. I had texted Aaron an ETA at the beginning of this part and he became concerned when we didn’t return in a reasonable amount of time. “Just trying not to break our ankles, dear!”

Back at the van, we said our goodbyes and hinted at making some more plans before we left the area for good. Arm ended up hosting us at his house for several nights and we even got in one more big hike in the Whites. I’m so glad I stayed in touch with him over all these years and I regret not doing that with so many other people I’ve met. Despite all the negative effects of social media, it has helped me keep a loose circle of contacts that include many hiking friends and other activity partners. I’ve reconnected with several folks since leaving home well over a year ago. I’ve even made new friends on the apps that I’ve been able to meet in real life. The internet has come a long way from finding hiking partners on local message boards, although I kind of miss those days!

November 4, 2024.

5.7 mi. |2430′ ele.gain | 3:40 hr.

Forest City > Long Trail > Burrows Trail

Photo album

After driving across a relatively flat middle of the continent, I finally had an opportunity to get on top of something: Camel’s Hump, Vermont. We visited local friends the night before and they gave me some advice as to which route to take. I had Aaron drive me to the trailhead the next morning. He was feeling ill, so he rested while I geared up to go hiking.

I signed in at the trailhead and started down the suggested route. It was actually down, as the route begins by dropping into the bottom of a gully before shooting back up towards the summit. This trail offered the classic shoulder season New England adventure: muddy rocks, hoarfrost, roots, ice. Every step required a deliberate and precise choice. It demanded my full attention.

There were a few views on the way up, but I opted to keep moving steadily to maintain my body temperature. This kind of hiking invigorates me. I first got into hiking in New England, where the trails could chew you up and spit you out if you didn’t take them seriously. I was not a terribly strong or smart or skilled hiker when I began, but I appreciated and respected the challenge. The mountains are rugged and unrelenting but they are also majestic, beautiful, mysterious. Being back there made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time.

As I continued my walk, I noticed the shapes and patterns around me. The white rectangles of paint indicating I was on the Appalachian Trail. The rippled texture of the metamorphic rock. The lazy undulations of the surrounding hills. And of course, the shapes and forms of all the ice. Ice pushed up through the soil in shapes like needles. Long sheets of ice covered the trail uniformly. Frozen cascades poured over rocky stairsteps, making it appear that time stood still. Icicles decorated the gaps below rock outcrops.

It was quite chilly and I could hear the wind whipping through the trees. As I approached tree line, I paused to put all my layers on and zip up my hood. Only then was I suited for the final push to the top. I was ready, but not ready. As I emerged from the safety of the trees, it was as if I’d entered a wind tunnel. Immediately I began getting pushed around by the forceful gusts. I steadied myself by walking in a low crouch and putting one hand on the ground to steady myself. With my weight low, I could scurry quickly across the bare rock to the official summit. I did my best to avoid tromping on the alpine vegetation. There were several signs pleading with people to stay off of it, and there were little ropes to highlight that suggestion.

I quickly found myself on the summit, with not a soul in sight. After a quick picture, I took a 360 degree look at the view and found my exit route. It took a long while before I warmed up enough to take off a layer. On my way down, I passed several people huffing and puffing on their way up that they must have wondered how I could be so over dressed.

On the return hike, I usually assume it’s going to be much easier than the way up. Gravity being on my side and all. But it was just as difficult going down. The upper section of the Burrows trail was a slippery ice fall and the lower section was a slimy mud bog. By the time I returned to the trailhead, my brain was tapped out. Luckily, Aaron had a hot beverage waiting for me!

During this brief visit to New England, I hope to revisit some favorite hikes and maybe explore a few new spots too. It’s a tough time of year to plan for since the conditions are so variable and the weather changes rapidly. But I got off to a great start today!