My 16 Day Solo Journey on the Long Trail

The Lead Up

I had been wanting to do a thru-hike for some time, but I never expected to do it solo. Yes, I can plan and successfully have epic backpacking weekends, or even 4-5 day stretches in the woods, but never had I been out for weeks, let alone by myself. The thought was scary and a bit nerve-wracking, but it excited me. I had my eye on the Long Trail for some time when the stars finally aligned, allowing me two weeks off from work to do whatever I wanted.

As a scientist who primarily does ecology research, summers are typically filled with critter collections (insects, arthropods, mammals), as long as it’s warm enough to do so. Having a multi-week trip had been out of the cards for me until summer 2021. I changed universities and found myself deep in laboratory science, white coat and all. Lab rats (the people), I’ve come to realize, don’t have “field seasons”, and summers are actually meant for vacation time. With this new found freedom, I began plotting my journey on the Long Trail, heading northbound. The only issue: my new grad program was set to start mid-August, and I was going to start hiking late-July. This would leave me exactly 16 days to hike 272 miles from Massachusetts to Canada (what typically takes 21 days on average), and I wouldn’t be able to take any zero days.

I'm an ambitious person who embarks on trips with the assumption that everything will turn out fine and that I can push through it, so the time crunch wasn’t going to stop me. I picked up a couple extra gear items, downloaded Guthook (an impressive navigational app that has the best waypoints), and I started weighing everything. With a questionable left knee and an upcoming rollercoaster trail terrain, I wasn’t going to carry any more weight than I needed to. Among the major weight cuts I chose to take, I made the bold move to use a hammock rain fly and cheap ground plastic from Lowes as my shelter, and I decided to cold-soak (whatever can hydrate in water without cooking) my food in a used Talenti ice cream container to avoid carrying fuel or cooking appliances. I don’t regret these decisions, but there are definitely a few changes I would make next time (a full gear shakedown will be a supplemental post). Fortunately, towns are frequent along the Long Trail, so I could scale down my food to carrying only 4 days worth at a time.

After taking a few pictures before leaving home (for social media and in case something happened to me), I headed off to Massachusetts with my partner, Uri, who would hike out with me the first day.

Day 1:Pine Cobble to Melville (mile 15.9)

In the morning of July 31st, my well-worn red Oboz boots were laced up, and my pack was strapped to my back, giving off strong Dora the Explorer vibes. I clumsily struggled to use Guthook to find exactly where the Long Trail even started. Before getting to the trailhead itself, you have to hike about 2 miles on the Pine Cobble Trail, if you start in Williamstown. The uphill start surprised me, and I was slightly annoyed that my efforts didn’t count towards the grand 272 mileage yet. When I reached the starting sign, it was naturally in a pool of mud, and it made sense why Vermont was lovingly coined Vermud by the Appalachian trail (AT) hikers. For the next 100 miles or so, the AT and LT hikers would be hiking together.

Uri and I hiked together the first 10 miles before he turned back to head home. I tearfully parted ways with him, and, of course, wondered if I would ever see him again. Concerningly, my knee started to ache from the pack weight that I never practiced wearing. It was only day one, and I told everyone I knew of my plans. There was no way I could tap out after the first day! Only 15 more days to go, I could do this.

After a pleasant walk through the highly vegetated and somewhat dry woods, I made it to the Melville camp and was pleased to see a number of people trickling in. I chatted up an AT woman thru-hiker ironically named No Name and another guy named Shiv (his actual name) who was just starting the Long Trail too. Tip 1: Make conversation with people as much as you can. While everyone else began cooking their meals together, my cold soak alternative made it quick for me to eat and slip into my sleeping bag. However, my first night was discouraging: it was much colder than anticipated. My 30-degree bag was not warm enough for this summer night, and I slept in all my clothing, wrapping my rain poncho around my legs for extra warmth. Tip 2: Prepare for temperature fluxes. Kicking myself, I wondered what the heck I had got myself into and if I was even prepared to do this.

Day 2: Melville to Blackbrook (mile 36)

I was the first one awake the following morning, and often times throughout the whole trip. I opened my eyes to see at least eight bear bags strung up right in front of where I was sleeping. Annoyed at the inconsideration, I stuffed the few items I had back into my backpack in a disorderly fashion and ducked out of the camp before anyone else woke up, hopping over a stream and dipping into the woods. I was a little spooked to hike alone, especially at dawn, when my thoughts of fighting off a bear were cut short by Skywalker eating peanut butter in the middle of the trail. Aptly named for his preference for smoking and hiking simultaneously, Skywalker was dressed in all black, had a goofy gap between his two front teeth and a small afro, and he had the confidence of an AT hiker who had lived in the woods for months. We hit it off pretty quickly as he invited himself to hike with me, and I was secretly grateful to have a hiking companion so early on in the trip. Tip 3: Have hiking companions. He told me exciting stories from the Appalachian trail that made me envious of his 5-month journey and the bond he developed in the thru-hiking community. I made a mental note of all his gear and the trail lingo. Bubble. Trail angel. Trail magic. Stealth camping. Naturally, I felt like my hike was child’s play compared to the 1500 miles he had traveled thus far, but he never gloated about it.

That evening, a storm was slowly moving in, but we chose to pass by a lean-to that was already packed with hikers cutting the day short to avoid the ominous gray cloud. Not 10 minutes later, we were in a torrential downpour. My rain poncho that was supposed to be a genius move to cover me and my pack was rendered useless. I succumbed to the water and mud and decided that it actually felt surreal to be in the wilderness, hearing the deafening pattering of fat raindrops slapping off billions of leaves. With dusk setting in and the trail beginning to flood, I was concerned about finding a place to sleep. We managed to make it to Blackbrook, a tenting campsite that would be our resting spot for the night. It was only the two of us, and I finally put my "tarp" to the test. Tip 4: Never set up camp when it is raining unless you absolutely have to. With everything properly soaked, I hunkered down on the forest floor, a pitiful piece of plastic separating me from the sopping earth. Again, I questioned what the hell I was doing, but this time, I had a friend who was drenched in a tent next to me.

Day 3: Blackbrook to Manchester center (mile 54)

Our alarms woke us at 5 AM because we wanted to hike before the sun rose, and the first sensation I had (after being grateful for both making it through the night and that my shelter actually worked) was my knee pain. I made it to the 3rd day, but my tightening IT band was unrelenting, and the ebbs and flows of knee pain whispered Go home! Subduing it with ample pain relief mediation, I pretended like I was fine until my muscles loosened up. One day at a time.

The trail was strictly mud at this point, and it would be for days. We chatted and gossiped about our lives and his love life (did they ever get together?). The day passed quickly, and when we stuck out our hitchhiker thumb, within 30 seconds a woman pulled over and drove us to Manchester Center. It was a super cute town with adorable restaurants. Loading my backpack into a shopping cart at the grocery store, I gained some stares and inquisitive looks as I bought way too much food and some beer for the evening.

We made an important stop at The Cold Cow Creamery, and I filled up on a divine veggie burger, fries, and ice cream before we checked in at The Pinnacle Lodge. The lodge was a quaint one-story, motel-styled lodge that had free laundry, a pond with kayaks, a patio with a grill and kitchen, and a private backyard with a bonfire for socializing. Tip 5: Treat yourself when you can. We met up with two of Skywalker's friends, Cinnamon and Geo, who shared the adjacent room. Cinnamon, a strong and confident brunette in her 30s who brought her own cinnamon on the trail, and Geo, a tall, thin guy with an impressively long beard, were welcoming and kind but worn out and weathered. After hiking only 3 days, it was hard for me to relate to their journey, but I admired them nonetheless.

Day 4: Manchester Center to Little Rock Pond (mile 74)

The three slept in and were going to enjoy the amenities of the lodge, but I was on the road by 6 AM, hiking with a pep in my step (the pain relief was working well) from having a hot meal the day before and clean clothing. The trail was noticeably drier, and experienced the lovely and sunny Bromley and Styles mountains. I briefly ran into Bags, a 30-miles-a-day AT hiker with curly brown hair under a cap and a psychedelic mushroom, button-up shirt. Our encounter was brief as he was pounding out more miles than I ever could do, and so I was stuck with only my thoughts for the day. I was officially alone again.

And then I experienced it. Trail magic from a trail angel named Twinkie. I rounded a corner in the road and was beckoned to join a hiker circle in a parking lot. I was speechless. There was a grill with hot dogs, hamburgers, and all the junk food a hiker could possibly hope for. Twinkie was named such because he was injured on the trail, and a man hiked him out 3 miles. The first thing he gave Twinkie to eat? A twinkie, obviously. I found myself glued to a camp chair, chowing down homemade cookies and hot dogs. The reprieve gave me a chance to chat up the other hikers that were there, some southbounders on the AT, some on the Long Trail. This was one of the few times where I experienced some hostility and judgement from the AT hikers. You’ve never had trail magic before? Oh... you’re hiking the Long Trail...followed by looks that said "amateur". But I'll never forget McFly, a super groovy, redheaded dude who proudly showed off his pink nail polished toes. Granted, the paint was chipped, and his nails were filled with mud, but I immediately liked this guy.

Little Rock Pond was one of my favorite places to stay for the night. It was on a beautiful, calm lake with gorgeous reflections. I spent some time catching salamanders in the water and letting my poor feet escape my prison-like boots. I now had plenty of blisters, and my feet were rubbing raw from being constantly wet. It was too humid for my socks to dry on my backpack during the day, so I switched from damp and sweaty socks to damper and sweatier socks. My leather Oboz never dried, and I was envious that the hikers had breathable trail shoes. Tip 6: Don't wear boots on the LT.

I met some memorable people here, like Possible @cleanup_at, Black Sheep, and Life Alert. Possible was a real John Lennon-like character with a dreamy and whimsical demeanor, and he wore a black cutoff t-shirt and jeans. He made it his hiking mission to clean up the trail so he could hike more slowly and enjoy nature. He also judged me for having plans and reaked of body odor that would have woke me up in the morning if his fart hadn’t done that first. “I have to toot”, he whispered, one second before farting. I chuckled, of course. Black Sheep, who named himself, reminded me of a once frat boy who was now in his late thirties and who sought after the AT as a way to change his life around. At first, I thought he was arrogant and judgey, but I warmed up to him as we chatted. It was he who gave me my trail name, Tick Mama (yes, I might talk about ticks too much). And then Life Alert, a wiry, old man who was quick and sharp yet who had a bum knee from a recent mishap on the trail. He came and left quickly but not without first telling some captivating stories.

Day 5: Little Rock Pond to Governor Clement (mile 93.9)

I officially split from the AT mid-morning, and my days became increasingly lonelier as I lost all the AT hikers to the White Mountains. The trail was thankfully drier, and I could start to see dry patches forming on my boots. On this day, I met Toot and Sweet, two burly young women with shaved heads and a great attitude, at a river crossing. We frog-hopped each other as we snacked and hiked, and I pushed hard to get to the Governor Clement shelter, a beautiful stone shelter with a built in fireplace that attracted weekend hikers. It filled up quickly with a family who I struggled to have conversation with. So, I opted to camp out with my minimalist hammock rain fly next to Free Bird, a real cool cat in his 60s to 70s. He put interesting emphasis on all of his words and spoke as if he were broadcasting. Not to mention, his morning alarm was an alien UFO. Free Bird had been hiking the AT in sections every year, and he really knew what he was talking about. I started to know what I was talking about too.

Day 6: Governor Clement to David Logan (mile 117.5)

The trail was beginning to wear on me. My knee officially stopped hurting, having got used to the pack weight, but my feet were the limiting factor. I was pumping out 20-mile days to increase my average in the “flat” part of the hike, so I could relax in the second half of the trip when the true mountains appeared. However, the shelter that I was aiming for wasn’t accessible, and I had to push further than I intended to. I called Uri crying because the sun was setting, I hadn’t seen a single person all day, and I was concerned about my ability to find a place to sleep. As always, he talked me through it, and in a rare moment where I turned towards my emergency music playlist, I hiked faster and became a little uplifted. Tip 7. Have music on hand.

I managed to make it to Governor Clement at dusk and was relieved to see six other people there, most men but one female. In a dramatic fashion, it took all my energy to peel my boots off, revealing two wrinkled, raw, red disasters called feet.

This night I met Cheerio, a tall man in his 40s who was nestled in the top bunk in his sleeping bag, Will and Ethan, two friends in their early 20s, and a few others who I never saw again.

Day 7: David Logan to Middlebury (mile 135)

This was a successful day! I made it to the halfway point! I found Lucy “Mountain Spice” @mountainspice12 on Guthook who was this badass triple-crowner who worked on a farm outside of Middlebury. She took me to the grocery store where I enjoyed fresh food for the first time in what seemed to be weeks. I spent the night on her deck which was crowded with old antique items covered in dust. Her little one room wooden shack was actually magical, though her house gave a messy horder-vibe. I didn’t care; it was perfect. I slept outside, charged my devices, did my laundry, wrote in my journal, and enjoyed the hot shower. I couldn’t believe how far I had come. I could really do this after all.

Day 8: Middlebury to Cooley Glen (mile 147.4)

One of my first easy days! I enjoyed a beautiful view on Mt. Roosevelt in the Breadloaf Wilderness and had a nap in the sunlight at the summit. Tip 8. Stop and smell the flowers.There were a lot of downed trees in this section due to logging which complicated the hike, but, to my delight, there was a lack of mud. Having hiked above the average mileage, I was too fast to be in a bubble of friends, but it gave me the chance to meet new people nearly every evening. I regret not getting the contact info of anyone I had met.

I envisioned having a mindful experience on this hike, but instead I took on two mindsets: the zombie or the anxious student. Many times during the day, I hiked with no thoughts in my head, just the grind of putting one foot in front of the other. Alternatively, thoughts of work, school, social media, etc., ran through my mind. I was enjoying my time off, but I was anxious for the upcoming school semester. Did I actually want to be at this University? Do I want to continue down this career trajectory? After all, I'm an ecologist, and I hate being a full-time lab scientist. What do I actually want to do with my life? My other friends were visiting super scenic places across the west (Olympic National Park, Moab, UT), and I was stuck in the muddy green tunnel, sweaty, crying, and bleeding. Why did I choose this over exploring the west coast? Solo hiking the LT was not romantic, but, damnit, it was real and empowering.

In the evening, I ran into Cheerio again and met Dancing Bear, a confident, loud, and curvy blonde who had more tape on her feet than on the actual roll of tape. I discovered that Cheerio had his entire forearm tattooed with the seven chakras, but to my confusion, he didn't do chakra meditation and my intrigued questions fell flat. An older couple joined us in the lean-to, all swagged out in top gear including the loudest, most obnoxious sleeping pads. When rain began to fall, I was happy to finally have a “solid” shelter, even if the ceiling leaked.

Day 9: Cooley Glen to Birch Glen (mile 166.2)

All day I hiked alone. I had a beautiful experience hiking Mt. Abraham. It was a misty morning, and the sun was a gorgeous orange ball rising through the hazy fog. The ferns were laden with dew, and I was elated to ridge-walk to Mt. Ellen. I hummed and talked to myself most of the day, mostly stream-of-conscious, passing thoughts. Hello, weird tree. Ooh that's a cool rock. To my dismay, I arrived to Birch Glen, and no one was there. It was a beautiful, wooden lodge with wooden bunk beds and a dining area. However, it wasn’t entirely enclosed, so the thoughts of a bear intruder kept me from completely relaxing. I read through the journal logs to make sure that no one wrote about bears, ghosts, or dead bodies. Feeling properly spooked, I huddled up on the top bunk and fell asleep.

Day 10: Birch Glen to stealth camp spot (mile 186)

Waking up every morning was a success, and I felt more empowered every day. The trail started to feel like home, and I moved more confidently with the routine I had established. Again, I was alone all day, but my food supply was just a tad short to get me to the next town. On Guthook, I found a guy named Bird Feeder @coreyperkinstime who offered to shuttle people to grocery stores and town. I reached out, fingers crossed that he would be free to help out. Since I was only asking for a few meagre items that would tide me over (BelVita cookies, some tuna packets, ritz crackers), Bird Feeder offered to bring my food to the summit of Camels Hump. Shocked by his generosity, I couldn’t say no. I slipped and fell up and over Mt. Ethan Allen, and then headed towards the infamous Camels Hump. On the map, it was the pointiest peak, with steep elevations and descents immediately on either side, and I would have a six mile downward hike to the road. Luckily, the Adirondacks prepared me for the boulder-laden, quick-elevation gain. As I climbed the bare rock face to the summit, a tattooed dude in flannel was standing there, arriving just a few minutes before myself. In addition to my items (which he insisted on giving to me for free), he had in tote Long Trail beer and chocolates as a pick-me-up. A real trail angel!

My spirits were lifted so high that the long decent to Route 2 seemed to pass like a breeze. However, by the time I hit the road and began the long pavement walk, my legs were wobbling and shot for the day. Calling some family members and Uri definitely helped, but I was crushed when the lean-to I was aiming for wasn’t there. Duck Brook was actually miles away, and I had already traveled 18 miles over multiple mountains. Trying not to panic but definitely crying because of the setting sun and no relief in site, I managed to find a stealth camping spot somewhere in the woods. I was covered in mud, the mosquitoes were ruthless, I was running low on water, and I was confident I would be bitten by ticks in this habitat. Even though it was a hot, humid, summer night, I had to seek refuge in my sleeping bag, mud and all, just to escape the mosquito bites. By nightfall, they halted their munching, and I fell asleep, anxious for the morning to come.

Day 11: Camp spot to Butler Lodge (mile 201.5)

One of my trail highlights was discovering a small stream the following morning. It was so liberating to scrub off the mud and sweat, and I began to feel human again. However, this day brought a new struggle that no one really talks about regarding women and thru-hiking. Thru-hikers are generally gross and lack regular hygiene, and it can get complicated when periods start. I was grateful to have a Diva cup instead of tampons or pads to avoid carrying the extra weight and trash, and I had to make an extra effort to rotate washing my undergarments, drying them out on my pack as I hiked. It wasn't pretty, but it worked.

I was aiming to have a shorter day, but my push to the Butler lodge was sparked by a text I got from Marsha, one of the owners of Nye's Green Valley Farm Airbnb in Johnson. They had an opening for tomorrow night, and it was mine if I wanted it. That would make tomorrow an intense day, but that was for future me to worry about. I told her I'd be there, and I pushed to make it to Butler. A dog greeted me first, and then I met the rest of the wonderful family who was thru-hiking together. The wife was American, tall, thin, and sweet with light brown hair, the husband was Ecuadorian with long thin-black hair in a pony tail, and the two boys were under the age of 10 and horribly adorable. They spoke a mixture of Spanish and English, and they were so very kind to me. They looked at my feet, which were shredded and covered in open sores, and without hesitating, they offered me ointments and bandages. I had heard of trench-foot, and my feet were locked in wet boots for 11 days straight. Was this a medical concern? I began to worry that I would have to quit for health reasons, but I hoped that these ointments would perform a miracle for tomorrow's insane terrain.

Day 12: Butler Lodge to Johnson Airbnb (mile 221)

In the Lodge, we were obsessively watching the weather. Rain was incoming, and I'd have to cross over Mt. Mansfield, the tallest mountain in Vermont, descend 3,000 feet to Smuggler's Notch, and climb Madonna and Whiteface afterwards. It was as horrible as it sounded. Saying goodbye to the family I would never see again, I rushed to get over Mansfield. The Forehead wasn’t as precarious as everyone warned about, and quite frankly, people were very inconsiderate warning about the "dangers". "Hope we don't hear about you in the morning paper tomorrow!"or "Yikes, good luck getting over that one!" Tip 9: Don't put negativity into someone's head. It was foggy, and the rain and wind came sideways. I passed the Forehead (a minor rock ledge you have to pull yourself up onto), reached the summit, and cruised to the Chin. I was beat by the time I reached Smuggler's Notch, but I climbed Madonna and Whiteface with the thought of hot food and a shower keeping me going. A 3-party hiking group in their 70s passed me, one stating "Wow that goal is sure ambitious, don't you think?" See previous tip.

The last two miles of road walking was so painful. My stiff, sweat-coated socks rubbed my open sores, I limped the whole way to the parking lot, whispering the mantra I can do it, I can do it, I can do it. David, the AirBnb host who was a very sweet, old, retired teacher, rolled into the parking lot to pick up what was left of me. Collapsing into the car, I held back tears and gushed my endless thanks. Nye’s Green Valley Farm was an oasis, and I will recommend it until I die. David and Marsha owned it. Marsha, a stout, large, no-frills kind of woman who tsked at my filth, saw me to my room and a shower, took my clothes for washing, and gave me epsom salt for my feet. The hot water and soap from the shower, followed by the epsom salt, was almost more painful than the hike. Wearing only a robe while everything was getting cleaned, I plopped down at the group table and met some wonderful friends: Mule, a tall, skinny, white-haired man in his 70s who got his name for carrying too much gear, and Wendy and Scott, a power couple who were doctors. Wendy and Scott took one look at me as I hobbled in to the porch and basically fixed me. Tip 10: Leukotape. Get it. It saved my feet and my trip.

Day 13: Johnson to Corliss Camp (mile 233)

In the morning, Marsha prepared me an epic pancake breakfast: homemade apple sauce, a giant bowl of freshly picked blueberries, and hot coffee (!), the first in 13 days. It was exactly what I needed, and my feet made a huge recovery overnight. Having pushed hard to reach Johnson, I could finally ease up on the mileage and cruise to the finish line. I attached myself to Scott and Wendy because they were super awesome, and I loved talking with them. Mule met us at Corliss Camp, and I was so grateful to have some buds.

That night, Mule got up to use the restroom, and I took the chance to follow (having been holding it for some time) because I was too creeped out to make the voyage to the wooden port-a-potty by myself. The skinny man wearing only a long T-shirt was alarmed by my sudden appearance, and we had an awkward exchange as I ducked around him, embarrassed. Oops.

Day 14: Corliss to Tillotson (mile 247.9)

Scott, Wendy, and I stuck together and hiked up Belvidere Mountain, a beautiful view top where we admired how far we had come. There, we met Thunder, lying on the ground beneath some pine trees. He was a young, liberal arts professor who researched microplastics and mainly did modeling. He was also a bit sassy, and his humor came quick. We could bond over the same goal, and I felt like I belonged.

Thunder pushed ahead, but we stopped at Tillotson for the evening. It was a cute, two bunk bed lodge with a metal roof for squirrels to scurry across all night long.

Day 15: Tillotson to Laura Woodward (mile 262.4)

It was a dramatic morning. I said goodbye to Scott and Wendy so that I could push ahead to meet Uri in the morning at Hazen's Notch. I was blasted by another torrential downpour, the second of the trip. There was thunder (not the person), and the trail was flooding, but I was elated to be meeting Uri. I even enjoyed getting soaked and hiking through the forest because I knew dry clothes were coming. Descending to the road at Hazen’s Notch, I waited for an hour, and he never arrived. I didn’t have cell phone service, and I was starting to panic. What if something happened? What if we had the wrong location? Last night, he got bit by so many mosquitoes that his lips swelled, as if stung by bees. Was he OK? I tried to run back up the mountain to get service, and I alarmed Scott and Wendy by full-fledged sprinting towards them. I tearfully explained the situation, gave them Uri's number in case they got service, and ran back to the road to wait. Honestly, I looked quite pitiful, huddled on the side of the road, cold and soaked from head to toe. Luckily, a man driving by did a double take, stopped, took my information, and texted Uri when he had service, coordinating our locations.

I couldn’t be too angry once I saw Uri bearing ice creams, new shoes (dry and not boots!), clothes, and extra snacks. Apparently, there is a second Hazen's Notch along the trail with an official building and address. Crisis adverted, I changed, and we had a dry day of hiking. I was happy to introduce Uri to my new friends. We bumped into Thunder again, and all of us climbed to Jay Mountain which was absolutely stunning, one of the best views of the trip. According to Uri, we all smelled god-awful, but we were too energized by the impending finish to care. We finally met Elm and Breeze, a sweet mother and daughter pair who we knew were traveling shortly ahead of us, and all of us stayed at Laura Woodward that night. The sunset was gorgeous through the trees, and I was happy.

Day 16: Laura Woodward to Journeys End (272)

A 10-mile finisher was nothing. I didn’t get to finish with my friends because Uri and I left early since we had a long drive home. However, it was an amazing last day, and I couldn't really believe it was my last. I was giggly and excited. My heart was speeding up as the sign "Two miles to the Canadian Border" came into view. I first saw the Trail's End sign and then the monument. I had done it! Solo, but with a little help from my friends.

My coworker's parents offered to pick us up and shuttle us back to our car at Hazen's Notch. Sitting in the car, I just allowed myself to rest and let the accomplishment sink in.

Reflections

My Long Trail journey was an epic trip, and I learned a lot about myself along the way. I discovered that I could push through an extreme amount of physical pain and mental blocks, particularly if I have a goal I need to meet. I came to understand my limits, and I saw a change in my physical capabilities as I became stronger during the trip. Being a solo female hiker was truly empowering, and I enjoyed the time I spent by myself. I wish that I had more time to stop and enjoy the towns and meet more people along the way, but I did what I needed to in order to start school on time. I will always recommend this hike to others who want to try out thru-hiking for the first time.

A gear shakedown post will be following! I've discovered a lot of dos and donts of gear for the Long Trail, and I'm excited to share these with you!

Are you planning to hike the Long Trail? Have you hiked it? Reach out about your experience!