Date: 2013-08-24
From: Dowd's Country Inn, Lyme, NH

To: Stealth camp @ Brackett Brook
Miles today: 14.4

I couldn't fall asleep last night and when I did, I didn't sleep well. Maybe it was the coffee, but I'm guessing it was my phone. I find that when I fiddle on my phone before I go to sleep, I don't go to sleep. It's worse than caffeine. Anywho, I stayed in bed until 7:15, and then I headed into the breakfast room. I had a breakfast of blueberry pancakes and bacon while talking with two ladies from the wedding party that were sitting at another table. I headed over to the post office to see about my boots, but there was no sign of them. The postman asked if I had a tracking number for them. I checked the delivery confirmation email, and my heart sank. They had been shipped UPS not USPS, which means that once they reached the Lyme post office, they were rejected and sent back to the seller. Damn. No new boots for me. No new boots for Karen at Tigger's Tree House. I tried to call her to let her know, but there was no cellphone reception. My mood turned surly and annoyed. My wonderful wine and chocolate mousse soaked evening now seemed a waste. It was lovely, but now it seemed more like an expensive setback and waste of half a hiking day. I grabbed my stuff and headed back towards the trail. For the first mile of road walking only two cars passed, and they never slowed down. I passed a hiker coming from the opposite direction. He was yellow-blazing he said, though he was actually walking versus car-riding like many "yellow blazers." "White blazing" means following the AT. "Blue blazing" means taking short-cut trails or trails other than the AT. "Yellow blazing" means road walking or catching rides to skip miles. Anyway, the guy had stayed at Bill Ackerly, a local guy who allows hikers to camp in his yard in exchange for playing croquet with him. The hiker told me he'd heard my name from other hikers that had been there the night before. That made me feel a little better.I kept walking and sticking my thumb out at every passing car, but I had resigned myself to having to walk the 3+ miles back to the trail. Luckily a Toyota Tacoma pulled over. A guy with the most beautiful weimaraner pulled over and told me to jump in. He lived near the trail and said that he intercepted hikers all the time. My mood shifted a fraction of an inch towards positive. He dropped me right at the trail, and almost immediately I saw a hand-painted sign. It had a picture of an elderly bald man holding an ice cream in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. There were Tibetan prayer flags and a sign that read:His ice cream brings all the hikers to the yardHis water tastes better than yoursDamn Right, his croquet game is better than yoursIt's All FREE Yeah NO ChargeThere was also a bright pink plastic flamingo stuck in the grass. I laughed. How could you not? Oh, I knew I was missing something special by not stopping. But just the set up brought my attitude back around to pleasant. So with a much lighter heart, I started my hike. Ill-fitting boots and all. I passed a nicely engraved granite mileage pillar telling us how far we'd come and how much farther we had to go. The mileage was completely wrong. Since the trail changes slightly from year to year, it's rare to pass a mileage post with the correct mileage. Almost always the distances are too short, giving neither enough credit for what you've done nor foreshadowing what's left to do. I came up to a gravel road crossing and parking area. I could see a lady day hiker squatting bare-bummed at the edge of the woods. I stopped to give her a moment to pull herself back together. She didn't see me til she'd stood back up and was buttoning her shorts. I climbed a quarter mile up the trail, and I could hear a dog running up behind me barking and snarling. There was no owner in sight. I turned quickly to face the dog; it was only 10 ft or so away from me. I turned my poles towards the dog and clanked them together, trying to keep as much distance between me and it. The dog went nuts. It snarled and bared its teeth. Foamy spit was flying everywhere. It kept lunging at me, getting ever closer. The hair on its back stood up on end. I yelled as loud as I could, "WOULD THE OWNERS PLEASE GET YOUR DOG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Honestly, I have no problem with people hiking with their dogs off leash, but I don't want a chunk of flesh taken out of my leg either. The owner came running up the trail, panting. He called the dog, and it retreated towards him. Just as he was about to grab the collar, the dog bolted back towards me, barking and lunging and snarling closer and more furious than ever. I really didn't want to have to beat this dog with my poles, especially in front of its owner, but I wasn't sure I'd have a choice. Finally, the owner was able to call the dog off and get a leash on it. All of our nerves were shot. He apologized profusely, and I felt a little sorry and embarrassed for him. A couple hours later, the guy and dog passed me again, and the dog barked and strained at the end of the least towards me. We won't be exchanging Christmas cards. There was a beautiful ridge walk along Lambert's Ridge on the way up to Smart Mountain. There were quartz or marble smooth slab rock outcroppings. They looked like compacted icy snow. They shimmer and shine. The ground and dirt also sparkle due to the high content of mica. It's the color of a boxed chocolate cake mix that's been mixed with a fine silver glitter. Everything sparkles and shimmers and shines. There wasn't a cloud in the sky when I got to the top of Smart Mountain. I talked with two day hikers, Anna and Jenny. Anna said that I was the most out-going NOBO-er she'd met in awhile. Most, she said, were so tired of telling their story that they avoided eye contact and direct questioning. I felt a little bad, both because it seemed rude, but also because not 10 minutes earlier I had done the same thing to them at a trail intersection. I had lunch at a tenting spot with a great tree-gap vista. I counted five ponds with shimmery surfaces and zero clouds. I tried to call Karen to let her know that I was having to re-neg on the boot/bra trade, but there was no cellphone service. Darn it. As I was packing up, I heard a very distinctive voice. Pressure-D. I headed back to the trail, and I saw them heading down the fire tower steps. I got to meet Pressure-D's wife, Kathy, and his brother-in-law, John. It's always such a treat to get to meet hikers' family members. I sat my pack down and talked with them for a while. Then I gathered up my courage and climbed the fire tower. I got half way up, and I could feel the gusts of wind tugging at my hat. I hate that. The view was so clear. I could see for hundreds of miles in every direction. I could see the Whites. It make me nervous and anxious. I'm ready to get there and get started. With shaky legs and a white-knuckle grip I headed back down the stairs. I tucked my phone in the waistband of my shorts so I could use both hands. I didn't trust myself not to drop my phone. At the bottom, it seemed that everyone was headed for the next shelter, but I hoped to get a little farther. I realized that I've exhausted my dread of the Whites, and now I'm ready to get there. And that's a little unfortunately, because New Hampshire has some pretty miles left in it between now and the White Mountains, but they seem more like unnecessary obstructions. I think with most AT thru-hikers, New Hampshire is synonymous with the Whites and everything else is just excess. Smart Mountain and Mt. Cube are beautiful mountains, but they are overlooked or merely view points from which to see their larger, more famous neighbors. I got to Mt. Cube around 5:30 or 6, at the height of the "golden hour." It's the most magical time of the day. I stood on the stark white sparkling rocks and admired the shadows cast by the rock cairns. I enjoyed the wind-swept looked of the spruce trees. The trees look like they have "tree mullets". One side of the tree is shaved. The sides are a little shorter, and the back side of the tree has longer branches. The perfect mullet. I skipped the spur trail to the north peak of Mt Cube. I knew all I would do was look around at the ridges to try to figure out which was the famous Franconia Ridge, and somehow that seemed disrespectful of where I was. Also, I knew I had a downhill coming up, and it would suck. My feet felt like hamburger meat. My left toes were squished, and I could feel the sock had pulled taught against the toe-box of the socks causing a remarkable amount of discomfort. My right ankle was screaming. I could feel a hot spot forming on the outside edge of my right heel. I kept checking my watch, and timing-wise, I should have been at the bottom of the mountain by now. But the descent wasn't letting up. Grrrrr...I finally got down to Brackett Brook. At least that's where I think I am. I feel like I should be a mile or so farther, but it's the first real stream/brook that I've come to. If that's the case, I'm only 1.5 miles from the top, and it took me a good hour to get here. There is a perfectly flat spot right next to the creek. It pitched my tent, boiled up some mac & cheese for dinner. I stripped down to my birthday suit and took a sponge bath in the creek. I ate some Aleve and Ibuprofen, and that's started to kick in. Also, I looked at the "schedule" I made for myself back in February while I was sitting at the island in my kitchen drinking coffee (or was it wine?). It made me laugh. I was so naive. Tomorrow I'll be in Glencliff, NH, gateway to the White Mountains. Holy Moly. The temperature is quite cool. I can see my breath. I've tucked my clothes and electronics in the sleeping bag with me tonight. Yeah for 12 degree down!My day started off frustrated. It got a lot better, but it's ending on a somewhat frustrated note. Coyotes are howling, or at least I think they're coyotes. I forgot to note, I saw a lot of moose scat today. A lot. So hopefully there will be a moose in my future. Now for a good night's sleep.