Date: 2011-04-10
From: Cold Spring Shelter

To: Rufus Morgan Shelter
Miles today: 10.7
Weather: clear sky

(In which I am perplexed by a mysterious noise and nearly reach the NOC)The evening is surprisingly non-eventful. The eight Crazy Cajuns retreat into the woods for a private pow-wow, leaving the rest of us to wander off, one by one, to bed. (Only a few of the Cajuns are actually from Louisiana, but out here it is the catchy names, not the accurate ones, that last.)The night is calm and mild, and my tent holds up just fine. It's strange having privacy at night, and I almost miss the snoring. I make a mental note that ground that looks level doesn't always feel that way when you're sleeping on it, but have gotten a fine night's sleep just the same. Out of earshot from the stirrings of other hikers I still wake shortly before the sun.Curmudgeon, whom I have not seen since the beginning of the trail, has also set up a tent on the same ridge, and in the morning he asks me about a sound that we both heard several times in the morning, and earlier on the trail as well. It's a faint thumping sound that increases in frequency over the course of four or five seconds before stopping. It reminds me of the sound you get when you drop a ball and it bounces with decreasing height and increasing frequency before settling. It's mathematical enough in its progression that I at first assume that it's mechanical, two tree branches slipping against each other or something similar, though my next theory is that of a bird taking flight. Curmudgeon assumes that it's some sort of animal, but despite continuing to hear it throughout the morning, neither of us can visually identify the source of the sound, so it remains a mystery.The mystery lasts only until Hawk, the third tenter on the ridge and the one Cajun not sleeping in the shelter, explains that the sound is made by a grouse flapping its wings in signal.On my way back to the shelter for water I am reunited with Oops. Oops had a great photo evening the day before, using more than twice his daily allocation of film sheets on shots of passing thunder clouds from Wayah Bald. I write down my contact information and wish that I could see him with his camera in action. I wonder for a second time whether I will see him again before he finishes his section in Erwin.* * *In the blazing mid-day sun I work my way slowly up Wesser Bald. At the top Oops has just finished taking a picture and has already taken his equipment down. Cajuns Crackety and Mashaka show up and we climb the fire tower for a hazy but still amazing view. Mashaka has a handful of plastic toy parachute army men, and while they wait for their friends they each throw one off of the tower. Crackety goes first and his catches the wind, rising with a thermal current and floating off into the receding layers of hills. Mashaka's travels a good six feet before getting tangled in the sole tree anywhere near the tower. He fetches his seven foot long jumbo walking stick to knock it loose, but when he finally succeeds it only falls a few more feet before getting tangled even more securely on the far side of the tree. Oops, who has been watching bemusedly from the shade directly underneath the tower, remarks that he's glad he is scanning his negatives so that he can Photoshop out any stray army men that may invade his shots.* * *The hike down from the tower is includes four miles of continuous downhill and with little shelter from the hot sun I am sweating. I take it as slowly as I can while still trying to reach the shelter before dark and am mighty glad for the knee brace. When I at last reach the shelter around sunset, I find the shelter nearly empty and the surrounding clearing peppered with tents and hammocks. The Cajuns are starting a campfire and everyone else is lounging about in the minimal amount of clothing required for a small semblance of decency.I wash in the stream, bringing handfuls of water over my face and hair and letting my feet soak in the cold running water. I use a rock to pin a liquid Snickers bar, still in its wrapper, under the current. By the time I am finished with my bird bath the Snickers has resolidified and is as tasty as any Snickers might rightfully be.I am one point zero miles away from the NOC, where food, hostel bunks, showers and electrical outlets await, but for now I can think of nowhere that I would rather be than outdoors in this valley with the sounds of a cool spring, a crackling fire and happy hikers drifting up through the trees.