There’s nothing quite like a crisp fall day to get you in the mood for adventure, and our overnight hike on Mount Greylock had all the makings of a perfect outdoor escape. Starting at the summit by the War Memorial Tower, Glen and I were greeted by the kind of autumn day that makes you wonder if you’ve somehow landed in an L.L. Bean catalog. The sky was a dazzling blue, the air was cool enough to remind you that you’re alive, and the leaves were showing off in their best reds and oranges. It was like Mother Nature decided to throw one last hurrah before winter barges in like that relative you didn’t invite to Thanksgiving.
Standing at the top, the views were spectacular—a never-ending sea of vibrant trees, rolling hills, and mountains stretching far beyond where your eyes could reach. But we didn’t come just to stand around looking majestic. We came to hike, and so, with packs hoisted and snacks at the ready (because priorities), we hit the Appalachian Trail, heading south toward the Mark Noepel Shelter.
As we started our descent, we were immediately smacked in the face with the smell of balsam pine—one of those smells that makes you think, “Forget the hike, let’s bottle this and sell it.” Seriously, if you could capture the essence of this place, you’d be a millionaire, and people everywhere would ditch their fancy colognes for a spritz of “Balsam Breeze.” It was the kind of fresh, woodsy scent that makes you want to take deep breaths and pretend you’re some sort of mountain person or, in our case, a couple of hikers just trying to survive without Wi-Fi.
The trail wound through dense forests, with the occasional patch of sun breaking through the trees like nature’s own spotlight. Every so often, we’d come across a squirrel or chipmunk gathering acorns for the Winter and rustling through the leaves.
About halfway in, we found our stride, feeling like true adventurers of the wild (or at least, slightly more competent hikers). Our conversation flowed as easily as the trail, covering everything from life’s big questions to whether trail mix would taste better if it came with a tumbler of bourbon barreled red wine. Important stuff. But all the while, the wilderness around us reminded us why we were there—the freedom of being surrounded by nothing but trees, fresh air, and the occasional dramatic squirrel chattering at us as we walked by.
By the time we reached Mark Noepel Shelter, the sun had started its lazy descent, casting the forest in that golden glow you see in nature documentaries. The shelter itself was tucked down a side trail in a cozy clearing, like it had been waiting for us all along. We threw down our packs, grateful to finally unload the 55 pounds of “necessities” we’d brought (because you never know when you might need three different kinds of solar chargers or string lights).
Dinner consisted of a dehydrated chicken pot pie that bore only a passing resemblance to its namesake—but out there in the fresh mountain air, it tasted like a five-star meal. There's something about eating on the trail that turns even the most questionable foods into culinary masterpieces. Sure, it may have been more "chicken-ish stew" than actual chicken pot pie, but after a day of hiking, it was pure comfort in a pouch.
And then, the stars! The sky above us was so clear and brilliant, it had me seriously reconsidering ever sleeping indoors again. We eventually settled in, drifting off to the soothing hoot of owls calling out in the distance.
Sometime in the night, I was jolted awake by the unmistakable tap-tap-tap of raindrops—right on my face. Of course, I hadn’t bothered to put my rain fly on.. We scrambled in the dark to hastily cover our tents, half laughing and half cursing the sudden change of weather. By morning, everything was soaked—but by some trail magic (or just a lucky breeze and a bit of sunshine), most of it dried out before we packed up and hit the trail again.
Exploring Mount Greylock under the stars gave me exactly what I didn’t know I needed—a chance to disconnect, reset, and remember that sometimes, all you need is a mountain, a friend, and the smell of balsam pine to feel like you’ve conquered the world. Or at least, your little corner of it.
And hey, if there’s one thing I took away from this trip, it’s that next time, I’m definitely bringing more wine to go with that trail mix. ;-)