WATERBURY CENTER, Vt. -- Seventy years ago, three college-age women spent
their summer hiking Vermont's Long Trail, which runs through the Green
Mountains from the border of Massachusetts to Canada. The press at the time
called it ``one of the most courageous and difficult endurance feats ever
performed by women in New England.'' When they finished 27 days after they
started, their story made worldwide headlines. Many a tabloid noted that
they'd carried no firearms and had no escorts. In 1927, that was astounding
stuff.
As it turns out, Vermont's splendid walking path is a relatively gentle,
undulating trail, ideal for new or moderate hikers in most sections. The
mountain range has as many mossy glens and beaver ponds as remarkable
overlooks at high elevations. Last summer, Cara Clifford Nelson and her
sister, Amity, followed in the footsteps of their paternal grandmother,
Catherine Robbins Clifford, who was a member of the historic threesome, by
hiking the Long Trail end to end. They used their grandmother's legacy to spur
themselves on and to raise $30,000 for the Long Trail's Land Protection
Campaign.
The northern portion of the trail has always run on private land. In 1910,
when a high school teacher named James Taylor conceived of a Swiss-Alp-like
series of paths and shelters for Vermont's Green Mountains, landowners simply
gave the Green Mountains Club their word that hikers could pass through. For
years, area farmers even housed trekkers overnight, but by the 1980s rising
land prices and a new generation of owners had put America's oldest long
hiking trail at risk. At one point, an owner simply built a house right in the
middle of the the trail, forcing the club to relocate that section of the
path along a highway. The club realized it had to be more active in buying up
land and securing easements or the unbroken line of the Long Trail would snap.
Cara is just one of thousands who have worked to save the trail since the
club launched its land protection program in 1986. In just 11 years, the club
has managed to preserve the right-of-way to all but 14 miles of the 265-mile
trail. Three public officials, Governor Howard Dean and state Senators Dick
Mazza and Robert Gannett, proved instrumental in getting support for the
clubin the state Legislature.
My fiancee, Andrew Macdonald, and I set out to explore exactly what made
these people and Vermonters in general so passionate about their Green
Mountain walking path. We started at the Green Mountain Club's headquarters at
Waterbury Center located off exit 10A on Route 100. You'll find three
essential items there: the official Long Trail Guide Book, a detailed Vermont
map, and helpful club members who can give you detailed directions. Without
excellent directions, you could spend more of your time exploring Vermont's
dirt roads than the state's hiking trails.
The Long Trail is generally linear, so many of the best hikes require
either two cars -- one for the drop-off point at your final destination and
the other to get you back to the start of your proposed hike -- or a
bed-and-breakfast willing to pick you up at day's end and bring you back to
your car. There are plenty of B & Bs along the trail willing to do just that,
like the Fitch Inn in Johnson, but be sure to check before making
reservations.
Since we had only one car during our first day in the Mad River Valley, we
decided to hike a loop that included a portion of the Long Trail. A friend,
Sue Shea, directs the club's land acquisition efforts, and suggested we try
the Lake Mansfield Trail, which starts just a few miles up from club
headquarters at the Lake Mansfield Trout Club. We arrived on one of those
remarkably clear days when everything you see seems to have an edge to it --
the water, the fishermen's trout lines, the trees.
The Mansfield Trail wanders along the lake and in and out of meadow and
forest for a mile or so before cutting up toward a waterfall that pours
through glacier rock. The day was too cool for dipping in the mountain stream,
but the lay of the rocks made me almost wish we'd come in July when the bugs
and heat would have driven us into the inviting pools. An active beaver pond
fringed with snapdragons lies just above the falls. The beaver's lodge is
about as large and neat as the mountain club'sshelter up the way, which is
called the Taylor Lodge in honor of the founder of the Long Trail.
None of the 65 shelters or tent sites on the trail are palatial but they
free, clean, near a water source (in this case, a spring near the waterfall),
and an outhouse. If you decide to stay overnight, just remember to always boil
or chemically treat any water that you draw in the area. The pristine setting
doesn't necessarily protect you from waterborne parasites and bacteria.
Three children were hanging out of the upper windows of the Taylor Lodge
when we came by. They'd just come from Nebraska's Notch, which the kids, ages
8 to 9, described as ``great.'' That proved to be an understatement. After
the soft lower reaches of the trail, after the waterfall and beaver pond and
the overlook from the lodge, we thought we'd seen the best of it, but the
Notch was unlike any section of hiking I've come across in New England. The
trail runs along a sharp ledge and around enormous rocks that have been strewn
like giant gray marbles by some unseen hand. Moss and lichens grow thick on
all sides. At one point, I spotted some raspberries overhanging one of the
ledges. We dined. Walking through there, you really get a sense of all the
forces that cut the mountains into their modern form.
After the Notch, we quickly retraced our steps past the waterfall again
and back to the car. We had had a late start and night always comes earlier in
the woods. The trees seem to catch the darkness and hold it easier than the
sunlight.
The next day, we rose early to hike a nine-mile section of the Long Trail
with Sue Shea, who had just closed an elaborate deal that secured permanent
access to the sections of the trail on the land we would cross. We dropped a
car at Will Monroe's Farm, which is named after a founding club member who
did as much as anyone to ensure that the trail ran along the highest ridges
instead of along the easier fireroads. People feared the more rugged path
would deter all but the fittest men. As it turned out, the three women who
hiked the trail end-to-end in 1927 were only the second to do so -- male or
female. Monroe and Taylor wanted a wilderness trail for all Vermonters, and
that's what they built. Now more than 200,000 hikers of both sexes and all
ages hike it each year.
We followed Sue along the circuitous route that led to the start of our
hike, which would take seven hours and cross over Burnt Rock Mountain, Mount
Ira Allen, and Mount Ethan Allen to the base of Camel's Hump. Most newcomers
to the Green Mountains head to Camel's Hump or Mount Mansfield, the two
highest and most popular sites on the Long Trail, but Sue knows her beloved
trail and brought us to a luscious, quiet section.
We began along a new growth forest striped with streams that is still
logged in an understated way by the Big Basin Forest group, which owns it.
They did make a deal with the club that guarantees no logging or development
on the parts of the trail that run over the top of Burnt Rock Mountain, but
this side trail remains unprotected. The 2.5-mile path runs at a relatively
easy incline. We reached the Cowles Cove Shelter in less than an hour.
As mountain trails go, the Long Trail is a gentle beast; certainly not as
steep in general as paths in the White Mountains. But one of the trail's
charms is how suddenly it changes, from undulating terrain to sheer rock
faces, from beaver ponds to waterfalls with a 15-foot drop. Just above Cowles
Cove Shelter, the path turns narrow and very steep. You really sense you are
walking on the spine of the Green Mountains with the exposed rock under your
feet. This is no longer a dirt trail or a path strewn with soft pine needles;
this is the work of glaciers and thousands of years of weathering. Nature
worked something much more primordial here.
A tight wall of red spruce and balsam fir lines the trail until just below
the ridge of Burnt Rock Mountain. We turned off to the left before the
overlook to check into the highest glacier pothole in New England. Andrew, who
is a geologist, explained that thousands of years ago a waterfall probably ran
here and carved the 3- by 3-foot bowl. Amber-colored rainwater fills it now.
Rivers that flowed when the glaciers melted formed most of the valleys in the
Green Mountains, which explains the soft, rolling landscape you see out your
car window as you drive up Route 89.
A quick hop up a vertical mountain face brings you to the top of Burnt
Rock Mountain and one of the finest 360-degree views in Vermont. To the west,
we saw the pale shine of Lake Champlain and the ridge line of the Adirondack
Mountains. To the south we could see Sugar Bush and the two other peaks we had
yet to climb: Mount Ira Allen and Mount Ethan Allen. Camel's Hump, the only
mountain with an exposed summit, sat just behind them. Cumulus clouds
shadowed the forested landscape. Everything was layered with strong colors:
white whites, deep greens, strings of blue in the sky and in the distant
water. Mountaintops help you experience the clarity of things.
A yellow-rumped warbler in fall plumage joined us for lunch by dining on
a dragonfly. The much rarer Bicknell's thrush also frequents this summit,
though we didn't spot any that day. Just before we left, we did see a small
frog in a pool bordered by wild blueberries. None of us could figure out how
he hopped the summit. Perhaps some moose inadvertently carried some frog eggs
along to this chilly overlook.
Sue chatted about the rising number of bear, who need the fatty nut from
the beechnut tree to put on weight for the winter. We passed by a rich
understory that included the ghostly Indian pipe, the blue bead lily and, my
favorite, the common wood sorrel, which has a cloverlike leaf and a frail
white flower veined with blue and pink. We started seeing less pine and fir
and more yellow and paper birch, whose rough, peeling trunks make them look
like cousins to the lichens that grow everywhere in these forests.
The Long Trail is often called a green tunnel, because the woods are dense
and many of the peaks have limited views, but the closely set trees, ferns,
and other understory, have a quieting effect. Saying the Green Mountains lack
the grandeur of higher mountain ranges like the White Mountains is like saying
a lake is not the ocean. The trail is lake-like in its tranquillity.
The elevations of Mount Ira Allen and Mount Ethan Allen are high enough
to grace you with splendid views of Camel's Hump, but low enough that you feel
you are walking up a hill rather than a mountain. Two beaver ponds sit at the
base of Mount Ethan Allen, where the famed hook of the Hump rises up at an
impressive angle. Purple New England aster and the sagging white blossoms of
the turtlehead frame the ponds. Sue sighted a peeping spotted sandpiper by the
water's edge.
Montclair Glen Lodge sits just before the beaver ponds at an elevation of
2,670 feet and sleeps 10. From there, the trail runs down easily through an
impressive stand of white birch that reaches for the sky like a gloved hand.
This portion is just strumming with the sound of feeder streams. After seven
hours on the trail, we had tired legs, but Sue sidetracked to pick up a
quarter-size piece of trash.
At the parking lot, Sue and I visited Will Monroe's grave, which sits off
a side trail in a shaded, fern-rich enclave. He was right to fight for the
summits rather than the easier slopes. People feared that a steep trail would
deter ``the ladies,'' but Sue and I and the three women who mastered the
entire Long Trail in 1927 are testimony to the rightness of Monroe's faith. As
we headed back to Sue's Vermont home near Randolph, a deep blue glow caught
the Green Mountains in silhouette. Jupiter gleamed, marking the period to the
end of our Long Trail day.
The next day, Andrew and I elected to stay off the trail so we could
explore the sights in the Mad River Valley. Our first stop was an eight-sided
yellow barn we'd passed several times on Route 100, which is part of a resort
called The Inn at the Round Barn in Waitsfield. Its elegant rooms and
excellent kitchen are open year round to hikers and skiers alike. The Shaker
barn is just one of eight such barns still left in the state (out of a
previous high of 25). The building's well-spaced windows and curved wall space
make it an ideal spot for the inn's art shows. The Shakers claimed they used a
circular space because it scared ``the devil out of the corners,'' or so the
brochure says, but it also made it easier to move equipment and animals in and
out.
The inn itself faces the Green Mountain skyline and has a manicured,
colonial style. For Long Trail hikers who might prefer less expensive or more
laid-back accommodations, there are bed-and-breakfasts all over the area,
including the Guest House in Warren or the Fitch Inn in Johnson, which will
pick hikers up from trail heads and cost less than $100 a night. Waitsfield
also happens to have a world famous pizzeria, RSVP Pizza, which is just down
the street from the state's oldest covered bridge.
Earlier, in the day we'd stopped for lunch at the Warren Store in Warren,
which also had terrific food. Andrew and I split an Italian sub and a chunky
apple cake that's worth hiking to Vermont for. The outdoor eating area
overlooks Kid's Brook, which feeds into the Mad River. The dramatic cuts in
the rocks and the clear water look inviting, but watch out. The E. coli count
for the stream was posted by the front of the store. Of the five times it had
been tested for the bacteria in the last two months, the count had exceeded
the recommended limit of 77 parts per 100 milliliters three times. The
culprit: probably all the runoff from the dairy farms that line the waterways
throughout the Mad River Valley.
Less than a mile down the road, a small bridge crosses a deep pool in the
Mad River. At a depth of 10 to 12 feet, the clear, open water looks so
inviting you're tempted to jump, but we played it smart and followed the side
trail down to a lower ledge. The water moves fast, cool and deep here -- all
good things when it comes to protecting yourself against E. coli, which
doesn't seem to be a problem at this point along the river. The cold rush of
the current was such a relief after riding in the cramped car.
In late afternoon, we stopped by the Vermont Historical Society Museum at
109 State St. in Montpelier. While the front of the building is a faithful
reproduction of the original 1805 porch, it doesn't completely hide the fact
that it fronts a modern office building. The exhibits proved a disappointment:
a ski lift with a dummy in it; a Ben & Jerry T-shirt tacked to the wall. Some
black-and-white photographs of pioneers of the Long Trail do hang on one of
the side panels and are worth a look. It's amusing to see what passed for
hiking gear in the 1920s. The last panther killed in Vermont (1881) sits
stuffed and glassey-eyed by the entrance. Sue had told us there's some
evidence that the big cats are making a comeback in the state, along with
coyotes and bear.
As we cruised by dairy farms, stopped into restaurants and bakeries,
watched gliders take off near Stowe, and toured the state's capital, I
sensed that I was a step away from the Vermont that I had come for. Up in the
Green Mountains you can see and tread on the range that gives the state its
texture, its valleys, and views. The chunky apple cake from the Warren Store
was sumptuous, but I'd take a basic bread and cheese sandwich on top of Burnt
Rock Mountain over that any day. If you really want to put your hand on the
pulse of New England, walk the Long Trail.
