The breeze picked up and sprinkles fell from darkening clouds earlier this week as our hiking group marched down the home stretch of a nearly 80-mile, multi-staged hike the length of Rhode Island, but none of us bothered to don raincoats. After all, we would be plenty wet soon.

“Listen to that thundering surf!” I exclaimed, as we neared Charlestown’s Blue Shutters Beach.

This was the southern terminus of the Rhode Island North South Trail, which meanders among lush evergreens, over rocky ridges, into hidden valleys, alongside pristine rivers, across verdant meadows, through historic villages and next to busy highways, from the Massachusetts border to the Atlantic Ocean.

Throughout the journey, the sights, sounds and our enjoyment levels shifted with ever-changing surroundings. Chirping birds, chattering squirrels, croaking toads and babbling brooks periodically gave way to barking dogs, roaring lawnmowers and honking horns; carpets of pine needles, trailing arbutus, reindeer moss, princess pine and teaberry were replaced by stretches of asphalt lined with discarded beer cans, nips bottles and fast-food wrappers.

Yet by the end of the trip, we settled into a rhythm in which the less-idyllic road walks, which connect Rhode Island’s eight wildlife management areas, enhanced our appreciation for the state’s stunning, natural grandeur so lavishly showcased along a simple footpath.

We had set out on a chilly April Fools’ Day at Douglas State Forest in Massachusetts to reach the official northern terminus of the trail, and continued hiking a few more miles to a car that had been dropped off earlier. For the rest of the month, our crew — like trail conditions, the members changed from time to time — drove back and forth to trailheads once or twice a week, using a car shuttle system to hike sections ranging in length from 10 to 15 miles. (See “Spring awakens on Rhode Island’s North South Trail,” published April 15) and “Rhody Ramble: A long day’s journey begins with a single (mis)step,” published April 22.)

By hiking north to south, we hoped to keep the sun in our faces, take advantage of nearly 600 feet of downhill, and savor the emergence of a new season — but Mother Nature had other ideas about the weather.

“I would have expected our North-South journey to fast-forward us into spring as we headed south, but that was not the case. Maybe because of the cool and damp northeasters that characterized spring 2021, or perhaps because of the typical coastal influence on air temperature as we neared the shore — whatever the reason, we enjoyed consistently cool temperatures and a seemingly perpetual early spring,” said Maggie Jones, our attending naturalist.

She noted an additional benefit: “No mosquitoes, no deer flies and no sweltering slogs.”

Following are accounts of the final three stages:

April 26

Picking up where we left off at the end of the previous leg, Hazard Road in West Greenwich, R.I., Betsy Graham, Bob Graham, Phil Plouffe, Maggie and I started out by trudging more than a mile on pavement.

After crossing briefly into Voluntown, Conn., we re-entered the Ocean State and veered onto a gravel road at the northern entrance to the 14,000-acre Arcadia Wildlife Management Area, near the site of the former Pine Top Ski Area.

We then turned onto unpaved Falls River Road, and approached one of Rhode Island’s most appealing natural attractions: Stepstone Falls (sometimes called Steppingstone Falls).

While this series of short waterfalls cascades only 10 feet over a distance of about 100 feet, the liquid curtain has a mesmerizing effect, and we lingered for nearly half an hour. A jumble of massive granite stepstones, cut and inexplicably abandoned centuries ago by an unknown stoneworker, lay scattered nearby.

Maggie, director emeritus of the Denison Pequotsepos Nature Center in Mystic, kept up a running commentary on avian species throughout our month on the trail: pine warblers, ovenbirds, red-shouldered hawks, ravens, Louisiana waterthrush, Baltimore orioles, Scarlet tanagers, yellow-throated vireos, blue-gray gnatcatchers — many arriving now from Central and South America.

She also pointed out Canada mayflowers, wood anemone, dwarf ginseng, trillium, low blueberries, fern fiddleheads, pipsissewa, bearberry, and blue and white violets — the blue variety is Rhode Island’s state flower.

Meanwhile, among a proliferation of beeches, oaks, hemlocks and pines, the sassafrass, shad, birches, dogwood and other native trees sported new blossoms.

At Stepstone falls, we encountered a much rarer species: another hiker.

“I’m taking my time,” the woman told me.

For the past month, she has been driving once or twice a week from her home in Massachusetts to various points along the trail, hiking for a mile or two, and then strolling back to her car. At that rate, she’ll be lucky to finish before the snow flies. No matter — what’s the rush?

During our entire time on the trail, we crossed paths with only a handful of other people, of whom just four said they planned to hike the whole length.

I wished the woman luck and watched her plod north, just as Maggie, Phil and I were continuing south, while Bob and Betsy, who had dropped off their car earlier on Falls River Road, prepared to drive home.

Beyond Stepstone Falls, the North South Trail coincides with the picturesque Ben Utter trail, named for a late publisher of The Westerly Sun who championed environmental causes. This sylvan path features wooden bridges, boardwalks, and, of course, plenty of stepstones.

An hour or so later, we took a short snack break on a platform overlooking the Falls River, which converges with the Flat River to form the Wood River, which flows into the Pawcatuck River, which eventually empties into Little Narragansett Bay between Westerly and Stonington. If we had kayaks, as well as saws to cut overhanging branches and submerged logs, we could have made it home on water. Everything is connected.

Near the end of what turned out to be a 14-mile day, we traversed Tefft Hill in Richmond, where the trail evolved from delightfully bucolic to confoundedly challenging.

Here was the aptly named Boulder Field, an ankle-twisting remnant from a glaciation period that ended some 20,000 years ago. The din of traffic from nearby I-95 made this stretch even less enjoyable; Maggie, Phil and I were relieved to finally reach the Richmond Dog Park on Buttonwoods Road, where my car was parked.

“I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m pretty knackered,” I said.

Maggie, who runs, hikes and/or bikes just about every day, appeared reasonably fresh; Phil looked as if he could gave gone another 14 miles. A recently retired mailman who spent more than three decades walking a five-mile route through Mystic, Phil has run marathons, tagged the 22,841-foot peak of Argentina’s Aconcagua, and come within a few thousand feet of Mount Everest’s 29,029-foot summit.

The three of us also had been part of a madcap expedition I organized years ago called Summit New England, in which participants spent more than 40 straight hours climbing the tallest mountains (or highest hills) in each of the six states. Bob Graham chauffeured us from trailhead to trailhead in a rented camper.

By comparison, the Boulder Field on the Rhode Island North South Trail almost literally was a walk in the park.

April 28

This 12-mile leg started with 3.7 miles of walking along Buttonwoods Road, Carolina Nooseneck Road and Route 138, before, just beyond the Meadowbrook Golf Club, we entered the wooded trail at the end of a side street, and once again became immersed in blessed tranquility.

For the next couple of hours, we gamboled for miles through the 2,375-acre Carolina Management Area, before passing the sprawling Tuckahoe Turf Farm in Wood River Junction. This vast expanse of manicured lawn-for-sale that spreads over an otherwise barren plain, looks like the fairway of a golf course designed for Paul Bunyan.

After a few more twists and turns, we arrived at our car on Burdickville Road, less than 10 miles from the ocean.

May 3

Our pal Rick Sanford, who lives in Charleston not far from Blue Shutters Beach, dropped Maggie, Phil and me off at the trailhead on Burdickville Road, and the three of us began hiking up Shumankanuc Hill.

On one hand, I was elated to be closing in on our goal; on the other, I would miss the transcendental reveries and psyche revival derived from an extended woodland respite.

Betsy and Bob joined us a few miles from the finish at 3,100-acre Burlingame State Park, through which the North South Trail passes near a campground with 700 rustic sites and 20 cabins — nearly all unoccupied this early in the season.

Not much later, we emerged from the park, pushed a traffic control button at Route 1, scurried across the busy highway, and began our final march to the sea.

Crashing waves sent us tumbling after a ceremonial dive into the surf — the best way to cap off a long, rewarding hike.

More information and maps of the trail may be obtained by sending a self-addressed envelope with 75 cents worth of stamps, along with $2, to NST maps, 27 Post Road, Warwick, RI, 02888-1606.