The Adventure Ends…

[If you missed previous installments, begin here, or get the background to today’s post here.]

What turned out to be our last full day’s hike on the Long Trail began ominously.

The torrential rains from the night before died down, but a light rain persisted. With daylight came a clearer perception of the storm’s impact on our immediate location—a mere foretaste of what lay ahead. All around the shelter, the narrow footpaths were flooded, flowing downhill toward the pond and the main trail. The bear box, where all our food was stored, sat in a puddle of water.

Nearly all of the other hikers in the shelter were far more experienced than Cindy and I—they were Appalachian Trail thru-hikers with 1,600 miles behind them! And all agreed that they were likely going to get to the next road about 6 miles north and get to town for a day or two until trail damage could be assessed. They were at least going to get to the next shelter a mile before the road and hunker down, if necessary.

Knowing their plans weighed heavily on my mind in the hours ahead. The next shelter accommodated a maximum of 8 and there were no tent sites available. 10 hikers preceded us that morning.

Then the caretaker informed us the only way out from that site was to continue north…and she wasn’t sure what the trail would be like.

The only option was to head out into the unknown.

Looking out at the hills on the other side of Little Rock Pond, I reminded myself that our help doesn’t come from the hills surrounding us, but as this adventure’s theme song, Psalm 121, states, our “help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth.”

We packed our gear, donned rain jackets, strapped on the packs, and headed out. Within minutes, we waded through a couple inches of water covering the trail—all of the trail. Our boots, socks, feet quickly became soaked, and so they would remain for the hours ahead.

“He will not allow your foot to slip,” the psalmist reminded me. There would prove to be plenty of opportunities for slipping, sliding, and stumbling ahead!

After crossing a couple of minor streams, a larger brook engorged with runoff, overflowed its banks creating an impromptu twenty-five-yard stream across the trail. A little further on, we came upon a bridge crossing Homer Stone Brook. The flooded brook looked ominous as it lashed against the bridge, occasionally splashing over the planks. Fortunately, one side of the bridge had a handrail offering stability as we slowly made our way across.

Shortly thereafter, a side trail led over a small bridge spanning another section Homer Stone Brook. The normally bubbling brook had become a fierce stream, crashing against and threatening to cover that bridge and overflow the banks.

“What lay ahead?!?”

“Will we even make it to road?”

“Or the next shelter?”

“Will there be room???”

The questions kept coming, persistently crowding out the promise, “The Lord shall preserve you from all calamity; He shall preserve your soul. The Lord shall preserve your going out and your coming in.…”

As we ascended, the trail remained wet and muddy, most of the time a small stream, but reasonably navigable. We were working our way up about 500’ to White Rocks Mountain. On another day, White Rocks Cliff near the summit would offer nice views of the town of Wallingford and west to the Taconic Mountains. On this day, however, low-hanging clouds and persistent rain obscured any pleasant views.

Reaching the White Rocks summit left us with a 2-mile descent before we came to Route 140, which we could take to Wallingford and hopefully a dry place to stay until we could assess what to do from this point.

A half-mile from the summit perched a sign directing to Greenwall Shelter, about .2 mile downhill off the trail. It was early enough in the afternoon that we had plenty of time to reach Rt. 140 and make it to town before 5:00, so on we went.

The trail descended steeply for the next mile before it crossed Bully Brook. The closer we got to the brook, the louder it became. Through an occasional clearing in the woods, I could see what was coming and the adrenaline began to pump.

Passing the junction to a side trail that led to a picnic area, we continued down the steep descent. The roar of the rushing brook intensified with every step. Finally, the full magnitude of what we were hearing came into view.

The trail led directly into a raging torrent, at least 25 yards across. There was no bridge to cross anywhere. And there was absolutely no way anyone would be foolish enough to attempt fording that torrent. All I could think of, looking at the sight, was “One step in that means certain death.”

For a few moments, Cindy and I alternately looked at each other and the torrent, wondering now what?

There was no option. We had to climb back uphill.

Then I remembered the side trail to the picnic area. I checked the map. If we could get to the picnic area, we could still make our way to the road.

A few minutes later, we reached the side trail and started down. Up ahead I could see a stream crossing the trail and from a distance, it looked iffy. The closer we came, the more concerned I was. At last, standing at the edge of the swift-flowing stream, I sought a safe way to cross. I had very little confidence we could make it, and although failure wouldn’t mean death, it would result in injury for sure.

We turned around and headed back uphill…back to Greenwall Shelter.

By now, the rain had stopped, but we were wet, chilled, eager to get into dry clothes, and set up for the night in a dry shelter.

But would there be any room? None of those who ventured out before us could possibly have crossed Bully Brook. Would they take the side trail down?

For the next mile, the questions lingered, and the uncertainty plagued me. What kind of “coming in” would the Lord preserve for us?

Finally, as we came out of the woods and rounded a bend, the front of the shelter came into view. Two other people were there—and that was it! We had plenty of room to spread out, hang wet clothes, and set up for a relatively comfortable night.

The Lord had preserved us from calamity all that day, and now had preserved our “coming in,” providing just what we needed that night.

One of our sheltermates, however, provided some news updates. The Green Mountain Club issued a statement warning all Long Trail hikers to leave the trail as soon as possible. Areas of the trail had been washed out or otherwise damaged, many streams were impassable, and there was a strong likelihood that bridges had been washed out. Furthermore, the weather forecast called for rain almost daily for the next 10 days, giving no time for the trail conditions to improve. They were asking everyone to stay off trail until a thorough assessment could be done.

As the news sunk in, so did reality.

There was no rain forecast for the next 24 hours, so hopefully the next day we would be able to cross the smaller stream to the picnic area and make our way to Wallingford, where we could catch a bus north to our car in Shelburne.

And that would do it.

The next morning, the sun shone brightly in a near-cloudless sky. We took our time preparing breakfast and packing up gear. Wanted to allow as much time as possible for the stream to die down.

Finally headed out around 11:00 for the 45-minute hike to the picnic area.

As we neared the side trail junction, the roar from Bully Brook still filled the air. But coming up the trail from the torrent-brook was Blaze and his aunt. They were clearly rattled, recounting their harrowing experience crossing Homer Stone Brook that morning. They showed us a video of the bridge we had crossed the day before. Now the “brook” covered the bridge completely, slashing and splashing wildly. They explained how another hiker used a rope to tie them all together and make their way across.

They’d just about had enough, but they were still going to try to continue.

I told them about the picnic area, the possibility of reaching the road from there, which they could follow to find the trail again. Also told them about the GMC’s warning.

We all headed to the picnic area.

The small stream had indeed died down and we crossed without incident. Soon we came out of the woods into the parking area for White Rocks Picnic Area.

And there, at the end of the parking lot next to the trail, sat an SUV with its back hatch open. A husband-wife team met us, offered some snacks, and asked our plans. I mentioned we were planning to take the road into Wallingford and catch the bus north.

“You do NOT want to walk along that road,” they warned. “It’s too narrow, curvy, and cars fly down it! Way too dangerous!”

Then they offered to give us a ride, not to Wallingford, but further north to Rutland where the bus options were much better.

We thanked them for their generosity and hopped in.

Twenty minutes later, they dropped us off at a bus stop and refused the $20 I offered.

Trail angels.

The Lord who is our keeper, who preserves our going out and coming in, often uses people—perhaps unknown to them!—to take care of His own.

And so ended our attempt to hike from Massachusetts to Canada via Vermont’s Long Trail. It was an adventure that didn’t turn out as we had hoped or planned, but it wasn’t all for naught.

Here are a few general observations or lessons learned from this adventure:

1. It’s easy to under-estimate a challenge…and to over-estimate your ability!
2. On a treacherous trail, when vigilance is needed for every step, you can’t “relax” and fail to stay focused. I took a couple of falls when I took my eye off the next step…looked too far ahead…. This is true not only on a hiking trail, but on the trail of life!
3. Amid the difficulty, find the delight. Hiking through the muck & agonizing through the challenging trail, I crossed a small stream. Just as I set foot on the other side, a dozen beautiful butterflies sprung up all around me, encircling my head. I couldn’t help but laugh!
4. The Lord uses unlikely people to show kindness to strangers. Whether they consciously know it or not, trail angels exhibit the Christian grace of hospitality—putting some of God’s people to shame!
5. We can—and should—make plans, even have contingencies, but constantly be aware that He who controls the winds & the rains determines “success.” I must always submit to the sovereign Lord and His providential leading. As Proverbs 16:9 says,

The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.