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Burlington, VT

Is it offensive to all the Vermontians out there if I admit that I wasn’t exactly excited to visit Vermont?
I offer my sincerest apologies, but if I am being completely honest, I am suspicious that I may not have been the first person to tell you this. When Drew and I arranged for a five night stay in Burlington, Vermont, right off the shore of Lake Champlain, it was more out of convenience than an actual desire to explore the area. We were headed to Maine from the Thousand Islands region of New York and the near nine hour drive was not something that we wanted to tackle in one sitting. Why not stop over in Vermont on the way, Dear? Just to say we did.

If it softens the blow a bit, I have to say that Vermont is lovely. Aside from their excruciatingly long winter season, I can understand why people would want to live up there. Just a simple drive down the road is enough to show how much open land there is in Vermont. Your view is blocked by the closest mountain, not by a shopping mall or skyscraper. My suburban friends would argue that a twenty minute drive to the grocery store is ridiculous, but I say it’s worth it for the crisp air and surplus of natural beauty. I’ll take that country life any day of the year - the summer ones that is. I was there in August after all.

Without a doubt, the highlight of our Vermont stay was when we hiked up the Burrows Trail in our endeavor to reach Camel’s Hump Summit in time for sunrise. We had only known that this trail existed for all of 48 hours, being informed by our Boondockers Welcome Host that it was the most rewarding hike in the area with pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming views at the summit. I can honestly say that this description didn’t detail its beauty with any sort of justice. 

Now, there are a few things you should know about me for this story to make sense. Primarily, is that after years of overanalyzing every decision I ever made, my commitment to live a more carefree lifestyle now often leads me to commit to things before I have a lot of time to think them through. Casein point, I live in an RV. There was also this time in Homer, Alaska where Drew casually suggested we do a polar plunge. Before he knew it I was waiting for him by the door with my swimsuit on and a towel around my neck. Just thinking back to that event resurfaces a lot of unpleasant sensations, and I would actually recommend you stay clear of such activities, but I think my point has been made.

Additionally, it is important to know that I am approaching the three year anniversary for the date that I started making my physical health any sort of a priority. Through diet and exercise, Drew and I have lost a combined 160 lbs. Now Drew definitely carried the team with that number, but the same notion holds true for both of us, that we are in the best shape we have ever been in. I say that knowing that perspective is everything, because three years ago my idea of exercise was me exercising my freedom to have pizza for breakfast three times a week. Now, although no one with half decent eyesight will call me a runner, I can run...jog...jalk?.. a few miles before work in the morning without feeling like I am going into cardiac arrest anymore. Out of respect for my ego, I just request that you not ask me what my personal best time is. So while it’s probably not wise for me to attempt to complete an Iron Man Triathlon any time soon, I still have the knowledge that I can do just about anything if I put my mind to it. It just may take me a while to do it.

Therein lies the problem, however, because if we wanted to make it to the top of Camel’s Hump by sunrise, there is inherently a time limit. Deciding when to set the alarm for was a delicate balance of wanting to get any type of real sleep while also wanting to give ourselves an appropriate amount of time to reach the summit. We more or less followed the advice of our hosts who recommended we reach the trailhead by 4:30am, as they said it typically takes them an hour and a half to complete the 2.5 mile trek. Since they described themselves as “slow hikers”, and a two mile hiked sounded far from the actual challenge that it was, we followed suit. For all you wondering, Vermont hiking is a bit different than the Pennsylvania hikes I was accustomed to, with the greatest divergence being the rate of change in elevation. The Burrows Trail has an elevation gain of around 2,400 feet in under there miles. For reference, I went back and looked up the elevation gain for one of my favorite hikes in State College which only rises 900 feet in about five miles. Perhaps I should name this blog “The Time I Learned That All Two Mile Hikes Are Not Created Equal.” Without knowing what we were really getting ourselves into, we bought a pair of headlamps, sat our hiking shoes by the door, and set an alarm for 3:00am.

With the risk of ruining a perfectly good cliffhanger, I would like to let you know upfront that we did make it up that mountain in time, there was just quite a bit more swearing than was originally anticipated. I love a challenge, but there is something about being challenged in complete darkness, all while remembering you forgot to ask your host if there was a threat of mountain cats in the area, that is a bit more painful than usual. Twice, hikers who started after us passed us as we were standing on the side, trying to equalize our breathing. Drew’s gentle encouragements (“We’re almost there, I think. Just a bit further.”) sharply transitioned into more firm motivators (“Don’t you quit on me!”) as dawn started to break. We were running out of time, regretful for the time we lost while taking leisurely breaks at the beginning of our journey, and since we hadn’t done this hike before, we had no idea how close we were to the finish line. I began to realize that my slow and steady pace wasn’t going to be enough if we wanted to see the sun greet us across the expansive White Mountains. 

At one point, as we rounded a corner, staring up at a menacing, rocky incline, I took a deep breath and smelled that fresh, spicy scent of pine trees. The promise of light no longer pierced through branches in the distance but now directly touched my face which radiated red from effort. Through instinct, I knew that we were close. I focused all of my attention on scaling the last few boulders, and heard Drew greet the well prepared hikers who awaited us around the corner. I barely made eye contact with the group, collapsing onto a spot of stone that seemed to be the first opportunity of rest within my eyeline. I heard a chorus of suppressed laughter as I looked out onto the mountain range, being welcomed by a sherbet painted horizon. Rivers of fog drifted through the maze of valleys before me, accentuating the texture of the topography. I noted the discernibly absent ember sphere above the mountain tops, proof that we had made it in time.

Perhaps out of sympathy, a well-intentioned stranger called out reassurances. “Don’t you worry. I remember when I first moved to Vermont. You’ll get used to it!” I turned around, remembering the moment this woman all but ran past us on the way up. Not a trickle of sweat clung to her brow.

I mustered the strength to give her a thumbs up in reply, and gave Charlie a Dentastix for his efforts. He is, and forever will be, the best 14 pound hiker I have ever seen.

Adaptation vs Acclimation

Our arrival in Vermont, and our ambitious trek of scaling Camel’s Hump, quite serendipitously coincided with one of the best weeks we had had of RV life up until this point. The five hour drive from Wellesley Island, NY was the first one that actually went smoothly. We found gas stations that were easily accessed, dumped our waste tanks prior to leaving, and were able to pack up the rig without forgetting to secure all the items in the fridge beforehand. For the first time in a month, both of us had some confidence that we were getting the hang of our new lifestyle. 

I’m sorry if it seems trite, but cresting the summit of Camel’s Hump seemed like a poignant metaphor to represent the stage we had reached on our nomad journey. For just a few moments before the crest, I was cursing my decision to take on the challenge, wondering about the attachment of my sanity, and discouraged about my ability to accomplish my goals. Then, in the blink of an eye, I saw what I had been working for and dissolving my resentment for the effort that I had had to invest. All of that work had been necessary in order for me to arrive in that triumphant moments that I had the pleasure of living through, and it seemed small in comparison.

Sitting atop the Camel’s Hump Summit, feeling like I was on top of the world, I kept replaying the last few moments of the hike. The smell of pine wouldn’t leave me. Although not my favorite scent by a few thousand miles, I find it reassuring as it reminds me of the Christmases of my childhood, back when we hadn’t caved to the convenience of having a faux spruce in the basement. The analytical part of my brain hadn’t woken up until a few minutes after sunrise, and so it was only then that I started to piece together the riddle of why that scent struck me as so noteworthy. 

Pines, spruces, and cedars are all pretty shade intolerant, meaning they can only survive in an environment where they receive ample sunlight. Along the mountainside, where light is often blocked by the crest and by further elevated trees, there lives an abundance of shade tolerant trees, ones that have evolved to specifically fill this low light niche that shady locations create. Therefore, that seemingly arbitrary wall of Christmas tree fragrance was a true sign that victory was just beyond the next bend.

It is simple rules of nature such as this that made me interested in studying ecology in the first place. Learning about how genetic adaptation can prime a species to thrive in a unique set of environments has always fascinated me and made me inspired by the delicate engineering of the natural world. It is only through a ridiculous amount of time spent in ecological seminars, and repeatedly being corrected when using the terms incorrectly, that I have come to learn the difference between adaptation and acclimation. You see, we have no choice in what we are adapted for. This is dictated by our biological code, the genetic combinations that allow a spruce tree to dominate a sunny location while also allowing shade tolerant species like dogwoods to thrive in areas of lower light. All of us would have an easier time in life if we lived as our genetics initially intended, but where would be the joy in that? 

Fortunate for us is the knowledge of acclimation, the part of us that does have a choice, the part of us which can be shaped through time and effort. We have the privilege of knowing that if we just keep climbing those mountains then, eventually, climbing them will get easier. If we just keep living RV life, even if we have no idea what we are doing, then one day we'll wake up and we won’t be so clueless anymore. Admittedly, my age gives away my lack of wisdom, yet I know enough to tell you this. I have so far lived two types of lives, one where a fear of failure kept me on the sidelines, and one where I say yes before I let that fear stop me from taking that first step up the mountain. Sometimes getting started is the hardest part, but it is the most important part. Climb the mountain, my friends. The sunrise will be worth it.

Acclimating to RV Life

Honestly, I don’t think that the sunrise we got on that day was any more spectacular than any other. What made it so memorable was the effort that went into claiming that sunrise as a moment in my life. Just as we were the last ones to arrive, Drew and I were also the last ones to leave that summit, reluctant to exchange our hard earned view for the descent that stood between us and our car. Many forget that going down, especially after having exhausted your energy reserves, can be just as hard, and oftentimes more dangerous, than going up. 

As for the RV, we’ve now officially broken our record for length of time between finding something broken - two full weeks, baby! For the first time, our to-do list is shrinking instead of growing, a promising sign that we have reached escape velocity. Right now, I write this as I enjoy a beautiful, although brisk, day in Maine. We are parked at a campground just outside Acadia National Park, a destination that feels like an island of paradise just happened to float into the side of the United State’s eastern shore. This life I am blessed to live is starting to feel easier, like I am resting at the summit. The view from up here isn’t any more wonderful than the ones you all have, but I remember the work that was put in to make it all possible, and that makes it seem all the more grand.

I can’t see the road ahead. In fact, we don’t even know what state we’ll be headed to next, but I’ll try my best to keep my wits about me as we start the descent. 

Discover it for Yourself

I’m not sure what I would like you to discover for yourself here. I hope I have made it clear that Camel’s Hump is a worthy detour if you find yourself near Burlington, Vermont. But I also feel that the location is of minimal importance. Drew and I decided on RV life before we had ever spent a night in a motorhome. We dove head first into this adventure, having only briefly verified that the water was deep enough to prevent us from cracking our heads open. And we arrived in Vermont with absolutely no expectations, leaving with a feeling of victory and with one hell of a memory. I hope that one day you find something that makes you want to be brave enough suck at something new. I hope that you all find a mountain worth climbing, and even though you're the slowest one on the trail, you make it to the summit anyway. Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly at first.

Thank you for joining us at Discovery Detour, where the destination is always unknown.