This section of the trail was through rocky Pennsylvania, or Rocksylvania as thru-hikers know it. It was hard for me to understand what hikers mean by “rocks” in Pennsylvania, because the whole Appalachian Trail is rocky. These photos give an example of what the trail was like, because these rocks ARE the trail. If you look closely, you can see a white blaze in each photo, showing where the trail led. Most of Northern Pennsylvania was this type of “trail” through the rocks. This section stretched from mile 1124.6 to mile 1297.4.
Day 86, 10 miles to Duncannon
We finally got back on the trail today after a week off. I probably should’ve taken another day off, because it was still way too hot for me. At least now I had a feel for it. The temperature was about 91 and the heat index was a lot higher because of the humidity. At 10:30 when we started, we were in open fields and then walking along the river. A blimp flew by, which I haven’t seen in years. The heat wasn’t too bad and I was feeling OK—uncomfortable, maybe—but healthy. We took a break near spring and drank a lot of water and loaded up with more, and then there was a really short climb. The problem was the climb just absolutely wiped me out, I couldn’t take a deep breath and was huffing and puffing. I felt dizzy and my ears were ringing.
It was a short climb. I even had a rock bench up there to sit on with a view. When the trail started to go down I assumed everything would be OK, but actually, I felt just as dizzy and awful on the downhill as on the up. I still couldn’t get a deep breath. I was still panting. Then things leveled out and went through some open areas without any trees, and that was miserable. I felt worse and worse. I got to PA 850 and realized this was my chance last to get off. If I kept going, there wouldn’t be another road until Duncannon, and I was committing to another four-mile climb to the shelter, and then a steep climb down to water at the shelter. It was super buggy and very hot, so it sounded like I would be sitting in my tent in the heat when I got there. I realized I definitely had to leave.
I stuck out my thumb and although the road was fast and curved right there. A very kind HVAC repair man turned around and came back to get me and went out of his way to drop me in Duncannon. It was the kindest thing. I booked a room at the Doyle Hotel, a charming old building. It was a tiny room with a twin bed and a shared bath, but most importantly, an air conditioner and ice from the restaurant. Tex said the guys are sitting in their tents, questioning their life choices. Honestly, I’m jealous they could handle the heat at all, and questioning my life choices also, despite the cheesesteak I enjoyed for dinner.
Tomorrow is supposed to be only 74° and raining with thunderstorms. I never thought I would be glad for rain on this trail, but of course I am.
Day 87, 10.9 miles to Peters Mountain Shelter
Air conditioning, oh what a gift. I felt much better after a night of cool. Jeff got up a four to go fishing on the Oregon Coast and he called expecting me to be awake, but it was the one morning I was still snoozing. After a really greasy diner breakfast, I headed across the bridges and up towards the ridge. It was a rocky day, but not bad yet. I was just enjoying the clouds and the cool. Then it began to rain lightly, which felt so refreshing. A little rain is heaven, but there is a tipping point in the other direction, and man, did it tip. I pulled on my poncho, which did a decent job of keeping my pack dry, but the rest of me got drenched. The trail filled with water until there was nothing to do but wade.
Fortunately, I had a short day planned to accommodate my heat problems, and I got to the shelter after about an hour of being soaked. There was a young man inside, slightly odd, but friendly. We chatted briefly about how he hadn’t brought enough food and was cold the night before. He said he hadn’t expected any company, and I explained five more were coming.
The shelter was large, with a covered porch where he had hung his hammock, and an upstairs loft. I told him I would set up in the loft and was going to change into dry clothes. With my back to the ladder, I slipped into a dry shirt and turned just as his head peaked up. What the heck? Who follows a woman who says she was going to change? He climbed to the top of the ladder and sat, blocking it. This was when I realized how badly I had fucked up.
The conversation changed, and he began to tell of his life and how victimized he was. He had no friends, even his parents took a restraining order out against him. His landlord threw him out, and that cost him his job. As he was telling this, I was taking my phone out of airplane mode, unhooking and turning on my inReach, and picking out a sharp, sturdy tent stake. He started to complain how all his coworkers were scared of him, and I realized this was a pivotal moment, that he was spiraling into psychopath territory. I have worked with a lot of high-functioning special education students, whom he definitely resembled in speech. They could be impulsive, but weren’t planners. This was a man seeing an opportunity to scare me or more, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be redirected like one of those kids. So I said, “I have quite a bit of food downstairs, let’s see if I can find you something to eat.”
And just like that, he relaxed and headed downstairs. I pointed to the inside seat at the picnic table and poked around in my bag, pulling out a granola bar. While he ate, I sent a pin on the inReach and called home, chatting normally, like nothing was amiss. He mostly settled down, plus now I wasn’t trapped. I kept my distance, tossing him food as he got agitated again, metering it out slowly because I had three days hiking ahead when I would need calories. Finally, Hammerhead showed up, the perfect individual for the situation. He spoke to him in a calm and friendly manner, teasing him gently when he got weird. And gradually, the crew trickled in, along with another large man. Two men and an excited little boy arrived to tent camp nearby and then a solo woman set up a tent.
You wouldn’t think it would feel dangerous still, with seven men inside besides the odd one, and two more outside. But you haven’t met TK—that’s the initials of his trail name. It was still a spooky night. He wrecked most of the banter with his obnoxious laugh and interruptions. We all quickly settled down to sleep because of him, but he had a small, flimsy hammock, wet clothes, and no covers. By midnight, he’d popped out of the hammock and went upstairs, lying down between two campers. Then he went back down and sat at the picnic table, staring at everyone. Tex barely slept, feeling he had to keep an eye on him. In the morning, TK started packing and I got up, suspecting he would leave with our food or gear if no one was watching. I accidentally let all the air out of my pad at once, a giant “Ppffft” sound right next to Taxman’s head.
TK left first, and I headed out right after, pretty certain he was headed south to the nearest road, but Taxman, who was now wide awake, worried he was going to jump me a mile northbound down the trail. So while it was wonderful that we were all together, none of us got to enjoy the beautiful shelter at all.
Day 88, 18 miles to Raush Creek
Today was warm, wet, and cloudy, neither comfortable nor miserable, mostly bland. I thought to myself, “I have nothing to complain about, so why do I feel so much like complaining? Should there be more than a whole day of just OK? When will it be great? When will I shut up in my head and stop this nonsense?” We hadn’t seen giant trees in days, or much besides the forest. We passed a parking lot, on a Saturday (the most common trail magic day), that would have been a perfect spot for trail angels, without even a hint of magic. The closest we got to entertainment was the National Guard nearby; all day they were banging around, blowing things up. 
I binged an audiobook, fussed over my food supply, and wondered about our night’s destination. We agreed over text to camp at Raush shelter, but when Bluey and Taxman got there, it was full. I was on the shelter trail when I saw them headed back my way. We found a large campsite by the creek and everyone set up and ate before the rain started. The water here is brownish and we passed a shockingly orange stream. We felt edgy about the water safety; it is a very industrial area, but I think it’s just tannins in the water. Except maybe the orange creek, which hopefully flowed away from Raush Creek. That water looked radioactive.
Day 89, 23 miles to the hill above Hertline Camp
The plan today was a sacrificial day, a long, hard hike to get us closer to Hamburg, so that we could reach the hotel early enough tomorrow to enjoy it. Arriving late at a hotel and leaving early skips a lot of the value of getting a hotel. We have chores to do before we can relax: laundry, resupply, post office, washing things etc. The pleasures of a shower and a meal consumes a lot of time, but a hotel has WiFi and a comfy bed, two things we crave to spend hours with. So today we pushed hard to arrive by check-in tomorrow. It was a hot, muggy morning made brighter by trail magic. A couple from Delaware were paying back kindness that had been bestowed on their thru-hiking daughter the previous year. She had coached them well! They served me a giant, delicious chicken salad sandwich, a bag of ice-cold grapes, and an ice pop. They sent me off with a bag of pasta salad full of veggies, a jerky stick, and a frozen Gatorade. Bliss.
The day dragged. There is nothing to look at here, no scenery, and with all the sharp, pointy rocks, you mostly look at the ground anyway. A local hiker described Pennsylvania as endlessly boring and said that he was only out here to prepare for the Tour du Mont Blan. The guys passed me as I fantasized about more icy Gatorade and salty chips. It was almost unbearable, thinking how wonderful that would be, if only they could be obtained, and then I rounded a corner to see more trail magic! The guys sat around in chairs, enjoying burgers and beer. But for me, former thru-hikers Siren and Houdini had icy Gatorade and salty chips. It was heaven.
We pushed on, running late now, with six more miles to do. I was in the back, racing to keep up. Because he has an injured shin, I can just keep up with Tex, as long as it’s flat or downhill, and mostly it was. They take less breaks than me though, and I rarely do six miles without stopping, but I didn’t want to lose my pacer. I go much faster chasing someone. We passed the 1200 mile marker (several, actually, as people construct their own) and finally got to our campsite. Taxman and PMA were waiting, not sure what to do since the camping was full. We went back a ways to a spot that day hikers (I know they were because they left silverware and a pack of paper plates) had trashed, spilling trail mix, egg shells, and fruit. It wasn’t level, but mostly it would have a bear visiting for sure.
Then we went back down to the lowest camp and found TK there with another man. He didn’t seem to recognize us or remember his own trail name. Quickly we moved on, up the trail, uphill, another half mile. It was a good spot, flat and soft, without any trash or weirdness. We ate dinner after ten and crawled exhausted into bed.
Day 90, 18 miles to Hamburg
Today was basically a race to town. It’s amazing how having a hotel or hostel waiting changes your focus, and everything else falls away. All I could think about was that goal, watching it tick away, 18, 17, slap mosquitoes, 16, 15, take a long break at a creek with everyone, 14, I wasted so much time, 13, they have vanished ahead into the rocks, 12, I am so slow! 11, 10, 9, there is no water, so why are there still bugs? Keep going, more rocks, always rocks, 8, 7, 6, stop again at a creek. No one is taking off shoes, which means they aren’t staying long. I’m so tired. Go, even faster, can I match this pace? 5, 4, 3, Taxman and PMA are sitting on a log. I want to sit so badly, but I am slowest and they already waited for me last night. Tex and I push on, but they pass immediately. It’s so rocky, my feet are burning. Can I walk this fast through angled rocks for hours and not get hurt eventually? 2, it’s even rockier, is that possible? And now it’s raining, I am slipping across the flat rocks and crashing around worse than ever, 1, the trail drops steeply downhill, impossibly angled, like if you slipped you would roll to the bottom. The rain bucketed and the trail began to fill with large rivulets. If this was Utah, you’d get out of this wash immediately and listen for the roar of the flash flood behind. Here in Pennsylvania, the priority was to race down, hoping to beat most of the water which made it hard to stay upright. 0. Eighteen miles of rock without falling. I should be thrilled but I am too exhausted to celebrate. We walked a short distance to a train depot and sat on their porch. Tex called for an Uber, thankfully, because it took most of my effort to keep my big head suspended above my body and handling actual planning would be a stretch. I manage to nod my bobbley head that the plan was not good. I am not going to fall asleep in public again, like at that gas station. Tex says, “I’m already so over Pennsylvania.” Agreed, but we have 80 more miles.
The hotel turned out to be very pleasant, and I got my own room, an expensive luxury, but easier for everyone. My room had a jacuzzi tub, which I didn’t use, and a great shower which I luxuriated in, not having to worry about all the unwashed crew waiting a turn. We did our laundry and when the guys had clean clothes, we headed for Pappy T’s restaurant, simply because it was connected to the hotel and we wouldn’t get wet. The restaurant was crowded for Singo, a Bingo game where they play a song and you guess the name, checking it off on your board. There was no skill involved—he eventually called out the song titles—but somehow we knew, without a doubt, that Tex would win the grand prize. His underwear must be sewn by Leprechauns from four-leaf clovers.
Day 91, 14.5 miles to the Eckville Shelter
I got a Lyft downtown to the Post Office and picked up my new shoes. New shoe day is like the very best holiday on trail. Then another Lyft took me to the trailhead, where it was so hot and muggy, I wondered if there had been any point in showering or doing laundry. I was instantly soaked with sweat. 
It was a steep mile and a half up and then a dull, wet forest. By some Pennsylvania miracle, the next stream was beautiful and the trail was softer, not nearly so rocky. It widened into an old roadway, making for normal walking and good time. I was rushing to the shelter, hoping to beat the storm, and got there in time to stay dry and grab a bunk. The guys went to Cabela’s (the largest in the country), so they got drenched and had to sleep on the cracked concrete floor. No one wanted to be out in the rain. It was a good crowd and we enjoyed the evening, despite the cramped and mildewed shelter.
Day 92, 22 miles to last camp before Lehigh Gap
The crowded shelter was a symphony of noisy sleeping pads rustling, mixed with some snoring. Every time I got comfortable, a bug would bite me. It worked though. In the morning, there was a climb of course, in the heat. There wasn’t anything to look at, so I decided to look at tiny things, like Alex does. There were mushrooms and bugs; I’m sure she would have found treasure.
We had trail magic twice, which was so fun, sitting in chairs, eating treats, drinking cold Gatorade, and chatting with the hosts. Apparently, I look so excited when I see there is Trail Magic ahead, that I am beaming with excitement. Tex had warned the second group I was coming and to watch for my goofy smile. They had a sign out on the trail, which made me whoop with joy and run to the tent, fulfilling all expectations of me exploding with absurd giddiness.
As we were leaving the last magic, a man who camped at the shelter said, “I left two hours before him, and Taxman beat me here.” I was thinking later as I walked away, that there are only two certainties in life: death, and Taxman will be faster than you. (Actually, PMA can keep up with him, it just doesn’t sound catchy). Those two found a soft site in the pine needles, set up well to cross Lehigh gap early before the heat. Tex was enjoying the cool evening walk, listening to the Tooth and Claw podcast we had recommended, getting one last cold drink from a Trail magic cooler along the way. After setting up, he opened the root beer and it exploded all over his bed, a sticky mess on everything. The leprechauns were distracted tonight.
Day 93, 20.1 miles to Leroy Smith Shelter
The trail dropped into Lehigh Gap today, so I started early to finish the exposed climb before it was baking hot. The trail down was straightforward, but the climb was a different story. There is a bypass route for bad weather and people hiking with dogs, because this section has a short, very steep climb up rocks. The climb itself isn’t very challenging, but if you screw up, you have a long, long fall. I am always tempted by bypass trails, but that’s absurd. I’m out here to do hard things, and it feels shitty to skip one, but great to be scared and do it anyway.
The climb was steep but I had adrenaline powering me up. At the actual rock climb, my hands were sweating and I was wondering what would make someone who can’t open a pickle jar think they could pull themselves and a pack up from these little finger holds? There was no going back, only forward, and I came over the peak to a pile of angled rocks with day hikers stuck to them like barnacles, blocking the trail. I asked if they could move, and one woman did, but the others just shuffled awkwardly in place and finally said, “Sorry, no.” That made for a sketchy climb around them and missing the spot where you stop to take a photo. My photo would have had red-faced men clutching boulders, which actually would have vividly captured the experience, but I was also a touch red-faced and clutchy, so I didn’t stop.
Here is the shot Tex captured.
The rest of the day was dull and hot. There was no natural water source, but thankfully trail angels had two water caches. The really professional cache had three five-gallon jugs and instructions to text Hippie Baba when they were half empty. The other was just a dozen or so gallon jugs, with no way to communicate if they ran low, which was happening. I had good service, so I relieved the boredom of this section by putting my phone on speaker and talking with Jeff as I walked. Two hikers who started recently in Harpers Ferry were shocked to see me chatting away, phone in hand, while they struggled through the rocks. I guess I am getting stronger. I didn’t see the guys all day. Right when they might have caught me, there was a side quest to a ski resort bar. I was carrying so much food still because of all the trail magic, so I wasn’t tempted, but they dropped down for burgers and beer. Everyone took their time because the weather had promised zero percent chance of rain. Except giant thunder clouds formed and it began to pour.
When it starts raining, you have quick decisions to make. On the CDT and PCT, the best option is often to quickly pitch your tent and pull everything in, and ride the storm out dry. That’s not usually a good choice here. The rain can last for a long time, and you fall behind on your miles. The vegetation will droop over the trail and soak your dry shoes however long you wait and the trees will drip for hours, so there is less to be gained by hiding from the downpour. Plus it’s so warm, it doesn’t matter as much if you get soaked. Still, you have to do something. Raincoat, or just get wet? Because it’s often too hot for a jacket and you’ll be soaked with sweat, but the temperature can drop fast with a thunderstorm, and chill you. I no longer have my poncho, which wore out, and switched to a pack cover, because my “waterproof” pack still leaks in a downpour.
When the thunder started, I had a snack and a drink, put on my ball cap to protect my glasses, chose the raincoat, put on the pack cover, and plodded on. The storm unleashed a torrent of rain as the temperature dropped fast; the jacket was the right choice. Water filled the trail. The downpour stopped and then started again, lasting until the shelter.
Three other wet campers shared the shelter with me, as we set up for the night. Blaise was a section hiker, who left Manhattan at noon, reached the trailhead by four, and the shelter by seven. That proximity blew my mind! He barely started and immediately got soaked. Nikon and Timex were the new flip-flopping thru-hikers. Most flippers start in Harpers Ferry, hike north to Maine, head back to Harpers Ferry, and hike south to Georgia. They “flip” their hike. I did a flip on the CDT, and it’s a great way to have the best weather or snow conditions, but makes it hard to form a trail family.
Nikon described himself as a sixty-four year old cancer survivor, so you know we talked about that. His voice and throat are damaged from esophageal cancer, and his body greatly weakened, but here he was on the trail. He made clear that like me, his cancer journey is not over, but I appreciate his self description as a survivor. You can have terminal cancer yet be a survivor, a person who controls what they can of their remaining time and maximizes life. Or you can be physically healed of your cancer and not really survive because it wrecked your life.
The guys showed up late and chose to camp, as there wasn’t room for three more. PMA’s eyes are messed up again from sleeping in that last moldy shelter, so he will likely be tenting exclusively until the Whites require shelter sleeping.
Day 94, 20.1 miles to Delaware Water Gap
All morning, I was confused where the guys were, because I didn’t see their tents when I left the shelter. I assumed they must have headed to the next camp, hoping for something better. I forgot that three men are unlikely to walk away from a campsite with a privy, and they were just hidden in the trees. When they weren’t at the last campsite, I guessed they’d pushed on to the Gateway Motel, hoping to dry out. The Gateway Motel generously offers water to hikers, because it’s a dry section, and sells cold drinks and snacks. I stopped in to get water but the office was closed, so no cold Gatorade today. It’s quite rundown and didn’t seem like somewhere they’d sleep, more like the Gateway to Bad Life Choices. Tex later described it as one of the “Top five easiest places to score meth on the AT.” Did they Uber into Wind Gap? We usually have our phones in airplane mode to save battery, so I got no clarification there.
This was the ultimate green tunnel trail, just a straight, mostly flat stretch all day, paved with large pointy rocks. I struggle with experiences like this on trail, when I am bored and frustrated. I should feel grateful for every moment, and yet I don’t. Pennsylvania felt like torture, like a trail designed to weaken your resolve and make you quit. The only satisfaction I could muster was knowing I was winning, that Rocksylvannia couldn’t break me, and besides, we were nearly to New Jersey.
There was another bypass trail to skip a rocky section, warning of snakes basking in the sun and difficult terrain. I wasn’t even tempted. Wolf Rocks was the highlight of a dull day, an interlude of slab hiking, hopping from large slab to angled slab, to little footholds, and back to slabs. The white blazes were painted on the rocks, infrequently enough that I had to really concentrate to not head off in a random direction. The view was just trees, but the scramble was worth it. And then we were back in the green tunnel.
Finally the trail crossed another road, and two section hikers had set up a bougie trail magic, with European cheeses, smoked almonds, seedy crackers and grapes. They got me a couple of icy drinks and we talked about the two Caminos (Spanish and Portuguese) they had walked. One of them finished radiation for breast cancer right before the Camino and had her bag moved nightly because she couldn’t wear a pack strap yet. So many survivors are out here hiking!
After another mile or so, there was a shelter with a spigot up the hill, generously provided by Nelson Lodge Retreat Center. Taxman and I stalled out there for a long time, uninspired to keep plodding along, and Tex caught up. When we finally got going, it had a little variety at least, with some rocky road, some shockingly steep downhills through boulders, some odd strands of rock like walking in giant petrified combs, and some views down to the Delaware, dotted with colorful kayaks. We wound down and down, steeply into town, to our home for the next two nights, the Deer Head Inn. Delaware Water Gap has a unique style of architecture that’s charming, with tall buildings, narrow high windows, gables, and porches. The inn is one of the most striking buildings in town, and we ate on the porch while a jazz band noodled inside. The food was delicious, with a mezze platter, phô, and my longed-for mixed baby greens and hazy IPA. Life was good. Here we were at the Delaware River, on the Fourth of July, enjoying wealth and luxury Washington couldn’t have imagined. Truly this life was worth fighting for and not to be taken for granted.
Day 95, lots of walking up and down the hill, zero miles, the Deer Head Inn
PMA left early to meet his uncle, who lives nearby. It’s good timing, because his eye problem needs more treatment and his skin needs a break from his backpack. He’s been very frustrated by a condition that’s uncontrollable, when the hiking is easy for him. Hopefully it will resolve quickly.
I walked all over this charming town today, getting breakfast bars and tick repellent at the outfitters and the first really tasty matcha oat milk latte of the trip. Tex and Taxman went to Stroudsburg to do the laundry and stop by a running store. I headed downtown to get lunch, meeting Klondike along the way.He joined me for pot pie and blueberry milkshakes at a very cool shop. We’ve missed him and Bluey and it’s great to have him back, even in our tiny room. Taxman teases him like a big brother, but I like Klondike’s quirks, especially how he pronounces both T’s in buttons. We all went to the Sycamore Grill for dinner, another lovely meal, and I have definitely stocked up on calories.
Happy Trails!
Golden
