Date: 2003-08-23
From: Gorham, NH (US 2)

To: Gentian Pond Shelter
Miles today: 11.8
Weather: clear sky

Easy hitch out of Gorham, NH. A grey Saab pulled over; we slid onto leather seats. A goodly number of Saab owners have stopped for us. What can this mean?Our trail angel was a local dentist. He picked up hikers because he himself hiked. He'd reached a stage in life now where his basic financial needs were met, so instead of continuing to churn on the hamster wheel, he semi-retired, working only three days a week. And after selling his practice, he worked for a former student of his, so no longer had overhead. I told him he was my hero.The morning was crisp and breezy, with a tang of fall in the air. I had goosebumps starting out, but no matter. This temp suited me just fine on a climbing day. Easy trail to start, then a gradual shift to rocky slabs. The sky was absolutely cloudless, the sort of pure, bottomless blue you could float off into (if the pack wasn't so durn heavy), never to be seen again. The sun poured down like honey, and the crisp breezes dried us as soon as we perspired. Like a geyser, joy burbled up. These dry, cool sunny times are the finest hiking days in creation, and a body is only assigned so many. It is a kick to feel the "eeeeeee!" of it pulsing through the veins. Sunshine!I lost the Trail on the top of the first slab mountain. I ended up on a blue-blazed Trail going down, and retraced my steps. Ah, there is the white blaze, hidden by a little balsam. I am walking down the correct slab, when a SOBO woman hails me: "Are you Jan?" It is kismet. Really - it's Kismet, a sectioner I met in Virginia at Bryant Ridge shelter. She's doing Maine. Her hiking buddies for this section walked up the slab toward me: Spock on a SOBO flip-flop, Dumb'n Dumber, Curtis.We took pictures. Spock pegged me as a midwesterner, D'nD had Milwaukee connections and Kismet knew the words. So it wasn't long before we were all singing the "She's Too Fat" polka on the mountainside, and reminiscing about Summerfest by the shores of Lake Michigan. Badger fans on a sunny mountain slab in New Hampshire. Fun folks. At lunch, I discovered I'd lost my orange lexan spoon. No! I remembered washing it yesterday at the Hiker's Paradise hostel and setting it in the strainer. Gone, gone, gone forever. My friend Leapfrog gave it to me. It had been with me since Springer. I loved that orange spoon.We are out of the Whites now, and into the Mahoosuc range. The land even looks different. There are more birches, and lots of exposed, rocky areas. The glaciers ground away on these rocky tops, and some are as bald as an egg. Others have a few tufts of stunted fir, wedging a toe into the cracks; eggs on Rogaine.The tops echo with the clack of locusts flying on the sunny, bald crests.We pass several ponds where moose have been reported, but no moose for us. It is a lazy day, and we stop a lot to admire the clouds, or sit on a rock. At the Wocket Ledge vista, we snacked and kicked back to watch more clouds. We can see all the way back to the clear top of Mount Washington, now impossibly far away.We turn into Gentian Pond shelter. In the north, large lakes are called ponds, but Gentian Pond is a true pond, just an acre or two. No moose here either.I haven't been long in my unpacking when I hear my name being called. A border collie with a stick awaits me! It's Nellie, and owner Turnbill, out for a weekend of sun. They hiked up with wine and tomatoes for me and Chief. It's fantastic to see them, and to get my BC fix. They are the smartest dogs on the planet (except for YOUR dog, of course) and never stop working, which for a BC is really playing.We chat and cook and eat, Nellie brings us rocks, and the clouds whirl by the front of this lofty shelter view. After supper, I walk down to the rocky shores of the pond; the wind blowing across the water is chilly. Temps in the low 30s were predicted for tonight. I was planning to journal on the quiet lake margins, but the clouds skating over the west rim are fantastic. I lay back to watch them roll. They glow golden from the sun, which has already set behind the rim. The lowest layer of clouds are golden cotton-candy puffs, and the highest layer is wispy and white. A beautiful spectacle. Turnbill and Nellie join me in the watching until the wind drives us off the rocks. The cloud drama from the shelter is also compelling, and it pinks up. The color finally drains away and we hikers retire to our bags. I put on all my clothes. I still have my summer 45-degree bag, and it's going to be COOL tonight. It really feels as if fall has arrived.Tomorrow: Maine!