Washington's Rag Doll

A view from Mt. Moosilauke

It's been a few days now that I've been back on the trail, tackling the White Mountains of New Hampshire. After nearly two weeks of rest, I was ready for the challenge. And indeed I was mentally, but my body soon let me know it thought differently. When your first miles out are a 3,700 foot climb, that's not exactly a warm-up routine. My tendons were inflamed, my joints throbbed, and in general I finished that first day over Mt. Moosilauke feeling a bit beat up. Despite the aches and pains, I quickly realized the mystique of the Whites. Even with encroaching thunderheads, the summit was remarkable. For the first time in a long while I could see for miles unobstructed from the bald, rocky summit. The only plant life was unique, low-lying shrubby plants that have adapted to the harsh, windblown alpine environment.

Alpine plant life

All in all, the climb was worth it, and there were many more vertical feet to come.

Things didn't settle down from there. Day two in the Whites brought the twin peaks South and North Kinsman. The climb up was steep, rocky, wet, slick and tiring. At times my feet were not enough as my hands helped balance and leverage me up the slope. Still, the summits opened up a view of my next target: Franconia Ridge with it's crown jewel Mt. Lafayette. As I sat and looked on, Franconia made the Kinsmans look tame. I knew I was in for a haul.

A view from Franconia Ridge looking at Mt. Lafayette

The climb out of Franconia Notch was my first day of hiking in the Whites with good weather. The sun was out and the mountain breeze cool. After the initial climb from the notch, the trail followed the ridge for more than two miles over Little Haystack, Mt. Lincoln, and finally Mt. Lafayette. The views were stunning as gliders cruised around on the thermals overhead. I sat on the ridge and tried to soak it all in, still being mindful to pay attention to the small alpine flowers that I wouldn't see anywhere else. After moving on to Garfield Ridge and hiking over Garfield Mountain, I finished the day doing a work-for-stay at Galehead Hut, one of eight huts operated by the Appalachian Mountain Club in the Whites.

The morning brought a relatively easy day with South Twin Mountain the only formidable challenge. I quickly dropped down into Crawford Notch to sleep on my next project: the Presidential Range. This stretch started off in the rain and stayed that way for most of its entirety. Mt. Webster meant more long, steep, slick slabs of rock that had to be navigated; it's summit meant stiff winds that drove the rain through the seams of my jacket. Six miles up the eleven mile climb to Mt. Washington, I earned some relief from the cold and wet in the Mizpah hut where I enjoyed three warm bowls of soup. Trudging on, I put back on my wet layers and braved the weather to the Lakes of the Clouds hut, just shy of Washington's summit. That walk was brutal with 40 degree temperatures, a steady rain, and sustained winds of 20-30 miles per hour with gusts up to 50. I felt like Washington's rag doll getting tossed about, my trekking poles bracing me against the gusts. Two hikers just behind me were blown over by the wind; I stayed afoot, but was in the beginning stages of hypothermia by the time I found shelter at the hut.

The next day I was conflicted on whether or not to leave Lakes of the Clouds. The weather forecast was just as bleak, and I had the 6,288 foot summit to tackle. All my clothes were wet, and the risk of hypothermia was real. If one of the hut workers had not loaned me an extra wind-proof layer, I would have stayed holed up for the day. The climb to the summit wasn't bad, but the top of Washington was encased in a thick fog. I stumbled my way to the visitor's area, changed clothes, and snapped a quick picture of the summit's sign.

The next six miles to Madison Spring hut were difficult. The entire walk was across boulder fields where the risk of misstepping on a rock that was slick as ice was real, and with no way to tell a good foothold from bad, the going was slow. I found myself chilled to the bone once again, and the lore of a warm bowl of soup to help take the edge off the cold kept me going to the hut. I debated on weather to stay, but the worker was reluctant to offer me a work-for-stay because it was still early afternoon and I could “easily” make the next shelter and campsite. I bought a pair of gloves, layered back up, and reluctantly left, only this time I was finally descending off the ridge into Pinkham Notch below. Once sheltered by the trees the wind died down, and the rain followed suit. Aside from a wrong turn that cost me an additional two miles, I was safely off the mountain, thankful to be warm and dry.

The last day in the Whites was no less epic than any of the others. The weather was welcoming, but the hiking extremely difficult. The trail seems to either go straight up or straight down, with very little in between. These slopes would go up or down 1,100 to 2,000 feet at a time. The lactic acid built up quickly as breath was lost more quickly still. The twenty miles it took to get over the four peaks of Wildcat Mountain, down and out of Carter Notch, and up over Carter Dome, Mt. Hight, Middle and North Carter Mountains, and finally Mt. Moriah, was a stern test both mentally and physically. This was easily the most difficult section of trail that I've encountered, especially given the conditions of the two days prior in the Presidentials, and I'm glad it's behind me.

What now? I can look forward to a few easier days hiking with a group of students from Calvin College who are joining me for a week on the trail. It will be a good change of pace for me, a chance to share some of my stories, and an opportunity for others to experience what life on the Appalachian Trail is like. I'm looking forward to it.

And just in case you were curious, two important milestones have been reached: I have less than 300 miles to go and only one more state. One. Thirteen down, one to go. Maine is all that is left, and it's prize is closer than ever. The end is clearly in sight.

 

Hungry

As I was getting settled back into our apartment this weekend and thumbing through a month's worth of mail, I was eager to read the latest Sojourner's magazine. Much to my surprise, an article written about ECHO was featured in this month's issue. Check it out here (To view, you'll have to register, but it's free!).

Reading this article brought tears to my eyes. God's timing is perfect. For those who need a refresher, ECHO is the organization that Jon is raising money for in memory of his grandpa. He was the one who left behind some funds that has allowed Jon to hike the AT. And now that Jon is able to make a dream a reality, he wants to give back to an organization that meant so much to his grandfather. ECHO is making a difference by teaching farmers in poor countries sustainable farming techniques despite harsh conditions.

In light of the severe famine that has gotten worse over the past month in East Africa, I'm asking you to act. It's easy to sit back and be apathetic in our comfortable lives here in the U.S. But what if it were you or your child that was hungry? I want to encourage you to give up something this week. Perhaps the daily coffee at starbucks or maybe you want to fast for a meal. Instead, use that money to donate to ECHO. Not for Jon or for his grandpa. But for the people who are starving. We are called to be the hands and feet of Christ and by giving however great or small to ECHO, you CAN make a difference.

To donate, simply follow the guidelines posted here.

Fourth Quarter Thirds

It’s strange to be sitting here writing from Grand Rapids. The bugs are gone, the air is conditioned, the coffee is hot, and I’m wearing cotton clothes. I’ve also been diligently identifying the wildflowers that I’ve photographed, and am now at 236 and counting. Currently I'm trying to distinguish between different types of clovers, asters, and goldenrods. Despite the distractions of home, it’s high time I publish a post, so here it is.

No, I haven’t given up on walking, even though the hiker icon that is stalled on my map might communicate otherwise. I’m simply ahead of schedule, and can afford some time at home to relax, identify flowers, allow my body heal, eat well, and spend time with Tera before her work schedule gets crazy. You might think that being off the trail for a few days would leave me with nothing to write about, but I promise you there’s still plenty to say.

When you take on a project as big as the Appalachian Trail, it helps to break down the big picture into more manageable chunks. One of the first ways that I did this was to split up the trail into rough quarters: Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee; Virginia and West Virginia; Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts; Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine.

The first quarter was full of new things and excitement. The whole trail was before me, and Georgia offered the promise of things to come. North Carolina held the distinction of the first new state, and together with Tennessee  welcomed hikers to the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. The springs were flowing, the air was cool, and everyone was eager to learn about the trail and what it’s all about.

Quarter two? Virginia and West Virginia. While most experience the Virginia blues because of the length of the state, I didn't. Damascus brought back memories of the Creeper trail, Pearisburg meant visiting grandparents and staying in their cabin, and Tera was with me through the Shenandoahs. In fact, the second quarter passed by rather quickly. I had started to find my stride, and so the hiking itself became easier and more efficient. Signing the register at the Appalachian Trail Conservancy in Harpers Ferry was a fitting end to the first half of the journey, and the chance to reflect on the progress I had made was encouraging.

Crossing the Potomac meant the beginning of the third quarter, marked by shorter-mileage states and plenty of large rivers. The beginning moved along smoothly. Maryland was short and flat, a welcome change from miles past. Pennsylvania meant a lot of slacking as I hiked near where my parents live, making the rocks that appeared after I crossed the Susquehanna a bit more bearable.

A swampy section of New Jersey trail

The other side of the Delaware meant more mosquitoes, but New Jersey, like Maryland, was just a small portion of the trail's length.

Things were different with New York. All of a sudden the game changed. Things slowed down.

A view from the east bank of the Hudson

Mental fatigue set in and matched my familiar weariness, and my thinking changed. I found myself faced with the reality that, with less than 800 miles to Katahdin, I had nothing to prove to myself. I had come 1400 miles. What's 800 more? Though it seems strange to measure proximity to a goal in the hundreds of miles, that's exactly what happened. That line of thinking also meant that I thought more than once about retreating to the comforts of home, the comforts that I happen to be enjoying at the moment. Yet I knew that if I stopped I would face regret, shatter a dream, and disappoint many. So I walked on. Reaching the east bank of the Hudson gave me renewed focus. The chance to walk along the Housatonic River in Connecticut was a nice change of pace and provided easy terrain. And Massachusetts, with its bookend peaks of Everett and Greylock, went quickly because of the near-constant threat of mosquitoes.

Now it’s the fourth, and each of its three states holds a distinctive stretch of trail.

Vermont has the Green mountains, which host some of the lushest forest vegetation that I’ve seen on the trail. Vermont also has plenty of mud and introduced deer flies to the trail. I’m happy to say that third is done, but two fourth quarter thirds remain.

New Hampshire holds the Whites which come with steep elevation changes, epic views, and the mountain that is known for the worst weather in the country: Mt. Washington. These mountains have been talked up more than any other stretch of the trail, and so I’m eager to see if their bite equals their bark. Finally there is Maine which boasts plenty of bogs and the hundred-mile wilderness, the secluded runway to its most coveted prize: Katahdin.

With only two thirds of the fourth to go, my excitement is mounting. I can now smile and say I only have two more states (even if Maine is the second-longest on the trail) and less than four hundred miles to walk. The end is clearly in sight.