The Wapack Trail

I often get crazy ideas, like withdrawing all of my money (I say that like I have any) from the bank and moving to the Bahamas to sell seashell necklaces on the beach. I usually get these ideas when I'm bored, looking at my school loans, unsatisfied with life, or feeling overly ambitious. Unfortunately, I have yet to disappear to a remote island to sell jewelry. Sometimes these crazy ideas do pan out, though, and one of those ideas was to hike the Wapack Trail.

The Wapack Trail was developed in 1923 and is one of the oldest interstate trails in the Northeast. The trail starts in Ashburnham, MA, ends 21.4 miles later in Greenfield, NH, over seven mountains and through several state forests. There are about seven miles of side trails. A volunteer group called Friends of the Wapack maintains the trail, as well as organizes volunteer work days and various hikes (and much more!). Private property owners continue to allow hikers to trek through their land.

I concocted this plan almost immediately after the first time I hiked up Pack Monadnock last summer with two friends and saw the trail marker. My research on the trail quickly led to a moment of self-doubt, followed by bizarre justifications that did not apply to my life. It went something like this:

Ohhhh, 21 miles... that's a lot.
But I've hiked Pack Monadnock, and North Pack Monadnock (the last two of the trail), and I'm pretty confident over those mountains.
But seven mountains... damn.
But they're not that high.
BUT, 21 MILES.
People run marathons every day.
You do not run marathons. You do not run, period. Who the hell is going to do this with you?
Probably no one. I will do it alone.

21 miles is a lot. I don't know why I made the comparison to a marathon, because hiking 21 miles is a lot different than running 26.2. Just because people, freakishly fit people, can run 26.2 miles does not mean I am qualified to hike 21.4 miles over seven mountains, but I decided that I could. And after a few months of mulling over the idea, I also decided I was suited to hike it alone. In my defense, I did post a few general invitations via Facebook... apparently I'm not much of a saleswoman. With decent weather fast approaching, I made the decision that hiking alone was not a big deal. I'd done it plenty of times before, so what was the big difference? (Spoiler alert: it was a big difference).

I chose the second weekend in May, thinking that the temperatures would quickly start rising after that (though who knows with New England. It snowed in NH on Memorial Day). The week before was filled with giddy anticipation and mild dread. I had never been on a hike that required much thought or planning; I was used to just driving to the base, hiking up, snapping a few pictures, eating some trail mix, hiking back down, and going about my day. But, as any committed hiker knows, an all-day excursion warrants much more thought. How much water did I need? How much weight would I be carrying? What were the best foods to bring? What do I need to wear? How can I coordinate being dropped off and picked up? How much mileage can I actually cover in a day? Did I actually need that ridiculous pocket knife that my parents were insistent on me bringing? (Yes) Etc, etc, etc.

The night before the hike I read the hard copy of the trail guide, which luckily my parents had stashed away somewhere. One of the first lines was never "never hike alone". I said "oops", and then disregarded the suggestion with youthful, reckless abandon. Reading through the Flora and Fauna section brought up the topic of bears, and my youthful, reckless abandon was abruptly interrupted. In 18 years of living in southern NH, and 4 more spent back and forth between there and Boston, I had never seen a black bear. When my mom told me they had seen a black bear on Pack Monadnock, a mountain I frequently hike, my eyes bulged out of my head. I KNEW black bears were in our area but for some reason I never really thought about running into one in the woods.. which is absolutely foolish. I had watched video of black bears casually batting bird feeders around in people's yards in much more populated areas, why the hell did I never consider coming across a bear in its own habitat? Immediately, I flashed back to earlier in the day when I was buying a new rain jacket at Columbia. I asked a saleswoman for her opinion between three jackets I had picked out. She suggested the blue one I was holding "because it's so cute!". I did end up getting that one (not just for the color), and joked to several people that my hiking rain jacket was not a fashion statement, but maybe a bear would decide not to rip my face off if it saw I had fashionable rain gear. I had a discussion with my parents about what I would do if I saw a bear, and I concluded that I would die.

Beginning of the trail

I set out with my mom the morning of May 9th to Ashburnham, MA. I was feeling good from my favorite pre-strenuous day activity - carb loading. From my research and own experiences, I decided to load up on complex carbs (pasta) and protein the night before, which break down slowly and give you lasting energy. I brought a mix of food that would provide instant energy (simple carbs, PB & J, Snickers) and was easily packable (beef jerky, trail mix, energy bars). I also carried my camera, sunscreen, bug spray, light sweatshirt, trail guide, another map, knife, emergency first aid kit, water/Gatorade/VitaCoco totaling about 5.5 pounds, cell phone, license, pedometer, and enough knee braces & KT tape to open up a physical therapy office along the trail. As we pulled into the parking lot I realized I forgot my "trekking" poles, which are actually just old ski poles I found at the dump. It wasn't a trip-ruiner, but someone with my joints really benefits from the extra support. My mom got out of the car, swatted away a swarm of black flies, looked around, and said "I'm leaving you HERE? Alone? Oh... boy...." I responded "yup", left her with a detailed map and estimations of where I would be and when, snapped a picture, and headed off confidently into the woods. My poor mother. I think watching me trek into the forest alone shaved a few months off of her life.

I headed for the summit of Mt. Watatic, a modest but decent ascent. I was plodding along, enjoying my surroundings, feeling good, but suddenly I was filled with dread. The internal conversation went something like this: "What do you think you're doing? Why do you think you're qualified for this? You tore your meniscus trying to get out of the way of an opening door, why do you think your body is fit for this? What are you going to do if a bear mauls you? You're out here alone..... what's that noise? ........... IS THAT A FUCKING BEAR?!"  Indeed it was. Just as I was contemplating my fate, a pretty sizable black bear went galloping through the woods about 100 yards away. Thankfully it was running the opposite direction. I knew I was supposed to stand my ground when facing a black bear; give it space and respect but also make myself look big and imposing. Instead what I think I did was freeze, stare blankly, and think "well, this is how I'm going to die". I say 'what I think I did' because it's all a blur, really. Ever seen someone get tased? Their body locks up and they fall to the ground. That's essentially what my brain did, and I'm surprised my body didn't follow suit. The rush of adrenaline had my heart beating out of my chest, so much so that as I continued walking I thought the bear could probably hear it. I was so consumed by my imminent death that I slowed enough for a woman to catch up to me, and thank heavens she did. She heard the bear, too, but thought it was my dog. I wish. Talking and hiking with her to the top calmed me enough to avoid cardiac arrest. As soon as I got to the summit I took out the ridiculous knife I didn't think I would need and clipped it to the waist strap for easy access. It was a foolish sense of protection, but a sense of comfort nonetheless.

Lost on some logging road.

I wish I had enjoyed Mt. Watatic more. The black flies were so constant that I couldn't stand in one place for very long. The views were great, but I had to keep moving north to stay on schedule. I consulted the trail guide, which said the trail continued north via an unmarked footpath to the right of a fire tower, crossed under an abandoned ski lift after about 100 yards, then linked back up to the woods after about 1/2 mile. Easy enough, I thought, but as I looked around I realized there were about 5 unmarked footpaths and the fire tower did not exist anymore. Every map I looked at seemed to have the trail continuing down another side of the mountain, not doubling back on itself. I picked a footpath, followed it, second guessed myself, doubled back... picked another one, wound up in overgrown brush, doubled back.... found what looked like an old logging road, crossed under what could have either been an old ski lift or a power line, couldn't find the trail, doubled back...... well, you get the idea. In all I probably hiked up and down that mountain three times. I consulted the trail guide about 50 times. I turned on my phone to look at the website and see if I had missed something. I had not. I added about an hour and a half of time and ~4 miles. It was exhausting. I was waiting for the bear to pop back up at any moment. I wished I had someone with me just to bounce my thoughts off of. It was hot, I was constantly second-guessing myself, my muscles were already tiring, and I forgot to keep hydrated. I finally sat down, took a long drink of water, and decided to go back down the way I came. I trudged angrily down the mountain, but came to the conclusion that maybe today was not my day and I had to be okay with it. Maybe I had not done my homework well enough. Maybe I wasn't meant to hike today. Just as I was ready to admit defeat I saw a sign indicating Wapack North. I think I actually laughed out loud. I'm not sure if the trail guide is outdated (though there's updates on the website, and nothing about Mt. Watatic), or if the trail was rerouted, but I was not off to a great start.

The trail continues into New Ipswich, NH, through an area that looks like it's being cleared for construction. I thought there was no way they would be building anything out there (there's no roads! Literally, no roads!), but I saw a building permit on a tree. My success at finding the trail again combined with being in an open area with good visibility had me feeling good, but as soon as I re-entered the woods dread creeped up on me again. The mind can play amazing tricks on itself. Every tiny movement I heard in the woods caused my body to seize into a fight-or-flight response (or in my case, apparently, just stand there dumbfounded). I never did see that bear again, but the thought of it haunted me all day. I coped by singing one of my favorite Pearl Jam songs out loud.

Binney Pond 

My next landmark was Binney Pond State Forest. Looking at Binney Pond felt like looking into the past. It was very secluded and I was the only one on the trail in the area. I got a sense that it had been unchanged for a long time. Unfortunately, I could not stop to enjoy it because I was behind schedule and being attacked by black flies. The climb up Pratt Mountain, the second of seven on the trail, was short but strenuous. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't hike up and down Mt. Watatic about three times, but it did give my legs a good burn. On the way up I was cursing myself: "This sucks. YOU did this to yourself. You can't even be mad. You're putting yourself through this on your own free will." The summit of Pratt Mt. is underwhelming. There is a viewpoint but I was too angry to take extra time for a viewpoint. I regret it.

Instead, I trudged on to New Ipswich Mt., a much less steep grade but essentially touching Pratt Mt.'s base. I descended Pratt Mt. and immediately ascended the next. New Ipswich Mt. had better views, so I stopped to let my legs rest for a few minutes. I recently saw a quote that said "summer is fun until every bug comes out of the 8th circle of hell", and it was quite fitting for this situation. I constantly had flies/mosquitos/who-knows-what buzzing in my ears, and staying still only made it worse. They persisted no matter how many times I coated myself in bug spray. Despite being eaten alive, I finally had a moment of peace that so often comes with getting to the top of a mountain. It was an absolutely beautiful, clear day, which made for great views. It was impossible not to appreciate. For a moment I forgot about how frustrating, and at times, scary, the morning had been up until that point. Then I looked at the surrounding area, realized I barely saw anything for miles and miles, and continued on before the thought of "I better not get injured out here" came back.

A few miles later came Barrett Mt., where I stopped and forced myself to eat my sandwich. I noticed I had zero appetite, which was the opposite of what I was expecting. Nevertheless, I knew with the constant movement, four mountains, and near 80 degree heat that I was burning a lot of calories (I burned about 3500 calories that day). After Barrett Mt. the trail crosses into the Windblown Cross Country Ski area, where several trails cross cross over the Wapack. Thankfully everything is extremely well marked, so it was easy to follow. I began to experience what I call balloon-brain. Balloon-brain is when I've been doing the same thing for a while and my brain seems to float out of my head and detach from the task, but my body continues to do it. I had been walking all day, and eventually I didn't even need to think about doing it anymore. My body took over and my brain was off somewhere else. I hadn't seen another soul for hours. I've read several books about long-distance hiking, and it seems I'm not the only one who experiences balloon-brain. It is oddly peaceful.

Blissfully horizontal

Popping out into civilization is always a weird phenomena when you've secluded in the woods all day. I knew I was getting close to the crossing of Rt. 123/124 because I began criss-crossing powerlines. I started to debate whether I should call it a day and have my mom pick me up there. I had done about 12 miles of hiking, more than I had ever done in a day. I turned on my cell phone, plopped down next to a powerline (ahh, nature), and called my mom. During our conversation I decided to push on to the next major road crossing. It didn't look that far... and it wasn't that far. But, damn, it felt far. I believe the trail was re-routed here, because the blazes disappeared for about a mile. Thankfully they popped up again and I was able to get back on the trail. It was ~4 miles of walking through wide, wet, and leafy trail. I reached the road I was meeting my mom on and to my dismay it was a hill. Not a particularly big hill, but after 16.81 miles of hiking it looked like Everest to me. My mom doesn't have a cell phone (hold your gasp), so I couldn't tell if she was already waiting for me at the parking lot. I agonized over the two options: I either walk up this stupid, annoying hill and hope she's already there, or wait where I know she has to drive past and avoid this stupid, annoying hill. I walked up the stupid, annoying hill. Thankfully she pulled in the moment I reached our meeting spot.

I spent a good portion of the day frustrated. I spent all of the day sweating bullets, aching, being attacked by bugs, and cursing my decision. I had no appetite. But the second I got into that car and ripped off my boots I joyfully recounted my day and ate an entire bag of beef jerky without realizing it (there's that balloon brain again). I've never experienced being sore BEFORE finishing a workout. 'Ol Faithful, my recurring blister-within-a-blister, was out in full force and accompanied by a few friends. I was happy, accomplished, and thinking "how the hell am I going to wake up and hike again tomorrow?". Thankfully for my muscles and 'Ol Faithful there was severe thunderstorms in the forecast the next day and I couldn't get out on the mountains. I was thankful for the rest but also incredibly frustrated. Going back to Boston without finishing the last section ate at me. My mom tried to reason with me ("you can finish soon, don't worry"), and I was only able to respond with disapproving grunt.

Summit of Pack Monadnock

The next weekend brought another bout of bad thunderstorms, and the next was my graduation. I was itching to get back and finally got to 18 days after I started. I decided to skip a small section (Burton Peak and Temple Mt.) and start at Miller State Park in Peterborough, NH. The mileage I hiked would have put me further than Miller State Park had I been going the right direction the entire time. Pack Monadnock and North Pack Monadnock are two mountains I have hiked many times, but I never hiked the two together. They are both easy mountains with moderately strenuous sections, which makes it very crowded in the warm weather. I was glad I got an early start so I was not overwhelmed by tons of families.

The end!.... almost. 

A pleasant, 6 mile hike on a warm, clear day was a great end to this experience. I didn't finish it within two consecutive days like I planned, but I was happy to accomplish my goal. I posed with the trail marker and gave myself a pat on the back... then promptly gave myself a punch in the face. My mom offered to drop be off and pick me up, but I thought "nahhhh, I'll just walk back to the car, no biggie." I had done a particularly strenuous workout earlier that week after about 2 weeks of being a couch potato (damn you, allergies), so I started the day on sore legs. 5.5 hilly miles after hiking 6 miles over two mountains was not the best idea I've ever had. I did not reach my blissful, balloon-brain state, but instead was quite bored and annoyed with myself. I jogged sections of the road, much to the dismay of 'Ol Faithful, out of pure boredom. Finally making the loop back to Miller State Park was a beautiful thing. I actually gave myself a few fist pumps.

The Wapack Trail was my first true long distance hike. It was at times frustrating and intimidating, and at times beautiful and rewarding. Most of all, it was a learning experience. I had a moment when I was hot, dehydrated, sweaty, sore, and being eaten by bugs, and I said to myself "if you ever want to do this shit again, remember how you feel in this moment". I've already disregarded that and am looking forward to hiking this trail again in its proper form.... maybe this time with a friend.