Crossing the Delaware

May 18-20, 2025

Delaware Water Gap to Mohican Outdoor Center, NJ

Mile 1308

Sunday, as predicted, came up sunny and clear. I was eager to get out on the road again, but also a bit worried. The night before, my mom had called to let me know that my father had gone to the hospital with severe stomach pain. She wasn’t worried, and assured me that I had no need to worry either, but they weren't sure about causes yet, and the absence of information left a vacuum just waiting to be filled. Mostly, I was concerned about being reachable. Cell service had been spotty at times, even in places where it should have been fine, but I figured I’d be ok for connectivity: the real issue was power. Like a lot of hikers, I generally keep my phone off or in airplane mode almost all the time out here to save battery; my phone’s an old one, and I wasn’t sure how far my power bank would take me for a phone I was keeping on all the time to catch the update when it came. For now, Mom had estimated knowing something more around lunchtime, so I made arrangements to check in then. I also reminded her how to send text messages through the inReach satellite communicator if regular texts weren’t getting through.

For this reason, I knew I wanted to go at least as far as the Mohican Outdoor Center, 11 miles out on-trail, and a bit more if you counted the extra mileage from where I was actually staying. It was decent mileage for my first day after a break, but more importantly, the MOC had a lounge area with an outlet and wifi. I could test out the power draw safely with a same-day recharge option on the table, and I could talk as long as I needed to without worrying about a weak connection. Fairchild and Trash Tye were planning to stop there as well, though Fairchild at least was aiming to continue to Catfish Tower, a fire tower about 3-4 miles further up the ridge. Trash Tye was still undecided. I figured I’d check in from the MOC and stay the night there if needed; if Dad was all-clear, and I had daylight left, I could continue to the fire tower.

The MOC, as well as the first 27 or so miles of trail in New Jersey, is part of the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area. Camping is restricted to designated campsites and shelters there, and there were no shelters to speak of for the first 25 miles. There were a number of campsites listed on FarOut, but I’d be running into most of them far too soon to make them viable options for today’s hike, and my tentative plan going into this had been to hike that first 25 miles to Brink Shelter over two days, and move on from there. The hotel where I’d been staying in DWG was about a mile off-trail, which meant a walk through town.

Empty streets made for a quiet morning punctuated with birdsong and texts from Fairchild and Trash Tye as I headed out of town. Fairchild, who had scored space at a hostel closer to the trail, was out before me; since Trash Tye and her SO had elected to stay at a state park the night before, she was starting from somewhere else entirely.

The first mile or so out of DWG was road walk, including the bridge crossing that took me into New Jersey.

Pennsylvania’s nickname in AT circles is Rockslyvania, and it tends to be one of the least-loved sections of the Trail, according to polls I’ve read. The rocks in PA, like so many things about all this, are practically a rite of passage. I’d heard from another hiker that many hikers take a rock from PA with them as they hike across the state line so they can ‘give it’ to New Jersey once they cross the state line.

Pennsylvania had indeed felt fairly endless, and there was a part of me that couldn't believe I’d actually cleared it. But sure and soon enough, I’d crossed the bridge, and started to make my way through the network of parks and recreation areas towards the Dunnfield Creek Trailhead, which doubled with the AT until the Trail took me up to the ridge. It was still road walking, but smaller, winding, lined with trees and parking areas and signs for specific locations like Turtle Beach.

While the town had felt empty, the rec areas seemed replete with daytrippers, here to hike or kayak or picnic. Once I made it to the proper trailhead, I passed the signs warning of New Jersey bears and rattlesnakes, and set my feet on the northward path.

I ran into Trash Tye on my way up the ridge, and we orbited each other for a while, keeping pace to talk, getting separated, running into each other again. It was pleasant, and generally pressure-free. I’d surprised myself with how much better I’d liked hiking alone on this trip than hiking with anyone else. For the first time, I could kind of see how hiking with someone else might be more enjoyable. The early stretches of trail led uphill past waterways and side trails for a while until I hit the Sunfish pond area, conveniently marked at both ends with signage. The rains over the last few days had left the creeks rushing and some areas of the trail a bit boggy as I got closer to the pond. 

I was surprised to see that the trail kept tight to the pond’s edge, and soon enough, it evolved into a relative boulder scramble. I got off trail by mistake once or twice in the beginning, thinking I was on trail, but I soon realized that I just had to stay on the rocks hugging that pond all the way around. It felt a bit weird to be going over those rocks when the only rocky area I could see was the trail itself, but I found myself grateful enough for them when I realized how flooded the ground below those boulders was. This stretch was slow going, but fun.

This was the path

And once I’d cleared it, it was a fairly straightforward ridge walk, not unlike Pennsylvania–but with regular intervals of beautiful views of the reservoir and the land below.

Eager as I was to get to Mohican to check in with family, I had to stop and admire. Days have been rare on this trip when the weather and the terrain worked together in my favor, but today was definitely one of them. 

Stopping to enjoy the views led to another encounter with Trash Tye on trail this afternoon; somehow, I’d gotten ahead of her. We orbited some more and ended up taking the last mile or so to the Mohican together. And when we arrived, Fairchild was already there.

The Mohican is run by the Appalachian Mountain Club, most famous for operating the eight stayover huts, backcountry shelters, in the White Mountain National Forest in NH. Hikers I’ve spoken to tend to be pretty divided over the hut system–thru hikers aren’t really their target customers, as they’re expensive to stay in, and I’ve heard a fair bit of disdain for the huts and the AMC in general from fellow hikers on this trip, even hundreds of miles south of New Hampshire. For a lot of NOBOs, New Hampshire is the first time they’ve had to pay for their backcountry shelter since they started in Georgia. From what I understand, even ‘normal’ shelters and tentsites will ask for anywhere from $5 to $15, and the eight AMC huts offer reservations between $120 and $200, depending on season, notice, and availability. Like I said, your average thru hiker is not the target market here.  But it’s also true that the staff, or ‘croos,’ as they’re called, of these backcountry huts have to pack in all the supplies on foot; that incredibly high usage of the White Mountain area makes it more vulnerable to being despoiled by human activity, and that extra care and maintenance is required to keep it beautiful and safe; and that the AMC is one of the oldest and best-established conservation NGOs in the nation. I remember Mary Poppins telling me when I stayed with her back in Palmerton that all the ridgerunners in her area are paid for by the AMC. 

The Mohican Outdoor Center’s rates were nowhere near the ones for the NH huts, but the prices for food were pretty high–I’d been looking forward to a cold soda once I arrived, but it was hard to justify $3 for a can of Coke, or $15 a plate for a basic burger and chips. The tenting area was lovely, though, and there was a spigot, a hiker box, and wifi access in a comfy lounge. We were all bummed that the public access restrooms were under renovations, but there were porta-potties, which in this case turned out to be about on par with a decent privy out in the boonies. Fairchild and Trash Tye decided to take a break here, but to forego the food options and keep going to hit the fire tower for the night. Another hiker we’d run into up on the ridge, trail name Vancouver, had decided to tent here; before too long, a hiker named Baby Steps, who I’d first heard of at Pine Grove Furnace and first met back in Duncannon, showed up with a Welsh hiker named Smiles. It was nice to catch up, and terrific to recharge my phone, which had drained more than expected after leaving it on all day. I knew that the MOC would be the last charging opportunity I’d have for a fair bit, so I was really hoping to get some real news from back home, but though they’d eliminated a bit, Dad was scheduled for another round of testing tomorrow. I was worried, and elected to keep checking in. If we had results by mid-morning, I’d start late, but stick to the overall plan to head to Brink Shelter the next day. 

But the next day, there was still nothing conclusive, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I’d been planning to meet up with my friend Tom and his family near the NY state line for Memorial Day weekend, so I had to keep pace if I wanted to keep my engagement. But it seemed like they were no closer to knowing what was up with Dad, and that’s where my head was at. There wouldn’t be another chance to recharge my phone like this until High Point, which meant I couldn’t just leave it on the way I had coming up here. I was considering my options and looking at the map when I got an offer from a local fellow who I’d been talking to that morning. He was staying at one of the MOC cabins that night, and he said that if I was still at the MOC the next morning, he’d be happy to give me a ride up the trail to Crater Lake, near Branchville. Camping an extra night at the Mohican would give me a bit longer to wait for news and still keep to the general mileage timetable to meet Tom and his family on schedule. I gratefully accepted, and I’m pleased to say that things worked out as planned. I got somewhat reassuring word that night about dad’s health (he had four ulcers, as it turned out); I scrupulously avoided the temptation of the MOC lounge snack bar and kept my total AMC spending to a reasonable $30 in campsite fees; and the next morning, I bounced forward the 9 miles to Crater Lake in an old blue Truck, with Jason Isbell on the radio and a song in my heart.