[Journal Entry for March 14-18, 2009] Hiking the Appalachian Trail near the New York – New Jersey State Line.

March 14, 2009. Dallas and I drove up to the Appalachian Trail trailhead on Arden Valley Road. in Southfield, New York, arriving at 10AM. The weather is pretty good today, with sun shining through thin clouds and a temperature of about 45F. Although this was a solo hike, Dallas accompanied me on the first half mile or so, partly up the steep hill, just west of Route 17, which is called Agony Grind. We sighted a herd of whitetail deer as we began our ascent. Later, a day hiker passed us, going much faster than I with my heavy backpack. We paused to admire a very steep rock face, still with icicles clinging to it, about halfway up the hill. Then Dallas headed back and I was on my own.

The view from the top of the ridge, looking east towards the rolling hills of Harriman State Park, is very nice. The trail cuts across the strike of the ridge, through several narrow and steep gullies that I guess are glacial furrows formed during the Ice Age. The vegetation at the summit is sparse and low. I mostly walked on rock pavement, though in one place I had to literally crawl beneath the branches of a pine tree that grew right next to the trail. Turkey vultures made use of the hill’s updraft, soaring just the ridge crest. The trail descended again, and for a while followed the shore of Little Dam Pond. A large but rather rickety-looking footbridge spans a creek that drains the pond. I passed two day hikers, a man and a woman, along the trail there.

The AT then ascends Buchanan Mountain. From one of its rocky ledges, I could see a still-snow covered set of ski trails on a neighboring mountain. The trail down the western side of Buchannan Mountain is very steep and rocky, with one patch of ice that strategically blocks one of the many switchbacks. I find it tricky, especially with my heavy and awkward backpack, and have to go very slowly.

The trail then crosses West Mombasha Road, where I catch a glimpse of Mombasha Lake. The trail, now on puncheon (bog bridges), passes by a pond. I slowly ascend to Mombasha High Point, via a series of rocky knolls, each one a bit higher than the next – each, when seen in the distance, leads me to believe I’m in sight of the summit. I finally reach the High Point, a rocky ledge that affords a splendid view of the Highlands, and eat a quick snack of granola bars and sausage. It’s already late, 4 PM, and I am rather disappointed with my progress – only six miles or so in six hours of hiking. I had been hoping to make Wildcat Shelter on Bellvale Mountain by nightfall, but realize this will be impossible. So I push on, looking for a site with water at which I can bivouac for the night. I pick a spot on an east-facing ridgeline beneath pine trees that is fairly close to a muddy little pond, and set up my tent on soft pine needle litter. I don’t suppose that camping really allowed here, but I have little choice. I suspend my bag of food on a line from a high branch, in order to deter its being raided by animals.

With the sun setting, I carry my stove, kettle and water bottles down to the pond and begin to boil water, trying not to fall in as I reach out to get the cleanest water. I am really stiff and my feet ache pretty badly! Back at the campsite, I cook one of my packets of instant rice, finish off the sausage and make a kettle-full of instant coffee. I go to bed as soon as I’m finished. I’m really tired!

March 15, 2009. I’m a bit stiff when I away, but not nearly as achy as yesterday evening. I retrieve my food bag in the morning and cook more rice. I pack up and head off. The weather is about the same as yesterdays, sun shining through thin clouds, but maybe a little colder. The trail follows a stream for a while, and then passes stone walls and an old foundation – indications that this land, now wooded, was once farmed. Then it heads steeply downhill. I’m glad that I didn’t try to walk this section last night in fading light, for it’s really quite tough. I pass a group of guys from Boston, heading north. The stream has now become a cascade. Soon I come to Fitzgerald Falls, a picturesque waterfall that is about 25 feet high, with water coursing down two narrow grooves in the rock face. The trail is covered with ice in places, and I have to pick my way really slowly. At the bottom I meet a group of college students, heading north. We take each other’s pictures and chat for a moment. They say that they are making for Fingerboard Shelter in Harriman Park. I tell them I have been there a few weeks ago, when snow still lay on the ground. I wish them luck; thinking that they’ll need it, for the shelter is a long walk ahead, longer by several miles than the distance that I was able to walk yesterday. But they look young and strong! I set up my stove, and purify three liters of water, one to drink then and there, and the other two for the day ahead.

The AT is level for a brief interval, and then begins a steep descent, mostly via rocky stairs, of Bellvale Mountain. This long ridge is composed of Skunnemunk conglomerate, a tough red colored rock sprinkled with many quartz clasts. The guidebook calls it puddingstone, a description that is quite apt. Once at the ridge crest, the trail follows a woods road that is easy going. I pay a quick visit to Wildcat Shelter, which is set back a little from the AT, on the western side of a conglomerate outcrop. It’s 11:30 AM, so it has taken me about two hours of hiking this morning to reach it. A nice little spring is located a hundred yards or so from the shelter. I take the opportunity to refill one of my water bottles, opting to use one of my chloride water treatment pills, which take four hours to act, rather than to set up the stove. I spot a butterfly, with black wings edged with yellow, flying across the trail. I’m surprised to see one so early in the season, but it must be a normal occurrence, for I sight a half dozen more during the course of my hike, I also spot a largish spider, crawling on the ground near the trail.

Walking is fairly easy, except in the places where the trail goes over the rocky spine of the ridge, formed out of the almost vertically bedded conglomerate. Most of these ledges are rather flat on top, but raised above the level of the rest of the trail, and difficult to ascend and descend. One of these ledges, called the Eastern Pinnacles, is particularly difficult, although fun and with a fantastic views of the surrounding hills. As I continue south, I can see Greenwood Lake, which fills the valley below, to my left.

This section of the trail seems endless. I cross one ledge after another. Each is interesting, with glacial scratches, slickenslides, quartz-filled cracks in the rock, a variety of gnarled trees growing from rock crevices, with buzzards flying overhead. At 4PM I arrive at a small grassy clearing by a stream that sports a fire ring. I stop for a snack, and boil more water. I resolve to push on for another hour at least, though I begin to doubt that I will make the next shelter. The map shows a high point called Prospect Rock. I pass many high points, but I have no way of telling which, if any, it might be. An hour or so passes, and the evening sun is lighting up the green pines and the red rock beautifully. One high spot, marked with two large rock cairns, affords a particularly nice view of Greenwood Lake. This area has lots of glacial scratches, all oblique to the strike of the ridge.

The trail makes a sharp right turn, and I see that I have arrived at a nose of rock. Two Black Vultures are sitting on the nose, eyeing me curiously. The trail steeply descends twenty feet or so through a narrow chimney. I have to first walk along a narrow rock ledge and then step out onto a wooden ladder in order to get down. The ledge presents no problem, but once at its end, I cannot figure out how to maneuver myself onto the ladder. I wind up having to take off my pack (tough when you’re on a narrow ledge), fish rope out of it, and lower it down to the base of the ladder. One unencumbered, I had no problem stepping out onto the ladder. Once in the valley, I hear gunshots, fifty or more, of a rather low caliber rifle, I think. After a few more minutes of hiking, I come to a stream and decide to bivouac there for the night. I am getting pretty weary and, though I’m not quite sure just were along the trail I am, I’m pretty sure that I am nowhere near the next shelter. I pick a spot to bivouac that’s well off the AT and close enough to the stream to make access to its water convenient. I cook a dinner of noodles and tuna fish and go to sleep shortly after finishing eating. I’m tired and sore, but maybe not as sore as yeasterday.

March 16, 2009. I arose twice during the night. During the first, the sky was clear and the stars were bright. During the second, the quarter moon had just risen and was shining through thin clouds. I didn’t hear much during the night; the babble of the stream masked most other sounds. Sun and clear skies met me at dawn, but a thin layer of clouds soon developed. I ate a quick breakfast of rehydrated eggs and mash potatoes. The eggs are tricky to scramble, for mid sauce-pan lid frying pan tends to get too hot. I had to hold it well above the stove to prevent burning. I then boiled water for the day, packed up and headed out. The trail climbs over a few more rock layers, and then heads between two parallel rock ledges and up onto a big rock. I believe this to be Prospect Rock, for shortly thereafter I crossed a line painted on the trail indicating the New York – New Jersey boundary, and the distance between them on the map seems about right. I signed in at the trail register at the boundary marker. Surprise Lake sits in a small valley, to the south, below me.

Hiking becomes a bit easier. Unfortunately, someone has taken an ATV up onto the trail and done quite a bit of damage, knocking down bushes and small trees and making some deep and muddy ruts in the trail. Yuck! I meet a birdwatcher, just as I cross Longhouse Drive. We compare notes on bird sightings. Neither of us has seen much, and of the larger birds I have seen only black vultures. The walk through the rolling hills from Longhouse Drive to Warwick Turnpike is pleasant but longer than I expect. I pass a small pond, its surface still mostly covered with ice, created by a beaver dam that has raised the water level about three feet above the exit steam. I stop here and have lunch. I then start the ascent at the eastern edge of Wawayanda State park, stopping briefly and the Shelter. It’s of a wooden design, and is in a clearing with a picnic table. I sign the log book, but don’t stay long, for its now 2PM and I still want to cover more ground today. A little while later, I pass a largish pond. I am surprised, for none is marked on the map. I worry for a while whether I have somehow gotten onto the wrong trail. But after verifying that I’m still seeing the white blazes of the AT, figure that this must be a new pond created by beaver activity. This proves to be the case, as I discover as I approach a narrow and deep gulley containing the exit stream of what must originally have been just a marshy section of the park. Beavers have rebuilt a ruined human dam and have raided the water level a few feet. I cross this stream by a wooden footbridge, and continue onward. Mystery solved!

I sight a Red Tail Hawk, flying through the canopy. It alights in a tree and watches me nervously as I pass by. This area has an enormous amount of recent deadfall, most of it beech branches that have snapped off of the top parts of trees and now block the trail. Getting past them is not especially hard, but each sucks up precious time. It’s getting late in the day! I cross a largish stream via an old steel bridge, and then walk through more rolling hills, again strewn with deadfall. The AT joins and old country road with rock walls on either side. I then cross Barrett Road. The trail rises once more and then descends into a deep valley containing a fast-running and largish stream, crosses by a footbridge.

By now the sun is beginning to set. Once again, I have not succeeded in reaching a shelter for the night. I decide to bivouac in the woods along the stream, a few hundred yards north of the bridge. I pick out a flat place with a fire ring – no doubt previous hikers have been as slow as me in covering ground! There’s really quite a lot of deadfall, including some massive trees. I have to spend a few minutes clearing the site of the smaller, movable branches. I eat dinner, cooking noodles with tuna and finishing off my leftover lunch sausage. I relax for a while. The day has been very quite. I have passed only two hikers during the whole day, and those in the early afternoon near road crossings.

March 17, 2009. The morning is exceptionally clear, with a bright blue sky. It’s cold, too. Frost has formed on the underside of the tent fly. I take it off and set it out in the sun to dry off. I cook a breakfast of mashed potatoes and rehydrated eggs and then pack up and head off. I hike uphill from the stream to an old country road. I leave the AT for a bit and follow the country road a few hundred yards south to a beautifully little pond, brightly lit in the morning’s sun. Its edges are lines with last year’s grass, now tawny yellow. Mallard ducks are paddling around.

I continue up onto the ridge crest, where I meet two guys with ice axes (beats me what they were doing with them; I passed very little ice). I also signed in at another trail register, this one in the form of a mailbox. The overlook, on the west side of Wawayanda Mountain, is spectacular. The valley beyond is flat and wide, with farmland, marshes and meandering streams and is way below me. I can see the hills of the park continuing to the southwest. One of them has still snow-covered ski trails.

The downgrade is very long, rocky and slow, with numerous switchbacks and places where the trail has been built up on a ledge at the base of a high rock face, almost Grand Canyon style. The descent of about 800 feet takes me almost an hour, for I pick my way slowly, so as not to stumble. A twisted ankle halfway down would be very inconvenient! The AT winds between very large rocks, some ten feet tall, at the base of the escarpment.

I then follow a flat, wide trail through a meadow, some parts of which are paved with puncheon. The day is sunny and pleasant. I cross several bridges over slow, meandering streams, lined with trees. I then cross the substantial Pochuck Boardwalk, a section of the trail that is raised three or four feet above the surface of Pochuck Swamp, a broad open area of cattails and shallow ponds. Mallard duck and frogs are being noisy. I cross a big, high wooden suspension bridge over the Pochuck Creek, and then head across rolling hills near an inhabited area. I refill one of my water bottles by a little creek (using a chlorine tablet) and then head back up again into the highlands again, up onto Pochuck Mountain. This area is not as high as Wawayanda Mountain, but there are a lot of ups and downs. I sight several more butterflies, a cardinal, a Red Tail Hawk and many turkey vultures. I pass one muddy stream without refilling my water bottle. This is a mistake, for it is the last water of any sort that I pass before reaching Pochuck Shelter. I stop at several overlooks, all of which afford great views. The last and highest looks out onto the Wallkill Valley, which has a surprisingly large number of open patches of water. I suppose some of these to be seasonal, representing the spring flood. They may well turn into marshes by late summer.

The trail takes one final dip, across a rather rocky section, and before rising up to the hill on which stands Pochuck shelter. I pass a graveyard of three or four rusting old cars at the low point. I wonder how long they have been there. I soon reach Pochuck Shelter, which sits on the northwestern edge of the mountain. The shelter has a picnic area and outhouse and sits in a little clearing. It’s surrounded by trees, though, so that the view is not so good.

The guidebook asserts that the nearest water is at the base of the hill, more than a half mile away. I have about one and a half liters of water, enough for dinner, but only barely. I thus decide to forage around for a spring. The area just north of the shelter contains a rocky gully. I begin by walking along the downhill side of the rocks, feeling the moss to judge it wetness, and looking for seeps. I do find some damp spots, but none seem to have any dribbling water. But then I hear something that sounds like running water, so I continue onward a bit, and come to a lively stream that runs down the extreme northern side of the gulley. I’ll have water aplenty tonight!

I cook dinner, rice and tuna, and left-over sausage from lunch, washed down with instant coffee. The sun is low on the horizon, so I find a log to sit upon, relax and watch it set. A few turkey vultures fly by, soaring on the updraft created by the hillside. I then retire to the shelter, climb into my sleeping bag and watch the sky, originally orange and deep blue, slowly darken to blackness.

March 18, 2009. The night was cold and full of stars. Night sounds were dominated by the distant honking of Canada Geese and by the leaf litter being rustled by occasional gusts of wind. At dawn, I saw a line of geese - several hundred in number - fly by overhead, spaced closely, almost touching one. The day is sunny, but with thin clouds.

I huff to the stream, taking a more horizontal route than yesterday, now that I know where it runs, and refill my water bottles. My new route is easier and faster, for it is more nearly level and has fewer stones. I then start my breakfast: rice and rehydrated eggs and tea. I prepare the eggs differently than yesterday, mixing them into the rice to make a sort of custard.

The hike down off of Pochuck Mountain is steep but short. Once in Wallkill Valley, the trail follows puncheon for a while, past a farm with a big, old barn. It then enters the Wallkill National Wildlife Refuge, and joins the Liberty Loop, a dirt road on a raised levy that encloses a rectangular section of flooded wetland. This is my last day of hiking; Dallas will pick me up in the evening. I have time to spare, so I walk the complete Liberty Loop, looking at the birds (mostly Mallard ducks, Canada Geese and swans) and other wildlife. I pass three women with binoculars and cameras. They report having seen a Harrier and a Kingfisher. I do not see these birds, but I do sight a turtle, a woodchuck and several Wooly Bear caterpillars. The second time around the loop I stop for lunch, picking a bench in a sheltered section, for the morning has really been quite windy. I heat up water for coffee and eat my last sausage and granola bar. Having ample time, I spent about an hour at the spot, resting and watching the birds. I then resumed my hike, making for my take-out point.

The trail crosses the Wallkill River via a highway bridge. The area just north of the bridge, along the eastern bank of the river, is parkland, and several people were fishing there. I chatted with one angler. He said that he was fishing for perch, but had just had a few nibbles, so far. The trail then winds through woods and open fields, and reaches Highway 284 a mile or so south of Unionville, NY. I hang out on a grassy spot by a small creek, just east of the highway, until Dallas drives up, at 6PM.

About forty miles, of which 38 were on the AT, over five days and four nights.

Appendix: Gear

Stove: MSR Whisperlite International stove with 3 fuel canisters containing 77 fluid ounces of gasoline, of which I used only 44. Two of the canisters had a capacity of 33 fluid ounces each, the other 11. I kept the small canister ready to go, depressurized but with the fuel pump attached. I used the stove both for cooking and purifying water, forgoing a water filter because I was worried that it would freeze up if the temperature had been below freezing. I keep a butane lighter and a cleaning kit in the stove’s fabric case.

Tent: The North Face Starlight free-standing tent. I did not use a stuff sack, but instead just crammed ithe tent into the bottom of my backpack.

Cookery: One liter stainless steel kettle that seconds as a mug, two nesting titanium pots with lids that second as frying pans, one titanium plate, one stainless steel fork, one stainless steel fork, one plastic spatula, and a jackknife. I could have made do without the fork, the plate and one of the pots.

Water: Two one-liter Nalgene water bottles in Outdoor Research insulated covers. Thirty one-liter chlorine-type water purification tablets. The down side of the tablets is that they take four hours to work.

Backpack: Low Alpine Australis 80 internal frame pack.

Sleeping bag: The North Face Superlight zero-degree-F down bag.

Sleeping mats: Two Z-Rest folding foam pads, attached to the pack exterior with two bungees.

Rain wear: LL Bean rain jacket, rain pants and a rain hat.

Clothing: To wear: Montrail light hiking boots, socks, long polypropylene undershirt and underpants, hiking pants, fleece jacket, wind-stopper gloves, pull-over cap. Spares: one pair socks, polypropylene undershirt and underpants, balaclava, fleece hood and waterproof mittens with removable liners.

Cold weather gear: The North Face Himalaya snowsuit. I carried it mostly for emergency use, in case I had to bivouac for a day or more in extremely cold weather. I did not wind up using it.

Photogtaphy: Olympus SP-510UZ digital camera with 512 Mbyte flash card and two sets of spare batteries.

Navigation: magnetic compass, official AT trail maps and guidebook.

Emergency gear: Duct tape, cell phone, spare butane lighter. While moving, I turned on the phone to call in every two hours so that Dallas could, for safety’s sake, monitor my progress.

Miscellaneous: Two plastic trash bags, six plastic grocery bags, 10 feet of 1/8 inch line, LED-type flashlight, LED-type head lamp, small waterproof note pad with pencil, dental floss.

Food: Instant food packages: 4 rice with broccoli, 4 instant mashed potatoes, 3 dehydrated eggs, 2 chicken and noodles. Other: 3 packs of tuna fish, 6 granola bars, 5 Italian dry salamis, 4 fluid ounces of cooking oil, one ounce of salt. I had only two packages of mashed potatoes, a fluid ounce or so of the oil and some salt left over.

Comments: I would have hiked faster if I could have lightened the load. But leaving had I omitted everything that I didn’t use, including the snowsuit, I do not believe that the pack would have been light enough for me to have moved really fast. Cold weather hiking, and especially solo-cold weather hiking, requires much more gear than summer hiking.