The sun is down and it's a cold here (37° F) at the Sidney Tappan campsite, situated at 2,500 feet in a notch between Gulf Hagas Mountain and West Peak on the A.T.

Camp is set and supper is done, a simple but satisfying affair of freeze-dried this-and-that, coffee, tea, soup.

We sit, hiking friends Doug and Gloria and I, on log benches in the dark, talking. A nip or two of Jim Beam warms the belly, relaxes the body.

The chatter is interrupted by a coyote howling down valley to the west. Another chimes in. Then more, until what sounds like a dozen coyotes fill the mountain air with howls and yips and loon-like laughs.

It is at once thrilling and chilling, and underscores the remoteness of the place we have chosen to spend the night.

Another coyote, closer in but above us on the shoulder of Gulf Hagas Mtn. adds another wild voice to the mix. Then from behind us, in the direction of West Peak, comes more howls.

We are surrounded by the sounds of the wild in the night. Our reasons for coming here, if they were unclear before, are now crystal. Our senses are honed sharp.

We've walked nearly nine miles to this spot, backpacks in tow. Along river and stream, past pond and waterfall. Beneath a forest canopy of gold and red, a sky of clear and perfect blue.

Crossing Hay Brook near the AT, K-I Forest.
Carey Kish photo

Passing Pugwash Pond just east of The Hermitage.
Carey Kish photo

Upper Screw Auger Falls, Gulf Hagas.
Carey Kish photo

Feet and legs move, lungs fill and empty, hearts pump. Refreshing, renewing mountain air moves into our bodies; sweat pours out. Eyes gaze, thoughts simplify. Cares, problems fade.

The trail, it's wonderful like that. Reducing life down to its simplest elements. Even when two days and one precious night are all the time you have to steal away, the trail works its magic.

Hiking through the fall colors on the AT.
Carey Kish photo

Gulf Hagas Brook in bright fall sunlight.
Carey Kish photo

Traversing the ridge of Gulf Hagas Mountain.
Carey Kish photo

We retire to the tents at the late of hour of 7:30 PM. I try to read some, The Good Rain by Timothy Egan, but manage only ten pages or so. Fatigue rules, I give in. Glasses and headlamp come off, head goes down onto a pillow of clothes wrapped in the softness of my down vest.

It begins to rain. Sprinkles, then noisy drops on the tent. Inside all is warm and cozy. Contentment reigns as sleep comes.

I awake later on, groggy, to a scratchy sound on the tent fly. It's not raining anymore. I unzip and go outside to pee and my suspicion is confirmed: It's snowing! A couple of inches lay on the ground and blanket the tents.

Awesome!

The dawn light arrives late, hiker conciousness even later.

I lay propped up on one elbow, and, still ensconced in the down bag, start the stove outside the tent door and prepare cocoa and oatmeal.

Snow in camp at Sidney Tappan Campsite last Sunday morning.
Carey Kish photo

What luck! A picture-perfect fall day of hiking yesterday. And today, ahead of us, a high ridge walk over the peaks of West, Hay and Whitecap in snow!

For three hours we wend up and down through an alpine forest hushed with snow. The clouds are thick and it's still snowing, so there are no views.

But no matter.

We focus closer in. On animal tracks in the snow. On the winds blowing lightly over our heads, above the thick corridor of spruce and fir that we walk through. On the occasional splash of color, a birch or hobblebush leaf that adds visual dimension to an otherwise flat green and brown and white world.

Hiking through the snowy forest on Hay Peak.
Carey Kish photo

West and Hay Peaks pass easily beneath our feet. We drop packs at the head of the old firewarden's trail, a half-click before Whitecap, and chug unburdened through the thinning forest to the open summit at 3,644 feet.

There isn't much to see but rocks and stunted trees and snow--and the summit sign-- but we are happy to be here. The harsh conditions of this winter-in-fall storm add to our sense of accomplishment. How wonderful to be out here, like this, in the raw elements, warm, well-fed, well-equipped and confident.

In the storm atop Whitecap Mountain.
Carey Kish photo

The descent is incredibly steep and slippery. Like walking on unconsolidated ball bearings. With snow on top. Eventually the angle lessens, the snowline is reached, and the precip turns to sleet, then rain.

We emerge from the forest onto an old logging road and continue the long descent into the Pleasant River valley. The road is lined with maples and beech and birch, and even in the gray of this day, the colors are bright and cheery.

Every so often a ruffed grouse blasts disconcertingly from a trailside tree and sends our hearts to pounding, breaking the stupor of the downhill plod.

It figures that the sun would break out and shine bright over the valley just when we arrive. Doug and I drop our loads at a roadside picnic table, Gloria waits and rests, and we walk to retrieve the vehicle a couple miles to the west.

It's been a good walk, one of the finest in recent memory. For no particular reason, maybe all of the above, maybe none. It was just plain good. And that's all I care to ask for.

Note: We made the Whitecap loop hike last weekend. There's still time to do it if you're interested. The road into the K-I Forest is open until the snow flies. And BTW, the gate is boarded up for the season so it's free to enter. If you want more info on the Whitecap hike or other fun hikes in the region shoot me an e-mail.