Date: 2020-08-04
From: 501 Shelter

To: Port Clinton rail trail (Hamburg)
Miles today: 23.6

I wouldn't say today was my worst day on trail, but it certainly ranks among the most memorable.Two of my boys are meeting me in Hamburg early tomorrow morning to hike with me for a couple of days. Which means I had to get to Port Clinton today. The tropical storm that pounded the shelter overnight hadn't let up by morning. If anything it intensified by mid-morning. First I had to find the privy, which was absurdly far from the shelter, almost a ten minute walk through mud and marshy grass. Even then I almost missed it, as I'd taken the wrong trail of many in the area, and had to bushwhack to get to it.Around 10 I hiked out with the poncho on fully expecting to get completely soaked and be able to say only that I had endured the day. For the first couple hours I listened to an audio book, then that ran out and I had nothing to distract me. I couldn't use my phone for anything but a quick picture, not even to check the map. When I'd pull it out raindrops would quickly confuse the touchscreen and it was impossible to make it respond correctly. Not to mention my fingers were wet to the point of pruning, and I feared damaging it. So I couldn't even respond to texts asking after my safety.The trail itself was a stream, a creek in many places. The depth varied from an inch or two up to six or ten inches. Inclines became cascading waterfalls. Level stretches became elongated shallow ponds. Dry springs became raging streams. Streams became flooded plains. And nearly all the while there were rocks in and under the water.The stretches without rocks were harder. Just slick mud with no solid foothold. After noon the rain began to ebb, and eventually ceased around 1. But gusts of wind continued to knock drops off the trees and effectively continued a sporadic shower for another hour or two. As the afternoon wore on the trail began to drain but many flooded areas persisted.After the rain had stopped but before the sun came out I almost stepped on a white rattlesnake resting in the middle of the trail. He slithered away without rattling. I guess he was waiting for the sun to show.Twice I heard and saw huge branches drop from nearby trees and crash on the forest floor.The rocks were relentless today. Not the piles of rocks I associate with my home state, where you step from rock to rock. They were there but only occasionally. It was dirt trail with embedded rocks poking their spines out. Hard to rock hop these. My legs were sore from sidestepping so many.I caught up with Jaws late in the afternoon and together we made it to Port Clinton by 7. I'd called ahead and found there was no room at Microtel, the lone motel in the greater Hamburg area. Nor at the lone B&B. The tiny Port Clinton Hotel, which lets rooms to hikers sometimes, wasn't answering and appeared to be closed. So there would be no drying out tonight.I trekked a couple of miles toward the Walmart/Cabela's area along a bike trail, looking for possible stealth sites along the way. I left the trail and found myself in a fallow farm field, and navigated around the farm house to a rural road that took me to the route 61 highway which in turn led to the commercial area. Many stores and restaurants with flashing open signs were actually closed. All the fast food joints were drive through only. I needed to sit down somewhere. Red Robin was the only place that fit the bill.I gave myself the shivers downing iced tea and a milkshake to the point I was relieved to step out of the air conditioning into the warm humid evening. Darkness was already falling. No time to find a new site. I almost tented on a grass strip behind Lowe's, but decided to return to route 61 where I'd seen an abandoned primitive pavilion a few yards from the highway. It offered cover, and a smalldirt patch in a sea of weeds. A decaying picnic table offered partial cover from the road, and a line of trees shielded the view from the cornfields beyond. Still, I worried for awhile that every light or sound was a cop or a farmer coming to evict me from what was presumably private property. It felt like a pure hiker trash moment. But what else was I to do when every bed in town was booked? I drifted off fitfully between the sounds of truck brakes and rushing traffic nearby.