“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time.”
— T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding
On the morning of November 1st, I woke up at 4 a.m. in Foster, Rhode Island, at my friend Tim’s house—south of where I started my ~500-mile walk from the Canadian border to the Atlantic Ocean.
My shuttle driver offered to start me in Canada if I wanted. So, about a half-kilometer of my trip meant a tiny portion of the Sentiers Frontaliers.
Tim and I went to the same Catholic school growing up, and he and his wife generously opened their home for much of my Rhode Island visit.
Later that morning, I drove to the airport, dropped off my rental car, and made it through security. Just after sunrise, my flight took off. My seat happened to face north.
From high above, I could see Boston glinting on the far horizon and Providence at the head of Narragansett Bay. Further north stretched the landscape I had just walked—hills, woods, rivers, ridgelines. And in many ways, it was the place where this journey began.
That view, for me, captured the meaning of this long hike.
I’ve been to wilder places. I’ve done hikes that required more technical skill, more logistics, or more solitude. But this walk turned out to be one of the most meaningful I’ve done.
I passed through the White Mountains, where I first fell in love with the outdoors. I followed old routes, saw centuries-old structures, and moved through landscapes that have shaped New England for generations. I came to appreciate the hills, woods, and backroads of southern New England in a way I never did as a child. And I ended at the ocean, where so much of my early life played out.
When I left New England in 1999, I was starting a new life out west. This time, I came back for clarity. To begin a new chapter. To reconnect with roots I once felt I had to leave behind.
As I detailed in my first “Walk Across New England” post, the name WANE fits the idea of this trek for many reasons.
It’s a nod to the waning of fall. And, more somberly, the waning of those crisp, cool, colorful days that feel fewer with each passing year.
Another unspoken reason: I’m in my 50s now. As a more famous Italian-American once sang, “I am in the autumn of the year.”
But unlike Sinatra, I don’t say it with melancholy. I say it with gratitude. At this stage of life, I feel content. I’ve found the place where I want to spend more of my time—and someone I want to share that time with.
This hike came at the right season, not just in terms of weather and work, but in life. I don’t think this walk would have hit the same way in my 20s, 30s, or even 40s.
The WANE turned out to be one of my favorite long walks.
At Blue Shutters beach, after about 500 miles of walking from the Canadian border in New Hampshire.
Note: For details on the route, logistics, and initial gear, see this overview post.
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Section overview
While I won’t discuss the trails in detail again, here’s a brief look at the sections and my impressions; each link includes the WANE entry I originally wrote in the field.
I found this trail to be a rewarding vacation hike—especially if you’re looking to explore a lesser-known corner of northern New England.
While it doesn’t have the dramatic terrain of the Whites proper, it offers sweeping fall views, a quieter atmosphere, and a pleasant mix of singletrack, snowmobile paths, and scenic backroads.
And, once in the Whites, you’ll see some lesser-hiked parts of it overall.
Overall, I enjoyed my experience on this trail.
Once I reached Crawford Notch, I continued (mostly) along the Appalachian Trail.
Though it’s a busy stretch, it’s also where my outdoor journey began so many years ago.
I may have grown up in Rhode Island, but it was in the White Mountains that I cut my backpacking teeth—and where I first fell in love with the outdoors.
It was here that I realized I wanted to keep seeking out wild places.
I splurged and stayed at the Greenleaf Hut below Mt. Lafayette. I did a “work for stay” there back in 1998 on my AT thru-hike.
I managed to hit the weather window just right, and conditions stayed clear until after I reached Rumney.
In many ways, it felt like a homecoming. And even after all these years, I still find joy in the Whites.
There are about 10 online accounts of people walking, roughly, toward Mount Monadnock after finishing the Cohos Trail.
Mount Cardigan stands out as the natural midpoint between the public lands to the north and those to the south, yet no two hikers seem to take the same route to reach it.
I have to say, I’m pretty pleased with the path I took from Rumney to Cardigan. I managed to avoid most paved roads, instead following a mix of Class VI roads (unmaintained, often 200+ years old), snowmobile trails, and quiet backroads when they were paved.
Mary Baker Eddy house, the founder of Christian Science.
The Class VI roads were a highlight. With just a bit of imagination, the old stone walls, forgotten root cellars, historical cemeteries, and other remnants of the pre-1800s landscape felt essentially unchanged.
For someone who enjoys the intersection of history, people, and place, this stretch was deeply satisfying.
Mt. Cardigan, of course, proved a scenic highlight on a moody day, with views towards the next stretch of the DIY connect-the-dots to Mt. Sunapee and the Monadnock-Sunapee Greenway.
Once past Cardigan, I found the route nearly as enjoyable as the one I did from the Whites.
While the landscape south of Cardigan is more developed, it was still a pleasant walk.
The combination of scenery, history, and quiet roads made for a rewarding stretch.
The final seven or eight miles turned into more utilitarian walking—some busy paved roads leading into Sunapee (both the town and the mountain), where I had a shoe drop waiting.
In hindsight, I could have followed part of the Sunapee–Ragged–Kearsarge Greenway.
I thought of this after the fact, and there’s no camping since it crosses private land easements.
I joined the route just below the summit of Sunappe.
Still, for a first-time attempt at this connection, it worked out well. No complaints.
Once I joined the Monadnock-Sunapee Greenway (MSG), I rejoined a designated trail.
And what a gem of a route it is.
The MSG features memorable views, strolls through historic New England hamlets, and even a few well-placed interpretive signs that add context along the way.
It reminded me a bit of my walk to Mount Cardigan, but with a clear, well-maintained path guiding the way.
The route ends at the summit of Mount Monadnock, arguably one of the most iconic peaks in New England. On a clear day, you can see all six New England states from the top.
All in all, it’s a lovely little trek. For those who live nearby, it would make an excellent long weekend.
While the hike to Monadnock accounts for more than half the mileage of the WANE, it also serves as a kind of psychological halfway point on this journey.
As mentioned, Monadnock felt like a kind of psychological halfway point.
In my mind, it’s where southern New England truly begins – the trails grow gentler, public lands become more fragmented, and Dunkin’ and Friendly’s start showing up with surprising frequency.
My youngest brother joined me for part of the day. He joked that I didn’t smell as bad as he expected (!), and it was nice to catch up for a bit.
Monadnock also marked a major junction for me in terms of route planning.
On past across-New-England walks, hikers often connect south to the New England National Scenic Trail. I chose instead to head east, then south—ultimately making my way toward the Atlantic in my home state of Rhode Island.
From Monadnock, I picked up the Wapack Trail, caught my final views of the mountain, and walked my last miles in New Hampshire.
Soon after, I crossed the border into Massachusetts and began the Midstate Trail.
The Midstate Trail echoed many of the themes I encountered outside the Cohos Trail and the Whites—rolling hills, vibrant fall scenery, and pockets of history along the way.
After Wachusett Mountain, the walk no longer featured steep climbs or sweeping summit views.
And I had this jingle stuck in my head!
But I still appreciated the blend of historic landmarks and the quiet beauty of New England’s autumn woods.
These walls, often pre-1800, marked the boundaries of old farms and roads. And still do.
And fittingly, the Midstate Trail led me right to the start of Rhode Island’s North–South Trail.
The North–South Trail (NST) is, through and through, a Rhode Island trail.
As I wrote earlier –
It’s beyond grassroots. More like:
“No funding. No official group. No government support. We’ll do it anyway.”
It’s the trail equivalent of a few neighbors filling potholes because RIDOT won’t, and somehow, it works.It’s a very Rhode Island trail. You can almost hear some seventy-something guy named Sal shrug, mutter “Waddaya gonna do?” and head to the hardware store to buy blue paint because no one else will.
Meanwhile, the adjoining Mid-State Trail to the north likely hosts fundraisers and group-led hikes. This one? It just gets done, under-the-radar stubbornly, and with a bit of Rhody determination.
And walking it showed me a side of the state I rarely saw growing up.
I only really “discovered” the outdoors in my 20s—and soon after, I moved to Colorado. Like many from the old mill towns, I gravitated toward the ocean, not the woods, when I was younger.
But seeing my home state, and its little pockets of wildness, in the fall turned out to be far more delightful than I expected.
It’s not as remote as New Hampshire, much less the canyon country I now call home. But walking those old roads-turned-trails didn’t disappoint.
The stone foundations, forgotten cellar holes, and still-maintained graves of Revolutionary War veterans all spoke to this amateur historian.
Passing 200-year-old buildings, some even older, made the walk feel like walking through an open-air museum at times.
In “Rice City,” a once raucous area between Providence and Hartford, many buildings still date to the late 1700s/early 1800s.
This grave had a Union Jack on a red field. It’s the colonial era flag and the grave is that of a “French and Indian War” veteran (1754-1763).
And, fittingly for the Ocean State, the trail ended on a quiet stretch of Atlantic shoreline.
A nearby state beach had just closed its campsites for the season, and I may or may not have been at one that evening to catch a sunrise over the ocean.
The same brother picked me up not long after. This time, he confirmed I did stink—and made it very clear that my gear was not allowed inside his house.
Unexpected portions of the hike
While I knew the fall colors would be more muted this year due to drought, I didn’t expect temperatures to hover around 80°F in northern New Hampshire in October.
My sun hoodie turned out to be far too warm during that first week. Fortunately, I picked up a more suitable shirt along the way (more on that in the gear section).
Once a storm rolled in around Mount Eisenhower, fall finally arrived—and with it, the cooler temperatures I had planned for.
Interestingly, the foliage in Massachusetts and Rhode Island was more vibrant than in New Hampshire in some ways.
The views weren’t as grand, but the colors were richer.
Overall, the weather ended up sunnier than I expected, with little of the cold rain that can occur in October.
Most of the bad weather occurred after my hike concluded, when I was visiting family and friends.
Good timing!
Gear Thoughts
Ah, yes—the topic everyone always wants to hear about on long hikes: the gear.
As always, I refer folks to my first article for a more detailed breakdown.
With my shoulder-season setup, including electronics, blaze orange, and even a luxury item, the fishing scale put my base weight right at 12 pounds on the nose.
A few more details below…
The new stuff that worked well
- As for new gear: I’m testing a pack from ULA that I can’t fully describe just yet—but it might be my new favorite for shoulder-season hauling.
- Joan let me borrow her Henry Shires DCF double-wall Notch Li. It’s a pricey tent, but well-suited to New England. Even when it didn’t rain, the condensation was noticeably heavier than what I’m used to in Utah (!), and when it did rain, the shelter kept me dry—all that protection in just 23 oz (640 g).
Old reliables that did not fail
- Blaze orange was essential—strongly recommended for the first ~50 miles of the Cohos Trail and legally required in Rhode Island by the Department of Environmental Management (RIDEM) during this time of year. RIDEM actively patrols, and most trail users follow the rules.
- While I’m not a fan of sun hoodies in warm weather, I’ve come to really appreciate the versatility of the hood in cooler temps. It’s now a staple in my wardrobe.
- My go-to hiking ball cap also proved perfect—light, breathable, slightly longer bill, and folds down small. It’s beat-up now, but it’s only $15 to replace.
- The Katabatic Flex 22 worked well for those colder nights towards the end. A well-made piece of kit that never disappoints.
- For insulation, the Montbell Thermwrap worked better in New England’s humidity than a down puffy. I don’t hike in my puffy much, but the synthetic fill is less prone to absorbing moisture—an important consideration out here.
- I am not enamored of Alpha fleece when I wear it all day for hiking. Once it turned on the cooler side, I did wear my Squak grid fleece most mornings when hiking, and it performed effectively, as it has for a few seasons now.
- UBTech pants – Under $40, take a beating, are comfortable, and pill less than the other budget choice, Wrangler pants. I’ve used different pairs for many days in the backcountry over the years.
- A homemade camera bag: I did not bring my good camera, but it worked well for holding my gloves, and I equally loved homemade fleece mittens and my buff, swapping them in and out while hiking.
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And finally, my old standby: wool liner gloves. Clutch for chilly mornings and cold evenings, and still going strong after 20+ years of use (obviously not the original ones!)
Where it all began for me at 12 years old – the summit of Mt. Lafayette in New Hampshire
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My unapologetic luxury item: the Luci “candle” lantern. At under $20 and just under 3 oz (100g), it’s perfect for those long shoulder-season nights when it gets dark early—or for mornings before sunrise. It gives off just enough warm light to take the edge off the gloom without being harsh or overpowering. A warm light for those cool or cold nights.
- The “trail provides” gear – As mentioned in an earlier post, the weather got hot enough that I actually considered buying a tourist tchotchke T-shirt.
But on a road walk out of “town,” I spotted a Smartwool polo lying in the road—in my size, no less. Perfect for leaf-peeping, checking into Airbnbs in Woodstock, VT, or when soaking through your sun hoodie on a climb somewhere in New Hampshire. A true roadside thrift find!
Overall?
As I’ve said before, this wasn’t the most remote, challenging, or physically demanding hike I’ve done—but it’s the one that holds the most personal meaning.
I walked through landscapes that not only shaped my love for the outdoors but also shaped me as a person.
Years ago, I went west to leave those roots behind. This hike gave me the chance to revisit them and reflect on how they’ve continued to influence who I am.
It was a homecoming of sorts. I saw familiar places through a different lens, and I appreciated the quiet woods and fall colors in a way I never had before.
Experiencing it all on foot allowed me to connect the history, the landscape, and the people who shaped it in a way that day hikes or isolated backpacking trips never quite could.
All in all, my Walk Across New England fulfilled everything I hoped for and turned out to be one of my most memorable journeys.
I came back to where it all began and, in many ways, indeed saw it for the first time.
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