Date: 2016-06-07
From: St. Thomas Episcopal Church Hostel

To: Belters Campsite
Miles today: 0.0
Weather: clear sky

This is going to be a long one, folks. I've been adding to the same insane, stream of consciousness journal entry every day since we last spoke, which was in Vernon, NJ. I'm in Connecticut now. Well, actually, I'm really in Massachusetts, but this post will take you to just before Salisbury, CT.I'd apologize for not posting more often, but, I don't really feel that bad about it.Anyway, read at your own peril: New York to Connecticut Shortly after I posted my last update, a familiar face turned up at the hostel. Portage, who I originally met back at Rausch Gap Shelter when he was with the Young Puppies, had hopped off the shelter for a week to, IDK, graduate from Yale or something. He came in with Greybeard, a representative from ALDHA (Appalachian Long Distance Hikers Association) who gave him a ride from the trail head.Having shared a shelter with Portage in the past, I was reasonably certain he wouldn't crawl under my bed and kick it repeatedly or shine a bright light into my eyes before 5 am, so that was a relief.After a few hours of half watching Comedy Central, Portage and Greybeard both went their separate ways in pursuit of dinner. I was just contemplating doing the same when Melissa, a local trail angel extraordinaire, walked in and offered me a steak dinner at her place. I was eager to take her up on the offer and signed Portage's guestbook on his Trailjournals page, telling him to get his arse back to the hostel for free dinner, which, surprisingly, worked.We drove out past ski resorts and mountain biking parks to Melissa's place, where we got to meet her two brothers and her mom as well. We watched Seinfeld and exchanged crazy trail stories for a while. Melissa has been feeding and helping out hikers for years and has met some interesting characters.With Fast Times at Ridgemont High playing in the background, we dug in to steak, asparagus, and French fries. It was awesome to spend time in a real house with real people!Melissa ferried us back to the hostel way past hiker midnight, but no one else had turned up, so I fell asleep on the futon, reasonably confident that I wouldn't be abruptly awakened by strange strangers in the middle of the night.The next morning, Greybeard graciously offered us a ride back to the trail and, after a breakfast of Dunkin Donuts, I was back in the hot sun, doing what I do best: walking really, really slow.I started up the so-called Stairway to Heaven up Wawayanda Mountain, picking up loads of trash on the way. This area is popular for day hikes and trail running and more people always equals more trash. I accidentally missed the overlook after the long climb. The weather was nuts- 90 degrees with 90% humidity- so I spent the day just pouring sweat and searching for the next water source. I probably drank 7 liters of water, most of which I flavored with one of those Mio additives because it was murky and tasted like a pond otherwise.The trail wrapped around Greenwood Lake, high above it on a rocky ridge line, for most of the day. On this Memorial Day weekend, the lake was packed with boats and, even miles away on the ridge, I could clearly make out the music emanating from the rowdier party boats.I crossed the New Jersey/ New York border that afternoon, beginning my 4th state. Appalachian Trials featured my picture of the occasion in their Instagram and it got approximately 1192 more likes on their page than mine. The heat and humidity was just brutal so I was moving really slow. I stumbled over a rocky outcropping named Cat Rocks right at sunset and lingered for a while before finding the shelter. The tenting area was filled with Weekend Warriors, Portage and two section hikers, Jeff and Noah, were in the shelter. I set up my hammock and scrambled to cook dinner before calling it a night.The next morning I was up at 5:30, out of camp by 7, and over heated and exhausted by 10. The weather was just SO hot. I called mom and Aunt Pam around noon to make my picks for the Indianapolis 500. Mom had picked Rossi and Munoz because they "looked Italian," her worst reason for picking drivers yet, and some how managed to nab a 1-2 finish. Go figure.I was feeling pretty homesick, even teared up a bit when I watched a YouTube clip of Jim Nabors singing Back Home Again in Indiana. I'm not even from Indiana...Anyway, I was feeling pretty glum until I stumbled upon a hearty dose of trail magic- a cooler full of Cokes and snacks from 2015 SOBO Solar Body! That helped a lot but the heat soon overwhelmed me again. The next two road crossings also offered trail magic- a first aid box and bottled water. The water so far in New York has been pretty gross and I already went through 5 liters in the astounding heat. The trail magic was very, very welcome.Harriman State Park was absolutely beautiful and filled to the gills with day hikers. I climbed through a stunning open forest, all big oaks, boulders, and soft green grass. I passed a lovely lake, where I ran into Jeff and Noah, the section hikers I'd met the night before. We'd been leapfrogging all day and they warned me that there was no water at the next shelter. Together, we climbed through the infamous Lemon Squeezer, a narrow crack through a boulder the size of a house. I had to take my pack off and hurl it up on a ledge because it was too wide for the 15 foot long passageway.After that, and an awkward climb over another boulder, there were only half a dozen pointless ups and downs to the shelter.Fingerboard Shelter was full when I arrived, not so much with people as with their trash. 4 drunk college students had made themselves at home, filling the 8 person shelter with half empty jugs of iced tea, beer bottles, and general detritus."Holy f*ck, you guys!" I said, tactfully, as I took in the mess. "Don't worry, we're leaving in the morning!" A drunk kid in a Tulane hat promised."And all this," I gestured at the disaster, using my best mom voice, "WILL be going with you?"Any hope of sleeping through the night's rain under a real roof now demolished, I dragged my gear downhill and set up my hammock. The bugs were dreadful, so I skipped cooking dinner. My bear bag line got stuck in a branch and I briefly lost what was left of my cool. But the looming thunderheads meant I had no time for a quality temper tantrum, so I was in my hammock feeling grumpy very soon after my arrival in camp. At about midnight, I heard the drunken kids from the shelter crash through my campsite, who knows why, and traipse about in the nearby forest for a while. Irritated, but also under the influence of a minor sleep medication, I decided not to yell at them and, eventually, fell back asleep instead. It was raining when I woke up in the morning, so I lingered in my tent for a bit. After packing up, I darted down the mountain, eager to reach the Tiorati Lake beach, where my guide book promised vending machines. When you've been hiking in mind boggling heat for a while, paying $3 for an ice cream bar out of a vending machine feels downright reasonable. I had two. And a can of coke, costing a measly $1.75. A sign on the machines defensively claimed that the treats were being sold "at cost." I have reason to doubt that claim.Tiorati Lake was crowded with Memorial Day picnickers grilling burgers and swimming in the surprisingly clear water. I people watched as I ate my ice cream and covertly charged my phone. After an hour of this relative luxury, another flip flopping hiker, Nera, arrived and gratefully handed over an exorbitant amount of money for ice cream. I immediately liked Nera, on account of our matching phone cases (hot pink and lime green-the classiest of color combinations), and chatted with her about the usual hiker stuff for a while. Eventually, I begrudgingly shouldered my pack and continued on. A few miles in, I met a friendly day hiker who pulled off his pack and handed over grapes, bell pepper slices, and baby carrots that he made a habit of packing out for passing thru hikers. The bell peppers were a thousand times better than my ice cream brunch.Dancing up the trail to the next shelter (I had my "good times, great oldies" playlist on), I stopped to finish off the veggies and ran in to Nera again. She was headed to West Mountain shelter, too, so we agreed to hike the last few miles together. I rarely hike with others, so I had to constantly remind myself not to talk aloud to myself...Up over the next big hill, we caught our first glances of the Hudson River and New York City in the distance. The mountains felt remote and wild but, as we discovered when we dropped down the hill and crossed a busy parkway, we were only 32 miles from the city. The Hudson River valley is breathtaking, rolling hills sprawling in ever direction and cleverly hiding most signs of civilization. Only the astoundingly expansive NYC skyline betrayed that we were surrounded by people. It was a weird sensation, finding solitude while so close to millions and millions of people.West Mountain Shelter is a half mile from the trail, so it is frequently skipped by hikers. The average thru-hiker will happily hike 25 miles in a day, but don't ask them to go more than a tenth of a mile off the trail for anything besides beer or ice cream... As a result, Nera and I had the shelter to ourselves. It was a classic Civilian Conservation Corps stone shelter, built 80 years ago and not much changed since. It sat atop granite boulders overlooking the Hudson River, with the most mind boggling view to the south of New York City. We sat in awe for a very, very long time before beginning any of the usual camp chores. After settling in for the night, a whippoorwill, the worst bird in the entire world, began his relentless hollering from a nearby tree."Oh no." I moaned.Nera threw a few rocks at the tree. The whippoorwill fluttered to another tree a few feet away and made even more noise.Nera threw a few more rocks. The whippoorwill ignored her.I contemplated packing up camp and moving on. Whippoorwills are nocturnal, they are loud, and they make for very poor neighbors while camping. Optimistically hoping he'd move on, I snuggled into my bag and put in my earplugs. He didn't move on. After a sleepless eight hours, the sun came up and the whippoorwill went to bed. Nera and I, muttering angrily, packed up camp and headed for Bear Mountain, a popular day hike with a viewing tower and, more importantly, a restaurant in the inn at the bottom. Because Bear Mountain is so popular, the trail was wide, paved with crushed gravel, and had stairs on every climb. Real stairs, too, not the chaotic stacks of boulders that some trail maintainers like to pretend are stairs. We picked up a lot of trash- with crowds come garbage (Incidentally, the people of New York love Poland Spring bottled water)- and happily dumped it in the huge trash cans available at the summit. There were more expensive vending machines by the viewing tower, so we snacked on Pringles and watched the Hudson River do very little for a while. The view from Bear Mountain was almost as incredible as from West Mountain shelter, plus there were benches and no whippoorwills. The descent, meticulously paved with tedious stairs, took much longer than it should have, but the Cuban sandwich and fries waiting at the base of the hill made it worth it. I debated for a while between taking a nearo at Bear Mountain to do laundry and shower or pushing on another 7 miles to the next campsite. Nera ordered a beer and that made up my mind for me. I followed suit and we began researching hotel options. We ultimately decided on the Holiday Inn Express next to West Point and agreed to call a cab. But first, another 3/4 of a mile of the AT- through the Bear Mountain zoo.I don't know who decided to run the trail through the middle of the zoo, but I appreciate that decision. It was thoroughly entertaining. All of the animals were injured or otherwise disabled and couldn't be returned to the wild. The fox ignored us, as did the vaguely tragic looking bald eagle. I only glanced at the Timber Rattlesnakes and Copperheads- I've seen enough of their compatriots in the wild, thank you very much. The Bears were comical- one sat, Winnie the Pooh style, playing with an empty food bowl while the other lazed in a bear sized hammock, only opening his eyes when he sensed one of the buzzards getting too close to him. He would swat at the ugly birds with one paw, they would hop a few feet away, then he'd be back asleep within minutes.A taxi picked whisked us away to a bizarrely swanky Holiday Inn, the kind that gave you fresh baked cookies at check in. They wouldn't give Nera the military discount, since she just retired, which I found odd... I mean, she had just served her country for 28 years... Anyway, I snuggled into the big, smushy bed after a long, luxurious shower and half watched American Pie on HBO for a while.We did laundry and floated in the strangely warm indoor pool for a bit. Finally, we trekked down to the pizza place/ ice cream joint for Margherita pizza and spumoni. The family who ran the place were classic Brooklyn, with names like Big Tony and accents that didn't even sound real. They were a bit confused by the concept of thruhiking, but we finally convinced them that, yes, we had walked here from West Virginia and, no, we didn't have a car. They thought this was insane. I can't blame them.One of the American Pie sequels was on when we got back to the hotel, but I fell asleep pretty quickly. The next morning, Nera was eager to be back on the trail. I was not. We compromised and ended up back at the zoo around 9 am, after an oversized continental breakfast. I was feeling pretty low, really really didn't want to be hiking, so I let Nera go on without me and settled on to a bench to call my mom and whine for a bit. Hiking isn't always fun. It's also rarely easy. This particular day, all I could think about was the heat, the discomfort, everything that makes hiking hard. I was homesick, I was perilously close to bus and train stations that could get me home, and I didn't want to walk anymore.Eventually, I convinced myself to take it easy, just hike the seven miles to Graymoor Spiritual Center, a Franciscan monastery that allows hikers to camp in their ball field (why does a monastery need a baseball field?) for free. It was hot, it was hilly, but I had some twelve hours to go only seven miles, so there was no pressure. I listened to newly downloaded podcasts and picked up several bags of trash. I stopped at a deli to buy ice cream. There, I met three other thru-hikers that Melissa, the NJ trail angel, and had mentioned were right behind me. Haz No Horse is a pro- 72 years old and absolutely flying down the trail- he started March 18th, later than every other NOBO I'd met so far by at least two weeks. P Stout and Sorority Steve were younger guys, splitting a half gallon of ice cream after finishing their giant sandwiches. It was an impressive amount of food.I slowly wandered up the trail to Graymoor and set up camp, hanging my hammock in a prime spot and showering in the icy outdoor shower. The others arrived shortly after, as did a young girl, freshly graduated from Walnut Hills High School in Cincy and solo hiking to Maine. Kudos to her. I wouldn't have been able to solo hike 700 miles when I was 18. Santa and Wonder, a pair of Massachusetts teachers, and two others from PA turned up later. Three section hikers arrived, too, two older guys headed south and QB, who would finally be completing the trail in a few days. We made up a good sized crowd and ordered a few big, greasy NY style pizzas, delivered by a very confused driver to the monastery. I slept under the stars that night- first night with a zero percent chance of rain in five weeks- and woke up to a glorious sunrise. Everyone else was up and at 'em shockingly early- camp was almost clear by 6 am. I don't like hiking early in the morning, so I savored a cup of coffee and followed them at a more reasonable time. My knee was still sore from a few days earlier and my feet were in bad shape, so I planned another short-ish day- some 13 miles to Canopus Lake, where one can camp at the state park campground for free. I took my time, focusing on enjoying myself instead of hiking fast or keeping up with others. The trail took me through beautiful forests, past beaver bogs, and along an old road that used to lead to local iron mines. It was pretty cool, elevated above the forest floor on stacked boulders. I found myself in a sunny clearing at a road crossing in the middle of the day, settling in for lunch, when an enormous truck towing a shiny new Airstream camper pulled up. Out came Rain and Sprinkle, who Nera had told me about. Rain hikes and Sprinkle meets him at strategic road crossings with the Airstream. Sounds like a great set up to me!Rain offered me a beer from the enormous cooler in the truck, which I happily took him up on, and Sprinkle insisted on setting up a camp chair for me to rest in. I luxuriated there for a while, Sprinkle left to drop Rain at a trailhead about 7 miles back. I finally strapped on my boots and started moving again, feeling rejuvenated by the dose of trail magic. Around 5, I crossed the 400 mile mark, then dropped down the ridge to the campground. Said campground had a shower. A hot one. I spent an ungodly amount of time there, then set up camp, savoring the feeling of being clean, the setting sun, and my camp dinner. There were no other hikers at the campground, just a few car campers. I listened, entertained, to a couple with incredible Staten Island accents fight over their campfire. I was asleep in the hammock by 8:30.The next morning, I again took my time breaking camp. I hate being rushed in the morning and was again doing a short day- 14 miles this time. Plus, it was drizzling and foggy. Walking back to the trail through the deserted beach, I stopped to take my 400 mile picture, then up the hill I went. Writing about it a few days later, I can't remember much about the details of this day, just snippets here and there, but I remember thoroughly enjoying it. I love hiking slow, I love hiking alone. It may not make for particularly great stories, but it makes for a happy hiker, so I'll take it. I must've taken a lot of long breaks, because it took me upwards of nine hours to hike those 14 miles. Lunch that day was at the famed RPH cabin, a cinder block house that the local club turned into a shelter, complete with bunks, delivery pizza, and a well stocked hiker supply box. At the shelter, I met a fascinating couple, southbounding from Vermont to Georgia. When I arrived, they were playing metal on one of their cell phones, but they quickly opted for a slightly less offensive 80s rock station. They were zeroing there, which they apparently do whenever it rains, on account of their not having rain gear. Their packs were enormous, stuffed with all manner of fascinating things, like the world's largest backpacking stove, some ten pounds of fuel, and the biggest bag of loose tobacco I've ever seen in my life. They sat at the picnic table rolling cigarettes with the cigarette rolling machine that they apparently carry with them and talked non-stop. I enjoyed this, though they talked so fast I couldn't get much a word in. She must've rolled hundreds of cigarettes as we sat there, her partner smoking them almost as quick as she rolled them. We discussed all the usual trail stuff- beer and mutual acquaintances and which mountains were best and gear choices- until I had to move on. I snagged a few freeze dried meals from the hiker box so I wouldn't have to go to town to resupply, and headed for the next shelter. There was also a deli just off the trail, about 4 miles before the shelter. I ordered enough food to feed a family, then happily wasted an hour reading, charging my phone, and savoring my grape soda. I had picked up a cheesy mystery novel from the RPH hiker box and found it downright thrilling.The evening passed quietly, just me and a NOBO named HareBear. My hammock was hung in a cozy clearing just below the shelter and I slept well, despite the fog and 99% humidity.The trouble with my luxurious hammock set up is that the dark forest green rainfly blocks out the early morning sunshine, so I quite easily sleep later than a respectable thruhiker should. As such, HareBear was packed up and leaving camp by the time I stumbled out of bed. I felt awesome, sprightly and well rested. The short days meant my joints were repairing themselves and I wasn't feeling any residual fatigue. Sleeping in the hammock instead of shelters helped too, I'm sure.I started around 8 am, comfortably hiking about a mile per hour faster than usual. The trail was a delight- meticulously maintained, wide and flatish and rockless. I had stuffed myself silly at the deli the day before and packed in a fresh baked blueberry muffin for breakfast, so I was probably not in a calorie deficit for the first time in weeks.The first ten miles flew by. I stopped at a shelter close to a road crossing for lunch. A group of high school boys turned up shortly thereafter, visibly disappointed to see me there. They decided to go smoke pot behind the shelter anyway. I was half tempted to narc on them just for being such unfriendly little shitheads, but I was in too good a mood. The shelter had a tiny free library where some lovely hiker abandoned peanut butter and tortillas, providing me with a nice lunch and sparing me a resupply for another day. I lounged there, shoes off and probably vaguely stoned from the secondhand smoke, for a while. Eventually a LASH (long ass section hiker) named Warrior turned up, followed closely by Rain. Warrior had been hiking with the Young Pups, who I've mentioned here before, so we spent a while swapping stories.My favorite goes thusly:At Eckville Shelter, back in PA, Frost and I were discussing trail magic. Frost detailed a particularly awesome dose of magic he'd received a while back."Wow, I've never gotten anything as good as that." I said, envious.Frost stared at me for a bit, then said, seriously and with a perfectly straight face, "well, I am A LOT prettier than you."I stared back at him for a moment, "touch©," I finally conceded. Anyway, I finally put my shoes back on and ventured back to the trail. It descended quickly into a pastoral valley, home to the Dover Oak, the biggest, oldest tree on the AT, at 300 years old and 22 feet around. Next, I zig zagged around beautiful pastureland, thoroughly enjoying the open vistas and compulsively checking for ticks every 200 feet. The trail ducked into the woods for a moment, where I met Sprinkle, on her way to intersect with Rain. Next, the trail followed a boardwalk through marshes teeming with red winged black birds and bullfrogs. Two older ladies stopped me to chat for a while. They were sweet and seemed terribly impressed by my solo hiking. I liked them a lot for this. Eventually they bade me good luck and I continued on, reaching the Appalachian Trail train station. It was tempting to stay there and catch the next train to Grand Central, but it was too beautiful a day to waste on a city. I stopped briefly for ice cream and canister fuel at a Hiker friendly native plant nursery (strange combination, I know, but more importantly, there were Klondike bars). At the next road crossing, a huge container of treats had been magicked into being by Santa and Wonder, who I'd met a few days back and had hopped off the trail for a quick visit home. "Everything's coming up Millhouse!" I said to myself as I snacked on my new bag of Teddy Grahams. The next road crossing also offered trail magic- big jugs of water. There were also four baby raccoons hanging out there, doing whatever it is raccoons do at road crossings on Saturday afternoon. When they saw me coming they took off for the nearest tree, and I happily watched them climb the tree for a while.I climbed a rickety stile over an electric fence (eek!) into a field of dairy cows, who watched me with casual alarm. I called out a greeting to them. In the way cows are wont to do, they ignored my greeting, instead ambling politely away, as if I was a possibly crazy lady in a grocery store and they were pretending to need pickles just to get away from me. Another stile, another electric fence, and I was in the Pawling Nature Preserve, climbing up out of the valley. I was still flying, despite my many breaks, which meant I'd reach the next shelter around 5. The next shelter was only four miles further. I debated the relative merits of both options, but when I hit the next shelter and found a sketchy looking guy there alone, my mind was made up and I hastily continued on. Down a big hill, across a beautiful stream, I hit the metaphorical wall. I probably should have eaten something when I reached the last shelter. I hastily wrapped a tortilla around a granola bar (judge away) and chowed down, sitting smack in the middle of the trail. Onwards.I barreled over the last climb of the day, two miles in a half hour, tossed my pack into the shelter and darted down to the river to soak my feet. HareBear was there, too, and soon followed suit. After a while, my growling stomach beat out my aching feet (did I mention I ended up hiking 22 miles this day?) and I went to cook dinner. Warrior had arrived and was somewhat awkwardly bathing over at the well. I started cooking my dinner, then knocked over the pot. I cooked a second meal.The forecast called for rain, so I snuggled in to the shelter between HareBear and Warrior. A spider took a liking to my sleeping bag and paid the ultimate price for trespassing. I was up at 5, watching the rain from the shelter as HareBear packed up and took off. I did the same, shouldering my pack and pulling in my rain gear. The rain gear was off within a half mile. As long as it's above 65 degrees, I'd rather just get wet than sweat under a layer of nylon. Warrior caught up to me at a road crossing where an ancient RV sat waiting. Onesimus, a former thruhiker and long time traveling trail angel with a brilliant white ponytail and a hand rolled cigarette, popped his head out and offered us a soda. Dripping wet and steaming from the rain, Warrior and I settled gratefully into the RV, accepting cokes and ice cream sandwiches despite the early hour. Onesimus talked for a while about Baltimore Jack, a trail legend who recently passed away. He talked about other trail celebrities, goofy hikers he'd met over the years, and his favorite sections of trail. After a bit, we said our goodbyes, as there was a very large hill to climb, and he promised he'd see us again soon. Up, up, up we climbed. The view at the top featured only fog. Walking through clouds, we went down for a while, then back up, then down, and so on and so forth for ten miles. I was on my final descent before the town of Kent when I saw a familiar face walking towards me. Can you guess who it was? It was KT! For future reference, in these situations , the answer is always KT. She had hopped off the trail to get a new pack, which she now showed off to me. It was a thing of beauty, especially considering the bedraggled old pack she had been fighting with since I met her. She had just been dropped off minutes before and was headed to the shelter, only 1/4 mile back, to wait out the rain. I promised to see her again soon, then slipped and slid the rest of the way down the hillside. Pennsylvania had destroyed the tread on my boots, so wet granite was very nearly impassable for me.I walked into Kent, Connecticut, past the very fancy boarding school- one of three in the tiny town- that was hosting graduation. I chatted for a bit with the state troopers ostensibly directing traffic, then retreated to Kent's outfitters/ice cream shop, where I found Warrior devouring a hot dog. I did the same. Apparently there were some issues in the town with hikers and Kent has developed a reputation for being particularly hiker unfriendly, but we spent quite a while at the outfitters, waiting out the rain. Warrior took off while I was still nursing a pot of tea. I stared at the map and discovered that I could road walk along the Housatonic River until it rejoined the AT and skip the treacherous St Anthony's Staircase. Purists may consider this cheating, but I considered the state of my boots and my knees and decided on the less risky option. I'm glad I did, because it meant I reached the shelter two hours before Warrior. We shared it with two SOBO section hikers. The four of us huddled under cover and watched the rain all evening, eventually falling into an uneasy sleep. Four baby birds in their nest between two roof beams kept us company.As is always the case when I try to sleep in shelters, I was up early. I breakfasted on cold coffee and poptarts and was out of the shelter by 6:45. This was a bad decision. I am not a morning person. I was not yet mentally prepared to hike. Plus, as the first one on the trail that morning, I had to break through the spiderwebs. Muttering in completely unnecessary rage, I followed the Housatonic River on what was actually a beautiful piece of trail. In a flower filled meadow, I startled a doe, who theatricality leaped away. Still grumpy, the pack came off and I stood, gnawing on a Snickers bar in the trail, reevaluating my plan to hike 21 miles. Warrior passed me as I stood and I was happy to let him go ahead. He could take a turn with the spiderwebs.The trail met a road, then a bustling mountain stream. Impossible to rock hop, it required fording instead. I am of the opinion that wet socks are the worst things ever, so I opted to ford barefoot. From a boulder on the other side, I watched in quiet amusement as two section hikers tried to do the same. It involved a lot of almost falling over. I was enjoying boulder sitting more than I had been enjoying hiking that morning, so there I sat for a while, quietly judging section hikers on their fording styles and reading a book.Eventually, I got it together enough to climb my next peak. I took the blue blazed trail to the summit, then wandered back to the trail. And so it went all day, until I finally descended into a beautiful pine forest and set up camp. I was 7 miles shy of my original destination and didn't care in the slightest. I watched a few particularly sassy songbirds dig for snacks and cooked a dinner of my own (roasted songbird, yum!). I enjoyed the bizarre, wall less privy, just a box with a toilet seat at the end of the trail. I went to bed at a reasonable hour. I'll write about my nearo day in Salisbury in my next post.