Date: 2003-08-17
From: Mizpah Spring Hut

To: Lake of the Clouds Hut
Miles today: 4.8
Weather: overcast clouds

Today will be almost a working rest day. Our plan was to walk just to the next Hut, Lake of the Clouds, in order to position ourselves for tomorrow's ascent of the wild-weathered Mount Washington.In Mizpah Hut, the din returned with the morning as children and hung-over adults returned to the dining hall below the open library. The hut acoustics just amplified the noise. I had to get out of here. I was getting edgy.The noise is making Chief grumpy and, after a cup of coffee, he leaves. I had my eye on breakfast; I just hike stronger after a good one. Eggs, oatmeal, juice, peaches and coffee cake were on the menu. I leave about an hour and a half after Chief does. The croo was nice and the food plentiful and filling. But I am glad to put Mizpah Hut behind me.I am walking alone again for the first time in three weeks. I must say, I like it. All my impromptu AT partners have been a pleasure to walk with (or I wouldn't have stuck around). But I do enjoy the leisure and absolute joy of totally setting my own pace, stopping when the spirit moves (a lot) to take a picture or journal or just sit slack-jawed and mindless. It's a matter of balance. It's not a matter of "either/or." I don't believe I would enjoy complete solitude either, although such time might be extremely valuable. There are benefits to both companionship and being alone. Right now, on this bare mountaintop rock, not even the wind is rustling in the balsams. The silence is so loud it hurts my ears. It fills up the empty places. Who would think empty places could be filled up with absolutely nothing?I've been thinking a lot lately about my question, how one becomes and remains happy regardless of external circumstances. It's seems such a tall order, and I am acutely aware of how often the externals like the hut din tug me off center. I suppose awareness is the natural first step, and I should just relax about it and observe.I've observed that one trait my self-selected AT partners have all had in common was a lack of competition, at least in regards to me. This is a delight, walking with someone who doesn't take things personally, with no agenda other than making it safely and pleasantly to the end of the day. I can just be "me" with no worries that I am unintentionally giving offense.You'd be surprised how much competition there is out on the Appalachian Trail (although it is not nearly as bad now as it was during the first month or two). People will start to subtly race each other up a hill or to town, as if it proved something, or scheme and work every angle to come out on top, or brag about their miles or how tough they had it.You would think that in the forest paradise, people were coming out here to drop all that. To experiment with a new kind of freedom, and a way of being outside the rat race. To find that elusive "flow." In many cases, you would be wrong.You know the saying "wherever you go, there you are?" One could also say "wherever you go, there is the rat race." I've observed that we carry who and what we are right onto the AT. In truth, I see nothing wrong with competition when there is a mutual contract, such as on the playing fields. But it's a drag out here. It becomes another way of saying "I am better than you." At one point, I considered having a tee shirt made up saying "Your pack is lighter (or heavier), you walk more (or less) miles, faster (or slower), on less (or more) aspirin. You're just better. There now, can we be friends?" But upon reflection, I decided it was a little passive-aggressive. Ha!Still, the fact remains that even while trying to relax and escape the craziness of the outside world, some are still trying to set themselves apart, prove in a million subtle ways that they're superior, "better than." Still jockeying for position in the herd.Maybe someday I will figure out how to be so free of competition myself that I will no longer be sensitive to the pushiness of others. Right now, arrogance rankles. I recognize that others can still hook me into reacting because I carry some of that within. A wise teacher once said "Want to see where you're still caught? Look at what offends you." That doesn't mean that the offenders aren't outright obnoxious. Likely, they are. The point is, they hook me in. It takes two to play the "competition game." As someone (Byron Katie?) wisely put it, "Do you want to be right? Or do you want to be free?"The most delightful people out here give me little work to do. They're on the gentle side, quite friendly and inclusive. They share a quiet love of the land, and are generally accepting of whatever comes their way. They're not in a rush. They tend to validate others in subtle ways - laughing at jokes, making friendly comments, moving over to make room on trails and in shelters. Their world is not divided into "winners" and "losers." They extend respect. They have a knack for kinship.I am happy to report that there are a goodly number. I pay attention to their modeling.I walk slowly today. I sit on every sunny rock that calls my name. The cloud ceiling is trying to break up into blue sky. There is another cloud ceiling a thousand feet below. The weather is decent. I've been waiting a long time for this compelling section of Trail. Although I am not above treeline for most of the morning, it's a far cry from the long green tunnel. Trees are often waist-high. There are lots of open areas, rock slabs, views. The wind blows softly through the balsams now, sun spackles the valleys below even though it is often cloudy above me. I am enjoying the day immensely.I make short work of Mt. Pierce/Clinton, and set my sights on Mt. Eisenhower. I snap many photos on the approach and the sun pops in and out. Once again, the mountains play hide 'n seek with the clouds. The weather could scarcely be better for this range.I notice a phenomenon I'd seen in the Smokies. On the west side of the ridge, total white out. On the east, views to the horizon. The ridgeline is the demarcation line.Eventually the AT skirts rocky Mt. Monroe, and a lovely alpine lake swings into sight. This must be the "lake" of Lake of the Clouds. The alpine tundra is protected by signs pleading with visitors the stay off the fragile, slow-growing plants.The hut sits tucked in, and I scan the sky for Mt. Washington. Nothing. Only clouds. As I approach the hut courtyard, hikers sit sorting gear, cooking. I spot Chief. We had planned to sleep in the famous "Dungeon," being the AT traditionalists we are. Plus, it only cost $8, though with no meals."Before you sign up for it, you might want to take a look first," cautioned Chief. Okay, but how bad could it be?It's pretty bad, a tiny basement room, chilly, stone walls, bare wooden bunks, no light. I could have stood all that, but the back-breaking straw was how damp and dank everything was. Surely I would catch a chest cold or respiratory disease breathing this moldy air.That does it. I had no taste for work for stay, after my Mizpah experience. I needed my sleep and quiet. I needed a door to shut, not a dining table to sleep on only after everybody vacated the dining room.It was a Princess moment. Out came a credit card. "One room, please," I said crisply. For a stiff $69, I would get dinner, a bunk and breakfast. And a door to shut, away from the dining hall. Tonight I would sleep. It would be the most expensive "motel stay" of my entire trip to date. And it would be worth it.Tomorrow is a Big Day.After settling in, Chief and I walk down to inspect the lake. Some Dartmouth Outing Club college kids have actually hauled an aluminum canoe up here up the mountain, and put it in the lake. Later we hear that they had then hauled the unwieldy thing all the way to the summit of Mount Washington. Fraternity rites?The lake is socked in with fog, yet as I am snapping pictures it gradually clears. And, for just a moment, I glimpse the antenna-ed summit of Washington, far above us. It's a rock pile.Lake of the Clouds hut is busy, large, open, loud. It must be a hut thing, or maybe I have gotten oversensitive to noise. It's also chilly, as it has started to rain. We can see our breath in the dining hall. We're above treeline, over 5,000 feet.I am out searching the skyline for Mt. Washington - the view changes here every few minutes - when suddenly, I see Finch hike into view. He's caught us! He too takes a look at the Dungeon - "uh, I'm a little claustrophobic" - and pulls out the plastic, signing up for our room.As Finch signs in, a full-bearded young man behind the counter says he knows me from Erwin. I peer closely. It's Tubbs! Last I saw him, he was hiking with Bubbalugga and his black dog Iwo. Tubbs summited Katahdin a week ago, then came back to The Lake of the Clouds to work. "The croo here has such energy," he said. It's seems a lovely, soft landing for "re-entry."This hut has amazing views. I could watch the clouds change all day. Every few minutes the vistas shift with the clouds. It switches from whiteout to vista to tall, billowing clouds in blue sky. The clouds themselves are dramatic.After a hefty supper with very pleasant table companions, I ran outside to see the growing sunset. The cloud drama and the pink-orange streaks among the blues and grey - breathtaking! Before long, I was joined by a growing throng, including the hut croo. "I've never seen it like this," said one.Chief had wanted to climb nearby Mt. Monroe earlier, but I declined when wet weather rolled in. Now we decided to charge up Monroe's stony flanks (on groaning, stuffed stomachs) to better view the remains of the day. In a surprisingly short time, we were looking down at Lake of the Clouds.I do believe, looking down at the Lake, up at the clear summit of Mt. Washington, across at the glowing sunset, talus slopes and vast span of land below, that this was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever laid eyes on.