Date: 2003-05-21
From: Harper's Creek shelter

To: Paul C. Wolfe shelter
Miles today: 22.3
Weather: moderate rain

This was one long, hard day, so this will be short. I can sum it up in two words: wet rocks.The hiss of Harper's creek drowned all noises last night, even Hotdog's snoring. The much-afeared Three Ridges turned out to be not much to write home about, mainly because I got up early and gave myself lots of time, stopping at every rock or log that called my name. Very foggy out today. We are walking in clouds.But not long after that climb, I just flat ran out of steam. The next shelter was only 6 miles away, the other would make a 22.3 mile day. Probably it was prudent to just camp in the middle.And then it started to rain.Rain changes everything. In a single-walled tent, what I carry, wetness condenses on the inside when it's wet and cold. And then everything gets wet anyway. Even the TP gets damp. Because we're up here in the clouds.The day drug on as rocks, wet rocks, slowed my progress. I HAD to go slowly, not yet trusting the traction of my new shoes. They are performing well in the fit department. I am optimistic.Lots of water crossing though, and my new shoes have mesh. It is like walking in socks in sandals. My feet are immediately soaked, and remain so all day. Pruned feet! I miss my Gortex shoes, but not their toe-pinching agony.And these rocks! Won't they end? It is hard to walk 22 miles in one day when your pace slows to a 1 mph crawl. My no-pressure day suddenly takes on a more urgent tone. I want to get to that shelter!Notes catches up with me, and hangs out for lots of the day, sometimes sprinting ahead. Wench and Hotdog leapfrog. Fly and Smoothie never showed from their tent that morning. Who knows where they are.The day crawls along, marked by an exciting rock climb up Humpback Rocks in the afternoon, a quick little taste of The Whites right here in Virginia. Wench does The Dance of the Real Woman on top. It was hand over hand climbing, and poles were useless. Of course, this rocky escapade further slows our progress.By day's end, I'm ready to tent, cold and wet or not. I was done in, I was cold, it was getting dark, it was raining steadily now. But there were no tent sites, only more ankle-turning , shin-busting, meniscus-tearing wet rocks. I had to keep walking.At a wet day's end, one starts mentally counting those ahead who might be in the shelter. A shelter normally sleeps 6-8. There were that many ahead of me now. I might have to walk 22.3 miles only to tent, durn it. I was too tired even to eat.And then came the river. Mill Creek, actually, but it was charging hard - a wide ford, and running fast. There were no easy stepover. I would have to get wetter.Sigh.My new shoes! It's a wonder they haven't delaminated by now. I sigh again and slog thru the ankle-deep torrent, squishing up the far bank. I don't know if I can go another step. My ankles and feet throb.But I don't have to walk on. There, looming out of the fog, is the shelter. It is a fine shelter, a huge shelter, two stories with a covered cooking porch. A shelter beyond expectation. A lovely shelter.And there is room.Many are here, including Commander in Chief, Siesta, TJ and the Malamute pup Caddy, and Brownie, besides the usual suspects. I'm shivering hard, and have to get out of my wet clothes NOW. I do eat after all, and fall asleep shortly after. It is SO great to be here, out of the rain. It is SO great not to be carrying a pack over slick, uneven rocks.It rains hard during the night.