In September of 2012, I arrived in Hanover a bright eyed and bushy tailed 20-something ready for the start of classes. Seven years later, I now return with Jess bruised, battered, and feeling my age. Not quite the typical picture of triumph, but hey, we made it, and for our efforts we were greeted by a beaver and friends with lemonade and washing machines. Nick and Shafika, you two are amazing!

The beaver while technically still in VT is getting credited to NH for the sake of this post. This little guy (picture courtesy of The Smithsonian as we forgot to snap a pic) was slapping his tail all over the White River.

The Whites

We had heard a lot about the Whites. That is the mountains not the overwhelming majority of people who we’ve seen on the trail. The racial makeup of the AT hiking community is more monochromatic than a hockey game in Minnesota. We’d been told about their difficulty, “When you get to New Hampshire, you’ve done 75% of the miles but only 25% of the effort”; their majesty, “Nothing beats the views of the Whites”; and their weather, “Worst weather on earth”, but like a kid about to drive for the first time, we didn’t really understand how totally the Whites would mark a change in our hike.

That’s some hard trail…

…but the views (and other cool flora/fauna) are so worth it…

…as long as we don’t get blown off the Mountain!

New Friends

Meet Tadpole and Survivor. Tadpole is truly one of the most positive people we’ve had the pleasure to met on the trail, and Survivor is always around for support in dangerous situations and, true to his name, never gives up. We had a blast hiking through most of the Whites together.