The Adventure Continues, Part 4

After yesterday’s disappointment—following the wrong trail, losing ground and precious time—we left the Congdon shelter hopeful that we could make up for it all on our third day on the Long Trail.

For the second day in a row, the sun brightened our mood and the forecast looked promising. We headed gradually uphill toward Harmon Hill. In less than a mile, we came to a bountiful stream overflowing from a beaver pond offering fresh, cold water. Stopped to filter a liter or so and fill our bottles.

A little further, crossed a small, trickling stream. As soon as my foot landed on the other side, a half-dozen butterflies that had been warming themselves on a rock took flight about my head. I couldn’t help but smile.

Ah, this was what I loved about trekking in the woods!

Getting to the top of Harmon Hill wasn’t bad at all, and the view west toward the small city of Bennington was the payoff.

For the next mile, the trail gradually descended, crossing a couple of small seasonal streams, before reaching “the great descent”—at least for our hike!

Several places along the Long Trail require a significant descent to a road crossing, followed by a significant ascent on the other side. We’ve come to one of those places.

Vermont Rt. 9 is a major highway that runs from the western border, through Bennington, over the Green Mountains, before terminating in Brattleboro on the eastern border.

We needed to descend roughly 700’ in 7/10 mile. That’s a pretty steep grade in itself, but the trail made it extremely challenging. I’ve been on some steep trails before—think the Bright Angel Trail in the Grand Canyon, or the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park—but those trails were smooth and easy to navigate with plenty of switchbacks.

Not this section. Not only was it steep, but the trail was all rocks. Rocks, not stones and roots. Rocks. I only wish I had taken some pictures—but my focus had to be getting down without breaking my neck!

Same with my sis. Each step carefully measured lest we fall. Was a bit aggravating to be passed a couple of times from some kids more than half our age, just bounding from rock to rock like they were ‘skipping to my Lou”!

And then it happened.

Cindy stepped on a rock, it moved under her foot, and she slipped. The fall brought no harm to her, but it left her hiking pole with a nasty 90º bend. This was not good. Hiking poles are non-negotiable essentials on the Long Trail, in my book—especially for older hikers. The only good thing about this mishap was we were near the bottom of the descent.

A parking area across Rt. 9 offered a nice place to stop for lunch and evaluate the predicament.

Situated along a rushing stream, we could resupply with water, relax for a few minutes, and ponder what to do about the pole. A bridge crossed the stream, and on the other side, we faced an equally steep and challenging uphill climb, so the pole was mission-critical.

The pole wasn’t broken, just badly bent. First thought, try to straighten the pole, brace the weak spot with some sticks (like a splint) and wrap it with duct tape. That done, time for a test. We crossed the bridge and continued north, almost immediately beginning a rocky ascent. Clearly, the pole was too unstable to be useful.

Plan B. Bennington was about a five-mile road walk west on Rt. 9. Surely, we could find a replacement pole somewhere in town. So down the road we headed.

We hadn’t gone far—maybe .2 mile—when a pickup truck headed east pulled off the road. The driver—a man my age or older who looked to be a relic of the “hippie generation”—called out to us, “You guys want a ride into town?”

My innate cynicism from living too close to urban centers, not to mention news bulletins of abductions, kidnappings, murders, and the like, for a split second caused me to hesitate.

“Sure!” I replied after a hasty recovery. “Trail Angel” came to mind and crowded out all potential fears.

We crossed the road as he got out of his truck and opened the back hatch. Packed inside were several coolers and other miscellaneous items.

“Just put your packs on top of the coolers,” he instructed. “You want something to drink? Soft drinks…Gatorade…water?” he graciously offered. We both opted for the Gatorade. As we were getting in the cab, he explained that he was on his way to the parking lot we just left with some pizzas and drinks for any hikers passing through.

“Stops-A-Lot” was his trail name. He’d hiked the AT a couple of times, but these days during hiking season, he leaves his home in North Carolina (I think he said), and comes to Vermont, traveling up and down the trail providing “trail magic”—snacks, drinks, sometimes cookouts, and rides—to weary hikers.

We explained our pole predicament, and he pointed out the only place in Bennington to get hiking poles of any kind was Walmart—of dubious quality, he opined. I tended to think his assessment would be quite right.

He asked if we had a place to stay. Of course, we didn’t. He then offered to take us to the hiker hotel in Bennington—The Catamount Motel, an old-fashioned, no-frills place a few stars above a shelter! He dropped us off, said he had to take the food up to the trailhead and pick up another hiker, but he’d be back. He actually lived at the motel through the summer months.

After getting cleaned up and changing into fresh clothes, we sat on the bench outside the room trying to figure out what to do next. “Stops-A-Lot” returned a few minutes later.

“I’ve been thinking about your poles,” he said. “I can’t stand the thought of you getting a pair of cheap Walmart sticks and breaking those out on the trail. I have an extra pair of Lekis,” he offered. “Take those and when you get to the Green Mountain House in Manchester, leave ‘em with Jeff. I’ll pick ‘em up next time I pass by—I go there every week.” He also pointed out that The Mountain Goat—an outfitter store—was there where she could get new poles, and maybe even get the broken pole fixed.

The generosity was a bit overwhelming.

He left and returned a few moments later with his sticks, as he called them, and insisted he’ll feel so much better about it all.

“The Lord is your keeper,” Psalm 121 declares. And so He is, using unsuspecting “trail angels” to do His bidding for the benefit of His own!

A bit later, though, I pondered the logistics for the next several days.

We had reservations to stay at the Green Mountain House hostel three days later—and we had to get there because resupply boxes were waiting for us. Problem is, that was 41 hiking miles away. Studying the trail, the location of shelters, and realizing we’d have to average almost 14 miles per day (when we were struggling to get 10), I began considering alternatives…and found one.

Early afternoon the next day, we would take a bus from Bennington to Manchester. It stopped near The Mountain Goat store, and Jeff from the Green Mountain House would pick us up wherever we were in town. Then, when we got to the Canadian border, we’d go back to Manchester or Bennington and hike the miles we missed.  

I shared the plan with Stops-A-Lot and he thought it a good one. We returned his sticks, thanked him profusely, and made our way to a restaurant for dinner.

Late afternoon the next day, we arrived in Manchester and headed straight for The Mountain Goat. Cindy presented the damaged pole, suggesting she needed a replacement pair. The proprietor had other ideas.

He spirited the pole away to a back room somewhere while we browsed and picked up a couple of items. Ten minutes later, he returned with Cindy’s pole, a new section replaced the damaged one!

As the clerk rang up our purchases, Cindy asked, “How much for the fix?”

“Nothing!” he insisted. “It’s on us. Have a good, safe hike!” He could have easily sold her a $150 pair of poles.

“The Lord is your keeper…The Lord shall preserve your going out and your coming in.”

And he uses unsuspecting store owners to keep and preserve!

Across from The Mountain Goat, Charlie’s Coffee House caught my eye. We hadn’t eaten since a big breakfast, so we headed over for a snack and brew before calling Jeff, our ride to the hostel.

Jeff arrived, greeted us warmly, drove us to the Green Mountain House, showed us to our room, and left us to settle in for the night—the last in a comfy bed, we expected, for a long time.

But not as long as we had thought.

To be continued….