Date: 2003-08-12
From: Eliza Brook Shelter

To: Franconia Notch
Miles today: 8.8
Weather: light rain

"How do you guys psyche yourself up for this?" asked Paul the cardiologist. We are packed up, ready to go. It's 6:15 am. We are staring glumly into a steady rain. The path outside the shelter is already deeply puddled.Sigh. "We don't," I replied. I had no desire to go out in this, fight the mud yet another day. Nor climb above treeline soaking wet. Nor attempt to avoid slipping and falling with every step. Still, that's what lay between me and town food, so there was some incentive to get moving."Man, you get to walk in the rain another day," Chief teased Swag as he stirred, turned over and squinted into the drops.Chief and I had planned to meet Richard down in Franconia Notch around 1 pm. But that time schedule won't hold today. It's hard to hook up with someone from town. We are in two different worlds. By necessity, town folks run by schedule. Out here, we often have to take our plans with a grain of salt. There are so many variables: terrain, injury, energy level, weather. The rain today will make everything more slippery and treacherous, reducing traction and giving us mud to fight. That's going to slow us down."Get here early," Richard had said. He was concerned about us going back up the mountain by dark.I just didn't know how to answer that. We'd try, we'd try... but a thru-hike is an exercise in "adjusting to fit the situation." Plans are made to be broken.As expected, the Trail over the Kinsmans is tough going, and we crawl along at less than 1 mph. Our muscles are fatigued and quivery by 10 am. We're doing step-ups with our knees bent to our chins, and the weighty pack makes it double work. We hop from side to side and diagonally to avoid going into mud over our boot tops. It's a different kind of walking, using new muscles. We feel every one.We summit South Kinsman around 10:15, and North Kinsman by 11:15 am. Along in there we meet Scrounger and Gimp of Canada. They are doing the fearsome 16-mile slack.Lots of boulders to slide down, running water, many steep step-ups and downs. Try walking down a tilted flat mossy rock with water running down it. Not your everyday, sphincter-clenching thrill. These are days when my friend, Mr. Traction, flees to drier climes. Chief and I both slip in stomach-seizing ways, in steep places where the consequences of a slip would be dire. In one place there are slick wooden blocks set into the tilted slab. Once, a boulder gives way under my feet and I must levitate up to the next level; adrenaline provides the springs.We get to Kinsman Pond shelter before noon, and take a break. We've only done 4.5 miles so far this whole morning. After lunch, we have to get up and do it again. Gravity is not our friend today. It strains us on the ups, and pushes us down too hastily on the slick descents. Plus, I am out of Snickers, and nothing in my foodbag looks any good to me. There is nowhere to sit, because everything is damp and muddy.My lower lip is stuck out. I hate the rain... hate it, hate it. I've been good up till now, I swear. But all of a sudden, this day is almost more than I can bear. Chief is feeling it too. So is everyone else out here we talk to.All the time we know: if the blue sky sparkled up there, we'd be having a fine old time.The Trail is toying with us today, throwing slick rock sheets and boulders at us. We walk with slow, great care. No one wants to get hurt now, so close to the end.We learn from southbounders that our first AMC hut, Lonesome Lake, has a bottomless bowl of soup for $2, and also baked goods and Snickers for sale. That picks our step up a bit.The AT is cared for by various maintenance clubs. Appalachian Mt. Club (AMC) is the oldest, in fact the first conservation group to be formed. They have cultivated the White Mts. since the last century.Huts are part of a system of housing throughout the Whites. Caretakers, or "croos," serve guests a meal, and offer rough bunks. For this they charge $72 - a sore point among some thru-hikers, who feel gouged by the high rates. These folks call it the App. Money Collectors.So, I was curious to see for myself (that, and escape the damp gloom). This hut was new, with a breath-taking view of our destination tomorrow - Franconia Ridge. The Ridge looked fearsome, and righteous.The LL staff was friendly and the chowder was good. The rooftops sported solar panels, to run the lights, refrigerator and the fans for the Clivus Multrum composting toilets. There were interesting posters on the local flora, fauna and geography. Lonesome Lake is glacial, of course.Bellies filled up, we set off for the bottom. The terrain got easier and finally we did a little better than 1 mph, despite increasing mud and high water river fords. But we still had almost a mile to walk to the telephone, and we are dog-tired, shaky-legged. I knew Richard would likely be fretting, as it was now 4:30 pm, not 1 pm.At the Flume Gorges Visitor's Center, we reach the phone, and it is... dead! Figures. A nice family, the Careys of Long Island, offers to let us use their cell phone, but they can draw in no signal. Luckily the Center is still open and we find a phone inside. I call Richard, but only get the answering machine, where I explain our day. Chief and I have decided to go to town and dry out.On the way back out of the visitor's center, the Careys offer us a ride to town. We are deeply grateful, and quickly locate cheap digs at the Cascade Inn. I'd love to chat with the Careys more over coffee, as they ask intelligent questions, but I am shot as far as energy goes. I get my shower, and shortly after we visit a family restaurant. I order pot roast and mashed potatoes: Chief orders meatloaf and mashed. Tonight we want our comfort food. We are whipped puppies.We're joined for supper by Gimp and Scrounger, the Canadian Greyhounds. They are slacking as much of the Whites as possible. More power to them.Art e-mails that we've had over FOUR inches of rain in 24 hours. My god! No wonder.I am going to melt into bed now. Goodnight.