Trail Tales: Autumn overnighter on Killington's Peak

October 17, 2023

Few things precipitate a proper adventure more than the urge to test out shiny, new gear. Amplify this release of dopamine with prime leaf-peeping season, and you have the perfect recipe for an impromptu overnighter.

Originally, I had planned to squeeze in one last tripping adventure before water and sundown temperatures made a canoe trip unpleasant, but the logistics proved too great. To salvage the weekend, my brother, Adam, and I decided to hike up the Appalachian Trail to Cooper Lodge, the highest shelter on the Long Trail, just 0.2 miles from Killington Peak. Depending on foot traffic, we decided to either pitch on the wooden platforms or disperse camp wherever we could. 

Above: Ryker is dubious about the ratio of camping gear to kibble.

We set off at 1 PM with perfect bluebird skies and 65-degree weather. My base weight (including food and 2.5L of water) came out to 25.74 lbs. This seemed exorbitant for an overnighter. Nevertheless, my hound “convinced” me to pack many of his luxury items, including a sleeping bag and pad, a down jacket, and assorted treats. Ryker picked up some of the slack by hauling his own food and water, but I soon regretted using my Gossamer Gear Kumo 36 – a frameless pack best served for ultralight expeditions. In fact, I worried the petite buckles would snap each time I ratcheted down my overflowing kit; and while the hip straps help mitigate heavier loads, my shoulders took the brunt of the stress and ended up pretty raw.

Left/Center/Right: Locked and loaded; Puppers cooling off in a mountain tributary feeding into Sargent Brook; Clocking in at 25.74 lbs. Adam weighed in slightly north of 30 lbs!!

We maintained a solid clip, buoyed by the autumnal foliage and eager to catch a poor man’s alpenglow. Adam and I parted ways with Jan (mom) when we reached Governor Clement Shelter, named after Percival W. Clement, the 57th governor of Vermont. Historically, new settlers cleared much of the land in this area of trees in the late 1700s. They dug up large stones from planted fields, built stonewalls to mark property boundaries, and excavated cellar holes, lining them with glacial boulders. Many of these stone walls still exist and often lead through second growth forests that were once pastures and meadows. The shelter itself was built near Herbert Haley’s farm in 1929 and there remains little evidence of any agrarian practice.

Above: Ryker leads us up a logging trail through what was once a field.

Below: The rear of Governor Clement Shelter. Scandalous. 

Some distance past the shelter, our meandering route began a slow and steady ascent. The towering maples, beeches, and white birch were succeeded by paper birch and evergreens such as balsam fir and red spruce.

Above: Leaf-peeping season just past prime.

The ascent from our home to the apex of Killington is slightly over 2,500 feet. This can result in a temperature difference greater than 10°F. The lapse rate--a decrease of 3-5°F for every 1,000 feet of altitude gained--resulted in noticeably cooler temperatures, dropping to the high 40s. Advancing towards the summit, our progress slowed as the trail became increasingly difficult to navigate. Trees and roots began to encroach on the path, appearing diminutive and gnarled with age, battered by the harsh environment, and competing fiercely for resources. Water droplets beaded on bark and the forest floor became veiled in emerald moss. The aroma of decomposition enveloped us as we chugged along, puffing out tiny clouds of condensation.

Above: One of thousands, a vibrant green Pincushion Moss releases moisture and creates a humid microclimate. The cold temperature decelerates the decomposition process, leading to increased carbon sequestration.

As the sun began to waver on the horizon, we found our campsite. A stroke of luck, only one other individual planned to camp on the platforms. We quickly staked out our tents and scrambled up the final incline to get a view before sunset.

Above: First pitch with my new X-Mid Pro. Below: Ryker claims this platform for all dogkind. Sorry Adam.

Below Left and Mid: This scramble could easily be mistaken for the path to Mordor. Below Right: Mr. Stinky Butt encourages us on. "We get Lembas bread at the top, right Dad?"

A final few minutes of exertion and we were greeted with some spectacular views. We got comfortable, enjoyed a snack, and waited for the sunset.

Above/Below: Killington Peak looking South West.

Above: Alpenglow.

Below: Sunset time-lapse.

With a last flicker, the sun set below the horizon and in the remaining light we carefully picked our way down to camp. I was cold. I've recently noticed my body has a hard time regulating its temperature after an exerting hike, and at this point the temperature had dropped to the high 30s. I threw on my puffy and started to boil water for dinner. Ryker enjoyed sweet potatoes with kibble and Adam and I polished off some Asian noodles. It was dark and increasingly chilly. The seductive call of our sleeping bags proved irresistible. Calling it a night we climbed into our respective tents.

Despite the noisy barn owl, Ryker found a comfy spot (on my legs) and with a contented groan, curled up. We slept more or less soundly, although I woke up at 2 AM to Ryker shivering. For whatever reason, he does not like getting zippered into his personal sleeping bag, so I opened mine and he crawled in. It was for this specific reason that I had lugged a 3 lb. cowboy blanket, and with a perfunctory throw, I draped it over us.

Above: Ryker makes for a warm sleeping companion. He seems to think I do too.

The early morning light gently nudged me awake. That and an extremely cold nose poking into my neck. I rolled over to find Ryker staring at me, wide awake, pumped, and eager to get outside and sniff around. I let him out quietly and rolled out of my bag to make coffee. We broke camp soon after and took off back down the slope. Knowing that eggs and pancakes are waiting for you back home surely puts a zip into your step!

Below: Trotting along a logging trail, back towards The 100 Acre Woods.

As the morning air warmed, sunlight filtered down from the deciduous canopy. The Vermont landscape once again emerges from muted hues as the softened, earthy tones of late autumn transforms back into a vibrant tapestry of reds, oranges, and yellows. The crisp air, filled with the scent of pine and the faint, sweet aroma of fallen leaves is a gentle reminder of the fleeting beauty of this season.

Each step, each glance at the majestic views, is a reminder of how easy it is to forget we have a connection to the world and the importance of renewing that sense of wonder. The passage of time feels more pronounced as the warm summer days shorten and fade to long, cold nights. As the the wind begins to cut a little deeper, it is easy to reflect on your mortality, and in my case, a chance to find gratitude. There is nothing quite like Vermont in the fall.

It’s a rare gift to be so immersed in nature. I'm lucky to be able to enjoy it with my good health, family, and friends. I’ll cherish these autumn memories, long after the leaves have fallen, and look forward to the adventures that lie ahead. Until the trail beckons again, happy hiking.

Christopher Lombroso

The 100 Acre Woods