This is my original Appalachian Trail journal from 2001 (Edited for grammar).
It includes additions that were written sixteen years later (in 2017). These are in italics.
Monday, September 03, 2001
Williamstown, MA to Congdon Shelter
Today’s Miles: 14.1
Trip Miles: 1579.4
And so on the third of September in the year 2001, this hiker passed into the state of Vermont. It was another state in which he had never previously set foot. He marveled at the beauty of the Green Mountain National Forest, identified his first beaver pond and dam, turned a cold shoulder to the brisk wind from the north, scoffed at the early hour of the setting sun, and walked on.
I noticed a change of scenery immediately upon entering the state, similar to the way the pavement on a road changes when you cross a state line. Or maybe the change in scenery was just the feeling of being here, finally in the northern reaches of the Appalachian Trail, sensing the approach of a new season out here.
After meeting a group of at least ten or fifteen freshman from Williamstown College at the Seth Warner Shelter, I decided to push on seven more miles to the next shelter. I arrived at last in waning daylight after paralleling a creek for what felt like an eternity, and I am all alone at Congdon Shelter for the night. The setting is quiet and peaceful. Life is good.
Tuesday, September 04, 2001
Congdon Shelter
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 1579.4
My seventh grade “Earth Science” teacher, Mr. Stefanyak, is possibly one of the first people that told me, and my class, about the existence of the Appalachian Trail.
I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I have the feeling that he was the first person elaborate on the Trail. He taught Earth Science.
Nothing delighted some of us more than getting on the poor guy’s nerves. After all, there were pretty girls to impress. I remember once he got in my face and was setting me straight for some idiotic thing I’d said or done, and the way his face contorted into all kinds of funny shapes because he was pissed off was extremely amusing to me. I could barely keep a straight face, and that of course only made him more angry.
Our class could be quite terrible to him, and we were supposed to be the “honors” group…
He’d been teaching at the school since at least the early 1970s, and by the time my class came around in the 90s, you could tell he was just doing his time until he could collect retirement – burned out on work. It was obvious he’d been using the same lesson plans for fifteen years – giving all his homework assignments directly out of the textbook, giving the textbook publisher’s issued tests, and showing slide projection films that were copyrighted in the 1970’s. The nature of limestone, granite, and igneous rocks didn’t change much over the years, I suppose.
Every once in a while, though, he’d teach the lesson for about ten minutes, and then his eyes would light up and he’d go off telling some interesting story for the rest of the class period about something totally off topic, like his vacations camping and hunting in Canada. I don’t think we would ever act up that much when he’d tell those stories – they were usually interesting. We weren’t going to be tested on any of it, but I felt as though those were the moments when we really did some learning.
Anyway, he was always talking about his good times “up in Canada” with his buddies. On one of those days he mentioned the Appalachian Trail.
Sometime maybe a little more than a year ago, I was paging through the local newspaper, and something caught my eye. It was an obituary listing for Mr. Stefanyak. He was in Canada.
This was yet another zero day that I took in a shelter. It was a rainy, foggy day.
After waking up and unsuccessfully gathering the motivation to start hiking, I ended up taking a nap. I remember that a depression struck me, a depression of the sort where I was stuck in bed and unable to muster up the courage to do anything about it. When I wasn’t sleeping I spent the hours paging through the shelter register. At some point over the course of the day I must have thought of Mr. Stefanyak.
With each passing day it seemed more likely that I was not going to finish the Appalachian Trail in 2001, and those feelings rose to the surface today.
Wednesday, September 05, 2001
Congdon Shelter to Bennington, VT
Today’s Miles: 4.3
Trip Miles: 1583.7
It was a short hike today to the the road crossing to town. I was greeted just before the road by about fifty students from a local elementary school. They were struggling up the mountain for some sort of nature field trip. The adults were struggling the most, and there were two women I passed who were way behind the group, in what seemed to be utter torture. They had a sense of humor about it, saying “Back here away from the kids we can curse while going up this thing!” I got a kick out of that.
It took a long time for me to get a ride to town. It was a little aggravating because I only really needed to go to town for an item or two of food resupply, and of course to hit up the golden McDonalds in this town (I can’t believe I crave McDonalds).
A friendly guy eventually helped me out with a lift, and this town is fairly busy and hip compared to most along the trail, so what the hell, I’m staying the night. Oh and what do you know, Ronin caught up with me and he’s here too. Life is good.
Thursday, September 06, 2001
Bennington, VT to Goddard Shelter
Today’s Miles: 10.1
Trip Miles: 1593.8
Wow. What an afternoon. What an evening! I love the trail.
The day was already half-spent by the time I got a hitch back up to the trail from a nice couple, but somehow it didn’t matter to me. I felt so good. The miles flew by like nothing as I glided effortlessly along the footpath, thinking about all kinds of things – holidays, trail magic that I’ll do next summer, etc. The sky was as clear as could be.
I saw only one hiker all afternoon, and it was a brief encounter as I passed by in my euphoric rhythm. I think I took off my pack just twice in ten miles – once to visit the silent, serenely perfect Melville Nauheim Shelter, and once to consult the map, gauge my position, and look out upon the highest peak on the horizon – Glastenbury Mountain – my destination for the night.
And what a destination it was. I made it to the Goddard shelter at dusk and was welcomed by a surprisingly near-full house. Dropping my pack, I hastily grabbed a few things and hoofed the short distance to the top of the mountain to take in the sunset. This summit is nothing but evergreens, and it smelled like Christmas on the way up it in the fading light.
On the peak there was an old, rickety fire tower that was weather-beaten and had more character than I can comprehend. It creaked and groaned intermittently in the wind as I climbed the wooden steps. One or two of them were broken or missing.
At the top was a view that blew my mind, a scene that that struck me dumb of any insignificant, meek little thought or detail in our feeble human perception.
In all directions were rolling, beautiful mountains and trees, as far as the eye could see – not a sign of civilization anywhere. The wind blew strong and steady, slightly swaying the tower beneath my feet. The swaying sensation wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was invigorating.
Here I learned what the poets meant when they said the wind whispers to you, because at that moment it was undoubtedly telling great tales in a language far too great for me to comprehend. I began to grasp stories of all the landscape I beheld, of great and humble deeds done far and wide, of all of time.
I stood in awe and listened as the sun set over this magnificent land. I stood and wished that somebody could be there, wished that everybody I’ve ever given so much as the time of day in my twenty years could be there and experience the same – but I was alone. At least six hikers were just a five minute walk away, down at the shelter, and I had this place all to myself. An odd blessing of fortune it was.
The first stars were shining in the east by the time I turned away. I made my way back down through those woods that smelled of Christmas, back to where I’m bedding down for the night.
Here other hikers talk of insignificant comings and goings. I succumb and join in, paging through the register and nibbling on dinner. Out on the southern horizon from the shelter I can see back to Mount Greylock, back to the white beacon that shines from atop the monument on its summit. Life is good.
The sunset on Glastenbury Mountain was one of my favorite moments of the entire Appalachian Trail.
Friday, September 07, 2001
Goddard Shelter to Stratton Mountain
Today’s Miles: 16.3
Trip Miles: 1610.1
I was excited to get back up to the Glastenbury fire tower this morning to get a look at the view in full daylight. There was no wind, and the sky was much hazier than last night, but it was a great place to stop for awhile nonetheless.
The rest of the day’s hike was rather uneventful. A few southbounders came through when I was having lunch at Story Spring Shelter, and I met a hiker going south named Bonepile. I had been behind him for a while when he was northbound, and reading his register entries, but he apparently flip-flopped during the heat wave in Jersey and has hiked this far south already. So this is where I could have been if I had chosen to flip too…
I found myself stuck at that shelter for two solid hours. I decided to push on seven more miles for the summit of Stratton Mountain, as the day was growing short. There was supposed to be a “warming hut” a mile or so off the trail on the summit, open for hikers to use overnight.
I was night-hiking by the time I reached the top of what was a significant climb up the mountain, and then it was another mile off the trail to this small building. Man, is it dark, windy, and cold! The Stratton Mountain fire tower was back on the trail but I didn’t even bother to go up it because I was so cold and determined to get to this hut.
I’m in here for the night with two section hikers who were quite surprised to see me arrive after dark, and now we’re enjoying life within four walls at this beautiful place. Life is good.
Saturday, September 08, 2001
Stratton Mountain to Spruce Peak Shelter
Today’s Miles: 11
Trip Miles: 1621.1
So I was told that there’s a gondola that runs from here (The summit of Stratton Mountain) down to a “resort” type area at the base with all-you-can-eat-restaurants and all kinds of goodies. The gondola only runs on weekends.
Today is a Saturday.
I resisted and didn’t go down there, mostly because it was only fourteen miles from here to the road to Manchester Center. I needed to go there and resupply with food anyway. That doesn’t by any means indicate that I got up for an early start though, as I didn’t get packed and moving until noon.
The hike brought me down the mountain to Stratton Pond and the fairly new shelter there, which I stopped to take a look at. There were two lovebirds sitting at the pond itself, so I just kept on going, putting in some miles as the afternoon faded away over some relatively flat terrain. Prospect Rock was a cool place, looking down and out into a deep and abrupt gully – really just a valley wedged tightly between the ridge I was on and the opposing one. It seemed that a great view was to be had out to the right toward Manchester Center, but the thick haze held it at bay.
I rolled into Spruce Peak Shelter an hour before dark, just three miles shy of the road crossing to Manchester. After some brief debate, I chose to stay there for the night and try the hitch to town tomorrow, rather than trying to manage the hitch in the dark. There is one other section hiker here, and this is a very cozy shelter. Life is good.
Sunday, September 09, 2001
Spruce Peak Shelter to Manchester Center, VT
Today’s Miles: 2.7
Trip Miles: 1623.8
It was a short hike to the road. I hitchhiked into town and spent the day taking care of errands, seam sealing my tent, and other fun stuff. Life is good.
Monday, September 10, 2001
Manchester Center, VT
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 1623.8
I spent the whole day hanging around town. I don’t know why, but I just did.
The weather took a turn for the worse when it was time to hitchhike back up to the trail, so here I am spending the night in a motel on the outskirts of town. I’m packed and ready to go for an early start tomorrow. Life is good.
Tuesday, September 11, 2001
Manchester Center, VT
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 1623.8
As for me, I saw most of it live on TV. It’s funny that I even turned on the television at all – I’d packed my bag on the previous evening to avoid getting stuck in a motel for another night. I was heading out the door this morning when something made me turn it on anyway.
But what do I matter, what does this trail matter? The entire Congress just sang God Bless America on live TV.
It was uncanny how I felt the need to turn on the television on the morning of September 11, 2001. I was ready to leave the motel room, and had already done the usual sweep of the premises to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. But something made me turn on the TV, “Just for a second,” I thought to myself.
I’ll never forget how I was greeted with a split-screen of two live images. One half of the screen showed the Pentagon burning in Washington DC. The other half showed smoke rising from one the Twin Towers. At this moment the first tower had already fallen, but the second still stood.
My first impression of the split-screen image was that it must have been some kind of disaster movie. Soon I realized that this was a news station – this was real. This was live in New York City, not too far from where I sat in Manchester Vermont. There was also a fleeting fear that the entirety of the nation was under attack – that the next image would show an image of, for example, the Golden Gate Bridge and White House in flames too.
I was glued to the TV for the rest of the day as events unfolded. I watched live as the second tower crumbled. Reports and speculation streamed onto the news at an unrelenting pace. Alone in a motel room all to myself, there was nothing to distract me from the events that unfolded from the electric box.
The front desk called and asked if I’d be staying another night.
Yes, I would.
Wednesday, September 12, 2001
Manchester Center, VT
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 1623.8
I roamed aimlessly around town today, looked at all the flags displayed, talked with random strangers, called home, bought a small radio at an electronics store, found myself at a prayer service in the evening, and am now back in front of the TV in a motel.
It felt good to walk around the town of Manchester Center and engage in a more tangible reality than the room’s television set.
The streets were already covered in American flags. Newspaper headlines told of the previous day’s events, and it was refreshing to be outside among an active community. A local church advertised an evening prayer service, and I attended for lack of anything better to do about the situation. There were a lot of candles and tears in the room that evening.
Thursday, September 13, 2001
Manchester Center, VT
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 1623.8
I’m still in front of the tv.
I graduated from high school in 1999. The Cold War was over before it could directly affect my consciousness, and the booming economy and security of the 1990’s saw me through my teens as my understanding of the world took shape.
Wanting more in life than the debt of a college education, with its ensuing career of presumed drudgery, I chose a different road by hiking the Appalachian Trail in 2001 to see where it would take me. My time on the Trail was the first time I lived on my own – the first time I’d been away from the shelter of my parent’s house and my home town for a significant length of time.
In retrospect I feel as though America was an exceedingly sheltered place in the 1990s – of course it still is today, but perhaps to a slightly lesser degree to those of us that remember 9/11.
My experience on the Appalachian Trail only emphasized this feeling of shelter. Day by day I grew more out of touch with the ugly aspects of the modern world. It was a purposeful, happy life in the woods, where people were kind and “trail magic” reigned supreme. The world was full of promise.
And then I watched the Twin Towers crumble to the ground, live on TV. Things had suddenly changed, and I knew that the change would continue. The question was how would it change? What would happen next? What COULD happen next? Would we go to war? Could I be drafted? Everything had busted wide open for the worse, and the potential ramifications were limitless.
The thought of being out of touch with current events on a continued Appalachian Trail hike seemed unbearable, but I’d invested a lot in this dream. I still didn’t want to quit (Or admit to it), regardless of the fallen towers. To solve this dilemma I bought a small AM/FM battery operated radio, and continued northbound up the trail.
Friday, September 14, 2001
Manchester Center, VT to Bromley Mountain
Today’s Miles: 2.8
Trip Miles: 1626.6
I painstakingly pulled myself away from the “real world” today, the one I’ve been going to great lengths to avoid for the past five and a half months, and continued north on the trail.
I had radio headphones on my ears every step of the way, something I have not practiced for the length of this hike. I suppose this is a special exception. Music can sure be good while motoring along – especially the great taste in the songs they’ve been broadcasting in light of the past week.
I got as far as the summit of Bromley Mountain before calling it a day. There is one other person here, a southbound Long Trail hiker. He’d heard the news via word-of-mouth on the trail. At 7pm I lit a candle, like I heard the rest of the nation is doing tonight (Friday).
I’m looking at the daily mileages I have to average in order to continue this hike, and they’re incredibly daunting – especially given the fact that I am to head up into higher elevations and more difficult terrain in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, not to mention Maine. The weather is only getting colder.
I can’t really swing a flip-flop hike anymore, because I’d still be going through the White Mountains too late in the season. I could always skip ahead, maybe to Hanover or Glencliff (New Hampshire). Then I could come back and finish in Vermont.
What is comes down to… is if I can’t finish on Mount Katahdin, then I think I’d rather not finish at all.
I could push on to the north, and just get as far as I get, and that’s that…which is the most likely option. I’ve been a “purist” and proceeded exclusively northbound for the whole length of the way so far, and I’d hate to break up that continuity.
Still, these concerns are really the last thing on my mind after what has happened.
Saturday, September 15, 2001
Bromley Mountain
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 1626.6
I spent most of the day on the summit of Bromley Mountain. I don’t know what I’m doing.
This is the day when I think I knew in my heart that I was going to quit – yet another zero-day in a shelter without a sound, logical reason for it, save for a temporary unwillingness to go forward.
I’d listened to the radio all day, and I distinctly remember walking up the observation tower to the tune of the Who’s Baba O’Reilly. The sunset was magnificent, and the lack of air traffic in such a brilliant blue sky (And ensuing jet trails) added an additional layer of eerie silence to the woods.
Sunday, September 16, 2001
Bromley Mountain to VT11/30
Today’s Miles: 2.8
Trip Miles: 1626.6
I’m going home.
I sat along the trail all day, mulling this over. I just no longer have the will to go on, detached from the world and the events currently unfolding.
If I were to go on, it doesn’t help that I’m likely not going to achieve the goal of the hike at Mount Katahdin. It’s a very difficult thing to describe my feelings leading to this decision, so I’ll spare it in danger of reading like a list of excuses.
When I ultimately turned south down the trail it felt good, like a great weight was lifted from my shoulders. My hike of 2001 is finished, and going home is suddenly a reality, not the distant prospect it had been for so long. It’s exciting to be faced with life after the trail, just as it was exciting to be ascending Springer Mountain.
On my way home by bus I’ll have the opportunity to stop in New York City.
I sang aloud with the radio as I walked along the shoulder of a winding mountain highway in Vermont on a beautiful evening. Now I’m in my last motel room of the trip. I just turned on the TV and saw somebody from my high school on the screen. It was on MTV, giving a quick interview while volunteering at the WTC site. I’ll be there tomorrow.
I’d descended southbound from Bromley Mountain to make my way back to Manchester Center. Before reaching the road I stopped once more along the side of the trail. A couple of hours passed as I simply sat there, coming to terms with the fact that I was getting off the Trail. It was the last debate, as maybe a part of me was still unable to accept the decision.
After returning home I’d learn that my friends Dolphin Boy & Indian Summer were the last contiguous northbound hikers of the 2001 season. They finished in late October and trudged through at least one sizable snowstorm to finish their trip.
On September 11th they were in Hanover, New Hampshire – about 100 miles ahead of me. I’m confident that I never would have caught up with them, especially considering the way I’d lingered in town for several days after the event.
It’s easy to say I got off the trail because of September 11th. It certainly played a major role in my decision, but I simply wasn’t putting in the miles to finish in 2001. Even if 9/11 had never happened, I doubt I would have finished the Trail before the end of the season.
Monday, September 17, 2001
Traveling Home
Monday, September 17th was the first day that the United States effectively started getting back to normal after 9/11. Wall Street opened for business. David Letterman got back on the air. Public transportation got back on the road, including the bus lines that went through the Port Authority Station in New York City. This bus line was essential in traveling from Vermont to my home in Allentown, Pennsylvania.
I booked the latest departure for Allentown after I arrived in the Port Authority in downtown Manhattan.
This allowed for a maximum time allotment in the city without spending the night there.
I didn’t have time to go to the World Trade Center site, but it was still quite an experience to walk the city’s streets in the wake of the event. I walked to Times Square, and the place was solemn. City go-ers were mostly silent, and banners and flags were draped everywhere. What I remember most of all is all of the “Missing Person” notices. Family members of those who were lost had placed homemade signs and pictures all over the city streets, still hoping beyond hope for their return.
We were stuck in traffic in front of the Lincoln Tunnel. The Manhattan skyline could be seen clearly out the windows, and smoke was still rising from where the World Trade Center used to be. This was almost a full week after the fact. Helicopters and perhaps even a fighter plane were high above.
The driver announced “If this is your first time to New York, you can see smoke coming up from the World Trade Center site, and the Empire State Building can be seen to the left…” Some people took photographs from the bus.
We discovered why traffic was backed up to get into the tunnel – the bus was searched at the entrance.
Every vehicle was stopped and checked out by a security crew.
I boarded the last bus home after some time in the city. It wasn’t long before the radio began to pick up my hometown radio stations. I found my bedroom in my mother’s house to be flooded with returned maildrops, developed photographs, and all of these journey’s end items that brought closure to the trip.
I’ll definitely be back, at least to do the section from Vermont to Katahdin – maybe as soon as this summer. I still have my stone from Springer Mountain.
Who knows, maybe I’ll do the whole thing again someday.
But as for now, this is the end of my hike, and this journal. Thank you for reading. I’ll leave with a quote, in spirit of how I began:
“All of my possessions, for a moment of time…”
-last words of Queen Elizabeth
Times Square
Leave a Reply