360 Kilometers Later: Reflections of Winter Trail

2026 Full Circle Semester Blog #4

“Break on through, to the other side!”

-The Doors 

         Well, that’s winter, folks. 49 days and 360 kilometers (a kilometer for each degree in a circle- fitting…), all wrapped up in a neat bundle of memory. Stories and changes and trials – not to mention all the tribulations – relegated to the past.

         It’s crazy to be here, in a place that we only dreamed of two months ago. Maine Local Living School was the light at the end of the tunnel for a long time. As we finally emerge and let the rays of completion hit us, we are blooming! The world is our oyster, the flowers are growing, and the mosquitos are starting to buzz their gnarly way out of whatever ponds they’ve been lying dormant in. Spring has sprung, and we are staying put to enjoy all the gifts it brings.

         There’s just so much to look forward to. We’re starting on projects galore: carving paddles for the river expedition, digging into forestry and learning how to live on a homestead in an incredible hands-on way. And, not to harp on Spring too much, but there’s sun, swimming, runs, and sports!        

         We’re also finally getting a chance to mull over everything that’s happened: to really reflect on how the expedition has changed us. We knew we’d see our growth in retrospect, and looking back at every single journal entry and photo it’s more and more apparent that we’ve all just exploded into ourselves. 

JACKSON LAYOVER

         We didn’t get to write about this last time, probably because we were so busy scribing down all the neat stuff from Leg 2, but our layover in Jackson was awesome. We arrived in Jackson to open arms and hot pizza- a huge, huge thank you to Ted and Nancy who hosted and fed us in their brand new beautiful house. We spent the three days there resting (in actual beds!), finishing academic work, and walking the town. Greg Marcello of Unity Works, a local mutual aid organization, held a dinner where we got to meet Jackson locals, share our story, and learn about the history of the area. All you can eat ice cream? You have our hearts forever. But seriously though, thank you for taking all the time and effort to get to know all the cool stuff we’ve been doing! We enjoyed meeting you all and are inspired to see people creating networks for mutual aid and building community. 

EXPEDITION, A DAY BY DAY:

Day 1 – 12 kilometers, Bog Brook Camp

(SHOUT OUT ELLA – LOKAH SAMASTA SUKINO BHAVANTU) 

         We left Jackson on a day warm enough that some of us rocked shorts and tank tops. The snow caked onto the bottom of our skis as we slogged the perfectly groomed trails of Jackson Cross Country Club. Peter Benson, a maple sugarer and historian, had invited us to his sugar house to learn a bit about the process. We spent an hour or so with Pete, learning how sap runs, the history of syrup, how to tap trees, and how to make traditional maple taps out of sumac or other pithy wood (wood with a spongy center) before skiing towards the Wild River Wilderness and setting camp by Bog Brook.

Miracles are in the way we perceive things.
-Bernie

Day 2 – 5.5 kilometers, No-Ketchum Camp

         A hard, warm day- super hilly, and lots of little annoying brooks to cross. We met Colin (Kroka’s Canadian Fairy Godmother) on trail speeding along in his spandex and awesome pom-pom beret.  He may or may not have lapped our total distance for that day around four times before noon! We made it to No-Ketchum Pond as the sun started to dip behind the hills, and set camp in the middle of a small island on the frozen expanse.

The sky was grey and the sun slowly slipped away behind the tree tops as I skied across the bog accompanied by the swoosh–crunch of the snow’s hard crust cracking underneath me. The mountains to the north looked down upon the bog with an air of majestic grace, their slopes of maple and birch still within winter’s grasp. Making my way in-between the sparse and twisted boughs of red and black spruce, I sang and gathered branches for the carpet of our home on the bog. On the edge of the forest of spruce and fir, I felt a presence nearby, and more than once stopped my work to glance around in fear and excitement hoping to spot a moose. After perhaps a quarter of an hour, I was skiing towards a large spruce when a flash of movement caught my attention and I looked up to see someone as white as the snow beneath her paws. A snowshoe hare sat quietly, her ash tipped ears held high, watching me and doing a very good job of blending into her snowy surroundings. I whispered to let her know that I would not hurt her, and to greet her, and when I moved my ski, her silent feet took her dashing away. I felt blessed to have met a new face and I was quiet as I finished my work, aware that I was sharing the forest with a new acquaintance.
-Kate

Day 3 – 0 kilometers, No-Ketchum Camp

         A layover at No-Ketchum Pond! It was incredibly scenic- a giant white field, dotted with ragged looking spruce trees holding an incredible amount of cones – some trees probably had more cones than needles. Giant snow covered mountains loomed everywhere, blotting out the overcast sky. Colin found us again by following our tracks to camp and brought us a newspaper and some of the best oatmeal cookies we’ve ever eaten. We’d been featured in the Conway Daily Sun, and got some news about the outside world from the New York Times.  Reading the news and remembering that the world turns and wars rage without us was challenging. Our group sat in the tent and talked about what it meant to be so removed from the news cycle and how privileged we were to be able to return for a while to a simpler way of living and be more connected to each other and the natural world, even if we are more disconnected from the broader human story.

Day 4 – 5 kilometers, Wild River Camp

         The trees were covered in glittering frost when we woke up and the snow had a layer of was ice on top. Skiing today was going to be doozy. We saw a Tamarack in the morning: a coniferous tree that drops its needles seasonally, rather than keeping them. It was the only one of its kind in the whole area, sitting stately and lonesome on the southern edge of the pond. 

         After a day of rough and slippery skiing, the group started to slow and fatigue from fall after fall. But we made it down to the Wild River! Buoyed by incredibly warm winds from the south, we skied down stream and slept along the banks of the rushing river. 

Sit in the sailcloth winter circus tent,
Trees topsy-turvy, bearing boots.
From home you were rudely cut, and sent
To roving groups where now you put down roots.
Stooping to enter, down you bow to boughs
And raise your head to walls painted in sun,
And think of all of the many rushing nows
That pass you by so fast you sit in none.
Our journey will be over soon, I think
But the path will lead on and far away.
Towards the cliff of change, the brink
Is getting closer with each passing day.
So sit in the tent, breath the air of here-
Think of no future, but still mend your gear.
-Rohan

Day 5 – 3 kilometers, Highwater Camp

         Our first real brook crossing! We had planned to cross the Wild River in the morning and hop on an easy trail that would lead out of the forest in a day or two. The spring melt foiled our plans – the warm winds of last night had led to our first night without freezing temperatures and when we woke up, the river had risen almost a foot from the night before.  All of the ice was covered with water and crossing the river wasn’t an option here. We scouted down the river as we skied out of camp and ended up empty handed.

         Instead of continuing across the Wild River on to Wild River Road we now needed to take the Highwater trail on the Western side of the River.  This would mean spending several days going up and down huge hills and across brook after brook. Our first obstacle was crossing Cypress Brook, a frigid street wide brook running fast and deep because of the recent spring melt. We built a bridge out of trees to avoid wetting all of our critical layers by wading through the freezing water. The crossing was nerve wracking: balancing with a tall ski-laden pack across a narrow bridge two thin logs wide, and using our ski poles on the bottom of the brook for balance. It was a good show of community effort – first in building the bridge and carrying large logs together, then in making sure that everyone was comfortable in the crossing by carrying each other’s packs and skis. Once we were all safely on the other side we climbed a steep snowless slope and smelled our first scent of earth for the spring!  We spent the rest of the day skiing along the Highwater Trail and an old road grade before making camp in the evening. 

“Today was also the first day we saw bare ground- mud, leaves, twigs, the whole shebang. It’s “phenomenal” (as Noah would say), how quickly Spring has approached. It seems to be overnight, with the blazing sun, brown ground, and of course, the river rushing – cold, clear and running deep.”
-Ella

Day 6 – 2.5 kilometers, Gulp Pit Camp 

         Our morning broke sunny and beautiful.  Many people slept outside and awoke to see the golden bands of sunrise on Bald Face Mountain across the valley.  Our navigational journey began with trying to pinpoint our exact location, as we had diverted from the Highwater Trail the previous afternoon in order to find easier skiing on an old logging road.  By mid-morning we discovered that we were not where we thought we had been, but actually about a kilometer further up Moriah Brook! 

         Upon reaching the brook, we devised a new plan where we would bushwhack East along the brook and go around Moriah Gorge, then find a crossing further downstream.  The brook was flowing quickly, but the water levels had dropped from the day before and we were hopeful of finding an easy crossing.  This re-route required navigating back up and over the slope we had come down, dodging through rocks and trees and picking our way down ever steepening slopes. Rohan almost walked into a bear den – he had seen a hole in the snow, and when he peered in, he came face to face with a bear cub at the same time as the snow beneath him started to cave. He narrowly escaped, and the group rerouted around the den, picked their way down a totally impassable slope on foot, then crossed the brook blessedly easily where it forked around a large island. 

         Eventually we found the Highwater trail, a highway compared to what we had been navigating, and turned a corner after less than half an hour to see the trail disappear into a bank that was completely eroded by the Wild River. As it was late in the afternoon we decided to set camp and scout for a possible way to cross the Wild River the next morning.  

         This night we dug out the bottom of our tent rather than bough the floor, hoping to speed up our setup process and save the sparse conifers some stress.  The tent lost a bit of its homey feel- instead of a lush and good smelling carpet, we had muddy leaves for a floor and must. Coincidentally, everyone chose to sleep outside that night.

I looked up to the stars, peered into the forest, and basked in the fresh fallen snow. What I want to keep with me – to continue to nourish, not just weeks but years later –  is the ability to bask in my surroundings. -Noah

Day 7 – 11.5 kilometers, Maine Border Camp

         We finally made it across the Wild River! Keane and Emily scouted a crossing in the morning, and found an ice bridge!  A two and half foot thick span of ice spanning the whole river, and close enough to be seen from our camp.  What a gift! We were ecstatic to reach the other side of the river, where travel was expected to be easier.  

         We stopped across the river to present all of the mythical winter animals we had created.  A fitting end to our study of winter ecology that matched what was feeling like the end of winter weather.  Warm winds blew out of the north all day, feeling like we were skiing next to the end of the stove-pipe!  Several kilometers down Wild River Road ran into Sam, our third instructor, and set to work updating him on our travels. 

         Somewhere along that stretch, we crossed from New Hampshire into Maine – our long awaited third state of the journey!  That night we set up camp just by the Wild River, not ready to leave it quite yet.

We finally crossed the Wild River after, if my memory serves correct, 3 days of attempting to cross it. First we crossed over Moriah Brook via an ice bridge, and then crossed Wild River, also via an ice bridge. It was a totally amazing experience. The water was gorgeous, powerful, and rushing entirely out of our control. The skies were clear the whole day as we traveled along the Wild River on an unplowed campsite entrance road, leading out of the Wild River wilderness and entering, to all our disbelief, Maine. In a lot of ways this feels like a big milestone for us, and it is. In other ways, it feels unimportant and unremarkable. Maybe at the end of the day, it’s just another line the humans have drawn on the land to try and divide the earth up into manageable segments.
–Charlotte “Charlie”

Day 8 – 0 kilometers

         A day of rest, at long last! After crossing the Wild river, crunch time was over, and we got a chance to stretch, do laundry, drink hot chocolate, and spend a couple hours alone. It rained, and so began a week-long stretch of snow-destroying 40 degree weather.

There was a feeling that this place had been left untouched for a long time, and that we were wandering through a land of giants, or that around any corner we could find a dinosaur or Paleolithic beast – some lost remnant of the Pleistocene epoch, or worse, a bear coming out of hibernation early. There were many traces of moose, but alas, no sightings. Just figuring out how to cross the river was a headache and a half, and traveling slowly over short distances was demoralizing. That being said, I’m grateful that we were able to get across when and where we did, and safely. I have so much gratitude to the land for hosting us, the clean unpolluted air, the clear night skies full of stars, the swift fierce beautiful water, the old trees watching over us, and the people I got to share it all with. Onwards to Maine!
-Taio

Day 9 – 13.5 kilometers.

         Characteristic of mid-March in the Northeast, the weather was sporadic – pelting us with short bursts of alternating precipitation – rain, hail, freezing rain- we saw it all. Overall, we managed to stay mostly dry. 

         Though our day was mostly spent on roads, a highlight was crossing the Androscoggin River just after ice-out.  Huge icebergs floated down the swollen river, sometimes disappearing under the ice dam, and sometimes ending up on top of it and pushing huge trees with them.  

         As we walked, some unexpected treasures popped up on the road, including a pair of sunglasses and neon green lighter. We made a plan to collect enough discarded cans on our travels to afford a quart of ice cream with the 10 cent per can returned. So, with our pack pockets and the cavities of ski boot liners crammed with crumbled cans, we walk onwards.

DAY 10 – 10 kilometers

         This morning our instructors headed off after breakfast and before camp takedown, planning to reunite with us for lunch halfway through the day.  So we traveled independently, mostly on backroads and heading North along the Androscoggin. The instructors met us at the designated trailhead in the early afternoon for a hot meal of mac and cheese and a class on giving and receiving feedback. 

         From there, we continued up the steep trails of Bethel Town forest and under the cliffy ridges of Locke Mountain to a saddle where we set camp among tiny hemlocks.  Along the way we passed through recent logging operations and forest restoration projects.  Land that is being actively worked in several ways.   

The only thing I keep thinking of is how I feel like part of something bigger, like more than just the system of my own thoughts. It feels like my horizon’s growing and expanding, and the little human figure I call myself is becoming a smaller dot on the big plane of land and knowledge that I get to explore.
-Jule

The first leg when this nomadic lifestyle felt much more overwhelming and new, when cars passed us by walking, with our precarious ski-topped backpacks, I remember thinking “Woah, they have no idea how easy life is, how easy simple tasks are”. Now, as cars pass us trudging, laughing, talking and walking all along the roadside, I think: “No, their life is really not easy. I didn’t find my life that easy living in a house.” I feel so lucky to be learning to live outside surrounded by and dependent on the friends that fill up this winter tent.
-Charlie

DAY 11 – 0 Kilometers

         A large portion of this live-over day is dedicated to group discussion on communication, conflict resolution and individual improvement. Carving out the space to be honest about the things that are often left unsaid brought everyone a little closer together. Afterwards we have a free period for exploration, deep thinking or spoon carving. Owls fly overhead, the power of their wing beats immense, yet weightless, barely displacing the air beneath.

DAY 12 – 12 kilometers

         A full day of independent travel, as well as camp takedown and set up, without the aid or support of instructors. We start our morning with a reading from Aldo Leopolds’ “The Conservation Ethic” and a discussion on the relationship between responsibility and freedom, with some focus on the question of morals being nature versus nurture. Long hours of road walking pass without much event, aside from friendly conversations with people in cars, and a nearly full roll of some black duct tape picked up from the road shoulder. That night we found camp in a quiet hemlock grove by a tributary to the Bear River.

As for the forest up here, I feel more connected than I’ve ever been, and like I’ve still got so much to learn from all my friends. No longer do I look at a young beech as a nuisance, but as a child with its future stripped from it, destined only to feed the mycelium and soil through an endless cycle of blight, death and rebirth. As for my good friend the ash, I mourn the future of the species, and hope to grow close in the time we have together. Hopefully, the day never comes where looming giants exist only in my memory.
-Taio

DAY 13 – 10 kilometers

         During our final miles to Mahoosuc Guide Service, the rain persists and drips from every fold in our raingear.  A bit soggy, but not too worse for wear, we arrived at the old red barn and were greeted by Kevin, who runs Mahoosuc Guide Service with his partner Polly.  Both are Maine Guides and have run dog-sled and canoe trips for the past 37 years out of their home in Newry.  They still have sled dogs, though all are retired, and we were able to meet a handful of the dogs during our stay.

Day 40. Jesus wandered in the desert alone for 40 days and 40 nights. This marks the end of his nomadic sufferings. I miss cowboy songs, and long hours spent reading novels in bed, but instead I can enjoy walking in the rain with friends I’ll have forever and homemade songs sung on the spot. Sure, it’s different, but it’s sweet. Empty beer cans collected in pack pockets and the cavities of ski boot liners, promising gleaming new coins and frozen desserts. Hours pass by so swiftly new definitions for units of time must be manufactured. “An hour here feels like 20 minutes did in the old world, so it must be 3:23 in the afternoon.” So go our thought processes. Gravel sticks in the crevices of Kamik boots, rain drips from hat brims, and the natural stench of exertion amalgamates within the impermeable shells of rain gear – individual greenhouses of B.O.
God, everything is so wet. 
-Anna

KEVIN AND POLLY

         Kevin and Polly are the grandparents of Kroka – bringing together Misha, Chris, and many other instructors. Beyond that, they are legends in their own right – award winning guides and arctic travelers. Over the years they have cultivated relationships with the Inuit and Cree, learning many traditional skills and passing along stories to people like us.

DAY 14 – 0 kilometers

         This morning we were introduced to the format of our final week of travel: we’ll be spending the next week in pods of four traveling independently to Maine Local Living School.  We started by coming up with group names and priorities, then took a break for lunch and to do some work with Keven and Polly.  

         In the afternoon we began our preparations in full, starting by designing our routes to meet the designated check-points along the way.  We’ll travel independently in our groups, checking in by inReach communication each night and putting notes in bags at strategic points for our instructors along the way. It’s an exciting adventure full of responsibility and challenge. 

         Each group had a different thought process in planning their itinerary.  Some wanted slow and steady travel, some wanted live-overs, some wanted more bushwhacking.  We’re all creating the experiences we want to have and are excited by the opportunity for self-determination! 

NOAH

         Upon leaving the Wild River Wilderness Noah took a trip to Urgent Care to address his growing foot pain. An x-ray revealed a stress fracture – talk about grit and pain tolerance!  As a skiing and hiking expedition is not the conducive healing environment for a broken foot, it was decided that Noah would be dropped off at Maine Local Living School and spend a week recuperating there before our arrival.  We practically had to tie him down to make sure he didn’t run off and join us, plodding along on fractured metatarsals.  Though we’ll miss him dearly, we all understand that this is better for him in the long run. 

DAY 15 – 0 kilometers

         Everything is bustle and haste today as we make last minute changes to our routes and distribute food and gear amongst groups and group-members. We repacked our bags and went over emergency scenarios then did everything else you might think you need to do before you send 12 teenagers out into the wild during the New England winter. We go to bed excited, and for some, apprehensive, feelings reminiscent of the day before semester arising in many. Once more we sit at the beginning of a journey full of unknowns and possibility, and settle into tightly packed sleeping bags for one final night together. 

LEAVING SKIS

         We should have believed in winter. Faced with an imposing forecast of above-freezing temperatures and only slight chances of rain, all the groups were given the choice: to ski, or not to ski (that is the question). Is carrying 20 extra pounds on the road walk sections worth the potential of some nice downhills? It’s hard to know.  As soon as we said our embarrassingly tearful goodbyes to our trusty companions, the universe decided to gift us with a healthy March blizzard and well packed trails – go figure. We only got some peace of mind by convincing ourselves that if we had brought our skis, everything would have been rain and slush.

Below are the stories of all three pods, as told in their own words.

 

RUMBLE MUFFIN AND THE FUNGAL MONKEYS A.K.A TAIO MATALINO PILAPIL AND HIS BACKUP SINGERS A.K.A. COSMIC CALLOUSED CAJUN KASHA, PUNKY PILAPIL, RUMBLEMUFFIN, AND ZA GRAND CANYON

(Rohan, Zahava, Taio and Charlotte)

         Ok, our journey is decidedly hippie-less, but totally radical regardless. If you want the short of it, the experience was decidedly flatulent. Here are a couple of notes before you get the long version:

-We had no tent, only tarps.

-We left our skis at Mahoosuc.

-We are totally awesome navigators.

The Long Version:

Day 1 – 13 kilometers, Birthday Camp

         We left and immediately got lost on the road – unfortunately, the first thing we saw was a moldy looking stuffed monkey nailed to a tree next to a bunch of gravestones. A terrible omen… we turned around, then traveled the 13k from Mahoosuc to Gardner Brook on the road less travelled – meaning a maze of completely unmarked trails crisscrossing a hillside. We found random cool cars in the middle of the woods, dumpsters, and a totally intact bridge (not), before emerging in someone’s backyard and hightailing it to the road. We ran across the Sidequesters on an icy snowmobile trail, and shot straight to the campsite from there. The Loons, already there, banished us to the outskirts of what we named Birthday Camp (it was Charlie’s 17th birthday!)

Day 2 – 17.5 kilometers, Rust Camp

         We were the first out of camp, hot on the instructors’ trail. We hit the road quickly and walked for 5 minutes before spotting backpacks on a porch. We were whirled in, and gifted conversation, candy, coffee, music, books and paper plane performances by Jake, Quinn and Apollo.  Right after, we saw some… road treasure? We continued past it, and set a bearing to “shortcut” through some woods. We stumbled upon a hunting stand next to a giant pine. This tree was 21 feet in circumference, with fallen branches that you couldn’t wrap your  arms around. We clambered up it, high above the other treetops, and sat admiring the landscape. More walking, up hills and over streams, then into driveways and out onto a private road. It started snowing as we made our way up Black Cat Rd, and down a road plastered with “No Trespassing Signs”. We knocked on a blue house to ask if we could continue down the road, and Ross stuck his head out. A Massachusetts local, he’d bought a bunch of land and moved up here to chill and snowmobile. He gave us the go ahead, told us about a cool hostel down the road, offered us money, and really really stressed that we shouldn’t die. Noted.

         After a few more minutes of travel, we found the instructors again, looking a little turned around at one of the many intersections of unlabeled logging roads. We leapfrogged all afternoon with them past the Om Dome hostel, past a collapsing barn, past Swaine’s Pond, and finally set up camp a couple hundred feet from each other. We ended up in an old rusted junkyard, and patched together an old cast iron stove to heat our tarps.

Day 3 – 12 kilometers, Halfmoon Pond Camp

         We woke up, broke camp, and took a minute to look around the junkyard for treasure- we found treasure galore! Knives and cooking kits, hats and leather, spatulas, antlers, boots and a nice big pot. We washed everything over breakfast, and with newly heavy packs we set out, down Swaine’s notch, across the Swift River, and to the check in. We left a spatula for the two following groups, and kept following a drainage, hopping from side to side until we started post-holing deep in the snow that was somehow still feet deep here. After what seemed like a never ending end to the day, we made it to the tip of Halfmoon Pond, and set up camp on a beautiful spot right next to a stream.

Day 4 – 0 kilometers, Halfmoon Pond Layover

         When we woke up, sometime around 9, it was a total whiteout. You couldn’t see across the pond. That didn’t matter so much to us, though – we were taking a rest day. Zahava got up to make breakfast, and everyone else struggled out of their bags to stockpile wood. After we ate, we crawled back into our sleeping bags and read, wrote, talked and snoozed the day away, leaving only to use the bathroom or make meals. When the snow finally died down in the evening, we made beautiful burgers, then knocked-out.

Day 5 – 15 kilometers, Cherry Hill Camp

         We left our beautiful lakeside camp in high spirits with ever-lightening packs. Before leaving camp we ventured out onto the frozen pond. We ran around on the fresh snow like crazy people enjoying the unbelievable view of the white capped forest around us.  We made our way out of camp and back on the trail, following the broken path of groups that trudged the day before. From snowmobile trails to dirt roads to the highway, we walked, hoping to pass a warm store to explore as we trudged through some semblance of civilization. Unfortunately, these villages were more backwater than expected, lacking any commercial establishments – not even a gas station. Eventually, we came to our turn off on Goodwin Mill (or Hill) Road, unaware of the tribulations ahead. Already things were off to a rocky start, we went too far down the road and had to turn back around to find the unplowed gated off entrance of what was supposed to be our path. Ignoring any ill-omens, we pressed on, following what appeared to be our route based off outdated maps. After once more getting turned around, we found our way to one of many unmaintained and overgrown Jeep trails, deciding still to continue. At this point the group was near exhaustion, everyone tired, yet we still had a good amount of kilometers to cover to get to our planned camp. We found our way back onto more managed trails, even passing a house, getting to the next intersection. Faced with an unplowed dirt road and another overgrown unused trail, the map said to take the latter. Intersection after intersection, the trail only got worse and worse as we prevailed uphill. Finally, the trail of Doom and Despair and Misery and Confusion became one with the forest around us, and all we could do was set a bearing North East hoping to find anything resembling a trail. As the sun dropped lower, along with our energy and spirits, the hours of wandering took their toll. The time to just give up for now and set up camp for the night had arrived. Unsure of how to communicate our situation, we opened the Garmin to find a message from Jae sent an hour ago: “Cherry Hill Cut-through is unviable, take 156 to check in, please confirm.” A moment of brevity relieved us as we responded that we found it out the hard way, planning to cut north to the highway the next morning.

DAY 6 – 12 kilometers, Final Camp

         Our morning was never-ending. We had set a bearing north, and by our best guess, had roughly two kilometers till the road. Spoiler alert: it was not two kilometers. We trudged and trudged, slogged a bit, then staggered some more. Some of us started hallucinating the sounds of cars, and others began to question if the famed Rt 156 really even existed. It took us hours to get out of those woods, Charlie leading the whole time.

         The joy we felt when our hallucinated engine roars turned into real ones is indescribable. We capered about on the roads, and made the check in half an hour before it closed. The instructors had left us a delicious OJ, which had turned into a slushy overnight. It was so, so good. The rest of the day, we walked along a beautiful sunlit and untouched set of roads covered in hare tracks, bushwhacked down to Temple Stream, got briefly lost along it until we found a bridge, and walked til our cut off time, setting camp only 5k away from our final destination.

         Our camp was incredible – as soon as we left the trail, it just appeared – flat ground, a great windbreak and rock to reflect the heat from our fire, and dead hardwood… or so we thought. The wood was radioactive green, mutant looking, and just didn’t burn. Our fire smoking us to tears, we descended into hysteria as we cooked our final meal, our magnum opus, Mac & Cheese with Everything. The rest of the night was spent in fits of laughter as we squatted over our dying evil fire, trying in vain to turn our farts into flamethrowers.

DAY 7 – 5 kilometers

         We get up, and go. It’s only an hour till we get to the road, and we run into the Loons emerging from what sounded like an awful time thrashing through the thicket. We share a chocolate bar, then skip up the road together to victory!

GROUP POOPERS A.K.A. SPONTANEOUS DRIVERS A.K.A. BUSHWHACKERS A.K.A. SIDEQUESTERS

(Emily, Oliver, Bernie and Ella)

Day 1 – 10 kilometers

         As we got on the road from Kevin and Polly’s we immediately felt a sense of freedom, to do what we wanted. We were giddy, excited and limitless. We walked shoulder to shoulder for a bit, then the fungus monkey’s turned around, and shortly after we found two large tarps on the side of the road. Emily joked we should take them with us because Bernie wanted to take the tarps instead of the tent. We agreed to leave them where they were. Right after the two tarps, we found a calf road kill moose, and after a road kill deer. We took a minute to respect each of the animals, then moved on.

         After an almost wrong turn, we figured out that there were many roads that were not on the quads or the gazetteer, and learned how difficult it was to navigate. Trying to piece together multiple maps and the gazetteer in the middle of the road, Emily dropped a quad in the stream that had to be fished out. A few more kilometers down the road, a nice local pulled over and helped us with directions and we finally found our turn onto the four-wheel trail.

         The four wheel trail was extremely icy and multiple falls were taken. Along the trail, we ran into a woman with two unleashed very loud dogs. Oliver stayed behind most of the group because he was scared of the dogs. Then the oddest thing happened – a wild turkey ran between us and the dogs. Two other turkeys tried to get by, but the louder dog scared them away. It was very random that the turkeys decided that moment was the best moment to cross.

         We ended up getting lost for an hour or two, but Emily was pleased to find two very large ticks that fell off a moose on our detour. One was the size of a nickel, and the other one was the size of a quarter. Earlier in the semester, we learned that ticks can last through the winter now and that is causing a decline in the moose population. Finding ticks on the ground was proof of that hypothesis.

         When we got to our village-style camp, we decided to set up far away from everyone else. Singing with only four voices at dinner was different at first but then oddly beautiful. We ate our delicious jerky soup and then shared stories of our life before Kroka. Our new tent was crammed, but we slept wet and warm due to the condensation on the inside of the tent. In the morning, Oliver ended up outside the tent because we didn’t stake it down well.

Day 2 – 6 or 7 kilometers

         Towards the afternoon of Day 2 we passed a Buffalo farm. Most of us were surprised to find Buffalos in the East. The snowy mountains in the background created a beautiful scene. A few Buffalos decided to show off and roll in the mud for us. The “bull” did the same, gave us a great show, rocking in the mud, belly flapping, all while making eye contact – so performative.

Day All the Rest – ? kilometers

         We traveled some more, but have decided to keep the rest of our awesome stories secret so we can tell them in person…

THE LOONS AKA JOAQUIN AND THE GIRLS AKA THE ROADWALKERS

(Anna, Jule, Kate and Joaquin)

Day 1

         We are the first to set out, of course, on a long weary stretch of Maine road, something that came to represent our journey as a whole. Not much can be said about day 1: we saw a dead deer yet somehow missed the roadkill moose that everyone else stumbled upon, had many conversations, realizing how little we still knew each other even after having spent over 2 months together within an incredibly tight-knit group. Plans were made to hunt and process the native red squirrel (Joaquin would kill, Anna would skin, gut and cook) but unfortunately they never came to fruition, due to the time constraints of trail life. Camp is set at the designated location where groups are told to meet for a night of “village style camping” and again, we are the first. We banished the poor Fungal Monkeys quite rudely to the outskirts of camp with jeers and curses. We enjoy a humble dinner on a flashy fire set-up, and are packed into sleeping bags by 7 pm.

Day 2

         Day 2 brings many unexpected things, from a run-in with two other groups at a backyard book shed, to a short detour by a bison farm, to a conversation with a couple of guys on local private property sentiments, to subsequent confirmation of everything they told us on encountering the signs, which ranged from “PRIVATE PROPERTY” to “NO TRESSPASS, VIOLATORS WILL BE SHOT, SURVIVORS WILL BE SHOT AGAIN”. Lovely. We are informed that night of a hostel just a mile up the road of our planned camp spot, but those who fervently wish to stay there (Anna, Joaquin, and Jule) are ultimately shut down by the reminder that it goes against the guidelines of small group travel. Oh well. The fire still somehow gets lit despite the blowing snow.

Day 3

         Remember the hostel we didn’t stay at? It’s epic. We run into the “Bushwhackers” (or whatever they call themselves) who are already there when we go to check it out. We get the full tour of what we missed out on, sing a song, learn a chant, and meet the awesome owner, Yukon, and his pug, Ebenezer, with a lolling tongue straight out of a cartoon. Shout out Om Dome. We can’t stay long, unfortunately, and spend the rest of the day –you guessed it- road walking. We see some ducks and…not much else. Hours are spent this evening perched around our campfire, letting what is supposed to be our drinking water evaporate into thin air. Worth it probably. Plus chocolate covered peanuts.

Day 4

         Ok, our days are dragging. We walk through a raging snowstorm, vast heaps of white stuff dumping on our heads every step we take. We stop by an old hunting shack, briefly consider taking a cast iron pan, decide against the additional weight it would entail, rage against the unfeeling weather (it doesn’t listen), meet some more hippies, pee in our trail mix, and end up camping literally who knows where someplace unmarked on the map. At least it has no “KEEP OUT” signs.

Day 5

         First, it has to be said- we see the sweetest red Mitsubishi truck while road walking. Other than that, we make a short stop by a combination gas station a liquor store (free food is unsuccessfully secured), march down more endless roads (we’re going insane), and eventually knock out one of the quickest camp set-ups yet before posting up by the fire and cycling through more bannock on sticks than we can comfortably eat (even Joaquin).

Day 6

         Not our highest point. We find ourselves wandering aimlessly in a never-ending labyrinthine hellscape of unmarked trails covered by 6 inches of snow, with an unbroken crust of ice that our boots painfully punch though with every step, navigating solely with the Maine state gazetteer. A merciless, soul-crushing slog. At the end of the night (still pretty lost, don’t worry) we find ourselves pretty evenly split as a group, between Anna and Joaquin (again), who want to spend the night in a grimy, crusty, definitely haunted school bus on the side of the trail, and Kate and Jule, who reasonably want to set up a livable camp and enjoy our last night together. They win. 

Day 7

         We wake at 5:30, skip breakfast, take down camp, gulp some water, and set off at a brisk pace, expecting to arrive late at our destination: Maine Local Living School. We weren’t where we thought we were. Again. And so, we find ourselves within a kilometer of the school 3 hours early. How do we find our way there? We just go East. And then more East. That’s it – our journey has come to an end.

CONCLUSION

“Its never over.”

-Jeff Buckley

         And here we are. Spring has arrived, layers have been thrown off, and we’re looking forward to all that still has yet to come. We’re lighter, brighter, and feeling pretty proud of ourselves. But there is more – we haven’t quite gone full circle yet. Weeks of learning, that will lead into weeks of paddling, then a week of biking, and – you all probably know the schedule. Regardless, the point is, it’s not over yet. It’s never over. We just keep on keeping on, down the path we choose and over, around or under whatever obstacles the trail throws at us. The fellowship has made it to Mordor – minus orcs and lava. Yep – we’re like, totally Frodo.

         In all seriousness though, what an accomplishment. An adventure of a lifetime. Walking down a driveway has never felt better than walking down the one that led to here.

         Oh, also, this is our tearful final goodbye as chroniclers. Peace.

 

See you later alligators, and in a while, crocodiles,

Your scribes,

Anna and Rohan