Date: 2004-08-28
From: Stratton Mountain Firetower

To: VT 11/30
Miles today: 14.3
Weather: clear sky

Great sleep, great breakfast, sunny morning. The Gondola is running (Hooray!) Perfect.At least the day was off to a perfect start until we approached the end of the gondola ride whereupon BOB did his famous "into-the-clouds" disappearing act. Once again the visibility from the highest summit in Southern Vermont was nil. (Nuts!) We ran into Hugh, Jean's husband and one of the two caretakers of the Stratton Summit for the Green Mountain Club who has been doing this for 34 summers --what a great source of information and history!When I last saw Freebird, he and Hugh were swapping mountain stories and tidbits of history, looking like they were about to "settle in for the duration" as my Mother would put it. I should tell you two more things about my friend, Freebird, that I have observed and have come to thoroughly appreciate about him. One, is that he has read a great deal about the history of the AT, and learned even more from his conversations with knowledgeable people like Hugh over the years he's spent hiking the Trail. Secondly, Freebird can talk with ANYONE -- regardless of their background and interests-- seemingly about anything. Like my son, Jack, Freebird is one of the best, non-BS conversationalists I've ever met. Being smart, glib AND knowledgeable has made Freebird a fun companion with whom I've enjoyed sharing (and creating!) a portion of my AT experience.As he and Hugh settled deeper into their conversation, I got the sense that it was just the time for me to move on. A quick smile and a nod to Freebird and, within a couple of steps, the spruce and balsam had swallowed me up. I was off -- off on a day of solitary delight; physically enjoying relatively easy terrain; mentally working on my "personal inventory"; and spiritually trying to stay in the present to take in and be a part of the wonderful world around me. Here in southern Vermont, this world is characterized by:   ... countless and nameless boulder-filled streams and brooks,   ... the occasional pure white chunks of unexpected marble protruding from the Trail, ... intricate patterns of slippery roots thatched across the path, some worn bare and polished like the bowl of an expensive pipe by the feet of untold numbers of hikers, ... increasing numbers of brightly colored red and yellow leaves dotting the forest floor, ... pockets of mud now dying to the consistency of cement, congealed in the center of the Trail like slush on the highway after a late winter snow, ... the soft, soundless cushion of pine needles underfoot, ... the glowing warmth of the summer sun filtered through a leafy canopy as I stand naked in the forest dripping sweat from hours of sublime exertion or following a hiker's bath in a brook, ... fresh Mama and Baby Moose tracks in the mud, ... the church-pillar whiteness of silver birches in a darkened glade -- those sentinels of bitter-sweet memories that bear the name of my Grandfather's estate and one of my Father's failed business ventures, ... the sight of the brilliant red leggings on an otherwise gray-green grasshopper steadfastly clinging to the railing of a shelter porch, ... and the wonderfully comforting smell of balsams that will forever remind me of the souvenir pillow I somehow acquired at the Equinox House as a child during one of those excruciating family vacations back in the middle 50's.Around 3:00 p.m. I reached Pinnacle Point, a rock outcropping with a marvelous view of Manchester down in the valley below. This was the spot where Gailey, my second wife, and I came on our first official date and, on another occasion, we came here with another couple only to be caught in a mountain thunderstorm (in spite of all my knowledgeable explanations as to why the storm would miss us.) After drying off (you know the drill by now) Ifound I had a cell phone signal for the first time in several days so I transmitted my backlog of journal photos and entries before realizing how the time had passed. Checking my maps I realized I still had 5 miles to go before I reached Vermont Route 11/30 where I planned to exit for my zero day at the Wilson House. I realized that if I was going to get there before dark so I could get a ride to town, I was going to have to really MOVE!And move, I did; covering the 5 miles in just 1 12 hours. After 15 minutes of holding out my "Hiker To Town" bandana, I got a ride from a retired Naval Officer who was kind enough to drive me all the way to the Wilson House where I had a quick dinner, hot shower, meeting with old friends and, now, a good night's sleep.