Date: 2009-08-24
From: Mark Noepel Lean To

To: Sherman Brook Campsite
Miles today: 11.4
Weather: few clouds

Another rainy night followed by another misty morning so it was no surprise when I arrived atop Mt. Greylock in thickish cloud. Visibility was down to about 20 or 30 yards and the comfort-ometer hovered towards the bottom of its scale. Initially, with the restricted visibility, I could see neither the war memorial/lighthouse nor the lodge I knew shared the summit but following the path into the gloom the memorial tower magically materialised in front of me.The memorial was still locked due to the early hour and although I waited until after 9 o'clock, in the hope of looking around inside, with no signs of activity I decided I'd have to be on my way.I found Jabberwocky taking a break at Thunderbolt Shelter, which according to the thru-hikers companion is an emergency only warming hut. It really was a lovely wee place, especially given the need for a little warming on such an inclement morning, but my mood darkened slightly when Jabberwocky mentioned that it would have been a good place to spend the night and that she wished, in fact, that she had.I don't like this kind of talk - when exactly was being a thru hiker all that it took to constitute an emergency?You see and hear this sort of thing depressingly often. There are many places along the trail where hikers are asked to show respect and not to stay or camp at certain locations - perhaps because of heavy use; perhaps because of private ownership, perhaps to allow regeneration; perhaps as other services have specifically been made available; or maybe in line with local laws and regulations; yet time and again I meet hikers boasting about how they flouted these requests, hikers with an over inflated idea of their own entitlement and scant disregard for their responsibilities. The rules apparently do not apply to them. The idea of rules constraining the wilderness seems to offend them but when did a request not to overnight in a privately owned and maintained hut have anything to do with an individuals right to responsible access to the wilderness? And anyway, why should they forego their individual pleasures or convenience for some greater good. You find a hell of a lot of charity and selflessness in the trail community but don't let it blind you completely to the selfishness that is also present.Anyway, I was off before I became too obnoxious (although I could not hide my disappointment). Off along the trail, but not sure if it was the trail, back for evidence of any potential wrong turns, and then, when none could be found, heading back down the path I had already trodden.I passed some tracks which in my notes I described as Mongoose like, except I've never seen Mongoose tracks, so how would I know? I did add 'webbed with short thumb' and then betrayed my doubts by adding 'Porcupine?', 'Beaver?', and 'Otter?'. I even drew a really bad picture which looks more like the maple leaf on the Canadian flag(only with four webbed fingers and a shorter thumb). If you haven't worked it out by now I didn't have a clue. It would be nice to be more aware of these things; of trees; of birds; of plants; of animals; of webbed tracks in the mud; even mushrooms, but I doubt I will ever have that sort of knowledge. I suppose I'm glad I noticed the tracks, I suppose I'm glad I took the time to look at them, and I'm kind of proud that I even went to the bother of scribbling those few notes.Once again I was passing lots of people slackpacking south to Dalton. They were just starting their day with a somewhat gruelling climb up from the road. A gruelling climb for them but a long and painfully steep descent for me. Their reward - 18 more miles of trail to town; while mine was the slightly shorter two miles hike into the pleasures of North Adams.Not unrestricted pleasure though, today I only planned a quick in and out, but pleasures none the less. The pleasure of the laundry (the stuff of many a hiker fantasy - believe me), the pleasure of the pretty lady who directed me to the post office, the pleasure of the nice lady in the Post Office who directed me to the library, the pleasure of lady of Scottish ancestry (I got a bit muddled with the family tree but as far as I could tell somebody way back had apparently stolen a sheep), the pleasures of receiving emails from friends back home and from trailjournal readers, the pleasure of the long hot shower I took at the YMCA, the necessary evil of grocery shopping and finally the pleasure of stuffing my face in Friendlies to within a wafer thin mind of oblivion and potential internal bleeding.Had it not been for the fact that time was wearing on and that, as a result, I had to grudgingly cut short my post meal recuperation I may have achieved something akin to Nirvana. Even so, I was fed (slightly over fed), clean, resupplied and generally full of the joys of life as I once more hoisted my pack - a pack containing a new book - The Odessa File (Nazi based thriller) having replaced Silver Canyon (Cowboy adventure) as my reading material of choice.Life was good and a couple of miles later I was pitching up and speaking to Drew, a South Bounder, as the evening turned to night before turning in to read a few pages of my new book and to enjoy last night in Massachusetts.