I sit down to write about the Appalachian Trail, and there are dozens of days that would be in contention for the greatest. This day was certainly up there.

We’d spent the last few days hiking through the White Mountains, of New Hampshire. Home to iconic hiking locations – Franconia Ridge, The Presidentials, Mt. Washington – it was a truly sublime few days.

I was hiking with a wonderfully ragtag group of bandits. The ubiquitous Lil’ Engine, the fearless Bas, the aloof Grateful, the enigmatic 109, Moneyshot the Gentle, and one of my favourite people ever – Springbreak.

In the White Mountains, there is a series of huts, which weekend hikers pay $120 a night for the privilege of staying in their bunkhouses. They are located in truly breath-taking places, staffed by a group of usually college students who spend their summers working there.

Kindly, they let the first few thru-hikers who turn up each afternoon do a “work for stay” – in exchange for a nominal task (sweeping the floor), they give you the leftovers and let you sleep on the floor. We had spent the last couple of days bouncing from hut to hut, laughing and feasting and hiking gorgeous mountains as we went.

The photo below was the morning after our first night camping in four days. We (Springbreak, 109 and I) had pitched on the banks of a river that gushed off the back of the presidential range. The days prior had all been bluebirds, and this one looked to be the same.

Following the straight 4,000-foot descent we’d done the evening prior, our legs were shot, but we soon set off for a monster day of hiking. The trail was flat, and we were walking with an Australian thru-hiker – I can’t remember his trail name, but I think it had something to do with beer – when we came across a road.

Next to the road, was a great big building, in which they had a gift shop and an outfitters. We scoffed a few ice cream sandwiches, I swapped out a pair of my tired Darn Tuff socks (using their phenomenal warranty), and on we went.

The Wildcats are a stunning range of mountains. Leading out of the Whites, they feature a series of fast ups and steep downs. The aforementioned group hiked out of the Welcome Centre Building, and absolutely blitzed it up the first 2000-foot ascent. We found a ski lift – of course, not active this time of year – and ate some snacks whilst sitting on the top chair. I don’t know what I ate.

The picture below looks out from the back of this ridge. Down deep in the valley is a lake, and next to the lake (down and to the right) you can see a mint-green dot. That dot is the last hut in The Whites, and where the trail was leading us to next. After that, the trail goes straight up through that rocky patch to the summit before running along the Carter-Moriah Range into Gorham, NH.

So deceptive is the sense of distance on the AT, that I’m pretty sure this building was only a couple miles away, with 2000 feet of descent.

Arriving in no time, we went in to see if they had any food left, and to see what was going on there. The vibes were pretty kooky. Where all the others had been hospitable, professional and welcoming, this crew were very much out of it. We hung around for a bit, but made our way on soon after.

Everyone else that we were hiking with wanted to push on and get into Gorham for the night. Spring Break and I felt otherwise, instead desiring to take a long and slow and fun-filled day, relishing in the beauty that surrounded us. And so they pushed on, whilst we tried to get to the lake we’d seen from the prior mountain top.

Access to the lake was actually challenging. Briar and bush, branch and bracken blocked our way. Only minorly snagging our clothes and our skin in the process, we eventually managed to slither through onto a perfect boulder.

From where we dived and jumped and flipped into the lake. The water was ice cold, but absolutely delightful. Once hopping out, the sun baked us dry in no time, and we slumbered like lizards for a proper good while.

Meeting someone, and just delighting naturally in each other’s company, is one of life’s greatest pleasures. This was very much the case with Springbreak. Named as such for (a) his proclivity for swimming in natural streams and (b) the fact that he was only 18 when he started the trail, he was so much fun to hike with.

We laughed so much, learned a lot, and spent hours simply swapping experience. He was this endearing mix of an American frat boy in the making (as imagined by a Brit) and a deeply sensitive and nuanced man. He had an infectious energy, and we both shared the philosophy of hiking super-fast so we could then chill out super-slow.

After cotching for an hour or two, the sun began its swinging arch towards the West, and we got a move on. We flew up the rocky climb that awaited us, then cruised along the ridgeline.

We spent a good while sat with this bird, who hopped intermittently between the two trees in front of us. He seemed to enjoy our company.

The trees, stunted by wind and altitude, grew only to one’s shoulders, meaning the views along the rocky top were entirely uninterrupted. A true victory lap of the Whites, we had completely unadulterated views of the surrounding landscapes, which showed no signs of human presence.

On our way up the steep climb just finished, we caught up with Jeff.

Jeff, 2000 miles earlier, had been one of the first people I’d met on the trail. He was a retired soldier, who’d served in pretty much every major war of the last twenty years, and was a very cool guy.

My friend Sim and I had hiked with him through the first days in Tennessee, and enjoyed his company and his stories very much. Named Jeff because his mother had named him so, and because he thought trail names to be kind of lame, we parted company soon after the hundred mile mark. He’d had terrible issues with his feet – he’d been hiking in these big, gnarly boots – and we thought he’d have regrettably dropped out.

When hiking on the AT, one hears rumours and gossip flying up and down the trail. People coming from behind bring news of people you have long since left, whilst those you catch provide updates of those they saw last week.

This person got Lymes disease; this person is hiking with them, and they’re crushing 30+ miles everyday; this person just got washed away down a river. (For the record, all these things were true).

One hilarious bit of news that was passed back repeatedly, was of a guy named Icebox. He had started dating someone he was hiking with, but the fling had ended acrimoniously, and he’s since been dogged by her pursuing presence. Who was this mysterious Icebox?

Of course it was Jeff.

He’d switched his shoes out to Altras, and had absolutely blazed ahead. He picked up his name when staying in the highest shelter (nicknamed “The Icebox”) on the trail on Roan Mountain, TN, by himself, on a night when the temperatures had fallen to -15 degrees Celsius. He had caught up with us the day prior. We all laughed a lot.

It was good to hike with Jeff again.

As the sun set, and we contemplated soon leaving the Whites, we – Spring Break, Jeff, the Aussie, and I – wanted to do something special. And so we resolved to cowboy camp on Mount Moriah.

Cowboy camping describes just sleeping without a tent, nor any form of shelter. We were pretty sure it wouldn’t rain in the night. and considered it worth it regardless. Racing against the dying of the light, we built up to a light jog as we scampered across the wide rocky slate.

The trail itself bypasses the actual peak of Moriah, so when we thought we’d found it, we climbed up the side of a massive boulder. Once up, we kept walking around in looping circles, eventually finding the summit itself. Happily, it was flat enough for us to make camp.

We got our sleep systems sorted – lay down our groundsheets, blew up our sleeping pads, and laid out our sleeping bags – before making some quick dinner and a big pot of tea.

As promised, Jeff woke up Springbreak and I for the sunrise at 4am. How glorious. We watched from inside our sleeping bags, as were absolutely peppered by mosquitos the moment the sun greeted us. Craving a bed and a burger, Jeff got packed up and shlepped it down into town. See ya Jeff.

Feeling lethargic and peaceful, Springbreak and I went back to sleep for a couple hours. We were absolutely chewed to bits by the insects all around, but didn’t really mind. Such is life.

We wolfed down a snack bar, packed up our stuff, and too hiked down into Gorham, just as the rain began to pick up.