What a great four days! New Jersey rewards hikers with stunning views for little actual climbing. As a result, it has crept up the ranks among my favorite states, right behind Maine and New Hampshire (sorry Massachusetts – I can’t forgive that humidity).
I had thought that I would be bored out of my mind by mile 300 of this trip, but 900 miles and 7 (yes, seven!) states later, the trail continues to surprise me. Each state has unique characteristics that seem to greet you almost as soon as you cross the border.
Pennsylvania is notoriously rocky and tough on the feet and ankles. Nobos have continuously complained about it since I started. But it’s 90% a mental game – trying to appreciate the uniqueness that each state offers and adjusting your pace so that you can enjoy each part, regardless of the physical difficulty.
I was thinking about this mental game – the constant effort to stay positive – as I emailed one of the brothers from my post below. His sign-off on the message?
“Don’t be a PA hater. 😉 Cheers, Russ”
Night Hiking into New Jersey (Sunday, September 16)
I left the city late today, milking my time in Joe and Supriya’s apartment until it was time to catch my 10:45 bus out of Southfields. The usual rush of adrenaline kicked in as the bus driver pulled over to drop me off along the side of Route 17.
With about 19 miles to the New Jersey border, New York decided to give me one last kick in the butt on my way out. A steep, rocky ascent greeted me after about 10 steps into the woods, the noon sun beat down without concern for me and my pack newly stuffed with food, fuel, and a few other items picked up in the city.
Around 4:30, I rolled into a shelter to come across Chavez, a guy I had met on West Mountain two days earlier. This guy was originally a Nobo, but he broke his foot in 3 places a few months back. Healed up and with doctor approval, Chavez came back out to finish what he’d started.
I did the math and realized that the next shelter was 12 miles away. Even at my fastest pace, I’d get in around 9 pm. With the sun setting at 7, this meant two hours in the dark with a headlamp. Keep in mind that this isn’t as dangerous as it might first seem. I have a cell phone with service and a GPS tracker that records my location every ten minutes. With the push of a button on the tracker, I can have a helicopter sent within 30 minutes. Of course, my biggest safeguard is hours away just north of Boston: my mother. She patiently awaits the “Done hiking for the day!” message that I send each night to know that I am safe.
Having already taken off a day and a half, another half day seemed like too much. Also, I was rested and reenergized from my city excursion. So I set off with the sun setting.
Hiking is refreshing. Hiking alone is liberating. Night hiking alone is exhilarating. Headlamp shining, you walk with eyes trained only three feet in front of you. Pairs of eyes reflect the light back at you, perched between trees just off trail. Deer? Raccoon? You can only guess. Turn off your headlamp and the darkness engulfs you. You see nothing but the faint light of a half moon, and without the aid of sight, your mind amplified the sound of every cricket, bird, frog, and chipmunk screeching in the darkness.
My 2 AM bedtime the previous night had jolted my internal clock forward a few hours, so I was wide awake as I walked, carefully scanning the trail with each step. The last three miles of New York’s trail crept up and along an exposed rock ridge line. An American flag marked the top of Prospect Rock, the highest elevation on the Appalachian Trail in New York.
I turned off my headlamp. The half moon dimly lit Greenwood Lake to the East as I craned my neck to look up at a sky full of stars. Then, I was confused to see the last remnants of sunset way off in the distance. At this point it was 9 pm, and the orange glow should have long faded. It was then that I realized I was looking East. It wasn’t a sunset. It was the orange glow of New York City, 60 miles away.
I walked on, and before I knew it:
6 states down. 8 to go.
I walked into the shelter around 10 pm, and it was completely empty. I heated up some dinner, and spent my first night in Jersey alone but content after my evening walk in the woods.
Three Brothers (Monday, September 17)
New Jersey continues to surprise! The day started with flat trail before I entered a mile and a half long boardwalk through a state park. After the boardwalk, another mile and a half skirted around a wilderness preserve. I had checked he forecast, and the northernmost rains of Hurricane Florence were supposed to hit this evening into tomorrow morning. I thought I could finish my 21 miles before they arrived, but I was wrong. The downpour started around 4, and I was soaked through by the time I got to the shelter at 6.
Three other guys, a few years older than me, were sitting drenched in the shelter – Scout, BlackDiamond, and Pedro. They were out section-hiking the state of New Jersey – about 75 miles. How did they know each other? They were brothers! I’ve seen some family pairs on the trail – brothers and sisters, father-son, mother-daughter, mother-son, father-daughter – but this was the first set of three siblings. Two from Indiana and one from Ohio (or vice versa, I can’t remember), they had driven through the night for the 5-day trip.
The coolest part? They do this every year. They book the vacation time to overlap, say goodbye to their wives and children (all three have kids), and drive off to hike another 75-mile chunk of the Appalachian Trail. After 7 years, they just completed 25% of the trail. Only 21 years to go! The only reason they’re not leaving the epic 100 Mile Wilderness and Mount Katahdin for their last section? The oldest brother, Scout, will be 65 years old by the time they finish.
Section hiking can be tough. You never really get your “trail legs” – you get off trail just as your body adjusts to the high level of activity. Also, you have to mentally recommit to your goal each year. You use precious little vacation time amidst a busy schedule to do something exhausting and uncomfortable. But I find this trio most inspiring because they don’t just recommit to the trail each year – they recommit to each other. They ante up each time in order to chip away at their nearly three-decades-long goal of completing the trail as a family.
They offered me food, we chatted for a while, and then they passed out. Apparently, they were happily sidetracked watching football in a bar the night before. They hiked until 3 am in order to get their miles in. Gyp’s was the name of the bar, and they didn’t regret a moment of their time in the bar or their late night hike. “After all,” one of them said, “this is our vacation time.”
Simple Solutions (Tuesday, September 18)
I woke up to rain, chatted with the brothers a bit, and then put my wet clothes back on. I walked out and the rain thankfully let up for a bit. After 2 miles, I came across a ranger station, where a woman working there kindly made me a cup of coffee and gave me a Pepsi.
Now, I wrote an entry a week ago about how it is near impossible to stay dry in the rain. Yet the discomfort of being wet has kept me desperately searching for new solutions. So as I sipped my coffee, I decided to try out an amazing piece of rain gear that the ranger happened to have in stock. This state-of-the-art piece of equipment somehow kept me bone dry for the next three hours:
Yup. A garbage bag. The very first thing that Lee Mo had suggested back in July as I geared up for the hike. Better late than never, right? Love you, mom.
I strolled into Gyp’s Tavern around 4 pm and got a burger, fries, and a beer before my leisurely last three miles to the shelter. Not a bad end to the day.
Crossing the Delaware (Wednesday, September 19)
Didn’t I just get to New Jersey? And yet:
This 25-mile day was relatively flat, with some beautiful views. It crept along a rock outcropping for several miles. My lunch spot:
And the top of a mountain where I met some bird watchers:
Did I mention that I snapped the tip off one of my trekking poles? Look closely.
The bird watchers sit on top of the mountain and count every hawk that sits by in order to give an accurate record of annual migration patterns. They had seen over 400 since the morning.
I descended and crossed the Delaware River, my introduction to Pennsylvania. A donation-based church hostel was just off trail in the town of Delaware Water Gap, and 5 hikers (4 Sobos) greeted me at the door. One of them has hiked from Maine to this point barefoot. His feat seems even more incredible at this moment because my feet, protected by trail runners, are really starting to hurt. As a result of the rain, I have blisters from wet socks. On top of this, both of my heels are starting to ache and sometimes shoot pain up my Achilles. Walking on all this flat ground means a lot more steps per day. Also, the strides are longer and lead to more of a heel strike upon impact. Hence, the pain.
I’ll take a half day off tomorrow to rest, get in-soles at Walmart, and head out in the afternoon.
Trails And Travels 