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It was a great day today. The weather wasn't spectacular, but the trip was awe inspiring. It was short and very sweet.
I was later leaving for this hike than I had originally intended. I was irritated with myself at first, but as fortune and the Gods would have it I was treated to a scene of spectacular beauty as I traveled upon route four and crested the final hill towards the commercial strip of Rutland. The sun was beginning his ascent over the featureless violet mounds of the Green Mountains. I knew from this instant that a special day lay before me. As it turned out, there was a lesson to be learned.
I reached the trailhead at approximately seven, having stopped to fuel my vehicle and refer to the directions to ensure that I wouldn't miss the location entirely. I was shocked to find that I was the first person at the trail. I had expected that a high peak with such a short trail would be a popular climb on a Saturday of a holiday weekend. I was beginning to think that this may be a very solo hike for me until I reached summit.
I stepped on to the very easy going trail at fifteen past seven and made for Killington. The early going was much easier than I had been made to believe. The trail bridges Brewers Brook for the first time in short order. After crossing the brook the trail briefly opens up to a small field of ferns before meeting with the brook again and following it for most of the next mile. If you like running water this is a beautiful trail, and afforded me the opportunity for some beautiful photos. At roughly a mile you'll cross another bridge, I was compelled to linger and enjoy the running water for a few minutes from the bridge. It felt as though she were singing, and I was the audience. Mindful of the weather I dared not wait long. While the weather had been looking quite beautiful on the road to Rutland, it was beginning to take look overcast.
The trail follows the Brook at a greater distance than the previous section, and does so for the next mile or two total of the trip before the trail breaks uphill. I stopped briefly here to tend to my feet, adjust my boots, and check my map before beginning my ascent.
As I made my way uphill I found myself very aware of the fact that I was alone. I was not fearful -- though I am always cautious -- I rather enjoyed knowing that I was alone, with the woods and the spirits of this place. My senses became more aware of the mountain without a fellow hiker to converse with. I was more aware of the plants, the trees, movement in the distance, the distant creaking of an ancient tree. There were times where my senses were nearly overwhelmed with all of this stimuli. I noted to the west that the wispy clouds were beginning to caress a peak at the elevation I was nearing. The trail ahead of me grew noticeably more foggy. It seemed that I would enter the cloud at any moment now, only to realize upon stopping for a sip of water that the trail behind me had been overtaken by a thin layer of fog. The image was surreal as this wispy mist rolled and danced upon the winds, vanishing into the woods beyond. I would find myself talking to the wind and the mist as they became my constant companions until I reached the end of the Bucklin Trail.
I must say, I was excited to be hiking a blue blaze trail, but they were nothing when I saw the white blazes, and the sign indicating that I had stepped upon the Vermont Long Trail and the Appalachian Trail. I would experience an insignificant fraction of these two trails, yet the excitement of knowing that thousands of others had taken this trail in the past, and hopefully someday I could join as a section or thru-hiker. I would enjoy my two tenths of a mile on this trail at a level that rivaled the entire experience. I visited briefly the cabin along the trail, just below the Killington Peak Spur. I signed the log there in an effort to become a part of the place, a part of the trail. I was uncertain at first, but I had seen many others who signed on their way to the summit and felt it would not be inappropriate of me to add my comments.
The spur trail was next, and it was innocuous at first glance. I began to expect a short and sweet hike to the summit. There are some interesting bits of information that I have not mentioned until now. As I approached the junction of Bucklin Trail and the LT/AT I noticed a rather loud sound coming from a greater elevation. At first I thought wind, but I dismissed it as it seemed rhythmic, machine. I was curious, because I was fairly certain that the Gondola terminated below the summit. I finally had myself convinced that the noise was mechanical. When I was half way up the spur trail I doubted, and quickly discarded my earlier belief. The sound was far too irregular now to be anything mechanical, and the noise became more a howl and less like the thrumming of large machines. As I ascended above tree line I found the wind was cutting through my softshell. Not only was it cutting through my clothing, but the wind was threatening to knock me over. There were a few instances where my trekking poles saved me from a tumble. As I exited the trail I became aware of a tower -- or what I now believe to be antennae -- and their guy-lines. Everything was being tortured by the wind, myself included. I decided very quickly to turn around and enjoy the partial shelter afforded by the stunted growth along the upper portion of the spur trail, and eventually the the supreme comfort of being below tree-line. The spur trail was impressive though. The trail was steep, rugged, and beautiful. I wish I had taken more photos above tree-line. The evergreens cast against the white nothingness beyond would have been quite beautiful. The rockiness of the trail itself was beautiful.
I would pass the cabin again and begin my descent. I began to speak to the spirits of this place, a private discussion between the spirit of the mountain and her humble and her humble admirer, a discussion only disrupted by the first human contact I had since setting upon the trail. A wonderful older couple, we shared a few words in passing, I warning them of the harsh conditions on the summit, they referring me to an outdoor store in Burlington. I would meet two other souls, one gentleman on the lower trail for a leisurely stroll, and at the trailhead, a young man who was just setting onto the trail.
I made mention of a lesson in the first paragraph. After having been treated to such a beautiful view I was expecting a truly special experience filled with much of the same. The day turned out to be less than perfect in the sense of views, but I the ascent without another soul, the brief moment spent completely alone on the summit, and being able to just talk aloud to the spirits of the place as I descended all made for a very special day. Special days needn't be homogenous with a variety of peaks, but a variety of experiences on a variety of peaks with various companions.
I was later leaving for this hike than I had originally intended. I was irritated with myself at first, but as fortune and the Gods would have it I was treated to a scene of spectacular beauty as I traveled upon route four and crested the final hill towards the commercial strip of Rutland. The sun was beginning his ascent over the featureless violet mounds of the Green Mountains. I knew from this instant that a special day lay before me. As it turned out, there was a lesson to be learned.
I reached the trailhead at approximately seven, having stopped to fuel my vehicle and refer to the directions to ensure that I wouldn't miss the location entirely. I was shocked to find that I was the first person at the trail. I had expected that a high peak with such a short trail would be a popular climb on a Saturday of a holiday weekend. I was beginning to think that this may be a very solo hike for me until I reached summit.
I stepped on to the very easy going trail at fifteen past seven and made for Killington. The early going was much easier than I had been made to believe. The trail bridges Brewers Brook for the first time in short order. After crossing the brook the trail briefly opens up to a small field of ferns before meeting with the brook again and following it for most of the next mile. If you like running water this is a beautiful trail, and afforded me the opportunity for some beautiful photos. At roughly a mile you'll cross another bridge, I was compelled to linger and enjoy the running water for a few minutes from the bridge. It felt as though she were singing, and I was the audience. Mindful of the weather I dared not wait long. While the weather had been looking quite beautiful on the road to Rutland, it was beginning to take look overcast.
The trail follows the Brook at a greater distance than the previous section, and does so for the next mile or two total of the trip before the trail breaks uphill. I stopped briefly here to tend to my feet, adjust my boots, and check my map before beginning my ascent.
As I made my way uphill I found myself very aware of the fact that I was alone. I was not fearful -- though I am always cautious -- I rather enjoyed knowing that I was alone, with the woods and the spirits of this place. My senses became more aware of the mountain without a fellow hiker to converse with. I was more aware of the plants, the trees, movement in the distance, the distant creaking of an ancient tree. There were times where my senses were nearly overwhelmed with all of this stimuli. I noted to the west that the wispy clouds were beginning to caress a peak at the elevation I was nearing. The trail ahead of me grew noticeably more foggy. It seemed that I would enter the cloud at any moment now, only to realize upon stopping for a sip of water that the trail behind me had been overtaken by a thin layer of fog. The image was surreal as this wispy mist rolled and danced upon the winds, vanishing into the woods beyond. I would find myself talking to the wind and the mist as they became my constant companions until I reached the end of the Bucklin Trail.
I must say, I was excited to be hiking a blue blaze trail, but they were nothing when I saw the white blazes, and the sign indicating that I had stepped upon the Vermont Long Trail and the Appalachian Trail. I would experience an insignificant fraction of these two trails, yet the excitement of knowing that thousands of others had taken this trail in the past, and hopefully someday I could join as a section or thru-hiker. I would enjoy my two tenths of a mile on this trail at a level that rivaled the entire experience. I visited briefly the cabin along the trail, just below the Killington Peak Spur. I signed the log there in an effort to become a part of the place, a part of the trail. I was uncertain at first, but I had seen many others who signed on their way to the summit and felt it would not be inappropriate of me to add my comments.
The spur trail was next, and it was innocuous at first glance. I began to expect a short and sweet hike to the summit. There are some interesting bits of information that I have not mentioned until now. As I approached the junction of Bucklin Trail and the LT/AT I noticed a rather loud sound coming from a greater elevation. At first I thought wind, but I dismissed it as it seemed rhythmic, machine. I was curious, because I was fairly certain that the Gondola terminated below the summit. I finally had myself convinced that the noise was mechanical. When I was half way up the spur trail I doubted, and quickly discarded my earlier belief. The sound was far too irregular now to be anything mechanical, and the noise became more a howl and less like the thrumming of large machines. As I ascended above tree line I found the wind was cutting through my softshell. Not only was it cutting through my clothing, but the wind was threatening to knock me over. There were a few instances where my trekking poles saved me from a tumble. As I exited the trail I became aware of a tower -- or what I now believe to be antennae -- and their guy-lines. Everything was being tortured by the wind, myself included. I decided very quickly to turn around and enjoy the partial shelter afforded by the stunted growth along the upper portion of the spur trail, and eventually the the supreme comfort of being below tree-line. The spur trail was impressive though. The trail was steep, rugged, and beautiful. I wish I had taken more photos above tree-line. The evergreens cast against the white nothingness beyond would have been quite beautiful. The rockiness of the trail itself was beautiful.
I would pass the cabin again and begin my descent. I began to speak to the spirits of this place, a private discussion between the spirit of the mountain and her humble and her humble admirer, a discussion only disrupted by the first human contact I had since setting upon the trail. A wonderful older couple, we shared a few words in passing, I warning them of the harsh conditions on the summit, they referring me to an outdoor store in Burlington. I would meet two other souls, one gentleman on the lower trail for a leisurely stroll, and at the trailhead, a young man who was just setting onto the trail.
I made mention of a lesson in the first paragraph. After having been treated to such a beautiful view I was expecting a truly special experience filled with much of the same. The day turned out to be less than perfect in the sense of views, but I the ascent without another soul, the brief moment spent completely alone on the summit, and being able to just talk aloud to the spirits of the place as I descended all made for a very special day. Special days needn't be homogenous with a variety of peaks, but a variety of experiences on a variety of peaks with various companions.
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