Date: 2009-09-28
From: Monson

To: Wild Camp South of Big Wilson Stream
Miles today: 12.6

I crept out of Shaw's early, ready to face the final leg of this journey. There was still the possibility of spending a night at White House Landing but in my heart I knew that this was it. This was the final chapter, and although there was still the little matter of 110 miles and 7 to 8 days of backpacking ahead, I was definitely getting that feeling that accompanies those final pages of a really satisfying book: savouring the final pages; slowly but gently closing the cover one last time, a moment of contemplation; the act of laying it aside. That was what lay ahead: the story had been told, the good guys would walk away older and wiser, friendships had been formed, burdens lifted and truths revealed. All that remained was the tying up of some loose ends.It seemed drizzly and so I looked out my pack cover and poncho but as it turned out they weren't really necessary and 10 minutes later I was peeling them off again and making my way to the trail. The sky was 'Turneresque' which I though it bode well and as my fellow hikers would no doubt be tucking into their all you can eat breakfast at Shaw's I was back on the trail, stopping for a pack of pop-tarts and a Twix.3.3 miles of reasonably uneventful trail led to the road and, crossing it, into the 'wilderness' proper. Just another label but a milestone none the less. I passed a couple of lakes but no wildlife. I slipped on the rocks, yesterday's rain having made things slick and a little treacherous. I stopped to eat at Leeman Brook Lean-to and as I chatted to a ridge runner some of the early risers at Shaw's began to catch up: Nordic, Amero, 4x4, One Shoe; all of whom had taken the first shuttle out of town while others were still taking care of chores. I discussed possible itineraries with Amero and what he had heard of everybody else's plans. Some of the shelters would no doubt be busy tonight and I wanted to avoid the crowds if possible. In the end I settled for a slow afternoon.The slick rocks eventually got the better of me and I took what I think was my seventh tumble of the trip; painfully banging my hip and elbow but otherwise none the worse for wear. The sun was out and when I arrived at Little Wilson Falls I headed out onto the rocks for a lunch of 'tortilla and hot sausage', something of a lunch staple over the last few months. Not hot as in warm but hot as in spicy, usually not too spicy but this brand definately had a bit more zing to it than anything else I had tried so far, maybe a bit more zing than I would have preferred!Sitting there pondering the dubious benefits, but undoubted tastiness, of this particular psuedo meat product who should wander along but Pete and Thimble, a blast from the past and two hikers I had not seen since Fontana Dam. Good times.The ford of Little Wilson Stream was no more than a rock hop and then the trail climbed up through the trees, following a considerable stretch of rock shelf. There were one or two nice views but nothing super spectacular and the thing that caught the eye most was the foliage. Again not the riot of vivid colours I had perhaps unrealistically expected but an impressive and warming display none the less.Passing a decent camp spot by the river maybe a mile before Long Pond Stream Lean-to I decided to call it a day. It would be quiet here and was a better than decent spot. I pitched up and lounged about outside: eating, reading and watching the day turn to dusk.Lying there a constant stream of hikers began to appear. They had all left Monson late with ideas (if not necessities) of long miles to their next pit stop (a food drop, White House Landing, Abol Bridge): Sarge, Chef, Gordon Bombay etc, and then as dusk was turning well and truly to dark, Iceman and Cattywumpus, who with head torches already in operation decided enough was enough and joined me for the night.