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The Woods Next Door

I ended up with enough equipment to bring full employment to a vale of sherpas—a three-season tent, self-inflating sleeping pad, nested pots and pans, collapsible eating utensils, plastic dish and cup, complicated pump-action water purifier, stuff sacks in a rainbow of colors, seam sealer, patching kit, sleeping bag, bungee cords, water bottles, waterproof poncho, waterproof matches, pack cover, a rather nifty compass/thermometer key ring, a little collapsible stove that frankly looked like trouble, gas bottle and spare gas bottle... and lots of other stuff, for some of which I had to go back and ask what it was for, exactly.

—A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail, by Bill Bryson (1998)

Fortunately, if you want to experience the Appalachian Trail, you don't need to buy all the gear Bryson, a former Hanover resident now living in the United Kingdom, did (a fair bit of which was ditched on the trail by his erstwhile companion, Katz) or to carve out a few months of your life for the journey. A sturdy pair of shoes and a free hour will do.

A plaque marking the AT on the southeast corner of Main and Wheelock Streets notes that Hanover is 431 miles from its northern terminus at Mt. Katahdin in Maine and 1,713 from the southernmost point at Springer Mountain in Georgia. Technically, just standing at the corner you could say you've "experienced" the AT (and, as long as you're in the vicinity, why not enjoy one of the most civilized points on the trail: the rocking chairs a few feet away on the porch of the Hanover Inn). But for a walk in the woods, head south on Main, hang a left on Lebanon, cross Park, and pass through the parking lot of the Hanover Co-op. To the right where the lot meets Chase Fields, you'll find the head of the Velvet Rocks trail. From there, it's just under a mile to the Velvet Rocks shelter, recently and handsomely refurbished by the Dartmouth Outing Club.

At this point, a brief paean to the DOC is in order. In 1911, they first proposed a trail with cabins at more or less regular intervals that would allow ski touring from Hanover to the White Mountains. In 1923, those cabins and trails became a founding link in what, over time, became the Appalachian Trail. Today, the DOC's student volunteers and friends maintain a segment of the trail—from Woodstock, New Hampshire, to Woodstock, Vermont—rebuilding cabins, removing rocks, dead trees, and other obstructions, curbing erosion, and making sure the two-by-six-inch white blazes marking the main trail are plainly visible. (And they do more: check out their AT web page for more details.) As noted above, the trip to the shelter takes about a half hour at a moderate pace, allowing time to pause occasionally to inspect your surroundings: the scrappy white oak sapling by the side of the trail; the bear-shredded birch; the rotting but still vertical sugar maple gone condo with a half-dozen holes/homes; the silvery bark of the lone American beech engraved recently with a Virginia Tech logo. The terrain isn't especially tricky. A steady, easy incline up Trescott Ridge. In several places you'll confront outsized, moss-covered granite outcroppings (the eponymous velvet rocks), but the DOCers have graciously placed smaller stones as stairs, making it relatively easy to pick your way through. The ridge is well wooded, principally with hemlocks. They crowd the trail in places like cycling fans along the Tour de France route (absent the smell of Gauloises and the din of Gallic invective, of course), but generally the view carries fifty to sixty yards or more into the woods, even in mid-summer. Thus, on the off chance (quite rare) that there's a black bear in the neighborhood, you'll be able to studiously ignore each other from a distance. Typically, the rustle you'll hear in the leaves is squirrels. Their bickering, along with sporadic birdsong, provides the soundtrack for your stroll. You'll notice that, after about fifteen minutes of walking, that's almost all you hear: the thrum of life on Route 120 and the campus and town beyond recedes.

After twenty-five minutes or so, you'll enter a clearing surrounded by some fine hardwood specimens that have eluded the axe for at least a century. Set in a sunny spot in the center, Velvet Rocks shelter is impressive in its simplicity: a platform of heavy lumber three steps off the ground, surmounted by a low, three-walled room open to the south. Topping it off is a gabled roof made of clear, corrugated plastic. (Claustrophobics fear not; stargazers rejoice!) A broom leans casually in the corner. In front of the shelter is a fire ring with a well-charred grill. Off to the right down the ridge (and downwind) is a privy; a spring is a half-mile away. All the necessities of life. Here's a good place to contemplate a more ambitious stint on the trail: a strenuous day hike to Moose Mountain and back (about twenty-two miles, round trip) or perhaps a long weekend covering the seventy miles of DOC-maintained trail. Or not. You've had your AT experience, after all.

As Bryson concludes his opus:
We didn't walk 2,200 miles, it's true, but here's the thing: we tried. So Katz was right after all, and I don't care what anybody says. We hiked the Appalachian Trail.