The rain is deafening. Inside the spacious shelter of Taylor Lodge, nestled into the shadow of Mt. Mansfield, the sound is amplified by the metal roof making each drop sound like the beat of a snare drum. Lying in the dark, it’s hard to know whether my ears are being deceived by the acoustics or the downpour really is that heavy.
Mountain of Indifference
It’s a habit I ought to break. That’s what I told myself hardly an hour into our hike after returning to the trail following a much needed day off. The man who’d delivered us back to the string of white blazes beckoning us ever northward was Rick Swanson. He and his partner Tim own and operate the Swanson Inn, an idyllic Vermont inn just outside the town of Waitsfield…
Skyline
Playing coy. That’s what they were doing. The promise of clear skies presaged by the light blue patches above our heads early this morning was, apparently, a tease. For awhile, at least. Perched as it is halfway up the climb to the summit of Mt. Abraham, we left Battell Shelter this morning with the hope that the freshening breeze would drive away the pesky clouds by the time we reached the top.
Midway
I remember. Not the smell of cotton candy or roasted peanuts, not the bright flashing lights of this ride or that one. I remember the crush of people and what it felt like to walk through them, meandering my own personal maze down the midway at the New York State fair.
Mind the Gap
Gap. Saddle. Pass. Col. Notch. Call them what you will, but the reality is the same regardless. Reaching one typically heralds a road crossing and the end of a descent but it’s the climb back up waiting on the other side that usually catches your attention. Beginning today, those gaps will start coming faster and more furiously as the trail edges into the higher peaks of Vermont.
Surprise!
Surprise! Apparently the temptation of dragging oneself through mud and over rocks for a few days was too hard to resist for at least one person. Well, now you’ll know the face of the person who was just crazy enough to come and join us for the next 60 miles of that kind of fun: our friend Jesse Surprise.
Homecoming
The air, even overnight, could be worn like any other article of clothing. A bit like a shirt that fits a size too small. Suffocating with its humid stickiness that gives everything an imperceptible dampness, even the things you know to be bone dry. Sleeping in it is an exercise in futility. At least it always has been for me.