A Blissful Hiking Adventure in Review

As 2015 closes and a new year of hiking adventures begins, I like to take the time to review the past year of hiking and lessons learned.

Finish of the Massanutten Trail

Mid-winter saw me on a few days jaunt along the Appalachian Trail as I endeavor to complete yet another trek of this famed footpath over the course of many sections. The winter travel proved a bit dicey at times as I had regretfully left my traction devices at home. A good lesson learned – be prepared for winter conditions with the right gear. See my blog on Lessons Learned Winter Backpacking.  On my return home I also finished the Massanutten Trail in Virginia.

April saw me heading back to my ridgerunning job, first in Maryland where I had the opportunity to set up the caretaker site at Annapolis Rocks (my first real job at rigging tarps) as well as help the trail and hikers. In early May I celebrated with the Appalachian Trail Conservancy its first Flip Flop Hiker send-off as a panel guest and helping hikers reduce weight in several shake-downs.

The remainder of the summer I spent as a ridgerunner in Shenandoah National Park. While I’ve had many encounters with bears over my work the last three years, this past summer saw my first close up encounter as a bear decided to take a snack break on my unoccupied tent at Pass Mt Hut. Thankfully I had no gear in it but the tent needed replacing.

The fall saw my thru hike of West Virginia’s long trail – the Allegheny Trail, which I hiked from mid Sept and completed in early October (have any other women done a thru of this trail? I don’t really know). There were some casualties and tough times, with my leg suffering a major injury from a branch (the scar remains) and then afterwards when I developed an SI joint separation from the tough terrain (requiring a several week hiatus from hiking). But I learned much on the journey on how to cope with difficulties (like poor blazing, unmaintained trails, long road walks, solitary wandering) and also how much maintainers do to help the trails when you hike in areas that are unmaintained (like a quarter mile of thick thorns).

The finish at the AT / Allegheny Junction

I hope 2016 is a great year of adventures in hiking. And don’t forget our upcoming one day backpacker’s workshop in March – for new as well as old – where I bring all my many years of hiking to one dull day of learning and activities. Registration is now open!

Caring for the Wilderness

I have just completed my third season as the ridgerunner for Shenandoah National Park. Inevitably I

encounter hikers who ask me then – what is a ridgerunner?

Basically I hike the Appalachian Trail within the park boundary (some 100 miles worth), greeting hikers (I greeted over 500 thru hikers – those hiking the entire AT in one year – this season), serving as a roving information board, checking trail conditions and inspecting the huts (or shelters) where hikers stay. As this is my third year in the park and I have done all the trails within the park on the off season, I am fairly well able to handle the different questions hikers have, which are many. It’s my job to try and know all I can.

The role of a ridgerunner is also important to both the trail maintainers and the National Park Service. I serve as their eyes and ears. I work closely with each agency partner. I let them know when there are issues that need to be dealt with.

For instance, I let them know about garbage issues in the park that can lead to wildlife encounters.

This garbage was left in the same area where the bear attacked. PACK IT OUT

 I tell maintainers about unsightly graffiti inside huts or other things that need taken care of.

Graffiti of any kind in a shelter is not only unsightly but also criminal

  

And I let maintainers know where the big blowdowns are on the trail.

This season was not without incident for me, however. While camped at Pass Mountain Hut a few short weeks ago, a young bear inexplicably attacked my completely empty tent. The bear broke a pole and did some other damage. 

The park then came to inspect and try to ensnare the bear. Earlier that day I had found half eaten food inside the privy area. Adequate food storage and carrying out ALL trash (including not leaving any trash in the fire pit) helps alleviate a bear’s interest in humans and food. As well as chasing away any bears that are spotted near these structures or places where hikers are camping. My role in being an educator in Leave No Trace principles helps protect both the hiker and the park.

Of course I also enjoyed a nice view. 

Who can’t help but enjoy a place of immense beauty and natural wonder? I help the hiker have an enjoyable time outdoors while helping maintain and protect a park busy with the many visitors that come seeking fellowship with the wilderness that Shenandoah provides.  

Running Jersey Ridges - Guest Blog on the Life of an AT Ridgerunner Part 2

Second half of the blog post from Jerry "Grasshopper" Adams on the day in the life of  New Jersey ridgerunner.

Sunfish Pond

My shift at the Backpacker campsite was ending but I was staying in the woods, working my way north to hike the 73 miles of AT in Jersey from the Delaware River in Pennsylvania to the New York border.

I move north, hoping to see a bear.  The other Jersey ridgerunners have seen 40 bears between them and I am miffed at not having seen a single one this summer – or on my hike through here last year. My dismay was fueled by the glee of other hikers who delighted in sharing their daily sightings – “I saw a Mama Bear and three cubs this morning. Awesome.”

The Trail crosses the state line at the Delaware River and gently climbs 1200 feet and then follows the Kittatinnies, a panorama of lakes and farmlands unfolding across Pennsylvania to the west and Jersey to the east. Crossing Raccoon Ridge and Rattlesnake Mountain, the trail is rocky, but it gradually smooths and then flattens as it moves north.

The old man with a face filled with bushy white whiskers was standing in the middle of the trail watching me approach from the south. “Howdy, Pilgrim,” I shout! “With that beard, I am guessing you are a thru-hiker.”

“I’m Birdman. Who are you,” came the reply in a drawl so slow I thought I was back home in South Carolina instead of headed north across New Jersey.

“I’m Grasshopper. I am a ridgerunner.”

“What’s that?”

Birdman is from Tennessee, retired from a lifetime of quarry work and is thru-hiking to Maine. At 65, he’s four years older than me. We stop for lunch at Mohican Outdoor Center and I explain myself, making a new friend and gaining a hiking partner for the week.  We walk on together and then I keep going when he takes a mid-afternoon break; I figure we’ll see each other up the trail.

Birdman rolls in late, joining me at a primitive campsite just north of a pond near Millbrook-Blairstown Road, and the next day we cover 12 miles and stay the night at Brink Road Shelter with three camp groups, six northbound thru-hikers and four hikers headed to Georgia.

I make my rounds, checking in with the counselors and scanning the wide-eyed stares of youngsters who are unplugged and facing woodlands isolation and solitude, perhaps for the first time.

Ever the trail ambassador, I prepare hikers for the perils ahead, including Joe to Go in Branchville, where the trail crosses Highway 206 at Culver Gap.  This is both a prime spot for breakfast and a source of great angst to outdoor types who slip from the solitude of the woods unprepared for the urban crankiness of a man who earned his reputation for being unfriendly to hikers.

“He’s a nice guy, but he does things his way.  Just order your food and keep in simple,” I advise. “It’s cash only and don’t even think about asking to charge your phone or to use the bathroom.”

A camper who passed by Gren Anderson Shelter is telling others to leave their trash in the bear box, a weird twist on Leave No Trace, and I only grouse a little before packing out someone’s leftovers. A northbound thru-hiker is carrying a six-pack of beer and he finishes two at the shelter, smashing his empties and then packing them away. I caution him about alcohol on the trail; he smiles, shrugs, and hikes on, opening a can as he goes.

A woman in sandals struggles up Sunrise Mountain with a large pack.  With a thick Eastern European accent, Mary says she is on the second day of a hike across New Jersey. She complains that her feet hurt after 24 miles the day before. “Why so far?” I ask. “I only have four days,” she replies.

Good luck with that.

Mary pulled up lame the next day at High Point State Park and needed a ride to the train in Port Jervis. My truck was nearby and I considered taking her to the train, but thought that idea promised trouble so I helped her call a cab and then headed north with a clear conscience.

Monument at High Point State Park

At 1700-feet, High Point is the highest spot in New Jersey and the trail then drops to the valley and cuts southeast along the New York border, across farms and through fields and forests, board walks, pasturelands and along country roads.  I cover seven miles in a steady rain, take a late morning break to dry off at the Jim Murray shelter and then stop for lunch in Unionville at Horler’s Store.

The trail passes near ridgerunner summer housing at the wildlife refuge, so I stop for a hot shower and a night’s respite from the rain. Up and over Pochuck Mountain the next morning, I take a mandatory ice cream break at the Heaven Hill Farms store and then climb the Stairway to Heaven and cross Wawayanda and stay the night near the shelter as my hike across Jersey winds down.

The New York line is four miles north and I plan to flip at the border and hike back to Wawayanda for a shuttle ride back to my truck, but then I meet Fred Schneider, a volunteer trail maintainer, and decide to hike down the State Line Trail with him. Lost in my reverie and feeling sassy about finishing my walk across Jersey, I stumble and land hard, snapping a trekking pole, bruising my bottom, blackening an eye, and spraining my hand.

The pain and indignity fade as we make it down the mountain and reach Fred’s car at the Greenwood Lake trailhead. He ferries me toward Warwick for something cold at The Creamery, an oasis where the AT crosses US 17A.  The chocolate shake is a taste of heaven.

Limping but refreshed, I catch a ride to a hiker hostel in Vernon where a park worker from Wawayanda shuttles me back to High Point and my truck.  I meet Birdman and three other northbounders for breakfast the next morning, picking up the tab as Trail Magic and then shuttle the four of them back to the trail and the hike up Wawayanda Mountain that will start their day.

August melted into September, and Labor Day ended my ridgerunner summer. I camped near the High Point Shelter my last night out and then hiked 12 miles back to the house at the wildlife refuge to pack up for the long drive south.  I was barely a half mile down the trail when I saw a bear cub scamper ahead and disappear into the trees.  My ridgerunning ended with my summer’s only bear.

Birdman and I are planning to hike together to Trail Days in Damascus, VA in the spring and then he’s going to New Hampshire to finish his hike to Katahdin.   Me? I’m hoping for a return to Jersey and for more ridges to run.

Part One

Running Jersey Ridges - Guest Blog on the Life of an AT Ridgerunner Part 1

Blissful Hiking Welcomes Guest Blogger Jerry "Grasshopper" Adams who shares the life of a ridgerunner working New Jersey and New York. If you are ever in the neighborhood, say hello to a ridgerunner (they love to chat!). Blissful of Blissful Hiking is working this summer in Shenandoah National Park.

Running Jersey Ridges, Part 1

Birdman and Grasshopper

By Jerry Adams 

The summer thunderstorm blew through Delaware Water Gap, up and across the Kittatinny Ridge, its winds whipping the Backpacker Campsite on a steamy August afternoon. 

Its thunder boomed and its lightning crackled as heavy wind and rain slapped the tarp against the tent. Braced inside, I pushed back hard to support straining poles, happy to be dry but knowing that storms earlier in the summer had snapped a pole, collapsed the tent and sent the 16x20 tarp sailing.

The wind died as the storm moved north.  A steady rain continued as I slipped outside to check for damage and see how others camped on the mountain had fared. Thankful for having gotten to shelter just ahead of the nasty weather, I knew others had not been as fortunate and I used my emergency radio to call park police about some very soggy hikers headed their way.

I knew at least a dozen people were scattered along the four miles of Appalachian Trail back to the visitor center at the Delaware River; I was especially worried about one heavyset couple I had passed an hour earlier, just before the storm.

They were moving slow, wearing the wrong shoes, and starting to mumble and whine about the long walk back to their car. The four miles up to Sunfish Pond was harder than they had expected and the pond was very nice; what, now they had to hike four miles back?

Stopping to chat, because that’s what ridgerunners do, I did my best to cheer them on with the news that it was only three easy miles to the bottom. Yes, I agreed, walking downhill often hurts more than walking uphill; and yes, hiking is harder than walking.

They trudged slowly on; I moved quickly and eagerly up the trail, heading north, excited to be starting a 75-mile hike across New Jersey.

Again.

Hiking with the trail name “Grasshopper,” I had thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail in 2011 and had fond memories of the five hot days I had spent crossing Jersey. Blessed with the opportunity to return in 2012 as a ridgerunner known as AT-3, I spent five days each week in the woods, hiking different chunks of trail, and covering about 40 miles.  I was living the dream -- paid to hike and spending the season with hikers, trail volunteers, work crews, and Trail Angels and hoped to give back and help them as much as they had helped me on my own long walk north.

All told over the past 18 months, I had hiked more than 2500 miles and had lived in the woods for nearly a year.  

Hired by the Appalachian Trail Conservancy, the New Jersey Parks Service, and the New York / New Jersey Trail Conference, I was one of three ridgerunners in Jersey for the season.  We are “boots on the ground” to help folks safely enjoy the AT, its forests and footpaths, to share the gospel of Leave No Trace and to keep tabs on the trail and those using it.

We share directions and advice, remind people to store food in bear boxes, and to pack out their own trash. We explain that the sign saying “No Ground Fires” really does mean that campfires are not allowed (yes, this means you) and that “no alcohol” means “no alcohol.”  And yes, the leash law applies to your dog, too.

Off-trail, we shared housing with summer interns and firefighters at the Lake Wallkill Wildlife Refuge. In the field, we were wonderfully supported and shuttled by the good folks who work in and manage the state’s four public forests, especially Rebecca Fitzgerald at High Point and Ernie Kabert at Worthington.

I had been camping at Backpacker for five days, hiking nearby trails and keeping tabs on Sunfish Pond, a gorgeous glacial lake that attracts hundreds of hikers and tempts many to ignore the ban against camping and swimming.

I had gathered trash from near the pond and in the bear boxes and I was making my rounds, when I encountered an Outward Bound group headed north.  We had met the night before and they happily gathered again to hear me “talk trash.” Holding my bag aloft, I said, “I know this isn’t your trash, but this is what others have left. This is why we …   Leave No Trace!”

“Leave No Trace!” they shouted. “Thank you, Grasshopper,” they say in chorus as my lesson ended, and they moved on.

Part Two