September 29, 2007
Hazen’s Notch Camp to Spruce Ledge Camp
LT Miles – 14.5
Total LT Miles – 32.7
Extra Miles – 1
A dream interrupted… I open my eyes. After a moment of confusion, I remember where I am.
Aged wooden boards are inches from my nose. The sounds that stirred me awake continue – rustles of sleeping bags, nylon, zippers, the light clink of an aluminum pot, muffled footsteps upon weary lumber, the hiss of air escaping from an inflatable mattress, and the roar of a camping stove in action. I roll over to see two pairs of white LED lights bobbing this way and that. A faint, blueish light in the air is my cue to rise as well, and join the party.
I pack somewhat hastily. This helps me keep warm against the early chill, but doesn’t ward away numbing fingers as I tie my shoelaces. I say my goodbyes to Upload, Stitches, and The Professor. “Have a good one,” I say – it’s what I always say.
It’s another truly misty morning, and the overnight rain seems to have ceased.
I drift through some enchanted forest near Hazen’s Notch – a gap in the mountains named after General Moses Hazen. He built a military road through here during the Revolutionary War, likely under direct order of General Washington.
The enchanted forest…
After crossing the road through the notch, I rest on a log to enjoy a bagel. A lone middle-aged woman ambles by me, going north.
“Breakfast?” she muses. I observe her bulky, rain-covered external frame pack disappear down the trail.
The passing grey disperses for a single view before the eerie walk over Haystack Mountain – fogged in and dominated by stark red spruce. It’s so quiet up there, and the resulting aura is magnificent.
Here I meet two northbound gentlemen.
“Isn’t it great up here?” I inquire, but they don’t agree. They’re wet, and their shoes are muddy.
“Southbound?” one asks me.
“Uh-huh”
“All the way?”
“Yup!”
“That a boy.”
This is the Haystack Summit – another sweeping vista…
I descend Haystack, and meet a man sitting alongside the trail. He appears to be in his thirties or forties, doesn’t give a trail name, and I instantly forget his real name. He’s going south for about a week to the Mt. Mansfield area, so we hike together for a short way. He did the AT back in ’88, so we talk Trail.
“Does Wingfoot ever hike anymore?” he asks, “Is Baltimore Jack still out there every year? Southbounders are like a different breed – everything is backwards… The southern section of the LT is quite suburban compared to this, isn’t it?” etc.
The wet, rugged path through the area requires well placed footsteps, hand holds, and slides. When presented with the frequently steep, 10-20 yard downhill sections, one has to pause and assess the best possible way to slide down the rocks and roots. “If you didn’t have a trail name, I’d call you Crash Test Dummy,” he says (I’m leading the way).
He eventually pauses for a break, and I continue south on the trail.
Tillotson Camp is currently being rebuilt by the GMC, so the structure is technically “closed.” A man and a woman are taking a break there – day hikers who, judging by their accents, are likely from Quebec. They ask me “How far does the trail go?” and seem surprised when I tell them it goes to Massachusetts, and then how from there it connects to the AT all the way to Georgia.
The sun comes out at last, shining on a nearby stream.
Lockwood Pond, the first of many beaver ponds I’ll encounter on The Long Trail.
Blue sky at last.
The emerging sun casts light upon everything, and it’s so novel to see my own shadow that I take a photo.
Looking north toward Jay Peak.
This is the base of the fire tower on Belvidere Mountain, where I meet a young couple out for a day hike. The man approaches me and asks about my trip. He did The Long Trail just a few years ago.
“Do you have a trail name?” he asks.
“Duct Tape.”
“Farm Boy,” he replies, with a thumb pointed at his chest.
“Farm Boy!” I chuckle, that’s a good one!”
“Yeah, I’m a dairy farmer now,” he says, “This is actually my first hike since I did the trail, and my girlfriend’s first ever.”
They observe the views from below as I ascend the rickety, windblown fire tower.
Again, Jay Peak is visible to the north. I was there yesterday.
Upon review of the map, I discover that the last five miles I intend to hike today will include Devil’s Gulch – a rocky, narrow ravine that’s often compared to The Mahoosuc Notch in Maine. I know it will be slow-going through there, and I estimate that there’s very limited daylight left to cover this all this ground. I don’t have a watch – immersed in the rhythms of nature – so I can’t be sure of how much sun remains.
I hustle down Belvidere Mountain to the road at Eden Crossing.
Eden Crossing, and VT route 118. There’s a trailhead parking area here, where I catch up with Farm Boy. He offers me a ride to town, but I decline. I still have a full two days’ worth of rations.
From the road I climb to a lookout over Ritterbush Pond, and then descend steeply into Devil’s Gulch.
It’s nearly dark as I scramble over, under, and around jumbled boulders in the gulch.
Looking up from the bottom of the ravine.
I have to use my headlamp a short distance to Spruce Ledge Camp. There are several groups of weekend hikers camped in the area, three of which own dogs. Most are quite settled in for the night as I arrive in the cold darkness. The lower level of the shelter is full, but the upper level is empty, save for a young man reading a book by headlamp – a lone northbound LT hiker. He tells me in what direction to find the spring.
And now at the end of a long day, I realize that my water filter – the pump I use to purify my drinking water – is no longer in my pack . I used it this morning, and must have left it behind – some fifteen miles away. I go through all my belongings in the dark, again and again, but to no avail.
I cook a full pot of macaroni and cheese, and eat in silence by the light of my headlamp. The clearing weather should make for a chilly night.
