Date: 2003-07-09
From: Hemlocks Lean-to, MA

To: Hwy 23
Miles today: 16.4

Aaaargh! The mosquitos tortured me all night. Merciless bleeders. My bug stuff was in my pack, and I was reluctant to wake the shelter with my crinkling plastic pack liner. We were in the shelter because of the severe thunderstorm warnings. I wrapped up in my silk liner, but they kept poiking my nose and lips with their poikers. I believe I will tent before I suffer again the Death of a Thousand Cuts.We were set to hike out a bit after six. We saw the sun rise up over the ridge, and then that was it for the day. Soon the clouds crowded in. I smelled rain.We are swinging down the path when we see three men sitting below, near a cooler. Coolers in the woods are always promising. There's Damp Dan and Tom of TX, and also a new face, someone I've been chasing since the start - Detective Friday!I've been wanting to meet him, but he was always a day ahead. I met his wife Donna and daughter Erin in the Shenandoahs, when they were driving around looking for him. I tried to help. Donna DID finally find him that day, she sent me an e-mail.Friday is tall and rail-thin, as are most of the guys still on the Trail. Itchy's family was very worried when they saw him, I guess it was a shock. They encourage him to eat more calories. Friday and I hug - he's been wanting to say howdy to me too. He tells me the story of the connection with his family, how they hid in a side trail and popped out saying "surprise!"The Trail Magic is from Bear Bait. I met him last week, going southbound, though he is a northbounder. He left a tupperware of donuts and apples; in the ice chest is V8, water, fruit juices, Gatorade. These are all good things to find in the woods. What fun to know the donor.We all four set off together. We had just crossed the road and were descending some rocks when I heard a crash and a crack behind me, like a twig snapping. I knew someone was down before I turned.It was Detective Friday who fell, nastily, face first downhill across some rocks. I thought he might have broken a limb, from the sounds of it. A fall with a pack is demoralizing, esp. frontward. The pack just destabilizes any hope for balance and recovery, pushing one down hard. Add rocks and slope, and it's one hard dive into a face plant.Of course, we go to him, our collective breath held. He is conscious, and knows exactly what is wrong. It's not a limb. "It's my finger," he says. He looks pale, shocked by the suddenness of it.I take his hand carefully. The little finger has an unnatural crease above his middle joint, and looks rubbery. "Wow, that looks gross," I diagnose helpfully. "Tape it to the other finger," says Itchy the rock climber, who has literally broken most of the bones in his body over a lifetime of risk."Do you have a bandana?" I ask Friday. He pulls one from his pocket. I fold it to make a padding. I've wrapped enough horse legs in my time, this was little different. In fact, the good detective didn't even try to kick or bite me.After padding the two fingers with the bandana dressing, I taped them together with duct tape from Itchy's stock. He keeps it wound around his hiking pole. Meanwhile, Tom of TX has flagged down a car on this unbusy gravel back road.The driver agreed to take Friday into town to have it looked at."Wait," I said. "You're leaving and I don't even have a picture.""I'll be back," he said. "I don't walk on my fingers.""Yeah, but you'll have to stop picking your nose now," I teased him. I snapped off a shot.And then he was gone. Total time from meeting to leaving: 15 minutes.Friday had fallen at Jug End Rd. - right about at the 1,500 mile mark.One thousand, five hundred miles we have walked! It seems just like yesterday we were all in Harper's Ferry standing behind the 1,000 mile sign.The bugs were bad at the lower elevations. On a footbridge, I paused to take a photo and was immediately beset by a swarm covering my legs. There were so many skeeters it was scary.It was time for the ultimate catnip oil test.I'd gotten a proper sprayer while staying with Itchy's family, so I could compare with sprayed DEET. Prior to, I had been rubbing the oil on, and it seemed to work. It was time to know for sure.I decided to spray just the right side of my body, as a control. The bugs could use the left side as a feeding ground. Proper science, this is. I might finesse a grant.As soon as I sprayed the right side, an interesting thing happened. ALL the mosquitos flew away. I was glad of that. I never did spray my left side.While catnip oil won't etch plastic, it does have two drawbacks in my mind: One, it is oily at 100 percent strength. And two, it has a peculiar odor, a cross between something minty and old bong water, not that I ever knew anything about that.Itchy and I tried to hitch a ride into South Egremont, MA. for coffee and breakfast, but no one wanted to stop for two scrawny hikers with 1500 miles on them.So we stopped 4.5 miles further on, at a nursery on US 7 that sold a few farm-type food items - fruit, jams, vegetables and lots of dairy - a local dairy's ice cream, cheddar cheese and milk. Itchy bought a candy bar and two ice cream bars. I ate my first whole pint of ice cream - coffee, if you must know. The proprietor also let me use the phone. Last night I finally caught up on my journal. Sorry if the last couple days were boring. Just trying to stay current, no matter the ennui. We sat in the chill, damp air and ate our ice creams. The lady had also given me a cup of coffee for free. The grey gave way to a drizzle, then a slantwise, driving rain. But we were under roof, and we had the leisure to stow damp-sensitive items and pull out our rain gear and pack covers.Climbing up out of the valley, I spy the first raspberry of the trip. Oh happy day! We are coming into raspberry season. I remember picking them last year in August on Vermont's Long Trail.The rest of the afternoon was basically a trudge through the rain. I'd forgotten what it was like to be chilly, wet, soaked of foot and sock, and unable to enter one's pack without endangering the contents with the damp. We slither up slick, wet rocks and clay, down glassy slabs scraped bare by ancient glaciers, slickened by pine needles. Our caution is tiring.Though we had thought tenting at an upcoming glacial pond sounded nice, with the rain we opted to bail and dry out. The guidebook spoke of a hostel on US 23 - The East Mountain Retreat Center. The lovely grounds were tucked back in the woods, on a mountain top. I know - I walked up the long driveway. East Mountain is a non-denominational center, for individuals to come and take a silent retreat, either with a clergy/teacher or solo. The concept is based on the universal principle: "Be still, and know that I am God."When I first heard of such a thing as a silent retreat several years ago, I couldn't fathom it - not talk? Not even whisper? Why?Now, it seems like heaven on earth to be quiet for a while. I crave it. I can't abide being in a room with the TV or radio on for mere background noise. Some of my richest conversations with people are unspoken understandings.Ha! Not that you would know it, verbose as I can be...In any case, we hikers are bidden welcome and bidden NOT to speak to the guests, who smile or nod. Some good conversations right there - when the mind is out of the way, only the heart can respond.The calico house cat is enamored of my pack. She curls up with it. Oh yes, the catnip oil! Derrick and Brandi's cats did the same thing, and I took full credit for my cat-whispering charms until Lupe figured it out.We hikers dry off, stuff our shoes, peel off our sodden socks and gear, make a laundry pile, shower, eat, prepare for bed. The ritual.After a sleepless night last night, I am looking forward to some bug-free shut-eye.