Written and photographed by Alex Regen
On a secluded, pristine mountain lake, 12 miles from Herman Melville’s Arrowhead and half a mile off the Appalachian Trail, sits Upper Goose Pond Cabin.
Now used by Appalachian Trail hikers, the cabin is a step above most AT shelters, which are typically primitive, three-sided lean-tos. For thru-hikers—those attempting to journey the entire 2,200 miles in one trip—the cabin is a welcome respite. There are 15 bunk beds with mattresses, a covered porch with rocking chairs, and a fieldstone fireplace for cool fall nights. Two composting toilets, propane lamps to light the interior, and shelves adorned with books and relics left by the thousands of hikers who have passed through complete this hiker heaven.
Then there is the pond, which many consider to be one of the finest swimming holes in the state of Massachusetts.
I discovered Upper Goose Pond and its cabin not as a hiker, but after my family moved to the adjacent, and developed, Lower Goose Pond. Researching the neighborhood, I soon learned that the shelter hosts over 1,200 hikers annually from all over the world. Some are hiking the whole thing, from the top of Springer Mountain in Georgia to the summit of Mount Katahdin in Maine—these northbounders are known as “Nobos”—and some are heading from Maine to Georgia, southbounders or “Sobos.” Others are hiking only sections and they’re aptly called section hikers.
The Appalachian Trail is considered a social trail, arguably more than any other long-distance hiking trail in the world.
It’s common among hikers, no matter which way they’re traveling, to adopt a trail name. For some, it is self-given, a reflection of who they want to be on the trail. For others, it is given by fellow hikers.
Indeed, the AT is considered a social trail, arguably more than any other long-distance hiking trail in the world. Nobos make up the majority, leaving Georgia in early spring and passing through the Berkshires in mid-summer. These hikers often form “tramilies” or trail families with other hikers. Sobos are often seeking a more solitary experience.
The Appalachian Trail winds for 90 miles through Massachusetts, tracing the Taconic Mountains and ascending Mount Greylock, the state’s highest peak. Along its path, the trail weaves through dense forests, serene rivers, rolling highlands, and sweeping ridgelines, passing through the picturesque Berkshire towns of Dalton, Cheshire, Lee, and Great Barrington.
Maintained, managed, and protected by The Appalachian Mountain Club’s Western Massachusetts Appalachian Trail Management Committee, Upper Goose Pond Cabin is run by volunteers. A network of around 20 to 30 caretakers is given roughly one-week shifts during the open season, from May to October, and their mission includes more than hospitality. It extends to preserving the natural resources that support a remote backcountry experience, discouraging illegal camping, and directing hikers to established tenting areas to minimize human impacts to the surrounding environment.
With my curiosity piqued, I signed up to become a caretaker—to learn more about the cabin, about people, and about myself. There is nobody more knowledgeable than Cosmo Catalano Jr., who has 25 years of experience volunteering in the AT community and oversees the cabin’s operations. Catalano said the National Park Service purchased the area as part of a large land acquisition effort, beginning in 1978, to site the entire trail on publicly owned land. At Upper Goose Pond, this protected one of the last undeveloped Great Ponds in the state. Previously, almost half of the AT in Massachusetts was on roads. This Congressionally mandated program created a protected corridor surrounding the entire Trail so that people could hike as much as possible in natural surroundings, Catalano explained.
Trail guidelines encourage self-reliance. As such, the cabin is operated as minimally as possible. There are no trash cans, indoor toilets, showers or running water. Two privies and a dishwashing station are operated by the caretaker, who also makes coffee (generously provided by Barrington Coffee Roasting Company in Lee) and tea for the hikers. There is no user fee and operating expenses are offset by voluntary donations, which average about $2.50 per hiker over the course of the season, Cosmo said.
The more I learned about the history of the cabin, the more I wanted to learn about the hikers and hear their stories. I wanted to know why people decide to take four to six months and spend an average of $7,500 to hike this trail. So, last year, for one week of hot September days by the lake and cool fireside chats at night, I interviewed and photographed hikers from all over the world during my caretaking shift.
Despite spending time capturing their stories, I had plenty of moments to myself. There’s an almost meditative quality to getting up before everyone in pitch darkness. The forest is completely still. I started the fire and turned on the burner for coffee percolation at 6:30 a.m. There is the rhythm of chores: carrying buckets of water to and from the pond, chopping wood for the fire, and the bittersweet cycle of meeting someone for a few hours or a day and then they’re gone, back into the woods, back on their journeys as I’m left to contemplate my own.
The Hiker Life
Most hikers I met followed a similar pattern: They arrived at the cabin around 4:30 or 5 p.m. after walking 10 to 20 miles. I gave them a quick lay of the land—no cookstoves on the porch, where to get drinking water, where the bunks and privies are, and how to sign out a canoe for a paddle.
They went to claim a bunk (or choose a tent site at one of the adjacent camping areas), filtered their water from the pond, settled into the beautiful surroundings, went out back to the communal picnic table to eat their backpacking meals (pre-packaged fare like ramen and peanut butter sandwiches), and talked with their fellow hikers. They charted out the next day and future resupply options and, by 8 p.m., were sound asleep.
Up again at 6 a.m., they packed their bags, ate breakfast (often oatmeal and dried fruit), drank coffee by the fire, and started walking. Some might be doing a “zero,” meaning they will rest for a full day, hiking zero miles and sinking into the peace and serenity of the Berkshire Hills to restore physically and mentally. There may not be a better place to zero on the entire trail than Upper Goose Pond Cabin.
Grouse
“I was supposed to get married last August,” the 31-year-old from Springfield, Vermont, told me. “She went off with another guy. I got kicked out of the house, lost the dog, lost her, and I got really depressed for about a year.”
Then a friend told him that he needed to go make a “you decision.” “Something I’ve always wanted to do was hike the trail,” Grouse told me. “Pretty much as soon as I made that choice, I’ve been super happy, like the weight has left my shoulders. I feel like I’m starting a new life again.”
Razmus & Jakob
Two 19-year-old Germans, they were hiking because they wanted to do things outside of big cities in America and found out about the AT on YouTube.
Holiday & Lady Pants
Holiday, a retired 51-year-old ex-Marine, is homeless by choice—he lives in a van. For most of his career, he’d put himself in areas of conflict. Now he is searching for peace—within himself and the world around him. “Most things that people get wound up about don’t really matter,” he said. “People dedicate so much mental anguish to things. Turn off the news and go take a walk in the woods.”
Lady Pants, a 28-year-old from Ohio, said he never did anything adventurous prior to his thru-hike. I asked him what his wife thought about him taking five months off to do something like this. “I think she wanted me to do this more than I did,” he said with a laugh. “She worked as a park ranger for a few years, and we were in a routine every summer where she would go out to Idaho or Colorado and I wouldn’t see her for four to five months. She’s wanted the chance to support me doing something similar.”
Riggs
The 31-year-old from Wisconsin was doing a flip-flop thru-hike with a “Lord of the Rings” Challenge: In the movie The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, there is a scene where three characters travel 135 miles in three days.
Riggs started by hiking 800 miles from Georgia to Virginia, and then jumped (i.e. “flipped”) to the top of Katahdin in Maine and started walking back to Virginia, exactly where he left off. He had hiked 41 miles the day I met him (17 hours), was doing 42 miles the next, and the entire state of Connecticut on day three (53 miles).
Deb & Deb
Two section hikers named Deb, both youthful, kindred souls in their early 70s, have been friends for decades. They were accompanied by Toby, a golden retriever. Deb #1 was a minister and Deb #2 was an editor who used to work at NPR.
We spoke about friendship, their children, marriage and divorce, and life and death. Conversations were intermittently light and heavy. When one of our prolonged conversations centered on marriage, I asked them candidly if they were happy in theirs.
“It’s taken me 35 years to get here, and I feel like we are just learning how to communicate and appreciate each other,” said Deb #2 of her husband.
Fire Magic
The 26-year-old from the Netherlands got her trail name by making good fires. She was doing a Nobo and contemplating her future.
“I’ve been out here for three and a half months, and I still haven’t figured it out,” she said. “You mainly think about what you want to do that day or what you’ll have for dinner. I did realize that I want to do something that intrinsically motivates me, not what everyone else expects me to do.”
Smack Dad
From Savannah, Georgia, this 60-year-old had recently retired from an engineer’s job making GulfStream business jets. He got his trail name by being the guy in staff meetings who always said what other people thought. “When they kind of fed us a line of bullshit, I was the one who called them on it.”
I asked him what it was like to hike for five months straight. “The trail is incredibly difficult, both mentally and physically. You’re uncomfortable all the time. The highs are really high and the lows are really low.
A low being when you wake up at 4 a.m., there’s water in your tent, it’s pouring, it’s cold, your clothes are wet, you have to pack up in the rain, and then you have to hike all day. The highs are when you finish for the day, the camaraderie, the storytelling, the sharing of experiences and meeting people.”
