Since April’s Budget Travel includes an article titled “How it Pays to Be Green,” you might have thought it would be included in this edition of the Best of BT. You’d be wrong and we’ll explain the reasons behind its exclusion in another post coming soon.
An article we really enjoyed was “Over the River and Through the Woods” by Stephen Heuser. While we haven’t set foot on the Appalachian Trail since those halcyon days of youthful carefree and pyromania at Catoctin Quaker Camp, we aren’t complete novices to the appealing contradictions of the AT: natural beauty, mud, monotony, wild animals, bugs, unmarked paths, edible mushrooms, poisonous mushrooms, switchbacks, blisters, and cool stream water providing refreshment as you’ve never known.
Heuser writes about the Appalachian Mountain Club’s string of eight cabins in New Hampshire’s White Mountains.
At least the setting is magnificent. At one point, we hear a low rush of tumbling water and then come upon a 60-foot cascade deep in the forest. Sam poses before it with his hiking stick, grinning: If nothing else, we’ve made it this far! As our elevation ticks higher, the dwarfish windswept spruces and firs give way to an open gravel path lined with delicate little alpine plants. We press up the last few hundred feet to the ridgeline, and we’re rewarded with a spectacular panorama of velvety green hills interrupted only by the brown stripes of landslides.
Thinking back to our hiking and camping days, the unavoidable end-of-the-day work like pitching the tent, looking for firewood, cooking dinner, and doing dishes, was not our favorite part.
Heuser writes:
A two-story shingled house with green-trimmed windows and a porch, Greenleaf would be unremarkable anyplace else. But here, it is a small wonder, built nearly 80 years ago with lumber hauled up by burros. Inside, it looks like a charming ski lodge, with knotty-pine walls, a cathedral ceiling, and long wooden picnic tables scattered with backpacks. Bootless hikers lounge in sandals and fleece…
Suddenly, from the kitchen comes the clamor of spoons banging on pots, and the staff calls out in unison: “DIN-er!” The three dozen guests quickly sort themselves among the picnic tables, and the mostly college-age workers begin trooping out with a feast: thick slices of roasted turkey, homemade whipped potatoes, a pitcher of gravy, a huge pot of minestrone, and turban-size loaves of warm challah bread…
While we eat, our hosts line up to introduce themselves and recite the hut rules. One of them sings the alphabet backward; another tells us about his college thesis on pirates. Two words pop into my head: Mouseketeers and granola. Happy hour never occurs, although I notice that a couple at the end of the table has quietly opened a box of wine.
Challah and a box of wine on the AT. What more could you ask for?
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