Herb on a Peak (2023)
Oftentimes I need to push myself mentally to follow through with new opportunities whether it's starting them at all or sticking with them. It's the anxiety of change and transplanting myself into a group of completely new people that makes it difficult. For some reason this always psyches me out for days until I actually start work, and then I'm usually fine.
Since we moved to Vermont I've gotten pretty comfortable over the years in the restaurant industry because it's allowed me to come and go as I please. When I get that itch to travel, experience new places, and meet new people I tend to leave or find a new job. The restaurant holds a special place in my heart. It has allowed me to keep adventure in my life whenever I feel like it and for that I'm grateful. But honestly, every time I find myself back in a kitchen I know after a few months the monotony will set in and I'll leave; it's time for a change. You can make money doing anything. It doesn't really matter. Whatever amount will never be enough and a raise will never keep me around. If I'm unhappy doing what I'm doing; I'll just leave. As long as bills are paid, we've got food and a roof, that's good enough. I can create my own world with my two feet, which is what I've done over the last ten years and it isn't changing.
The jobs I've taken since I started traveling have all been to see the next place, learn a new skill, get into a new sport or to simply be outdoors and live.
That's why I'm in Waterbury. To hike. To work. To finally give back to all the trails I've had the privilege of tromping around on over the years because of trail crews like Green Mountain Club who exist, maintaining them for the public. I'm sure after a few months of grunt work, sloshing about in the mud, moving rocks around to build steps and make water bars will get old and tiring, but it's seasonal work on a contract, which is what I like most about these types of jobs; they end.
I'm not expected to make a life commitment to my job, to eat, sleep, and breathe work. It's not a career. When I worked in those fields, life was miserable and the pay certainly didn't make up for the lack of freedom.
I started working at Green Mountain Club earlier this week as a trail crew member in Waterbury, VT. I've rolled through near this area on NECR quite a bit over the years, meeting up with Matt a few times in Montpelier to chill, but otherwise I've never really explored the area much.
I hiked to the summit of Camels Hump the other day after a full day of rock work, having hiked up and down the Burrows Trail four times to pack out gear for the ride back to the GMC headquarters on my birthday.
I sat on the peak watching small black birds prancing around on schist, rummaging through the cracks of rock, pecking at the little nooks in search of food as they danced around me. Their beaks stabbed at the ground and they relished in the small bugs camouflaged in the moss and lichen. With each kill they hopped about with more swagger and pep in their step. It was a relaxing sight watching these little guys jump around, completely surrounded by the alpines, the wind howling like someone just threw open the door on a Cessna ready to jump out of a plane.
The sun beamed down through the wispy clouds in split rays and the summer haze turned yellow as two men spoke loudly next to me over the wind.
I sat there in silence looking out at the distant trees, bunched and green, squiggling out over the ridgeline with outlines of blues etched into the horizon, an endless view of mountains in every direction as far as the eye could see.
When the men finally left, I held a moment of solitude, where time felt relative and the only other sound broken by wind was that of a simple hello. That hello was from a man named Brent whom I met a few hours before the sunset.
For an introvert, I've been able to strike up many conversations over the years when I'm in that mindset, and I have travel to thank for it, specifically hitchhiking. I see people all over the country walking around like complete strangers, busy with this special plan in their day that can't get interrupted by a single interaction, or simple hello, but Vermont doesn't have that vibe. Most people here are friendly and have let the outdoors into their lives. I really think it makes all the difference.
The sun set with over a dozen people huddled about the peak in small groups, some drank beers, others hopped around in shorts and t-shirts neglecting to bring warmer clothing for the colder temperatures at higher elevation. Others smoked some herb and watched the orange blaze melt into the clouds and disappear. Then the shadows of the mountains burgeoned and crept across the land, marching into the sky, and before summoning darkness we went on our way down the Burrows Trail.
The hike down was long and perilous with short steps on slippery rocks as darkness swallowed the trees and the sky. The mountains disappeared and all that was heard were the small cataracts of a nearby stream and our rambling voices sounding off story-after-story.
I could barely see anything except my feet even with a headlamp. Brent followed behind me and eventually we made it down to the orange flagging where we parted ways. I wandered back to camp while he went back to the parking lot. That night I walked away with a new friend from a simple hello on top of a mountain.
May your elbow heal quickly my friend so you can get back to motorcycle camping and new adventures. Keep living life and hiking peaks. They never get old, but we do.
About this time last year I ended up in a detention center in Mexico after getting pulled off a train…I still have to finish writing about my experience there.
Here's to another year of many random adventures 👍
