“A meditation on slowing down.”
*Author’s note: I keep telling myself I’m going to write a short post as my next post. Yet this post is another entire novel. Oops.
Past is Prologue
I work. Full-time, even. I’m an Architect and a Senior Project Manager at a large design firm in Boston. It sometimes surprises me, too. My workplace is great in lots of respects, but there is one thing I especially appreciate. They not only exhibit understanding in my propensity to disappear into the woods for days on end, they sort of celebrate(?) it(?). They were all following along for ITI, and I’ve given all-office presentations on my thru hike. Their vacation policy, called ‘Responsible PTO’, is, in effect, unlimited PTO. Between training, hikes, skis, and ITI last year, I’ve been stretching that puppy to the freaking limit.
In my attempt to exhibit Responsibility with my use of Responsible PTO, I like to schedule an adventure over Thanksgiving Week every year. This allows me to take a longer chunk of time to attempt a broader challenge, still have some time on the back end to recover, and only miss a couple of pre-holiday workdays. I call them our “Turkey Trots”. From a math and scheduling standpoint, this strategy makes perfect sense. From a ‘weather in the mountains’ standpoint, this strategy is a crap shoot. Past thanksgivings have gone both very right, and very wrong**.
The very wrong** is represented by 2022’s Turkey Trot. This is the year I planned a 4.5 day, 36 mile hike over a series of 4Kers in Western Maine. ‘Maine?‘ the weary reader asks, ‘The same Maine that always tries to kill you?’ Why yes, one and the same. To the shock of no one, Maine tried to kill me. Eight fresh inches of snow blanketed the trail, slowing me considerably on the first big ascent and causing us to miss our day 1 campsite goal. Wylie got chilled overnight before I moved him into my sleeping bag, and was also having foot trouble. The packable fresh snow balling up in his footpads. For the LIFE of me I couldn’t find the dog booties in my pack, then Wylie was cold, there was too much snow, we still have THREE 4kers ahead of us to summit, the pace wasn’t working, we weren’t going to make it to our car in our time window….
I woke up to a subtly stunning sunrise through the trees, 0f on the mercury, and a calm knowledge we were bailing out that very morning, less than 24 hours into our ‘big adventure’. That bailout still took remote assistance via satellite from Auntie (my sister, the dogs’ aunt), over 8 miles and many hours of hiking, logging road, and some farm road walking, and a serious assist from an awesome old guy named Jim to get us safety back to our car….once he took a moment to move all of the shotguns off of his truck’s backseat. Wylie ended up with footbeds irritated enough to require a week of medicated soaks, and I learned where NOT to hide the dog booties in my pack. All’s well that ends well enough. “Welcome to Barnjum, Population 2… and pets!” is still a roadsign that haunts my dreams and makes me smile.
** ‘very wrong’ is asterisked because none have ever gone actually very wrong, they’ve just not been completed as planned. Backup plans, risk mitigation, and knowing when to bail are all key to preventing ‘very wrong‘ adventures. We condone type-two fun, not type-three fun.
The ‘very right’ example is 2023. Auntie and I completed a point-to-point overnight AT hike through the Hudson Valley Region of New York. No winter camping for Auntie–she’ll opt in for cold weather hiking if the tentsite has beds, heat, and (ideally) a very cool turn-of-the-century, Teddy-Roosevelt-style lodge restaurant serving bottles of fine wine by a roaring fireplace. Check, check and….check. The weather cooperated, the vibes were good, and her husband had Thanskgiving dinner ready and waiting on arrival home–we made it back with 12 minutes to spare. As a bonus, I took one of my favorite-ever photos of Wy&Wo as we humans peeked through the hotel room window, sneaking back from our fine dining experience at the old lodge.
What did Turkey Trot 2024 have in store? In my preparations, I considered our odds. In my favor — the location. The dogs and I were attempting a ~62 mile section of Southeastern Pennsylvania. Notoriously mild terrain, by Appalachian Trail standards, and also sited significantly south of the rugged early winter climate we’d been battling in years past up in New Hampshire, Vermont and Maine. Against me–2024’s training regimen. Post-Iditarod Trail Invitational, I’d taken a signficant, many-months step back in any real training. First to heal from the race, then due to a lingering knee injury, then due to scheduling, then due to just plain old lack of discipline, I knew that I wasn’t really in trail shape. I’d survived a longer section across PA in September, largely due to grit and some luck. Grit, I could do, but I knew if I wasn’t trained up, the dogs weren’t really trained up. Its hard to explain to a tired dog that we’re almost to camp, or that sore muscles will feel better if you just let them stretch out in the morning over a couple easy warm up miles. It is my responsibility to be sure they’re prepped and ready for what I ask them to do. Thankfully, the lack of remoteness on this one gave me confidence. At almost any point, I was going to be within 3 miles of a road. Cell service was fairly ubiquitous. If we needed to stop, we’d stop. Only way to find out how far we could get, was to get out there and try.
Oh, and my pack weighted SIXTY POUNDS. PA had been in a pretty epic drought for months. The area we were hiking through had unreliable water sources, so I needed to be prepared to go up to a day and a half with no opportunity for refills. Similar to getting in trail shape, dogs can’t really ‘grit’ through being thirsty. Its on me to provide for them and be sure they drink water regularly and stay fully hydrated. So, 5 full days of supplies, food for me and the dogs, 4 liters of water, and all our winter layers including coats and booties for them and extra warm options for me? Yeah. 60 lbs. Pack pick below. Uffda.
Day 1 | Time for the main course
Pennsylvania is far away. I know it doesn’t look far on a map. But its not as if our arrival in PA is the ‘end’ of the event, the destination. It is just the setup. All told, it was two hours of driving from my house to my sister’s house to pick up the dogs (I’d been traveling for a funeral earlier in the week), an overnight, then an additional 5.5 hours’ drive to our finishing point. THEN we got picked up by a hiker shuttler and drove for another 1.5 hours. To start. This is one of several reasons why I’m biting off PA in a few, big bites. We’re pushing the limits as to what is drivable to get to our goal of Harpers Ferry, the spiritual halfway point of the Appalachian Trail. That will be the finish line for the dogs, and I will be taking a good long break (more on this below) before I seek to complete the trail solo.
So, we finally got to the start right about noon on Saturday. Pen Mar Park, Maryland. Wait…what? Maryland? In the immortal words of the Avett Brothers, “we are headed north”. We started about 300 yards south of the border, and hiked north to cross the Mason Dixon Line into PA. If successful, this was going to be the longest northbound hike in our entire Appalachian Trail section project. We’re off!
And honestly, it seemed miraculous we were starting out on a five-day hike at all. Last year, I was coming to grips with Wylie slowing down. The post below was a benchmark shortly before I began a multi-vet diagnostic process to uncover his issue. Thanks to his excellent core vet team and Orthopedic Surgeon diagnostic, I got him on a treatment and pain management plan that has taken years of life off his leg and has him able to tackle ambitious (if not overly technical or steep) hikes with us. How would his arthritic wrist and elbow hold up on a 5-day-long adventure? I wasn’t sure, but I had his supplemental pain meds on hand and was prepared to watch him closely.
Day 2 | Musings on PA – it’s dull
Good god, hiking in Pennsylvania is dull. I’m sorry, Mid-Atlantic dwellers, but I grew up in the Northwoods of Minnesota and Wisconsin and fell back in love with hiking Vermont’s alpine forests. It’s not you, its me. In that I have standards for what makes the outdoors interesting. PA is monotonous, not very remote, offers no views (hikers call these climbs PUDs, ‘pointless up-and-downs’), and is just plain boring. I nearly had to set a timer to take pictures, because there is nothing to jog your memory or interest to do so.
In contrast to Wylie, Wolfy has never needed much oversight or fussing on-trail. Wolfy came to us in Spring 2022 as a retiree, having spent the first 7 years of her life on a sled dog team in Two Rivers (Fairbanks), Alaska. She was training-squad material on a family Junior Iditarod team, going on winter camping and skijor trips with her middle-school and high-school-girl family. When I got her, I was warned that she “no longer had any interest in single runs longer than 25 miles”, which I assured them would not be an issue. While not high-energy or high-drive by Alaskan Husky standards, Wolfy has always been fine on hikes. She zips around ahead off leash, circling back frequently to stay with the pack and darting off to chase squirrels and deer lazily up the trail a hundred yards. Poufy rests well on trail, has fun exploring the campsite in little circles around the area while I set up camp, and often needs to be half-dragged into the tent for bedtime. Though once in the tent, she does quickly settle in and maximize her beauty rest. She will overheat quickly hiking in warmer weather, which is part of why we hike much less in summer, but in weather like this? She’d be golden.
Day 3 | Cracks in the Armor
While PA may be monotonous, I find following my two favorite dog butts through the woods in sunny weather to be a nice view in every season. Here’s a collection of pictures taken at different times, on different days, all with the similar views. The Pine Grove Furnace General Store is famous for AT Thru Hikers–Pine Grove Furnace State Park is home to the actual official measured ‘halfway point’ of the trail. As such, it is tradition for thru-hikers to eat a half-gallon of ice cream to celebrate their halfway status. The General Store has freezers stocked full of half-gallon flavors for this very tradition. Since we came through out of season, the General Store was closed. We survived.
Day three was a long day, but not seriously challenging terrain. The heavy pack was weighing on me. Some more PUDs than we’d hoped for. It did seem to take more out of Wolfy than I expected. When she starts to get tired, she stops roving ahead or seeking chipmunks off in the woods on the side of the trail, and drops to walking behind me at my heel. Sometimes she does this when she’s mentally tired, to give herself a little brain break, and other times when she’s feeling physically tired or overheated and needs a rest to power back up. I noticed on this day she’d dropped to heel early and was sticking around more than usual. A couple of miles from camp, she started trotting ahead and pointedly sitting down, right on trail. This is how she asks for a rest. She almost never does this unless she’s overheated and the weather was dry and crisp. Uh oh. We couldn’t really quit early without being in trouble for water…the next campsite was one of few ‘reliable’ sources so I’d planned to refill to have enough for overnight. When she asked for a rest, she got a rest, and we slowly finished our final miles to camp.
When we got to camp, she didn’t do much of her typical camp perimeter exploration, just went off a few yards into the underbrush and bedded down. Once I got the tent set up, she asked to go right in, which she never does. Her tiredness was initially comingled with a minor First Aid scare (nicked ears bleed a lot which can be freaky until I can diagnose the source of the blood!), but once that was sorted, it was clear that she was just plain tired out. Even Wylie, not typically the doting brother, could tell something was off and was checking in on her. She ate and drank fine, didn’t seem to be suffering any discomforts or illness–babygirl was just plain pooped. We called it early and snuggled in before the light was even fading.
Day 4 | What we can do, and no more
Wolfy slept well and we had a strong opening mile or so. Into mile two, she was already dropping to heel. The last two days I had set up to be our most challenging–a tried-and-true planning move. We’d theoretically have our trail legs under us and be ready to power through to the finish. While for Wylie and I that was true (Wylie was looking stronger every day, eats like a horse on-trail, and sleeps like a drugged baby at camp), Wolfy was continuing to flagg.
Wolfy took a 15-minute nap and had a bit more bounce in her step after a good rest. I watched her closely–it seemed to really be the uphills bothering her. Was it her rear left leg? There was nothing obvious, no limp or favoring. Her back legs seemed to be tired to the point of being weak, particularly to lift her up over the summit of each each frustrating little PUD. Even though I was diagnosing more with my sixth sense than with any evidence, I called it. I started mentally recalibrating.
Recalibrating
Recalibrating is in my skill-set sweet spot. Every time I change the plan due to conditions, or energy levels (whether mine or the dogs’), or decide to bail-out… I jump to running through the pros and cons of alternate scenarios. Before even starting a trip, I’ve typically built a baseline itinerary, an aggressive itinerary, and an conservative backup option, and know all my best bailout options. On our 2021 thru-hike of the 275-mile Long Trail through Vermont, I had a laminated spreadsheet with distance and time estimates between each of the 66 official campsites. It had a line at the end of each estimated day, with a conservative backup column and an aggressive ‘pace pushing’ column. If we didn’t make the mileage one day, the spreadsheet contained all the data required to make decisions for the next two days how to either make that mileage up, or change dates for our two town layovers. We joked that I was the brains, Auntie the brawn (I made her carry the heaviest pack), and Wylie was the beauty.
The key is to have a plan, but be flexible enough within the plan to account for changes and the fact that ostensibly, we are doing this for fun. There is no award to win at the end for sticking with Plan A. Pushing limits is all well and good when folks are healthy, things are working, and there is some pliability and resiliency to draw from. When things have gone sideways, it is time to reset. No use being stubborn or risking injury.
I knew by mile two or three on that day four that the hike was ‘over’. Over insofar as, we weren’t going to be hiking back to the car where it awaited us at the Bed and Breakfast, but in quotes insofar as we still had to get to civilization. Since nobody was having a medical emergency and the remaining miles to the next shelter seemed manageable, I changed our plans to finish at the shelter for the night. That cut off four miles and most of the remaining elevation gain for the day, and left us just short of some actual paved roads that would make extraction easy the next morning. That’s always the goal in a bail-out, get out in the most reasonable way. This would also leave about 13 miles of our original itinerary unhiked. That sounded like one day’s worth, which would be easy to tack on to the other PA miles we still had planned–they happened to be immediately north of the B&B. This would change our next, and final, PA trip from an overnight to a 3-day hike. Probably. I’d figure out those details later. The key to recalibrating is to think ahead but not too far ahead…I still had to get us out without overtaxing Wolfy or letting anyone’s attitude sour.
We took our time. We had many rest breaks and snack breaks. I maintained my pack role of ‘Cheerleader-in-Chief”: we kept it fun with lots of praise and attention. Wylie got spoiled as well; he hates being left out. We got to camp which actually had a babbling brook right near the tenting area, despite the drought. Wolfy took off to go explore it, and I breathed a sigh of relief. For one, we had good water source. For two…I’d gotten her to camp in good spirits with enough gas to do her little campsite exploration routine. She was gonna get out just fine tomorrow. Then, we’d figure out what’s next.
She slept for sixteen hours.
Day 5 | Victorious Triumphant Finish
The next morning was cooling down, but still dry. Wolfy wasn’t much interested in getting out of the tent when I went to get our food and trash out of the bear-box–I suspect she was pretty stiff. Once she got up and got a few steps in, she was moving just like normal. We finalized plans to get extracted while hiking out and down to the main road, but the logistics all worked out great in the end. We connected with our shuttle and the dogs, per usual, passed out the back for the drive home. Wylie, not the doting brother, was still taking extra care to comfort his sister in ways that made my heart ping.
We got back to our car at the Bed and Breakfast hours before early check-in began. I used the time to go get an absolutely giant breakfast platter while the dogs napped in the back together. Thankfully I had a spare sweatshirt in my car I could put on to cover how aromatic I smelled. Five days exerting on the trail without bathing…I fit right in at the drifter diner perched on the side of the interstate.
The Pheasant Field Bed and Breakfast was amazing. Not only did Kevin come and pick us up with next-to-no warning, 16 miles away, he did so for free, and then they let us get in the room hours early. “We only do that for hikers and for dog people…and you’re both!”. A lovely long rest in our room, trip to Carslile to a brewery for a pint and some wings, and an early bedtime had our name all over it. The Inn included a delicious handmake breakfast the next day before we hit the road home–an 8+ hour drive across five states, on Thanksgiving day, in pouring rain for the entire drive. Uffda.
Progress is Progress!
In the end, this hike checked off 48.2 miles, leaving 34.5 miles remaining in Pennsylvania and 76.1 miles remaining to get to Harpers Ferry which is our finish-line-for-now. I officially passed the official halfway point on this trip–I still have those 34 miles north of it to capture, but I’ve done 34 miles south of it, too. We still have (at least) two more of punishing drive to get down here and finish, but finish we will.
About finishing the whole trail? Well, I know I will do that too, but not anytime too soon. Beyond Harpers Ferry, I will have to fly down to get miles meaning a couple of big changes. For one, no dogs. And much of what I love about my time on the trail is being out with them. For two, it means more expenses and less flexibility for logistics–flights and hotels become mandatory on either end, schedules need to be set way in advance, long weekends become logistically infeasible, it will require prioritizing bigger chunks of vacation time from work….the list goes on. And hey, the trail isn’t going anywhere. It could actually use some time to recover, after the hurricane decimated big swaths of North Carolina earlier this fall. So while I wont be giving up on the trail, I will be taking an intermission of sorts. After we get to Harper’s Ferry, I’ll be setting aside new AT mileage for at least a couple of years.
We’ve done 1080-34.6mi!
Keeping Those Next Steps Strong
By the time we had set up our final campsite, my mind was already mulling what’s next for Wolfy, for us. Had she simply pulled something, or was this the sign of a bigger issue? I was guessing the latter. Likely compounded by lack of training, her rear legs are losing some of that strength, that flexibility that came naturally to her as a distance athlete. Thankfully, this is very likely a manageable issue, just time to consult with the experts and get a treatment and maintenance plan in place.
While I intend to seek any and every treatment that will keep her limber, strong, and healthy, I do not intend to deny that Wolfy is a senior dog. She will be ten in March. She’ll need increasing levels of care and attention to maintain an ever-reducing level of activity. Whatever we seek to tackle will be calibrated for what she and her brother can handle. That said, I have every confidence with the right plan in place, Wolfy will be racing ahead of me up the trail for years to come. Even if sometime soon she’s no longer sending back-to-back, double-digit mileage days over mountains, we still want her feeling her best and enjoying her ever-unfruitful chipmunk hunts through her hometown woods.
Besides, we still have those two remaining #rushtoharpersferry hikes to conquer. I intend to get to our finish line with my number one gal leading the way.
The TypeTwoFun Club 
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