04/14

The night was comfortably carried along by a soft wildflower wind. Of course, it’d be my luck that some camper park his hunting cot right outside my tent. Earning the trail name “Body bag” by waking the dead with his ungodly snoring.

Still, in good spirits, we set our sights on the 100 mile marker atop “Albert Mountain.”

Not ten steps out of camp, a rustling in the bushes. “What was that?” Thinking Body Bag had summoned something ancient from the hills, we froze, trekking poles raised like spears. Just then, a brown cottontail bounced on to the trail, completely unfazed by our presence. In fact, it came towards us, curious and calm… like it wanted to be pet. Remembering a valuable lesson from my dear Uncle Tom (bit by petting a caged raccoon he thought “looked cute”) , we shooed the creature along and took it as nothing more than a good omen.

“Albert Mountain” wasn’t just the 100 mile mark, it also held an abandoned fire tower perched at 5,300 feet, and offering a full 360° view of the world we’ve been hiking through. But first, we had to climb. A.T stairs… Sharp, uneven slabs of rock posing as steps, carved straight into the face of the mountain. At the top, we took our time. Soaking in the moment.

100 miles... Hard to picture, and even harder to believe we’ve hiked every one of them. With over 2k + still to go, our new reality is setting in.

Week three begins, and with it, the rhythm of trail life locks in place: pack, hike, unpack. Repeat. All the way to Maine.