Date: 2004-07-23
From: Riga Lean-To

To: Hemlocks Lean-To
Miles today: 10.0

Yesterday was hazy like an inversion. Today dawned overcast, threatening rain.I found two blueberries right off. Then the Trail headed up Bear Mountain. It was one of those never-ending climbs, logically enough since it is the highest peak in Connecticut. At last I reached a huge ramp shaped ediface of dry masonry whose plaque declared it a monument built around 1885 commemorating the state's highest point. Actually the highest point is actually somewhere else on the shoulder of a peak whose summit lies in Masachusetts but the builder still gets an A for effort. And there were lots of blueberries, so who cares if someplace else is higher?After that the Trail turned to the right and plunged down a steep ravine. Again and again I had to sit down and slide my way down rock faces too steep to walk. I was thankful it was not raining and the rock was dry! Finally it leveled off and I crossed the border into Massachusetts. I was greeted with true exuberance; one peak after another the like of which I had not seen since Virginia, all topped with lots of bluberries!Mount Race would have had a spectacular view on a clear day, with an almost sheer drop for hundreds of feet off the right side of the Trail. As it was I could still dimly make out the valley floor far below through the haze. It was an odd mix of the rocky spine of my first day in New York and the high foggy ridges of the Smokys.Again the Trail turned right and went downwards and again I was thankful not to have to do it in the rain. Across a ravine the Trail started up Mount Everett. On my way up I heard an ominous rumble behind me. I paused to listen hoping it was just a passing jet airliner but no, it was thunder. The last thing I wanted was to get caught on an exposed rocky peak in lightning. I did a swift check of how far it seemed and whether to retreat to the campsite back in the ravine or make for the two shelters beyond the summit. I decided to go on, hurrying up the steep slope as fast as my legs would carry me, gasping for breath, racing the storm to the summit. The slope leveled, going along lightly sloped rock outcrops weaving through scrub pine but the summit seemed to take forever to get to. I had neglected to check the height, it was 2600 feet up, highter than any mountain I had seen since Virginia. As the sound of thunder started to drift ahead of me and the first drops of rain fell I came upon the foundations of the recently removed fire tower. I was at the top!Frantic with haste, I searched madly for the way down. I found a yellow blazed path marked "this way to car" in spray paint that led downwards but had no white blazes. Sure it was not the Trail but reassured that I knew a quick way downwards if the storm broke, I backtracked to the foundation and looked around again. There it was, a white blaze. I dashed down the trail. For a while it looked almost like the path I had taken up, threading down rock outcrops, and I paused. But the trees were too tall and anyway even if I was turned around it would still get me off the peak to a campsite. The Trail led to an exposed rocky overlook that I knew I had not passed before. I WAS on the right track but it was leading me over as much of a lightning magnet as the summit had been. I redoubled my pace to get free of the exposed area, heedless of the wet rock and bad footing. At last it went over a shoulder to fairly low ground and I could start to relax again.That storm cell seemed to have passed in front of me. But one cell can spawn another. Twice before I had thought I had been bypassed only to find another cell right on top of me and lightning unnervingly close. So I kept going, making for the shelters, stopping only to hastily put the rain cover onto my pack, then heading on. I stepped on a slab of rock and had my feet go right out from under me and I fell, wrenching one shoulder when the pole stayed firmly planted and jerked my arm up. I picked myself up, gave the shoulder a cautious shrug to check for injury, and kept going.Soon I reached the first shelter, Hemlocks Lean-to. It was luxurious, with a covered porch with picnic table, four big sleeping shelves arranged like bunks and a loft above the porch. I stopped to make a note in the register and check the previous entries. Gator Woman had been by as well as Sanguine, who I had last seen at Grayson Highlands, but no sign of more recent companions.The next shelter was only .1 miles away and was said to have a better water source so I went on. It turned out to be much smaller and damper. There I found two male hikers who had already taken the choice spots by the side walls, and made no move to make room for me at the center. It seemed almost claustrophobic so I made a quick note in the register and went back to the more cozy Hemlocks. I got settled and set out my filter bottle and big Platypus water bag to catch rain dripping off the roof for water. It was only a little after 1pm and I had gone only ten miles. But thunder was still rumbling and there were eight miles and three more peaks before Highway 7, where I could hitch a ride to Great Barrington. I had had enough dodging lightning in high places and the last time I had tried hitching a ride in a pouring rain I had failed miserably. So I decided to stay for the night.As if to endorse my decision, the rain came down harder than ever. In just an hour my filter bottle was overflowing and the bag had two liters. So I did not have to worry about water.I spent the afternoon journaling, purifing water and napping. When suppertime came I really did not feel like getting up to cook. So I lay in my sleeping bag and crunched the rest of my tortelini right out of the package. I found it chews nicely even uncooked and is a nice change of flavor and texture from eating uncooked ramen noodles. Then I munched down a 3oz block of cream cheese that had been in my pack for days and then had two breakfast squares for dessert. Yum, hiker high cuisine!Supper over, I hung my food bag and curled up with the flashlight my brother had given me and (gasp) a copy of Joyce's "Portrait of the artist as a young man" I found laying around the shelter.