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 View photos in the "Fall in Vermont, October 2004" gallery...
Having been above 5500 feet for the past three weeks, I went into altitude withdrawal upon returning to Vermont, elevation… basically sea level. Only a week ago, I was running the Highline Trail in the Uinta Mountains of Utah, above 10000 feet for five hours straight. Sure, it was a beautiful day when I arrived in Burlington last Wednesday, a day late due to an unscheduled night in Newark thanks to Continental airlines. Yes, autumn was already in full swing, with a brilliant tapestry of colored leaves, which somehow convinces city folk from the coast to drive the six hours necessary to get to Vermont. It’s nice, but I prefer snow white, rather than maple gold and red.
I planned a hike for today’s training when I wrote the plan a few days ago, thinking that I would want to tour the Vermont Mountains a bit like I have done the past two years. After Utah, my definition of a mountain has certainly changed. I yearned to be in mountains where there was an element or two of danger, where tree line was something to be passed, not reached, and where a mountain summit took careful planning of a route to reach. I also wished to climb – okay, hike – a mountain that I hadn’t tackled before.
This left only one obvious, and nearby mountain ridge: Mt. Ellen and Mt. Abraham. Both are above 4000 feet, which is about as high as mountains get in Vermont, and the latter is home to one of three alpine communities of flora in the state. So it is above tree line.
Since I left most of my books and other belongings in Fort Kent, thanks to my coach James, I didn’t have my guidebook. I remember reading the section on this ridgeline, but wasn’t exactly sure about where the trail started – except that it started on the left side of a certain road. Armed with this information and some supplies that were even meager by day-hiking standards, I set off for the south.
Sure enough, on the left side of the road, I saw what looked like a trailhead. It was a trail, and it was at the beginning of this trail. Thus, a trailhead. I also saw the ridgeline above; though I wasn’t exactly sure which peak was which. It made sense. I started up the trail, headed for the ridge, which is what I would’ve done in Utah. It’s that simple there: you see a mountain, you start walking towards the top. (For you long-term readers, you should know that this logic has helped me into trouble in the past. I have a short-term memory when I am trying to accomplish things, though.)
About a half-hour into the hike, the trail started going downhill! Wrong way. I was intent on reaching the summit. How did I respond? I started to make my own trail. One foot forward in a vertical direction means that you are getting closer to a summit. My logic, again. This neglected the fact that Vermont must receive one hundred times the rain that Utah receives in a summer, making it far more vegetated: i.e. there are a lot of healthy trees blocking my progress.
That was exactly what I encountered, in addition to a ground covered in moss and rotting tree remains, rather than dirt. Though I was blazing a trail, it was really quite safe. First, I knew exactly where I was. Second, if I fell, my fall would be cushioned by a natural bed of moss. Third, there are very few hungry animals interested in eating humans in Vermont.
I continued up and up. The incline was probably as steep as some of the climbs in Utah that got me into trouble, but there was so much more to grab onto, that it was much easier and safer.
At one moment, I was surrounded by spruce trees, wet with morning dew. The next, I was popping out onto a well-worn hiking trail. Amazing. I looked back at where I had come from. It was just green. Some moments of reflection followed, including a very brief self-question, “How am I going to get back to my truck?” I continued.
Finally I was almost on top of the mountain. I was ecstatic to be on the threshold of achieving something for the day. To my disappointment, I had climbed the wrong mountain. Or, so I thought. The sign read, Mt. Ellen.
I thought that Mt. Abraham was the higher summit, so I continued along the ridge for another hour. When I reached it, I was surprised to find that it was actually not higher. Though it was certainly much more mountainous – above tree line, a nice rock face, and alpine plants – it wasn’t higher.
So, after stopping for five seconds to read the sign, I walked past the fifty spectators gazing out from on top of the peak. I probably set a record for the shortest time spent there that day. The naturalist didn’t even have time to ask me if I had any questions. Maybe it didn’t make much sense to them, but to hike for two hours just to stand on top of a rock with fifty other people is not my idea of fun. In Utah, I literally climbed for four hours, reaching a real summit with no one in sight for tens of miles.
The real adventure was trying to determine where I was in relation to my truck. I knew the general location of it, but was unsure of the amount of time it would take to reach it. What was supposed to be a three hour hike in the end became a six hour hike, the last hour walking along a country road. I suppose the fact that it took much longer than I had planned made it sort of worth it. There’s my logic again.
Peace,
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