Date: 2007-08-17
From: Madison Hut

To: Pinkham Notch Camp (Joe Dodge Lodge)
Miles today: 7.9

This was just one of those ¢go with the flow¢ days filled with many unexpected blessings. The greatest pleasure this day was the weather - another picture perfect day for hiking these mountains with exceptional visibility. The panorama from the southern peak of Mt. Madison was spectacular. It was a 360 degrees? Breathtaking views from the vistas of mountains, valleys, and wilderness - hundreds of square miles without a single road to be seen. I began today¢s hike by promptly marching out of camp on the wrong trail (the signage issues here in The Whites is another long story in and of itself!). After going about 1/10 of a mile without seeing the familiar six-inch by twelve-inch white blaze anywhere, I stopped to check my map only to realize that I had left my glasses back on the sink in the hut (if I had taken the correct trail, I would be without spectacles for at least a couple of days!). During the morning (once I was pointed in the right direction), glasses at hand, I was a ball of energy and applied my ¢ski the tops, not the troughs of moguls¢ technique to the rocky trail, which enabled me to use my long stride to good advantage on the day¢s downward slope. I had lunch with ¢Teddybear¢ trail side and then took a 30-minute nap before heading down, but this time more slowly and easily than in the morning. Below timberline, the trail became darker and quite damp, crossing numerous streams draining from the Great Gulf Wilderness now above me. I enjoyed several chats with SOBO¢s who were heading up towards the Presidents. After crossing the suspension bridge wavering above the 30-foot wide west branch of the Peabody River (a boulder - strewn jumble of crystal clear mini pools, mini waterfalls, and tumbling class point five (i.e. tiny) rapids.) The temptation of a refreshing afternoon dip proved too great for me. I dumped my pack and poles, picked my way downstream far enough to be out of sight of anyone crossing the bridge, spread my sweat-wet clothes on a sun drenched boulder to dry, and eased myself into the cold mountain water. Thirty seconds later, I was stretched out with my clothes trying to get warm in the afternoon sun. Eventually, I did tried and succeeded to getting into the water, long enough to consider myself ¢a swimmer,¢ at least for a moment or two. The four miles to Pinkham Notch afterwards were uneventful except for my encounter with a geriatric AMC trail hiking trail tender, who told me (and I later learned he also told ¢Shiver¢ and several other Thru Hikers ahead of me) that he ¢didn¢t know where the Appalachian Trail went, but the trail we are standing on certainly isn¢t it¢ (even though it truly was the AT!). It turns out from my conversation with the old curmudgeon that he has been the maintainer of the two-mile section from the suspension bridge to the Mt. Washington auto load for over ten years, and in all that time he has not seen a single white blaze on a rock or tree because ¢this here is wilderness land,¢ and the blazes (in his mind at least) serve no necessary purpose other than to give AT hikers a degree of reassurance, which he apparently feels they either do not need or do not deserve. Personally, having now hiked over 1,400 miles of the AT in 12 different states, I must admit that (like this morning when I was on the wrong trail), the absence of blazes does become quite disconcerting when you have not seen one after a few minutes; let alone after one hour or so of hiking through deep woods. And then to be intentionally led to believe that you are on the wrong trail just is not right. Under marginal weather conditions, it could become disorienting and a potentially dangerous safety issue if someone made the bad decision thinking they were supposed to be someplace else. As all this dawned on me, and I put the pieces together that behind the old man¢s smile was more than just a playful intent, I became increasingly irritated. Fortunately (or possibly unfortunately!), I had already moved on and did not have the energy to turn around and confront him about his highly inappropriate misuse of his judiciary responsibility as a trail maintenance volunteer. Instead, I simply hope he falls and breaks his leg. When I arrived at Pinkham Notch Camp, my room reservation I found was totally sold out, and they had move me to Carter Notch Hut, more miles away than I care to think about. But, ¢going with the flow¢ (is still working for me), I kept my cool as Melissa the reservationist recalled speaking to me when I made the reservation and attempted to find an amiable solution While she was working at resolving the situation, another guest who overhead the conversation and came forward to say that his party would be vacating one of their two rooms. Bingo, my accommodations problem was solved. After having been on the trail now for 14 consecutive days of hiking, I realized that I am more than just tired - I am bone-weary, and I look forward to sleeping tonight in a room by myself and doing a couple of days of ¢R&R,¢ as I zero in on Gorham, waiting for my son, Jack, to arrive. ¢Teddybear¢ joined me for the buffet dinner in the Pinkham Notch Visitor¢s Center, and now, with our bellies full, head to bed. It is time for lights out without having to be told so by a crew member.