Blog #5: Green Mountain Expedition

Our winter home

On February 20th we ventured out from our basecamp in Marlow with high spirits, excited that we were finally getting on the trail. We crossed Lake Warren and continued on until we were 0.5 kilometers east of Beaver Wood Pond, where we had our first real experience of setting up our winter camp. We learned about site selection for our tent, stove setup, and evergreen bough harvesting for our tent floor. This would become our routine for the duration of our winter legs. We quickly learned how privileged we are to be “hot” camping when, at some point or another, each of us will have to leave the safety of our shelter in the middle of the night to go pee.

Leaving Kroka Base Camp

Cooking dinner over the outside firescreen

In this same vein, we are learning to have a relationship to cold and one of my semester mates, Grace J., beautifully captured this in a reflection she wrote about befriending the cold:

“I certainly know that when I first met you I was taken aback. The prickling of my skin and the shiver in my bones made you impossible to ignore. You swept into the room with a quiet poise. You didn’t care what anyone thought of you. I hated you at first. I hated you because I wanted to be you. An ice queen, Inimitable in your dignity. However now that I have come to know your different faces (I would not say your softer side – soft is not a word I would use to describe you) I see you in a different light. You are playful, making snowflakes dance. You are painfully beautiful in frost, sparkling in the frozen moonlight. You make my heart lift as I skim across a frozen lake. You can be harsh too. You do not mean to be cruel – you are just so irrevocably yourself you swallow up all the life around you. I can feel your long pale fingers brushing the warmth off my arms and sucking it out of my bones. I respect you. I respect your power. So, then, in all due respect and admiration, I extend my hand in friendship. You will not swallow me up, and I will learn from you.”

After only two days of backcountry travel we had to retire our skis due to inclement weather – rain. Little did we know we would stay on foot until the last week of this leg. We didn’t let that dampen our spirits because it gave us a chance to walk next to one another, sings songs, and talk over life while we carried on.

As I mentioned in a previous entry, our group particularly enjoys snacks so for the evening writing prompt ‘Ode to a Piece of Gear,’ Sophia wrote about her day food bag:

“Oh beloved snack bag, though our time has been short, it will be very long. We will walk, we will ski, we will paddle, and more than that, we will transform. Just like you have from your synthetic origins, sewn through the hands of a semester student just like me, I will transform, body and soul, just like them. Oh beloved snack bag you have passed though the hands of many and now every night through Grace’s hands, which scurry under a headlamp to place dense chunks of cheese and various goodies that I cannot resist the next day. Oh, beloved snack bag you are blue unlike the rest. And when I gaze upon our pile of munchies in the morning, it is you who stands out from the rest. Oh beloved snack bag you have no straps, I have to fiddle with you endlessly to attach you to my chest. But oh, beloved snack bag do not worry, do not fret, how pedestrian it would be to simply clasp to my hip. Oh beloved snack bag I hold you close to my heart. You hold a special treasure, which with I do not wish to part. So I’ll place you on my back and eat your yummy snacks and oh beloved snack bag I love you to the moon and back.”

This prompt was a particularly fun one so I thought that I’d also include a response by yours truly.

“Oh friend how I love you so. It is you who keeps me steady in my dreams and aware in my waking. I am indebted to your tenderness. Were it not for your elegant features and supple loft I would be engaged to the cold – My death certificate as proof of our untimely union. It is you who I yearn for in the long hours of the day when walking tires my bones and sends my soul into sorrow. I wish to hold you during the light hours of my life but the immovable force of Oliver’s wake up songs, and Seth’s countdowns rip you from my arms and cast you into the depths of my backpack. Today as the sun shown auburn through the stark and standing trees, Katharine beckoned you to hang alongside others in your likeness. Seeing you this way I wished I could defy gravity and slither into you. Alas I am to grow fat for Uapishka – Oh well! I am in anticipation for our reunion this night my beloved sleeping bag.”

While we traveled by foot we saw many fascinating sights and had opportunities to cut through places that we otherwise wouldn’t have due to the rough terrain. One of these places was on the 10th day when we stopped before the Ball Mountain Dam for a mikvah. The sun sat high in the sky, its warmth radiating down upon us. Many of us enjoyed this time by de-layering and letting our skin breathe. We looked ahead to the dam that towered over us, the steep switchback skimming along its side like some massive serpent. The trek up its spine was easier than expected and before we knew it we were at the top. The view from the dam was remarkable and worth enjoying. The West River glistened in the noon sun and kindly meandered alongside us for the remainder of our day.

Up the switchbacks

View from the top

Soon after that day we regained our skis and connected to the Catamount Trail, a cross-country ski trail that winds its way up the length of Vermont. Though we were stronger from walking, we had forgotten how hard it is to ski with 40-50 pound packs. All I can say is there was a lot of falling on the trail, enough that we even considered making a tally to see which of us fell the most. It was difficult and completely fun. Our daily average was 9 kilometers, though we were supposed to shoot for a greater distance. On the 14th day we started at Moses Pond in the Green Mountains, and our goal for the day was 16 kilometers. We skied all day and pushed ourselves in anticipation for our live-over (which is when we stay stationary for a day). Due to an accidental overshoot we skied 24 kilometers and had to stop on the side of a mountain right off a snowmobile trail. Because it was so dark and late we decided to cold camp, which meant not setting up our stove that night. It was freezing, but when the morning came we were ready to get up and out. We went another 6 kilometers to Lake Ninevah and it was there that we decided to have a two day live-over. Having that much time in one place is incredible because you get the opportunity to know the land around you. One reflection that brought a lot of laughter and groans of understanding was River’s journal entry about finding the perfect tree for firewood:

“The princess is a picky eater, so I went out looking for the perfect piece of firewood. Not wet, nor punky. Warm to the kiss, solid to the touch, and close enough to camp that I can drag it back on skis without falling on my face more than once. I find another potential candidate; nope that tree has a frozen heart, no good for the princess. I’ll leave that for the bugs to chew up. I find a witch-hazel! Oops, that one is alive, oh and so is that one next to it. Ah, another hemlock, dry and completely nice to kiss. But then along comes Grace to point out the green needles at the top. Then I find it, the princess’s favorite snack, she will love it! The hemlock is a little far from camp, but eventually I get back with the tree in tow. I place the tree carefully in the wood yard, making sure to align it with the ones already waiting to be chopped. I eagerly announce my finding to the world, letting out a small “woohoo”. Then I sit down on a nicely folded blue (never green) mat with the best orange saw. I hand over a round to Oliver to split. Aw darn, he reported back to me. The tree is too wet after all.”

Sometimes warm camping meant working late

During this time we also had some time to ourselves to enjoy the light and connect with each other. For the most part we took this time to finish up journals and do repairs but on our second day some of us decided to go sit in the sun on the lake and enjoy some healing downtime.

Semester Students (Krokis studentius) caught in the rare act of relaxing

Coal burning for a spoon

On day 18 we had to say goodbye to Lake Ninevah and set out 18 kilometers to our last campsite; the day after which we would go 5 kilometers to a parking lot where we would be picked up at 10 a.m. and driven to Heartbeet Lifesharing. It was a sunny day and our skis were sticking to the snow. Oliver and Katharine had departed in the morning so we would be traveling just as a student body. Our journey on the Catamount was mostly uphill and unfortunately when we finally reached the crest the sun was setting and we had only traveled 9 kilometers. We continued on until the last glimpses of daylight had left the sky, and it was only when we could no longer see without our headlamps that we stopped and circled up. We stood in the darkness, our silhouettes cast in moonbeams. Our lead navigator, River, gave us an update on our situation and proposed an idea: “Instead of stopping now and having to go 12 kilometers before 10 a.m. tomorrow, why don’t we do it all tonight and then sleep as long as we can in the morning?” There was a silence in the air, but not because none of us wanted to do the plan. In fact in small groups we had talked about that possibility – the silence was instead space for an opposition to come in. Nothing. “Alright then,” River said, “if at any point even one person decides they want to stop, then we’ll all stop.” “Agreed,” came a resounding murmur from the group. So we went over logistics, when we would stop, what dinner would look like, and how we were going to deal with the fact that over half of us had dead headlamps. We knew Katharine and Oliver had been following us throughout the day and were likely to be on the outskirts listening in on our discussion, but we stated our plan one more time, louder so that they were sure to hear of what we’d be doing. “Sounds great,” called a voice from the woods ahead of us and with that we started our wild rumpus.

We traveled down the mountain, the people with the working headlamps leading the way and stopping often to look for the little blue Catamount Trail signs posted on trees. This went on for 45 minutes until we hit a snowmobile trail and rejoiced, for that would be our primary trail surface for the rest of our travels. We would be able to travel much faster now, since we weren’t breaking trail. We continued onward by the light of the moon, using our headlamps sparingly and only if necessary. After several hours of skiing we came to a stop at a junction. Tired and hungry we went to our backpacks to see what would make for an easy meal. We decided to forgo the dry lentils and rice, and settled instead on the bag of frozen cheese. We clasped cold hands in a circle and lifted our voices in song, “To go with the light in the dark," the adapted Wendell Berry poem ringing true for us in those dark and strenuous moments.

“To go with the light in the dark is to know the light,

To know the dark

Go dark

Go without light

And find that the dark too blooms and sings

And is travelled by dark feet, and dark wings”

In a few hours we were bombing downhill, plumes of snow billowing up from wherever someone hit a snowbank in order to slow down. Due to a broken ski earlier in the day, Andrus found himself completing the 12 kilometers on a single ski. He had no way to control his speed, yet somehow he still out-skied all of us, making mad tele-turns with one leg and some frantic ski pole action.

Andrus actually had multiple instances of needing to ski with but one ski. It did not faze him.

When we made it to the bottom of the hill we only had a short 2 kilometers across a lake before we could sleep. Our shelter for the night was a porch and though it was snowing and we were cold, our hot dinner at 2 a.m. left warmth in our bellies during our slumber beneath lofty sleeping bags.

I write this to you from Heartbeet, an intentional living community, where we are having our first official layover between expeditions, and sharing our stories over home-cooked dinners. During our stay here we also visited Sterling College to see what paths we can venture down after our time here on semester. It was a fantastic experience walking around campus and sitting in on the fascinating classes that take place there. Our time here has been so rejuvenating and we leave for Uapishka feeling nourished and ready to reenter deep winter.

Service project for our hosts- mucking out the chickens' winter home

Hard at work on academics- their eyes are on their work, but their thoughts rest with the cookies in the middle

Bon hiver!

– Zaboski

P.s. Though we are gearing up for Uapishka and are excited for the good winter, we are also really looking forward to our time on the lake and our journey down the Hudson River. One of our prompts was what you miss about home and Simone wrote a beautiful remark that made us even more ecstatic about our coming time in NYC.

Dear home,

I think about you less and less each day and I’m unsure if it means I don’t think of you as home anymore or I’ve just forgotten about you. Physically, I miss the way the light shines through my window everyday when the sun trickles down past the two tall 30-story buildings next to the expressway. I miss the cloudy blue hallway with the ugly painting on it. I miss the dimly lit kitchen. I miss the small girl who runs around asking me to get her a cup of water. Never have I been close with her but the more time I spend here the more I am drawn toward understanding and building a relationship with her. And mom, I’m grateful she helped me get here, but this time apart doesn’t hurt. Mostly I think about the way my neighborhood looks like old industrial buildings, the Staten Island ferry pacing all day long. And across the river, New Jersey. I think about the city, how the trees shed just enough of their leaves to let me peek at Manhattan and the cloud of muck in the air. I think about the old ladies and their husbands who go to the park to exercise to the same two songs for hours through their 2003 boombox. I’ve always been fond of days when I skip school and get to see the streets barren, when they get cleaned. The mornings when the oldest folks go to Fifth Avenue to go grocery shopping with their collapsible carts. I miss my building – 566 – the way it roots itself deep in the cement, but higher than the brownstones, shaped as the letter “I”. It funnels the sounds of everyone’s life to my room, the soundtrack of my home. I guess I miss home; I’d like to think not, but in a fast moving place I’m afraid it will change without me. I will come home and be a stranger. I miss so much about home. From the long subway rides to leaving school after sunset. But I’m happy where I am now. I need to be here, to learn about what makes you special and how I can help you, grown when I return.