“You can do anything you set your mind to, man”. – Eminem, Lose Yourself

“I owned every second that this world could give. I saw so many places, the things that I did. With every broken bone, I swear I lived.” – One Republic, I Lived

Day 149

I awoke to the wonderful smell of sizzling bacon. I followed my nose downstairs where Grandma Toni had prepared a huge breakfast. She brought me a plate with four pieces of French toast, two eggs, and three strips of bacon. Grandpa Jerry explained that the syrup on the table was “the good stuff” from their own farm. It was the best syrup I’ve ever had. Sorry, Aunt Jemima. Just as I finished off my first plate of food, Grandma Toni brought out a second plate identical to the first one. “You’re not my first thru-hiker,” she explained. I ate everything but the 8th piece of French toast. After packing up, I thanked this amazing couple for their generous hospitality and gave them each a huge hug. I then returned to the trail and continued my northbound journey to Katahdin.

Near mile 1782.4, Cape Moonshine Road, a gentleman was set up right along the trail in the woods providing Trail Magic! It had been over an hour since I had Grandma Toni’s breakfast so I was definitely ready for the 4-egg omelette Big Tom was offering. He has been doing Trail Magic on this spot throughout the hiking season and had an obvious love for hikers and the AT.

After a fairly easy 9.8 mile day, I arrived at NH 25 and headed east .3 miles to the Hikers Welcome Hostel. After eating and re-supplying at a nearby gas station, I joined Firefly, Pyro, Tin Man, Kiwi, Virginia Creeper and several others in the hiker lounge. Later, my hiking buddy Foxfire came strolling in and said, “Fob, John says hi.” “John who?” I replied. Foxfire answered, “Some guy named John in a pickup truck pulled up by me as I crossed a road earlier today and asked me if I knew Fob. When I told him I did, he said he loves reading your blog on Trail Journals and to tell you hello and keep hiking and writing.” That’s just crazy. John, whoever you are, thanks for that message and for reading my blog and following my journey. You and others who have posted comments on Trailjournals or Facebook have had a huge impact on me at some times when I really needed it. I read and appreciate every comment.

After some discussion on which two movies to watch of the hundreds of options, we settled on the rather strange combination of Road to Perdition and Joe Dirt. If the United States ever ceases to be and a future civilization studies our culture, may they never unearth a Joe Dirt DVD and judge us based on it.

Day 150

As the dozen or so hikers found seats around the table in the hiker lounge, there was a little more excitement and nervous anticipation than normal. Part of that may have been due to the smell of dozens of pancakes about to be served to us by the hostel staff. But even more than that, our minds were on the mighty White Mountains that awaited us. We were like a bunch of anxious football players in the locker room moments before the big game.

Most AT thru hikers consider The Whites, which run from New Hampshire to southern Maine, to be the most difficult section of the entire trail. New Hampshire has forty-eight 4000 footer mountains and most of those are in The Whites. They include 6288-foot Mount Washington, home to the worst weather on the planet, and Mount Madison, which some consider the AT’s toughest climb. The Whites are also home to Mahoosuc Notch, a mile long boulder field that is considered the toughest and most fun mile on the AT.

So The Whites are a huge test and challenge for AT hikers. The Whites are where you most need your 2000-mile, rock hard trail legs. The Whites are where you tap the reservoir of courage and determination you’ve been building up since Springer Mountain. The Whites are where you’re glad you had that 4th egg, 6th piece of bacon, and 7th piece of French Toast.

Fueled by pancakes, coffee, and adrenaline, I exited “the locker room” and excitedly made my way to the base of 4802-foot Mount Moosilauke, the first of the mighty White Mountains.

And that, dear readers, is where my AT blog comes to an end. I have decided to shift my energies from writing a blog to writing a book! The book will hopefully be released some time in 2017. It will cover my entire journey, to include the not yet blogged about last 35 days on the trail. It will detail, among other things…

– A devastating fall in southern Maine that left me bloodied, shaken, and minus a trekking pole.
– A crazy mile-long rock scramble through Mahoosuc Notch, and a brutal climb up and over Mount Washington in high winds and rain.
– An incredible final week in Maine’s 100-Mile Wilderness.
– An amazing reunion with my wife, dad, and a life-long friend.
– My final climb and (spoiler alert) summit of Katahdin! That’s right, Fob is now officially an AT thru hiker!  On September 13th, I became the 650th NOBO hiker to summit Katahdin!  I hit every white blaze on the 2189.1 mile AT and carried my own pack the entire way.
– The final moments and my thoughts as I delivered my mom’s ashes to their final resting place.
– How my faith in God has changed as a result of my hike.                          – The results of our collective fund-raising efforts to help the Colon family adopt a child.
– My AT superlatives, lessons learned, and recommendations for future hikers.
– My plans for the future to include a few new bucket list items.
– A long list of people to thank who have helped me, cheered for me, enabled my AT journey, and encouraged me to write a book.

If you would like to receive an email when the book is ready for ordering, please send your email address to thebigsteve66@gmail.com. I will not share your email address or use it in any way other than to notify you of the book’s release.

Hiking the AT has been the most challenging, difficult, and interesting thing I’ve ever done. It was everything I hoped for and more. I’m thankful to God for sustaining me in every way imaginable on this incredible journey. And I’m thankful to each of you for joining me on this journey and encouraging me each step of the way. Thank you so much for reading my blog! And thank you in advance to each of you who will take the time to read my eventual first book.

Perhaps I should close with some lyrics from a 1985 Mr. Mister song that came to mean a lot to me during my six long months on the AT…

Kyrie eleison (Lord, Have Mercy) down the road that I must travel,
Kyrie eleison through the darkness of the night,
Kyrie eleison where I’m going will you follow?
Kyrie eleison on a highway in the light.

Sir Fob W. Pot, AT Thru-Hiker, Class of 2016

“And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.” – Hebrews 13:16

“Keep learning about the world. Use your mind to the hilt. Life passes quickly and, towards the end, gathers speed like a freight train running downhill. The more you know, the more you enrich yourself and others.” – Susan Trott

“I’m your ice cream man, stop me when I’m passin’ by, oh my my…” – Van Halen

Day 147

Today was a record day for meeting SOBO hikers. I greeted all of them and spoke a bit longer with a few of them. They were glad to have survived The Whites and offered me some key tips that would pay dividends later. After a fairly tough climb up Holts Ledge, there was a turnoff for the Trapper John Shelter, apparently named in honor of the MASH character. Some day I hope to have a dilapidated, porcupine-infested privy on a blue blazed side trail named after me. It will be called The Fob Pot.

At mile 1764.6, just passed Dorchester Road, I took a short side trail to the home of the late Bill Ackerly. Mr. Ackerly, who passed away just a few months ago, was known in AT circles as The Ice Cream Man. After filling hikers’ bellies with ice cream, he would then beat them at croquet on his perfectly manicured backyard croquet course. According to a note on my AT Guthook app, his family plans to continue the ice cream tradition for one more year. It also said hikers could get water, use the outhouse, access the free WiFi, and ask about camping in the yard. When I arrived at about 4 p.m., no one was home and there were no cars in the driveway. I debated what to do. Should I stay or hike on? I asked myself, what would The Ice Cream Man want me to do? So, I set up my tent in the backyard at the edge of the croquet course, got water, accessed the WiFi, and made myself at home. I suppose I was technically trespassing, but it seemed like a risk worth taking. As the sun began to set on his still perfectly manicured croquet course, I regretted that I was not able to meet Mr. Ackerly, eat his ice cream, or lose to him at croquet. If it’s possible to miss someone you’ve never met, I suppose that’s how I felt about The Ice Cream Man.

Day 148

Prior to entering The Whites, hikers are presented with a couple of 3000′ appetizers known as Smarts Mountain and Mount Cube. It is New Hampshire’s way of saying, “Welcome suckers! If you think this is bad, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” The climb up Smarts Mountain runs along quartzite-covered Lamberts Ridge and is tough to navigate in a few places. It also lacks water for eight miles, so I was glad that I had cameled up at the spigot at The Ice Cream Man’s house. After descending the mountain, I stopped and got water at South Jacobs Brook and talked to a couple of SOBO Aussies for awhile.

After climbing over rocky Mount Cube in the heat of the late afternoon, I was drenched in sweat and exhausted. I finally reached NH 25A at mile 1780.6 with about 30 minutes of daylight remaining, after a 16 mile day. I happened to see a hiker’s note in my Guthook app that said there was a sweet elderly couple nearby who take in hikers. It said they have a sign to that effect at the trailhead and that they were .3 miles west up a hill, then a right on East Cemetery Road, and then the second house on the right.

At the trailhead I looked around and there was no sign. I debated what to do. I could drop my tent right there at a soccer field by the trailhead…the safe, easy option. Or I could follow the directions of some unknown hiker and try to find an elderly couple’s teal home about .3 miles away, in the hopes that they still take in hikers. I decided to go for it and headed west on 25A in search of elderly people who may take in hikers. After a fairly steep, .3 mile climb up the paved road, I came to…absolutely nothing. No neighborhood. No humanity. Nothing. Maybe it was bad Intel. With the sun starting to set, I decided to continue on for just five more minutes before returning to the soccer field defeated. Two minutes later, I spotted a sign indicating a right turn ahead! Could it be East Cemetery Road? I quickened my pace and, sure enough, it was East Cemetery Road!  Just like the seemingly dry ravine of a prior post, the seemingly road to nowhere would also bear fruit, thanks to a little extra effort late in the day.

I turned right and walked up to the teal house, the second one on the right. I rang the doorbell and got no response. I rang it again and suddenly the second floor window opened and a little grey-headed woman stuck her head out. “Can I help you?” she asked. “My name is Fob and I heard that you and your husband might take in hikers,” I replied. She said, “We normally do but we decided to take this week off. We took the sign down at the trailhead.” “That’s okay, no worries,” I replied. “I’ll just set up down at the soccer field. I’m sorry to bother you.” “No, that won’t be necessary, just come on around to the porch, we’d love to have you,” she said. After apologizing for even being there on their week off and confirming that it wouldn’t be a problem, I made my way over to the porch and met her at the door.

Rita Pease, in her 80s and better known as “Toni”, invited me in and told me to have a seat on the couch next to the recliner where her husband was sitting. Her husband, Jerry, is in his mid-80s and very friendly. He seemed like a cross between John Wayne and Paul Bunyan. I felt bad sitting on their couch because my profuse sweating made it seem like I had just gotten out of a swimming pool.

Grandma Toni (as I call her) returned from the kitchen, handed me a ham sandwich, and sat down near her husband. “Fob, here’s your appetizer,” she said. “You can eat this while we watch Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. We have the whole first season on DVD!” “Oh good!” said I, for no apparent reason. Still soaking wet, I sat there on the couch, eating a ham sandwich while watching a very attractive Dr. Quinn administer medicine in 1867 Colorado. If I lived in Colorado in 1867 and Dr. Quinn was my doctor, I think I would come down with the sniffles every day.

As I sat there with my two adopted grandparents, I wondered whether the main course Grandma Toni had planned for me would happen at the end of episode 1 (the sooner option) or the end of season 1 (the later, binge watching option). I also wondered whether all this…being in an elderly couple’s home…in a New Hampshire town I didn’t even know the name of…covered in sweat…eating a ham sandwich…watching Dr. Quinn…was real or just a bizarre dream. It felt like a tv episode that might result if the writers of The Twilight Zone collaborated with the writers of The Andy Griffith Show.

At the conclusion of the quite good episode of Dr. Quinn, Grandma Toni brought me a TV dinner featuring chicken pot pie, green peas, and peach cobbler. It was delicious, although it made my stomach a little upset and I was afraid we might have to call Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, to check me out. After dinner, Grandma Toni showed me my upstairs bed and bathroom and asked for my dirty laundry so she could put a load in. Bless her soul. She told me to come back down after showering because they had a video for me to watch.

Feeling full and clean, I returned to the family room, hoping it would be to watch the next episode of Dr. Quinn. I’m curious as to whether the obvious chemistry between her and the rugged outdoorsman, Byron Sully, will ever amount to anything. Or is my curiosity just the byproduct of wearing women’s earbuds for several days?

Instead, Jerry showed me a 30 minute documentary done by the Discovery Channel a decade or so ago about their family. It turns out Jerry was a 4th generation sugarer, and his son now runs the business in its 5th generation. Sugaring, I learned, is the process used to create maple syrup, and the video shows Jerry walking around the family farm and explaining the process from beginning to end. There is so much more to it than just squeezing Aunt Jemima at your local IHOP. I learned they have 1200 taps across the farm, half using buckets to collect the sap and half using tubing. I learned how they transport it, boil it, and package it. I learned that it takes 40 gallons of sap to make a single gallon of real organic maple syrup. I peppered Jerry with questions and he happily answered all of them. I found it all quite fascinating. He explained some of their family traditions, like the children pouring newly made, still warm syrup over snow to make candy. I wondered if Dr. Quinn ever tapped a tree to make organic maple syrup but didn’t ask.

Grandma Toni then joined us to tell some more stories, of which I’ll share one. She and Jerry were traveling the country by train in 2001 and were scheduled to meet a friend and tour the South Tower of the World Trade Center on the morning of 9/11. While on a 4-hour layover at a Chicago train station, they overhead a fellow passenger say that she would be catching a train to New York City in an hour. They went to the ticket window and inquired about changing tickets in order to depart for New York in an hour, rather than four hours. They were able to change tickets and were on their way an hour later. With this earlier than anticipated arrival, they called their friend in New York to see about touring the South Tower the afternoon earlier, on 9/10. The friend agreed and they ended up on the last South Tower tour of the day on 9/10. The next morning at their hotel, they watched in horror with the rest of us as the World Trade Center fell to the ground. They felt like their lives had been spared for a purpose and that they had been given a new lease on life. If their treatment of me is any indication of the way they treat the dozens of other hikers who stay at their home each year, I think they have found that purpose.

As disappointed as I was to never meet Mr. Ackerly, The Ice Cream Man, I was thrilled to have had the opportunity to meet, talk to, and be hosted by Jerry and Toni Pease. When I return home after my AT hike, I plan to send them a thank you note along with Season 2 of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman.  After I finish watching it, of course.

Fob

“What I must do is all that concerns me, not what people think.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

“What is a cynic? A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.” – Oscar Wilde

Day 135

I left the Wilbur Clearing Shelter and began my descent toward the Hoosic River. About halfway down the mountain I saw Foxfire talking to two southbound hikers. It turns out they were a Canadian couple from Quebec on a section hike, and were out doing trail magic. After eating some of their raspberries, I thanked them and hiked on.

At MA 2 I headed west 1/2 mile to a grocery store on the outskirts of Williamstown. I did a big food resupply and had a couple of blueberry muffins and chocolate milk for second breakfast. I returned to the trail, crossed the Hoosic River, and began a long gradual climb out of the valley.

At mile 1596.3 I arrived at the Vermont border and celebrated with a Snickers bar and good conversation with several southbounders. This is also the southernmost point of the Long Trail, as it runs concurrent with the AT for the next 105.2 miles before breaking off toward Canada. A mile later, around 3 pm, I crossed paths with Long Strider on another of his southbound slack pack hikes. Little did I know that I would not see another human being for the next 24 hours.

After a 12.9 mile mile day I stealth camped near Roaring Branch Pond. I was glad to be in Vermont and excited to be hiking in its famed Green Mountains. Fun fact: Green Mountains is the literal translation of the French Verts Monts, which is how Vermont was named. The idea was suggested in 1777 by Dr. Thomas Young, an American revolutionary and Boston Tea Party participant. Remember that, as it will be on the final AT exam.

Day 136

During my morning hike I stopped for water near the Congdon Shelter. The water was cold and clear. The shelter was a dump and in need of attention. I learned later that Foxfire tented near the shelter the previous night and battled mice throughout the night. They got into her food bag hanging from a tree branch and were crawling on her tent. Bummer.

By mid-afternoon I reached Harmon Hill and saw a group of girls in their early teens from a day camp taking in the view. Although they were the first humans I’d seen in 24 hours, I didn’t stay long because all twenty of them were talking at the same time and no one was listening. Too much humanity in one spot. It made me dizzy. I may have become an INTJ. Later, at the footbridge at Hell Hollow Brook, I caught up with Foxfire and Pigeon Toe, a retired coal miner from Kentucky.

I ended my 18.6 mile day near the crowded Goddard Shelter, just as a light rain began to fall. There was an interesting combination of hikers there, including northbound and southbound AT hikers, Long Trail hikers, and day hikers. I enjoy the friendly rivalry between AT NOBOs and SOBOs. SOBOs trash talk us for not yet having done the most difficult sections of the AT, the Whites and southern Maine. We trash talk them because we have hiked a thousand more miles than they have and are smarter and better looking.

Day 137

I looked forward to today’s hike because I would be climbing the 3936-foot Stratton Mountain. The mountain holds a special place in hiking history. While on the mountain in 1909, James P. Taylor came up with the idea of a trail from Massachusetts to Canada which would become Vermont’s Long Trail. While on Stratton’s summit during construction of the Long Trail, Benton MacKaye, a forester, planner, and conservationist, conceived the idea of a trail spanning the entire Appalachian range. His grand vision would eventually culminate in the completion of the Appalachian Trail.

I have always admired visionary leaders and I have worked with and for some great ones. Jonathan Swift, an 18th century Irish writer, said that “Vision is the art of seeing things invisible.” I love that. I think it starts with talking to people (customers, family members, etc.) about their challenges and problems. What’s not working in our family, company, church, or even society? And then you start using your imagination and brainstorming about what could possibly be done to address that problem, even if it would require considerable resources, has never been done before, or initially sounds absurd. You then have to sell your vision, acquire the resources, and champion the cause until it comes to fruition.

Benton MacKaye, like Thomas Jefferson, Albert Einstein, Steven Jobs, and others, was a visionary. He had a big idea and saw a really long Appalachian Trail in his head. I’m sure there were cynics coming up with all sorts of reasons why his idea wasn’t realistic or plausible. There will always be cynics. Sometimes the cynics are right, because not all grand visions succeed. And yet, some grand visions do succeed. Some big dreams become a reality.

So what’s your vision? What do you want your family, business, church, or community to look like in 5, 10, and 20 years? What’s the biggest challenge each of them faces? Have you ever really thought about it? Have you sat down with a pencil and paper and brainstormed solutions? Better yet, have you gone on a long walk in nature to think deeply about the challenges and possible solutions? You may not be the next Steven Jobs who revolutionizes an entire industry. But not all visions have to be grand. Maybe you start by just solving a persistent problem facing your family.

I grew up in a family that had problems like any other family. But I always knew that my dad was somehow working on them. He was the family visionary and big problem solver, whereas mom ran the daily operations of managing the household and keeping everyone clothed, fed, and alive. As a youngster, knowing that gave me a lot of comfort. Is your vision and your approach to solving problems bringing comfort to your family, business, church, classroom or others that you may be called to lead? Or are you satisfied with the status quo, thinking the problems are too big to solve? Something to think about.

So as I climbed beautiful Stratton mountain, I thought about Benton MacKaye up there dreaming big dreams of an Appalachian Trail. I also spent some time thinking about my future after the trail. I prayed about it. I thought about some things, big and small, that I’d like for Janet and me to do. I thought about some problems that need tackling and brainstormed solutions. It was a fun exercise that took my mind off the grueling climb.

At the Stratton summit I walked by the tiny caretaker cabin and met the sweet couple who live there and keep an eye on things during hiking season. They grow their own food, get water from a spring, and offer helpful advice to hikers. I walked by the fire tower but decided not to climb it because I was tired and needed all my energy to get down the mountain before it got dark.

At the base of the mountain I took a .5 mile side trail clockwise around Stratton Pond to the campsite on the north shore. I tented there along with Foxfire, Other Brother (an Air Force veteran and former C-130 crew chief) and a few other hikers. I built a big campfire and sat there with Foxfire discussing today’s hike. It had been a good 19.5 mile day of hiking and thinking and dreaming big dreams.

Fob

“Every human mind is a great slumbering power until awakened by a keen desire and by definite resolution to do.” – Edgar F. Roberts

“Discovery consists of seeing what everybody has seen and thinking what nobody has thought.” – Albert Szent-Gyorgyi

Day 133

Foxfire offered me her three leftover hard-boiled eggs for breakfast and I accepted. That brought my total to nine hard-boiled eggs eaten in twelve hours…tripling my previous personal record. I broke camp and headed north 9.5 miles to Dalton, Massachusetts. The highlight of my morning hike was spotting my first wild weasel climbing up a tree. As I approached the tree he was in, I started humming the first song I ever learned.  I hoped he would slip and fall off a branch just as I went by so I could look at him and say “plop goes the weasel.”

In Dalton I checked in to the Shamrock Inn and showered and did laundry. Fun fact: Dalton’s largest employer, Crane and Company, is the only supplier of paper for the Federal Reserve Note, the United States’ paper money. Okay, so that fact isn’t very fun…I’ll try again later. I had a steak sandwich and salad at Angelina’s and then re-supplied across the street at Sav More. I spent the rest of the evening resting and catching up on news. A side benefit of being on the trail is not having to listen to the endless political banter of this election season and other bad news. After the trail, I hope to enjoy more sunrises, sunsets, and walks and take in less news and political rants. Before bashing either unpopular presidential candidate, maybe we need to drop to a knee and pray for the eventual winner. He or she is going to need it. Just a thought. Later I ordered some House Special fried rice and spring rolls and ate dinner in bed while leaning against a soft, fluffy pillow.

Day 134

Today was a fairly easy day of hiking with gradual climbs and descents. Near The Cobbles, a marble outcropping with views of the Hoosic River Valley, I crossed paths with Hammer and another hiker. They were doing a southbound slack pack and we shared notes on our respective upcoming terrain.

At mile 1577.5 I arrived at Chesire, Massachusetts. Fun fact: in 1800 the town, known for its dairying and cheese, sent a 1,235-pound chunk of cheese, made of curds from every farmer in town, to President Jefferson. The big chunk of cheese, moved on a sled drawn by six horses and then on water, resulted in a thank you letter from President Jefferson to the Chesire farmers. Historians disagree on whether the President cut the cheese himself, or delegated the responsibility to the White House chef, Myron Toots.

My only stop in Chesire was a terrific ice cream place called Diane’s Twists. Upon arrival I noticed several hikers sitting at the picnic tables outside. Long Strider was finishing off a banana split. Gusteau (an LSU grad and science whiz) was sitting under a shade tree licking his ice cream cone. Other hikers had little globs of ice cream in their scraggly beards that didn’t bother them a bit. Suddenly a familiar looking hiker with a thick, German, Hans Gruber from Die Hard accent approached me and said, “Your son poop on trail.” While it’s common for parents to live vicariously through their children or to be known for their children’s accomplishments, it’s less common to be known by the inappropriate placement of a child’s bowel movement. Such is the trail life of a Fob W. Pot. I met and talked to the German hiker, Dream Catcher, at the Low Gap shelter a few months ago, and it was good to see him doing well and enjoying his great American hike. It was also good to eat a large Cookie Dough ice cream and wash it down with a cold Mountain Dew.

I spent the afternoon making the 2500-foot ascent of Mount Greylock, the highest peak in Massachusetts, coming in at 3489 feet. The summit features a 93-foot-high Massachusetts Veterans War Memorial Tower, Bascom Lodge, Thunderbolt Ski Shelter, and a television and radio tower. In addition to being on the National Register of Historic Places, Mount Greylock is the location of Ilvermorny, the North American School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the fictional world of Harry Potter. Now that is a fun fact!

After consuming a Coke and chips from the Bascom Lodge snack bar, I descended the mountain and ended my 20.5-mile day sleeping in the Wilbur Clearing Shelter. I met several section hikers and southbounders, including Mission, Raven, and Angel. My friend Foxfire was also there, and together we sat around a campfire sharing stories of life on the AT. Someone in the group reeked of hard boiled eggs and I couldn’t get away from them, regardless of where I sat.

Fob

“Every new day begins with possibilities. It’s up to us to fill it with the things that move us toward progress and peace.” – Ronald Reagan

“It is wonderful how much may be done if we are always doing.” – Thomas Jefferson

Day 131

The highlight of my morning was a fascinating hike along Ice Gulch, a ravine so deep that it will often have ice or snow in it in the middle of summer. Although it was a warm and humid day, I at least crossed several streams and ponds. I played leapfrog with Sunshine and Moxie throughout the day, and enjoyed talking to them on a couple of breaks.

At mile 1531.1 I went by Benedict Pond.  A local section hiker told me they stock the pond with trout via helicopter.  I would love to have seen a helicopter trout dump while I was there but that was not to be.

My goal today was to reach and camp at the Shaker Campsite, mile 1538.2. Ann Lee, a charismatic young woman, founded the Shaker religion in Manchester, England in 1747. She claims to have had a vision that taught her that humans must renounce carnal knowledge in order to gain entrance to heaven. Thus, the Shakers practiced pacifism, celibacy, communal living, and gender equality. As someone who has practiced all four of those things on the AT, I consider myself somewhat of a Shaker and a mover. After facing persecution in England, Lee and her followers fled to America in 1774 and settled in Albany, New York. The utopian group claimed 5000 believers by the mid-19th century and spread around the northeast, to include a small settlement in a wooded valley near modern day Tyringham, Massachusetts.

After 14.1 miles, I called it a day at the Shaker campsite, with a couple of remnants of their stone structures still visible. A section hiker’s clothes line full of undergarments and a stuffed animal only slightly detracted from the historic feel of the area. I talked with fellow hikers ETA, Foxfire, and Apple Jack for awhile, and then gave myself a mini sponge bath at the nearby creek. I wasn’t sure if standing in my underwear sponging myself by the creek was consistent with renouncing carnal knowledge, and feared my doing so might get me expelled from the Shaker Campsite. On the other hand, the sight of an emaciated Fob dripping wet in his underwear all but assured my celibacy for the foreseeable future, consistent with Shaker doctrine.

Day 132

Less than two miles into my morning hike, I crossed Jerusalem Road and saw a young boy standing next to a wooden hut in front of his home. I walked over and discovered that the enterprising young man had established a little business selling drinks, snacks, eggs and other products to hikers. The little hut, a self-service, pay as you go store, was even wired to power a refrigerator. I purchased and consumed a couple of drinks and snacks, and bought a couple more for later. It occurred to me that this young fellow, maybe around 12 years old, works harder to stock his store and earn a living than some in our country who do very little and live off welfare. A mile later I reached Main Road and discovered a cooler full of ice-cold watermelon slices. It had been a good morning.

Shortly after seeing a snake at Baldy Mountain, I crossed paths with a southbound group of hikers known as the Silver Scramblers. They were a fun, motivated group of somewhat older hikers, and I enjoyed stopping and talking to them for a few minutes.

At mile 1548.1 I faced a decision. Option 1 was to take a .5 mile side trail to popular Upper Goose Pond Cabin. This would give me an easy 10-mile day and an opportunity to swim in a beautiful pond and have blueberry pancakes in the morning. Option 2 was to take advantage of the relatively flat terrain and decent weather and hike eleven more miles to Washington Mountain Road. This would allow me to camp in the popular Cookie Lady’s yard and enjoy her cookies (complimentary) and option to purchase hard-boiled eggs, sodas, blueberries, raspberries, and Klondike bars. Tough win-win choice, but I went with Option 2.

I reached US 20 by early afternoon and went .1 mile east to a hotel to get a soda and re-charge my phone. I then pounded out ten more buggy, muddy miles and finally reached the Cookie Lady’s house! Foxfire, ETA, and a couple other hikers were already there. ETA had just finished mowing some grass, something I would also have been willing to do to help the family out had the sun not been setting. For supper, I purchased two cokes, a Klondike bar, a pint of raspberries, and six hard-boiled eggs. Don’t judge me…I’m a long distance hiker. The couple is in their 80s and he is in poor health and in the hospital. They have been serving cookies to hikers for decades and also offer their soft lawn for tenting. Their property is gorgeous, featuring a blueberry patch, shade trees, and a picnic table and chairs for hikers to use. Although the patriarch is ill, they had at least one child and a couple of teenage grandchildren there serving cookies, selling the other products, and keeping the tradition alive. Good on them.

It had been a great 21 mile day, my tenth 20+ mile day on the AT. I like to stay under 17-18 miles per day as much as possible as that is easier on my body, more sustainable, and more enjoyable. However, I can and will go longer occasionally to reach a trail town or other special destination, and the Cookie Lady’s property definitely qualifies. My only regret on the day was consuming six hard-boiled eggs before and after drinking a Coke. There are consequences to such choices, and for me, the consequences could be heard throughout the night and across the sprawling property.

Fob

“Reach high, for stars lie hidden in your soul. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal.” – Pamela Vaull Starr

“My message to the world is ‘Let’s swing, sing, shout, make noise! Let’s not mimic death before our time comes!” – Mel Brooks

Day 125

Thankfully, Rasputin and I slept well last night in the side yard of the vacant purple house, avoiding arrest. As I crossed the street to get back on the trail, I walked by Dover Oak, the largest oak tree on the entire AT. I believe I am the largest Fob.

A short time later, I crossed a series of footbridges and boardwalks over creeks and swamps. I decided to listen to some tunes on my phone, and the first song that came on was Imagine by John Lennon. It’s a classic song about mankind living in peace and harmony, but Mr. Lennon takes us to such an idyllic place by removing heaven and religion from the equation. As I hiked, I thought about how the lyrics might have been different had Lennon been a Christian and held a Christian worldview. We’ll never know as he was against religious teaching and organized religion, and according to his song God, didn’t believe in Jesus or the Bible. Well, I happen to believe in God, Jesus, and the Bible, so I thought I would rewrite the song from a Christian perspective…

Re-Imagine
By Sir Fob W. Pot

Imagine there’s a heaven
It’s easy if you try
A hell down below us
It’s one or the other, when we die
Imagine all the people
Trying to obey, aha-ha

Imagine all the countries
It isn’t hard to do
Jesus was willing to live and die for
To save our souls, yes it’s true
Imagine all the people
Living life God’s way…You…

You may say I’m a Christian
But I’m not the only one
I hope some day you’ll join us
Believing Jesus is God’s Son

Imagine our possessions
Shared at home and across the seas
Taking food to the hungry
Helping out the least of these
Imagine all God’s people
Lifting up the world…You…

You may say I’m a Christian
But I’m not the only one
I hope some day you’ll join us
Assured of victory, through God’s Son!

At mile 1448.3 I passed the Appalachian Trail Railroad Station. I briefly considered a day trip into New York City, but decided I’d rather wait and do that in clean clothes with my wife. I did stop at the hiker-friendly Native Landscapes and Garden Center for an apple, two sodas, and two Klondike bars. The lady at the cash register was very friendly and interested in my hike. She probably sees ten to twenty hikers each day and yet made me feel like I was the only hiker on the trail. That’s a gift.

Around lunchtime I stopped at Wiley Shelter and visited with Loligag and Little Rhino, the pride of Little Rock, Arkansas. They offered me a cookie and I accepted, because one must accept all food offers while hiking the trail. About a mile later, I crossed the border into Connecticut!

At 4:00 p.m. I arrived at a beautiful campsite on Ten Mile River. After 12.2 miles, I decided to call it a day so I could swim, rest my feet, and enjoy the surroundings.

Day 126

This morning I crossed historic Bulls Bridge and stopped at the Country Store for second breakfast and some re-supply. The original Bulls Bridge was built across the Housatonic River by Jacob and Isaac Bull in 1760. Legend has it that George Washington crossed the bridge while it was under construction. The current bridge, one of three surviving covered bridges in Connecticut, was built in 1842 and is on the National Register of Historic Places. Legend has it that in 2016 Sir Fob W. Pot crossed the bridge before and after consuming a muffin, banana, Gatorade, and cup of coffee.

At mile 1466.7 I considered going into Kent but decided not to. Two different hikers told me it’s not a hiker friendly town. One hiker said the laundromat isn’t hiker friendly. I can’t imagine what they would have against hiker laundry. Another hiker said hello to some people downtown and they replied, “just keep on hiking.” While it’s not fair to write-off a town on the basis of two reports, it was enough for me to push on to the next town.

Late in the day I descended the St. John Ledges, steep stone steps leading down to the Housatonic River. I then began a long, flat walk along the river. It was pretty but I had dozens of gnats swarming my head and sweaty body, by far the worst attack of my journey. I declared war on them. I put my trekking poles up and pulled out my DEET. I sprayed them with my left hand while hitting myself in the face and side of the head with my right hand. As I flailed around swinging wildly, I suspect I looked like the Gerasene demoniac Jesus encountered in Luke 8. The gnats and black flies fell from the air in masses, as more smashed casualties piled up on the sides of my face. My right hand was covered in bug splats, even as more gnat reinforcements arrived. It was an epic battle with no clear winner.

After a 15.6 mile day, I tented along the river near Stewart Hollow Brook Shelter. I was joined by Loligag, Little Rhino, and Count, who got that trail name by carrying and reading the large Count of Monte Cristo novel early in his hike. Later, I was happy to see Brits Sam Squanch and Boss come into camp. I asked how their two days in New York City went. Sam Squanch said it was pretty overwhelming and New Yorkers are “not that friendly.” He managed to buy a street performer’s demo CD, on sale for $10, for the price of $20 because the artist couldn’t make change.

Fob

“Preach the Gospel at all times. When necessary, use words.” – St. Francis of Assisi

“Start by doing what’s necessary; then do what’s possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.” – St. Francis of Assisi

Day 122

As far as I could tell, I was the only person on Bear Mountain last night. They close the road and there didn’t appear to be any other hikers. During my descent, I walked by more litter than I had seen on my entire journey. Apparently the mountain is a popular getaway for people from New York City and elsewhere, and more than a few of them just toss their trash along the trail. At the base of the mountain I walked by an otherwise beautiful park with lots of litter, next to scenic Hessian Lake. There was a tiny little island on the lake just a few yards from the shore and even it had litter on it. Come on, people!

Since the Trailside Museum and Zoo weren’t open yet and I needed to re-supply, I decided to hike over to Fort Montgomery. This is when things started to get interesting. I came to a large, busy traffic circle and walked by an accident scene. The police were there interviewing one driver, while the other driver, an elderly man, leaned against his car in obvious distress. I went over and started talking to him. He said the woman cut into his lane and hit him and he was on his way to a doctor’s appointment. Exasperated and with no phone, he said, “What am I gonna do?” I told him everything would be okay, the police were there, no one was injured, the car could be repaired, and the doctor would reschedule his appointment. He declined my offer to use my phone to call the doctor. We then started talking about my hike and the story behind my trail name. By the time I left, he at least had a smile on his face to go along with his damaged Buick. I guess he figured as bad as his day was going, at least his children don’t poop on the trail.

The normal bridge and passenger walkway to Fort Montgomery were under construction and closed, but I was told there was a footpath through the woods and over a footbridge to the town. I headed down the footpath near the Hudson River and came to a fork in the trail. The main path seemed to break left but the right fork would take me toward the water and what appeared to be a bridge over it. I chose the right path which would turn out to be the wrong one. The path became increasingly rough and rocky, and then I came to a “No Trespassing” sign. There’s your sign, Fob! Undeterred by this warning, and feeling unusually stupid, I kept going, certain there was a footbridge ahead that would take me over the water and into town.

When I finally got to the water, I discovered that what I thought was a footbridge was actually a railroad bridge. I was on private railroad property which explained the No Trespassing sign. Determined to see how many dumb decisions I could make in a row, I decided to cross over the railroad bridge rather than turn around and backtrack. It was just wide enough to fit me and a train, I figured. If not, I could always jump off the bridge into the water, like the scene in the movie Stand By Me. With my ears listening for a train, I kicked it into high gear and sped along for a few hundred yards across the bridge. My next Fobstacle was a railroad tunnel going under the mountain for a couple hundred yards. It was wide enough for me and a train, but was pitch black. I donned my headlamp and headed into the tunnel, knowing Janet would disapprove. It was super creepy in the tunnel, the kind of place where Injun Joe might go to murder Widow Douglas. I didn’t see any rats in the long dark corridor but I’m certain they were there and saw me. I finally cleared the tunnel, breathed a sigh of relief, and then hiked another mile or so uphill into Fort Montgomery.

After resupplying and having a few snacks at a convenience store, I decided to tour historic Fort Montgomery along the banks of the Hudson River. Back during the Revolutionary War, both sides understood the strategic importance of controlling the Hudson River. It was the major means of transporting troops and supplies throughout much of the northeast. The Continental Congress directed that fortifications be built along the Hudson to maintain control of navigation on the river. (Pay attention…this will be on the final.) I walked by the location where the good guys placed a river battery of six 32-pound cannons, pointed toward the Hudson River. Unfortunately, on October 6, 1777, a combined force of about 2,100 British regulars, Loyalists, and Hessians attacked the fort and neighboring Fort Clinton from the land side. By the end of the day the British defeated the grossly outnumbered colonialists, burned the forts, and tore down the stonework buildings. This was a Pyrrhic victory for the British, though, as the campaign delayed their arrival to Saratoga, where the Americans won a big victory. Class dismissed.

I exited the historical park and found the correct path and pedestrian footbridge over the water. Next on the agenda was to visit the Trailside Museum and Zoo. The zoo only houses permanently injured or orphaned animals that would be unable to survive in the wild. They also must be native to New York State. I think this is a good thing, although when I walked by the injured Bald Eagle, I wondered about his quality of life sitting on that perch 24/7/365. I wondered if he had ever known the joy of soaring over a mountain or swooping down and catching a field mouse (and bopping it on its head). Would it be better to have those memories to think back on or to have been injured and rescued early in life so you don’t know what you’re missing? Or do bald eagles even have memories like that? I don’t know.

I made my way over to the bear exhibit which is the lowest point on the entire AT. The bear was laying in a hammock taking a rest, surrounded by fifty or so vultures. It was truly a weird scene, like when you walk in on your parents kissing. He just laid there watching the tourists and we just stood there watching him. The vultures were still and silent, as if posing for an Addams family Christmas card photo. I felt uncomfortable and would have to agree that it was the lowest point on the AT.

With my re-supply, historic tour, and zoo trip complete, I got back on the trail and crossed over the majestic Hudson River. I climbed 700 feet and then descended to the intersection of US 9 and NY 403. I stopped at the Appalachian Market, conveniently located by the AT, and consumed a double cheeseburger, onion rings, slice of pizza, milkshake, Coke, Mountain Dew, and Gatorade.

“For it is in giving that we receive…It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.” – St. Francis of Assisi

Less than a mile later, at mile 1409.6, I arrived at the Graymoor Spiritual Life Center, a monastery that allows hikers to camp at their softball field pavilion. Known formally as the Franciscan Friars of the Atonement, they have been called, in the words of Saint Francis of Assisi, “to heal wounds, to unite what has fallen apart, and to bring home those who have lost their way.” In the summer of 1972 the first AT hiker stumbled upon Graymoor and asked to spend the night. Since then the Friars have graciously welcomed hikers to stay on their grounds, seek shelter under the pavilion, access their well water, and use their port-a-pot. Each day a Friar comes by the field to check for sick or injured hikers. I think Saint Francis would be happy about that. It’s a special place with a special vibe, and I can see why people with addictions come here to walk the grounds and find healing and peace. At the top of every hour, the beautiful sound of church bells played over the loud speaker.

Normally at a campground or shelter in early evening, hikers would be sitting around talking and laughing and sharing stories from the day. At Graymoor, the fifteen or so of us hikers were spread out along picnic tables and across the field journaling, thinking, and meditating alone. At least one of them was praying, thanking God for a special campsite on an amazing trail in a wonderful country. It had been an interesting day, featuring an accident scene, the scary crossing of a railroad bridge and tunnel, a historic battlefield, and a bear surrounded by vultures. As I lay in my tent, I thought about the elderly man at the accident scene and hoped that he was safe at home and at peace. I wasn’t at home, but I felt safe at Graymoor and very much at peace.

Fob

“Life is raw material. We are artisans. We can sculpt our existence into something beautiful, or debase it into ugliness. It’s in our hands.” – Cathy Better

“This is the urgency: Live! and have your blooming in the noise of the whirlwind.” – Gwendolyn Brooks

Day 115

After a pancake breakfast at the Water Gap Diner, I said farewell to Delaware Water Gap and crossed a long bridge over the Delaware River as traffic zoomed by. Halfway across the bridge I saw a painted sign on the walkway marking my departure from Pennsylvania and entrance into New Jersey. It felt good to check off another state and be back in the state from which I graduated from high school. I have fond memories from my years at Northern Burlington High School and truly appreciate the high school friends who are following my journey and offering their encouragement.  It was also kind of interesting to be returning to New Jersey at the same weight as when I left.

Just over the bridge I stopped at the Kittatinny Visitor Center to top off my tank from their water fountain and purchase a Gatorade for later. As I walked around looking at their displays and talking to the Park Rangers, I was sort of dreading going back out into the heat and humidity. Just then a wheelchair-bound man came in with a friend to re-charge his wheelchair battery behind a bench. It was a quick and necessary reminder that some folks would give anything to be able to stand and hike even a few feet, so I should appreciate the ability and opportunity I have to hike this magnificent trail.

My first real task of the day was a five mile, 1100 foot climb with a few dozen mostly day hikers up to Sunfish Pond. This section of trail, up to the Kittatinny Mountain summit, will likely find a home in my Top 10 sections of the AT, and the glacial pond was easily the prettiest to date. Sunfish Pond is a 44-acre glacial lake and a U.S. National Natural Landmark. Just standing there on its banks felt very special. The AT in New Jersey was off to an impressive start!

After descending the mountain, I stopped at the Mohican Outdoor Center for a Reuben sandwich, chips, Coke, and rest. I talked to Arrow and Mountain Goat, my piano playing Aussie friend. Mountain Goat was preparing to spend a week in New York City to allow an earlier hiking companion to catch up with her. As I ate my Reuben, she emerged from the restroom and in her adorable Aussie voice said, “Fob, I’m kind of weak and have the worst diarrhea…do you think it’s Giardia?” I had no clue how to respond, but wanted to continue the conversation about her diarrhea because I love her accent. I told her to rest, drink fluids, see an NYC doc if the trots continue, and try not to have an accident in Times Square.

At mile 1305.9 I passed the Catfish Lookout Tower and spoke to a group of teens and Foxfire, who was tenting there for the night. I continued on despite an approaching storm. About out of water, I stopped at a pond which is described in my guidebooks as a “swamp” and beaver pond. The water was unusually warm and I just hoped that my water filter would filter out the bad stuff. After a 14.9 mile day, I stealth camped at mile 1307.9. Thirty minutes after crawling into my tent, the rain started to fall and would continue throughout the night.

Day 116

By morning the rain had stopped but I ended up wet anyway from sweat and brushing up against wet vegetation. It was another hot and humid day. The New Jersey gnats, black flies, horse flies, and sweat bees formed a federation and aggressively swarmed my head. I once again had to don my head net for much of the day, which frustrates them to no end.

At mile 1321.4 I descended into Culvers Gap near Branchfield, NJ. The guidebook map showed three eating establishments just off the trail. The first, Sunrise AT Diner, was closed. The second, Stokes Steakhouse, had gone out of business and is up for sale. Facing my final strike, I nervously approached Gyp’s Tavern and it was open! The first thing I noticed inside was a t-shirt on the wall featuring a deer squatting on a plant and the title…”Hey Vegetarians… My Food Poops on Your Food.” I laughed harder and longer than the joke warranted.  Inspired, I ate a pizza, hot dog, and onion rings while talking to fellow hikers Scott, Jersey, and Boston.

I hiked a few more miles to the Gren Anderson Shelter, and called it a day after 16.5 miles. It was a beautiful night with no rain in the forecast so, for the first time, I tented without a rain fly. It was neat to feel a slight breeze in the tent and be able to look up and see the stars above.

Day 117

In case you’re wondering, the rocks don’t end at the Pennsylvania border. They continue into New Jersey for awhile, and that included my hike on Day 117. The motivational goal today was reaching High Point State Park, the summit of which is the highest point in New Jersey. Even more important to me was the existence of a concession stand at the park’s popular beach and swimming area.

Based on a tip from a southbounder, I visited High Point SP headquarters, where signing their hiker logbook earns you a free Coke. Nice touch, Jersey. I then hiked over to the beach and swimming area and located the concession stand. The prices were high, but I was extremely hungry and in desperate need of calories. Over the next hour, while drying out my clothes and gear, I ate an ice cream appetizer, cheeseburger, hot dog, French fries, two Gatorades, two Cokes, and another ice cream. The total came to $400. I then hopped in the bathroom shower to rinse off the salt formations that had formed on my beard, earlobes, and elsewhere. If I were rich and it were allowed, I would have spent the rest of my summer at this park, eating, swimming, and showering.

After an 18.4 mile day, I reached the Murray property, also known as the Secret Shelter. For the past nearly twenty years, Mr. Murray, an AT thru-hiker, has graciously let hikers camp on his beautiful grassy farm. It’s not an official shelter, but has a cabin, tenting area, privy, outdoor shower, and well water. After setting up my tent in the soft grass and visiting with several other hikers, two donkeys came up. At first I thought I was hallucinating from the heat. My mind was racing with questions. Are there wild donkeys? Does Mr. Murray own these? Can you eat them? If so, how would you go about killing them? Are they friendly? Will they make waffles in the morning? Does Mountain Goat have Giardia?

They turned out to be very friendly. In fact, while I ate dinner on the porch, one came over and put his head on my shoulder and then began scratching his neck against my shoulder. This was the most affection I’d experienced since the bed and breakfast in Pennsylvania. I captured the bizarre moment on video. I also realized that the AT had basically reduced me to nothing more than a fence post.

Fob