Reflections on the Long Path

John  Boyd Thacher State Park - Old Stage Road northern terminus

Each long distance trail that I have hiked has offered its own unique experience. Admittedly, because I had already hiked a long distance trail through New York State- the Finger Lakes Trail - I thought I had a pretty good idea of what this one would be like. I was wrong. Perhaps I was even a little overly assured too because in its relatively shorter length when compared to other long distance trails I have hiked - the Appalachian Trail is 2175 miles long - again this trail showed me! Throughout my blogs I have come back to the words beautiful, rugged, picturesque, daunting...none of these words ever seeming to really fulfill what impressions I wished to convey to my blog readers and hikers who will walk this trail in the future. Any good trail should leave a writer or a hiker or a photographer or a woods-walker this way...always working to recreate for others the experience the trail provided. The Long Path has done just this...provided a long path to my squeezing its surprises onto a tiny page. Here, I will do my best...

View of Manhattan from cliff-side in Palisades

We were surprised in our first day of hiking when we walked along the cliff's edge in the Palisades. This park actually offered a peek into the natural wonders of this region, allowing us to see this shoreline as more than just a dirtied abuttment to tall buildings, busy roadways, and throngs of people. It was an actual shoreline with sandy soil and towering cliffs filled with rock so valuable that at one time people fought over whether to quarry it or preserve it. Enormous old growth trees that had somehow been spared stood along the trail's edge as if to say, come sit and I'll tell you a tale. At night as we camped on the cliff's edge under a full moon over the Hudson, the wind shook the sides of our tent and the air smelled of damp soil from the river below. We were transported even if we could still hear the blowing of a commuter train's horn in the distance and the whoosh of cars on the parkway. It was evidence that the balm of wilderness doesn't have to be far from civilization.

Sunset on Schunemunk Ridge

In Schunemunk State Park in the Hudson Highlands, we discovered a hidden gem of bare-top mountains home to packs of coyotes and Mountain Ash trees no more than 40 minutes from where we live that we had never even heard of. We got lost here...like really went the wrong way...but this wrong turn graced us with one of the most magical nights that I remember on the trail. We had hiked side by side with the setting sun that early evening and at night laid down to the hoo-hooting from a nearby owl and howling and yipping from you-know-what with one bold coyote even coming up to the tent to check us out.  Guess he was curious. We were stitched in place, completely present and even accepted on that mountain.

Graced with a butterfly

In fact that presence in the moment is one of the greatest reasons why we hike and why I have always sought long trails. Something starts to happen when you are out there long enough, sometimes you can catch brief windows of it even on a day hike. With so little artificial stimulus invading your senses - buzzing of cell phones, images on a screen, surface pleasantries with passing people, visual reminders of things you need to do or haven't done yet - your mind quiets allowing your other senses to enliven. The sound of birdsong in the trees above or the passing of wind by your ears or your own breath in your chest, the sight of leaves turning upward before a storm or tiny salamanders at your feet, or the feel of scratchy blueberry twigs against your dry skin are you impressions. Your mind still can wander and even ruminate, but when it does, you notice.  You have the presence of mind to look at that thing you're turning over and let it go because its not really serving you right now. Hiking is a moving meditation and after a while a shift starts to happen.

Goldenrod (Solidago)

In Orange County we wondered if we would find the beauty, as we had been told there was a good deal of civilization we would pass through and a number of hikers actually opt to hike the Appalachian Trail for these 50 miles instead of the Long Path- it is even an approved alternative route. However, with our new trail eyes and ears we loved letting our vision go long down the paved greenway between Monroe and Goshen canopied with Oak and Maple trees, lined with Goldenrod and Grape vines that wound around whatever they could grasp. Our feet enjoyed it too...a break from having to watch our every step. Having not had much human interaction, we enjoyed chatting with random passerby and had our first conversations with locals along our route. We drank sodas and ate pizza and slept on lumpy hotel beds...all of which suddenly seemed wonderfully luxurious already.

Wintergreen with autumn colors (Gaultheria procumbens)

The Shawangunks were a shift in and of themselves. They were sun and bleached rock and relentless heat. It was as if we had a window into just what those dry fire-scorched mountaintops must feel on many a day. Our photos from these sections are filled with white rock, blue sky, crimson Sassafras and plum-colored Wintergreen leaves. It was as if these plants had soaked up the very sun that shined down upon them everyday. This land felt foreign and we were but humble visitors passing through. It's fitting that the Shawangunks have their own long trail - the Shawangunk Ridge Trail - these mountains have a story all their own to tell.

Scott on the Arizona Plateau approaching Blackhead Mountain

When we entered the Catskills, it was as if we slipped into a botanical wonderland. The miles got harder but at least all that rock scrambling gave us an intimate experience of the plants as we clung to Yellow Birch roots for hand-holds, thrust our faces into Spruce boughs smelling sweet and rich, snacked on the occasional Mountain Ash berry for a lil zing. The darkness of the high-elevation boreal forest was also a welcome reprieve from the relentless sun of the Shawangunks. It seemed as if we were in the Catskills for 3/4 of the trail although it only makes up less than a third. We climbed peak after peak, sometimes several in day, but our legs strengthened, our appetites increased and our connection with this trail deepened. We felt like we had been through something in these mountains, like we had shared in their struggle, their raw experience of reality. Life is not easy in these high peaks and the stunted trees in the thin soil shared in our strife. And when we descended Blackhead Mountain in the darkness of night, it was as if it were allowing us to be in its boughs and amongst its boulders in such stillness.

A boulder climb in the Catskills

Hitting the Capital District it became undeniable that a shift had indeed occurred within us. Not only were the miles coming easier but so was our laughter and the people we met...they approached us differently and to be quite honest the trail magic abounded! Sure, I imagine these townspeople have a different approach to strangers than say the city folk we passed in the Palisades but at the same time I have been in a number of rural towns in New York where the locals don't care who you are or where you're going. I think we partly had the genuine interactions and generosity we did because we were projecting differently as well. We were slowed, aware, intrigued and not hustling to get to our next destination or with faces twisted up in thought or concern. The trail had gotten to us...and now to be quite frank...we didn't want to leave. We took our time most everyday, walking two or three miles and taking a good long break, staying up at night talking and goofing off, getting out of camp later in the morning because we took our time over coffee. Sure, we looked forward to a warm bed as now our temps had dropped into the 30's in the evening and eating whatever thing our hearts desired given that our bellies seemed bottomless...but we were so in the groove out here it seemed just strange that it would abruptly end!

Hanging with Mike Wilsee of Stage Road

We have had a lot of people ask us since returning home, doesn't it feel good to sleep in a bed again? Or to wear clean clothes? Or sit on a toilet? And yes, you're damn right it feels good! But at the same time once you have gone without these luxuries for a good bit, you realize just how unnecessary they are and all the other good stuff that we cut ourselves off from by making these comforts a "necessity" and a priority. So now our work is to take what we learned from the trail and incorporate it into our daily lives. Some days we will succeed at this and others we won't...that's just the way it is...and there will be rough days here in the "real" world just like there were rough days on the trail...but we were gifted with the chance to hike this trail and we are looking forward to sharing what we learned from the trail and its people we met along it with y'all. 

Hickory nut (Carya)

In a really lil' nutshell...I'll wrap this post up in saying that if any of my readers are looking for their next long distance trail or maybe their first, hit the Long Path! In 358 miles, this trail packs in the beauty and the breath-taking, the rugged and the challenging, the sweet trail towns and sweeter people, with very little if any, boring filler. Resupply is easy with some mail drops to fill in where supplies are a little slim and access to the trail for support is easy to find. 

In our business Hike Local, we will certainly be sharing our experience with you through guided walks on the Long Path when our warm weather returns, through presentations about the trail through the colder months, and of course more written word!

Reaching the end of the trail in John Boyd Thacher State Park