Planning
Last year, when our planned trip to hike southern Vermont was derailed by Hurricane Irene, our hiking season's bubble was burst. We had spent months getting that trip in order and over the course of one incredibly destructive weekend our plans were as wiped out as, sadly, many roads, bridges, and town. We spent the remainder of the winter and spring contemplating what could have been and decided that nothing would stop us, not even Mother Nature, when it was time to give it another go. Fast forward to July 11th of 2012, and Mark T., Bill, and his son Harry and I met at Blackie's Tavern to iron out all of the final details of the hike over dinner and a few adult beverages. Our hike would commence on the morning of Saturday, July 28th. We would hike about eight miles into the Lye Brooke Wilderness to Bourne Pond, camp, and then hike a little more than eight miles back to the car the next morning completing the almost-17 mile loop. Now that the hike was finalized, all we had to do was purchase more gear and get our food in order.
I spent a few hours after work one afternoon the week before the hike aimlessly roaming the food aisles in our local Wal Mart. I had promised myself I wouldn't live off of dehydrated meals for 48 hours (again), so I decided I would attempt to craft my own menu of easy-to-cook yet healthy meals while in the woods. After running out of patience, I bought some maple and brown sugar oatmeal for breakfast and a vacuum-sealed envelope of tuna, a four inch log of salami, and a box of Goya spanish rice for dinner. I figured I'd add the tuna chunks and the chopped up salami to the rice and I'd have a well-rounded, nutritious meal that would replace all of the nutrients my body would miss after hiking eight miles. It wasn't until after I paid for everything that I realized all of this food combined had enough salt to kill a family of four. Swing and miss. Oh well, it would be a hot meal that would certainly fill me up and let me get a good night's sleep in the woods.
In the days leading up to the hike, the weather forecast steadily predicted temperatures in the high-70's during the day, a low of 48* at night, and a 40% chance of scattered showers. With watertight tents and some sweet new rain shells, we were all set. Nothing was stopping us this time!
Day 1: The Only Day
Everyone (Byronn, his brother Brandt, Mark, Bill, and Harry) met at my house, the most central location, at around five in the morning on Saturday the 28th. We caravan'd up to Manchester, VT in two cars with one thing on our mind (besides ample pee stops): breakfast. We stuffed our faces to the point of immediate regret and then drove the last two miles to the trailhead which was a half of a mile down a dirt road on the outskirts of Manchester.
Once we were at the trailhead we got our packs in order, topped off our water bottles and then headed into the woods, finally, to hike a 17-mile loop through the Green Mountain National Forest. It was 10am and we were taking our first steps into the famed Lye Brook Wilderness. By all accounts we would reach the Lye Brook Falls in a little less than one hour and then find ourselves at our campsite for the night, on the shores of Bourne Pond, between one and two in the hour afternoon. This would give us plenty of time to so side hikes, fish, get a fire started, etc. As the rocky trail slowly climbed its way up the ridge to the east of Manchester, we were met with the realization that with each year that passed, our aerobic abilities regressed. Needless to say, we (and by "we," I mean "I") were beyond relieved when we reached the Lye Brook Falls at mile 2.3. There was a little quarter-mile side trail down to the falls so we dropped our packs and hoofed it down. As you can see below in the slideshow, we were met with a ski slope-sized swath of destruction down the mountain from Hurricane Irene. We continued on to the falls, and were impressed - but not nearly impressed as we were with what Hurricane Irene had to offer. It was when we returned to the fork in the trail where we left our packs that our day truly began to take shape. Earlier, I noted the meteorologists' predictions of 40% chance of scattered showers. Well, while standing there discussing how much time it would take for us to finish the last six miles to Bourne Pond, Harry looked to the sky and pointed out the bulbous, dark gray clouds slowly creeping into view above the trees. The last syllable hadn't left his lips when the first thunderclap rang out. Our optimism was still at an all-time high and we figured that if it started precipitating, it would pass on just like the weather guys said it would. Almost every backpack among the group contained proper wet weather gear, so there was nothing to be concerned about. We continued on, cracking sophomoric jokes and planning our post-hike activities for when we reached our campsite.
We wound our way for another mile or so keeping a keen eye on the ever-darkening sky. The trail was an incredibly narrow single track, weaving through thick undergrowth just brimming with the latest and greatest strains of lyme disease. At about mile number four we felt the first heavy plops of water and couldn't help but hear their growing frequency as they made contact with the surrounding leaves. This continued for much of the next two or three miles, even increasing in frequency enough to slowly amp up the level of worry. The fives miles from the waterfall to Bourn Pond felt like an eternity, for a few reasons. One, as pretty as it was to wind through the thick forest, it became monotonous. We couldn't see ahead us very far due to the thickness of the growth, so there was no way to gauge how far we had to go or how far we'd gone. The intensity of the rain slowly grew, never once slowing to reveal peeks of blue sky that we were anxiously searching for through the branches above. The scattered showers that the misguided meteorologists had mentioned were foible; we were now hiking through a steady, soaking rain. The darkening sky just confirmed our fears that there was no end in sight for this torrent. After what seemed like hours, which actually was hours, we found Bourn Pond. And, ironically, were less than thrilled that we had arrived. You see, as we continued hiking through the woods in search of the pond, there was always a chance that finding the pond would coincide with a parting of clouds. But standing at the shore watching the surface get pelted by rain drops was the nail in the coffin of this trip. We dropped our packs and proceeded to discuss our options. Our first option was to set up camp and retreat to the relative safety and dryness of our tents. That wasn't the worst option in the world, but it was early in the day. We had hiked the 8+ miles to the tent sites rather quickly, arriving a little after one o'clock. That meant utter boredom and cabin fever until bedtime seven, eight, maybe even nine hours away. Our other option was to suck it up and hike the remaining 8+ miles back to the car, completing the almost-17 mile loop in one day. Not knowing if or when the rain was ever going to stop or slow down, we all agreed that we should call this hike a wash (pun intended) and hike to the car. At the pace we had hiked in, we planned on getting to the car around five o'clock, giving us plenty of time to dry off using the car heater and find a bite to eat.
We bitterly departed the pond and headed north on the Branch Pond Trail, finding a good hiking pace somewhere between downtrodden and melancholy. Conversation was at a minimum, picture taking was nonexistent, and the trail was complete slosh. Every piece of Gore-Tex between the six of us was getting put to the ultimate test, and not all of it passed the test. About halfway between the pond and the William B. Douglas shelter we had the last really cool thing happen, yet couldn't manage to get a picture of it. As we were making our way through a flooded section of the trail we heard loud splashing in a large section of the swamp to our left that was about the size of a basketball court. All of a sudden, this large, chocolate brown head popped out of the water and stared right at us as its companion frolicked beside him (her?). I later found out thanks to Google that they were Northern River Otters, animals I had yet to see in the wild.
After saying goodbye to our web-footed friend we continued hiking through mud that was at times several inches over the tops of our boots. Once at the William B. Douglas shelter, we dropped our packs and took shelter from the rain loudly discussing our current fate before apologizing to the two once-sleeping hikers that we had woken up. It was nice to get out of the rain for a few minutes, gather our thoughts, and fully contemplate our horribly shitty luck. For the second year in a row, Mother Nature was doing her best at keeping us from enjoying what the Green Mountain National Forest had to offer. We studied the map a bit more and got one last morale boost once we realized that there were only about three miles of hiking left to the road and another mile or so back to the cars. We couldn't have cared less about Prospect Rock and the beautiful views it would fail to offer us that day, so we motored right on by and finished the last 1.8 miles of downhill, eroded dirt road on nothing but grit and balls. Our bodies had had enough, and by the time we reached the road we basically threw our packs to the ground and collapsed on whatever we could to sit on. Mark, Bill, and Byronn hiked the mile back to the cars and came back for Harry, Brandt and I.
Luckily, as he always does, Bill had a cooler of Magic Hat #9, the unofficial officer beer of our hiking crew. We plopped our tired asses on the bumpers of the two cars, downed a few cold brews, and lamented what the day had brought. There was only one thing on our mind at that point, and it was dinner. We followed our way back to Route 7, where we took Route 30 to Route 11 east into Londonderry, VT and found a great little spot called the New American Grill. You know, being soaking wet and covered in mud we were probably a tad under dressed, but the staff couldn't have cared less. They brought us six cold local brews and delivered six pretty delicious meals. We gassed up the cars and got our caffeine fixes for the 2.5 hour ride home. I was even nice enough to let Byronn drive the whole way! We arrived back home around 11pm, which wasn't too bad for me, but was pretty bad for the guys who still had another 30-60 minutes of driving back to their respective homes. We made our quick goodbyes in the driveway, and the overall mood was certainly one of defeat, but there was a glean in each man's eyes that meant only one thing. Screw hiking, I'm going to bed!
Last year, when our planned trip to hike southern Vermont was derailed by Hurricane Irene, our hiking season's bubble was burst. We had spent months getting that trip in order and over the course of one incredibly destructive weekend our plans were as wiped out as, sadly, many roads, bridges, and town. We spent the remainder of the winter and spring contemplating what could have been and decided that nothing would stop us, not even Mother Nature, when it was time to give it another go. Fast forward to July 11th of 2012, and Mark T., Bill, and his son Harry and I met at Blackie's Tavern to iron out all of the final details of the hike over dinner and a few adult beverages. Our hike would commence on the morning of Saturday, July 28th. We would hike about eight miles into the Lye Brooke Wilderness to Bourne Pond, camp, and then hike a little more than eight miles back to the car the next morning completing the almost-17 mile loop. Now that the hike was finalized, all we had to do was purchase more gear and get our food in order.
I spent a few hours after work one afternoon the week before the hike aimlessly roaming the food aisles in our local Wal Mart. I had promised myself I wouldn't live off of dehydrated meals for 48 hours (again), so I decided I would attempt to craft my own menu of easy-to-cook yet healthy meals while in the woods. After running out of patience, I bought some maple and brown sugar oatmeal for breakfast and a vacuum-sealed envelope of tuna, a four inch log of salami, and a box of Goya spanish rice for dinner. I figured I'd add the tuna chunks and the chopped up salami to the rice and I'd have a well-rounded, nutritious meal that would replace all of the nutrients my body would miss after hiking eight miles. It wasn't until after I paid for everything that I realized all of this food combined had enough salt to kill a family of four. Swing and miss. Oh well, it would be a hot meal that would certainly fill me up and let me get a good night's sleep in the woods.
In the days leading up to the hike, the weather forecast steadily predicted temperatures in the high-70's during the day, a low of 48* at night, and a 40% chance of scattered showers. With watertight tents and some sweet new rain shells, we were all set. Nothing was stopping us this time!
Day 1: The Only Day
Everyone (Byronn, his brother Brandt, Mark, Bill, and Harry) met at my house, the most central location, at around five in the morning on Saturday the 28th. We caravan'd up to Manchester, VT in two cars with one thing on our mind (besides ample pee stops): breakfast. We stuffed our faces to the point of immediate regret and then drove the last two miles to the trailhead which was a half of a mile down a dirt road on the outskirts of Manchester.
Once we were at the trailhead we got our packs in order, topped off our water bottles and then headed into the woods, finally, to hike a 17-mile loop through the Green Mountain National Forest. It was 10am and we were taking our first steps into the famed Lye Brook Wilderness. By all accounts we would reach the Lye Brook Falls in a little less than one hour and then find ourselves at our campsite for the night, on the shores of Bourne Pond, between one and two in the hour afternoon. This would give us plenty of time to so side hikes, fish, get a fire started, etc. As the rocky trail slowly climbed its way up the ridge to the east of Manchester, we were met with the realization that with each year that passed, our aerobic abilities regressed. Needless to say, we (and by "we," I mean "I") were beyond relieved when we reached the Lye Brook Falls at mile 2.3. There was a little quarter-mile side trail down to the falls so we dropped our packs and hoofed it down. As you can see below in the slideshow, we were met with a ski slope-sized swath of destruction down the mountain from Hurricane Irene. We continued on to the falls, and were impressed - but not nearly impressed as we were with what Hurricane Irene had to offer. It was when we returned to the fork in the trail where we left our packs that our day truly began to take shape. Earlier, I noted the meteorologists' predictions of 40% chance of scattered showers. Well, while standing there discussing how much time it would take for us to finish the last six miles to Bourne Pond, Harry looked to the sky and pointed out the bulbous, dark gray clouds slowly creeping into view above the trees. The last syllable hadn't left his lips when the first thunderclap rang out. Our optimism was still at an all-time high and we figured that if it started precipitating, it would pass on just like the weather guys said it would. Almost every backpack among the group contained proper wet weather gear, so there was nothing to be concerned about. We continued on, cracking sophomoric jokes and planning our post-hike activities for when we reached our campsite.
We wound our way for another mile or so keeping a keen eye on the ever-darkening sky. The trail was an incredibly narrow single track, weaving through thick undergrowth just brimming with the latest and greatest strains of lyme disease. At about mile number four we felt the first heavy plops of water and couldn't help but hear their growing frequency as they made contact with the surrounding leaves. This continued for much of the next two or three miles, even increasing in frequency enough to slowly amp up the level of worry. The fives miles from the waterfall to Bourn Pond felt like an eternity, for a few reasons. One, as pretty as it was to wind through the thick forest, it became monotonous. We couldn't see ahead us very far due to the thickness of the growth, so there was no way to gauge how far we had to go or how far we'd gone. The intensity of the rain slowly grew, never once slowing to reveal peeks of blue sky that we were anxiously searching for through the branches above. The scattered showers that the misguided meteorologists had mentioned were foible; we were now hiking through a steady, soaking rain. The darkening sky just confirmed our fears that there was no end in sight for this torrent. After what seemed like hours, which actually was hours, we found Bourn Pond. And, ironically, were less than thrilled that we had arrived. You see, as we continued hiking through the woods in search of the pond, there was always a chance that finding the pond would coincide with a parting of clouds. But standing at the shore watching the surface get pelted by rain drops was the nail in the coffin of this trip. We dropped our packs and proceeded to discuss our options. Our first option was to set up camp and retreat to the relative safety and dryness of our tents. That wasn't the worst option in the world, but it was early in the day. We had hiked the 8+ miles to the tent sites rather quickly, arriving a little after one o'clock. That meant utter boredom and cabin fever until bedtime seven, eight, maybe even nine hours away. Our other option was to suck it up and hike the remaining 8+ miles back to the car, completing the almost-17 mile loop in one day. Not knowing if or when the rain was ever going to stop or slow down, we all agreed that we should call this hike a wash (pun intended) and hike to the car. At the pace we had hiked in, we planned on getting to the car around five o'clock, giving us plenty of time to dry off using the car heater and find a bite to eat.
We bitterly departed the pond and headed north on the Branch Pond Trail, finding a good hiking pace somewhere between downtrodden and melancholy. Conversation was at a minimum, picture taking was nonexistent, and the trail was complete slosh. Every piece of Gore-Tex between the six of us was getting put to the ultimate test, and not all of it passed the test. About halfway between the pond and the William B. Douglas shelter we had the last really cool thing happen, yet couldn't manage to get a picture of it. As we were making our way through a flooded section of the trail we heard loud splashing in a large section of the swamp to our left that was about the size of a basketball court. All of a sudden, this large, chocolate brown head popped out of the water and stared right at us as its companion frolicked beside him (her?). I later found out thanks to Google that they were Northern River Otters, animals I had yet to see in the wild.
After saying goodbye to our web-footed friend we continued hiking through mud that was at times several inches over the tops of our boots. Once at the William B. Douglas shelter, we dropped our packs and took shelter from the rain loudly discussing our current fate before apologizing to the two once-sleeping hikers that we had woken up. It was nice to get out of the rain for a few minutes, gather our thoughts, and fully contemplate our horribly shitty luck. For the second year in a row, Mother Nature was doing her best at keeping us from enjoying what the Green Mountain National Forest had to offer. We studied the map a bit more and got one last morale boost once we realized that there were only about three miles of hiking left to the road and another mile or so back to the cars. We couldn't have cared less about Prospect Rock and the beautiful views it would fail to offer us that day, so we motored right on by and finished the last 1.8 miles of downhill, eroded dirt road on nothing but grit and balls. Our bodies had had enough, and by the time we reached the road we basically threw our packs to the ground and collapsed on whatever we could to sit on. Mark, Bill, and Byronn hiked the mile back to the cars and came back for Harry, Brandt and I.
Luckily, as he always does, Bill had a cooler of Magic Hat #9, the unofficial officer beer of our hiking crew. We plopped our tired asses on the bumpers of the two cars, downed a few cold brews, and lamented what the day had brought. There was only one thing on our mind at that point, and it was dinner. We followed our way back to Route 7, where we took Route 30 to Route 11 east into Londonderry, VT and found a great little spot called the New American Grill. You know, being soaking wet and covered in mud we were probably a tad under dressed, but the staff couldn't have cared less. They brought us six cold local brews and delivered six pretty delicious meals. We gassed up the cars and got our caffeine fixes for the 2.5 hour ride home. I was even nice enough to let Byronn drive the whole way! We arrived back home around 11pm, which wasn't too bad for me, but was pretty bad for the guys who still had another 30-60 minutes of driving back to their respective homes. We made our quick goodbyes in the driveway, and the overall mood was certainly one of defeat, but there was a glean in each man's eyes that meant only one thing. Screw hiking, I'm going to bed!