Date: 2011-07-10
From: Glen Brook Shelter

To: East Mountain Retreat Center, Great Barrington, MA
Miles today: 16.4
Weather: scattered clouds

(In which I hostel solo)We never learn the name of the other hiker tenting at the shelter, who is just out for a few days. I refer to him as "this guy", nodding to the his tent set up on a platform, and Papa Portrait mishears it as "Fishfry", so Fishfry he becomes, at least in our minds. At night we can hear the soft echoing boom of distant fireworks -- no doubt in honor of some small nation that achieved its independence five days after ours -- and the roudy shouts of boy scouts at the previous shelter. Having passed the boy scouts on the trail, I am greatly relieved that they chose not to hike the extra 0.1 miles from the last shelter to ours.We get up at 7am, having been far enough away from the boy scouts to have gotten a good night's sleep, and leave before Fishfry has stirred. Leading the way back to the trail Papa Portrait once again turns south, though to be fair he thought that we were still on the side trail and would likely have realized the mistake once he saw his first white blaze even if it didn't have a dot underneath.We separate at the first side trail so that he can walk to the road and hitch a ride back to his car. He plans to try to meet me on the trail again after he gets his car so we can go out for lunch, but not knowing how long it will take to get a hitch, we pick a few potential meeting points, and agree upon a signal for if I've passed through. (He suggests that I construct a J made out of sticks, and I correct him that it should be a P.) After making stick Ps at the first two road crossings I take a break at the third, near a monument for Shay's Rebellion. (At first I read the monument text as simply "Shay's Rebellion was here", as if the work of an oddly nicknamed stone graffiti artist, but then realize there is more, smaller text above.)A trail magic cooler is placed near the road crossing, and I check it eagerly, having finished the last of my water, but find nothing but empty cans and bottles left. I seek refuge from the hot sun in the one small patch of shade beside a sign with the trail map, and watch as a day-hiking couple with two dogs drive up. The dogs jump out of the SUV and the women retrieves a water bottle from a cooler. "Are you thirsty?" she asks, and I am about to reply when I realize she is talking to the dogs, and watch as she dumps the contents of the water bottle into a bowl for the dogs to lap up.After fifteen or so minutes of waiting Papa Portrait shows up, having accurately guessed my progress and driven straight to the monument. I hop in the gloriously air conditioned car and we speed off to Great Barrington. We make it to the edge of town when we see a cop redirecting traffic and realize that Great Barrington must have decided to celebrate July 4th weekend a week late, with fireworks last night and a parade today. After navigating a maze of side streets, we eventually make our way to a small farm and bakery that sells sandwiches and stop for a lunch of grilled cheese, chips, soda and chocolate milk.We head to a grocery store next so that I can resupply, and Papa Portrait looks at soda to bring back to the cooler as some trail magic. The cans are four times the cost of the Price Chopper brand two liter bottles, so he picks up three two liter bottles instead. He balks at paying nearly five dollars for a bag of ice, so after the supermarket we stop by a gas station and pick up a small $1.69 bag of ice there. "We're definitely going the budget trail magic route today," he admits, but I am sure that it will be appreciated nonetheless.We drop the soda off in the cooler that Pig Pen ('05) left behind and remove the trash that had been inside. I say goodbye to Papa Portrait, at least for a few days, and then he drives off and I set off hiking again. It's a hot, cloudless day, and I am glad when the trail, having wound its way along the edge of farm land, finally reenters the comparatively cool shade of the woods.The trail finds its way through several swamps, helpfully providing wooden boardwalks with which to keep one's feet dry. At the last swamp of the day, just after the railroad tracks, some of the boards have sunken under several inches of water. The four sunken sections comprise less than forty feet, after which I can see that the trail returns to drier ground, but being surrounded by thickly wooded swamp on either side of the trail, walking around would be impossible. I manage to carefully clear the first sunken board by stepping between logs that someone else has seemingly brought here for this purpose, successfully balancing on the nearly submerged logs that themselves rest on the sunken, slippery boards, but give up at the second board and thoroughly soak my feet up to the ankles. A few seconds later I've made it back to dry land, but I curse the swamp, knowing that my shoes and socks will remain soaked for hours.I pass and talk with several hikers out for anywhere between a couple nights and a couple of weeks, but don't see any other thru-hikers all day. I pass the last shelter and walk a mile off trail to a hiker hostel at a silent retreat, hoping to catch up with other hikers and put myself in range of Upper Goose Pond tomorrow. The retreat turns out to be at the end of a half mile driveway, bumping the off-trail miles to 1.5, and is eerily, if not unexpectedly, quiet. I don't see anyone until the dogs on the porch of the hiker building start barking, alerting the caretaker to my arrival.I am the only hiker to show up for the night, and after the caretaker shows me around, takes my donation (the suggested $10 plus $3 for laundry) and heads back upstairs, I am alone in the hostel. $13 for what is effectively a private hotel suite with a shower and laundry is a great deal, but I'm disappointed not to have any other hikers to hang out with. I take a long shower, not having to worry about anyone waiting in line, then start my laundry and eat a dinner of bagel with peanut butter and Stretch Island Fruit strips. Being alone in a hostel is a relaxing, if somewhat lonesome experience, and it's novel to have a bit of free time to sit quietly before I write.The beds are in a separate building, and after my laundry finishes I move over there. Several mosquitoes have at some point found a way into the sleeping room, so I play the Mosquito Hunt game. I hold an AMC Outdoors magazine in one hand, ready to swat, as I slowly circle the room again and again, searching for the small shadows of the bugs against the wall and listening for the whine of their flight, which is surprisingly loud in the quiet room. The mosquitoes, having more to lose, are better at this game than I am, and after fifteen minutes with only one confirmed kill the rest seem to retreat to the hidden areas behind the ventilation duct and stay there. Declaring victory for the time being, I plug in my electronics to charge and continue writing. I consider going back to the other building to pee, but having already invested so much energy securing the room against the evil mosquito invaders I decide I can probably wait until morning rather than risk the entry of more mosquitoes when I leave and return.Tomorrow I hope to hike the 19 miles to Upper Goose Pond, where they have a lake with a canoe, an enclosed cabin with mattresses, and given its general level of anticipation, likely other thru-hikers from ahead and behind on the trail as well.