Date: 2003-07-28
From: Peru Peak Shelter

To: Rt 140, Wallingford
Miles today: 15.7

I felt a little better this morning, and managed to get a few cornflakes down. I'd slept right through, and I must have needed it. It's chilly this morning, and still grey. I am lower than ever on TP, which I am now backing up with striped maple leaves. But that bloody wind has calmed down somewhat. The relentless blow of it was getting to me. I pack up and leave before 6 am. Perhaps I will see a moose this morning!After all, it was Griffith Pond, just .5 mile ahead, where Clyde saw his moose last year, and took the pictures to prove it (and has never let me forget it.) I withdraw my camera and have it ready, creeping up on the pond. But... nothing. Nothing but green frogs clucking away. I snap a few pictures of this lovely mountain lake anyway. Maybe Ken, my camera support guy, can transpose a bear or rattlesnake in there, since Clyde's pinprick moose photo looks like a cat anyway.I walked on, feeling a little shaky but heaps better than yesterday's quivering misery. Finally, I came to a decision junction - Would I take the wussy "bad weather" route up to the very interesting Baker Peak or were my legs now strong enough? Though the tummy was still a little tender, I felt stronger today. I very much wanted to revisit this curious peak of cracked rock. Up I went.Baker Peak isn't high by most standards, but it is a fun rock climb. It's layers of rock that have been rucked up over eons, tipped on their sides, so that you walk atop the striated ends. I had to use my hands numerous times. Miniature firs and birches sprouted from the cracks. Nature hates blank spaces, it is said.Though the skies above me were leaden, though Bromely Peak was shrouded in cloud, I looked down to see the sunshine speckling the valley floor, far below. Oh yes! This was heartening. I needed to know that the sun was shining somewhere in the world.As I walked down from Baker, the sun started to break through in little zaps. My mood lightened with the sky. Kemo had told me yesterday that the Southeast had had over 170 percent of its annual rain already, and New England had had 130 percent.At Lost Pond Shelter, 4.7 miles away, I stopped and made myself some coffee. My tummy was still a little tender, but I was feeling sluggish and foggy, and I craved the de-fogging and de-slugging effects. To ease the belly, I tore off hunks of my free Manchester French bread, and ate some Vermont cheddar. It was quite a satisfying breakfast.Long Trailers Poncho and Sage were here, still in camp. Poncho was reading and Sage was chasing sticks. A family from Boston camped nearby, and the young man, Tad, was blowing on a fire when he wasn't tossing Sage's sticks. I dubbed him Firestarter - I didn't know if he would go for StickBoy.Last year, there was no shelter here; it had burnt down years ago. Now there was a spanking new one, though rather small.The morning was quite chilly, but with sunshine that adds up to perfect hiking weather. Invigorating, with high spirits. Maybe Eric's "sweet" weather forecast was coming through after all. For the first time all week, I found myself wishing for a hiking companion.Notes had slept here last night. I would have caught him if I hadn't felt so ill. Chief, on the other hand, was nowhere in sight despite my pitiful average of seven miles a day for the last three days. I had intended to slow down in New England all along, but not THAT slow!I walk another 1.5 miles - shelters are so close here! - to Big Branch shelter. Of course, I must shuck my pack and go down to this clear, cold river, studded with smooth, clean boulders. Despite the chill, I have a good wash in the clear water. Last year, the rocks were covered with little rock cairns, stacks of stone whimsically placed at random, scores of them. It had looked like the work of fairies.This year, with all the rain, most of the lower cairns had been swept away. Only the tallest rocks still sported them. I built one for old time's sake. Poncho and Sage are there too, just hanging out. Poncho saw the wisdom of this enterprise, and built one as well. Eventually, I dragged myself away from the river. In a mile, I come to the forest service road, and the Little Rock Pond trailhead. The family from Boston is already there, at their car. The kids call out: "Wait! Wait"They run back to their car and run back with... toilet paper! TP! They were leaving the Trail today. They also bring me a crisp, sweet Fuji apple, just the ticket for a touchy tummy. I eat it immediately. Trail magic!I started down the trail towards little Rock Pond. About five minutes after I set out, I hear footsteps running up behind me. It is Tad, the 14-yr old from Boston. "Firestarter!" I hail him.He thrusts a bag at me. "We just found these." Inside are a banana and two more apples! I feel as if I've struck gold. We chat a bit, and then he runs back down the Trail. A banana is just what the 'ol tummers needs today, and I eat it too on the spot. I am moved again by the generosity of strangers. The good feeling lasts all day.At Little Rock Pond last year, Clyde and I felt so punky after pizza and a shower at friend Mrs. Gorp's that we'd walked all the way around the thing. I had hoped for a swim this year, but it was rather airish, even at 1:30pm.Instead I run across Poncho again, hanging by the shore with Synapse, a SOBO. I share my fruity largesse and they split an apple.I walk on, and visit yet another shelter in this area, the Little Rock Pond hut where I stayed last year. Shortly after, Sage trots up the Trail to me, and Poncho follows. We three fall in. That's the AT - wish for hiking company, company appears. Don't ask me to explain it.Poncho is an interesting, gentle young man, and I enjoy the conversation. We take the steep path down to White Rock cliffs. At its junction with the AT, many whimsical hiker souls have built rock cairns, and even an arch of stone, freestanding. The constructions make me laugh. I start plying poor Poncho with tales of the pizza at Sal's in Wallingford. I am planning to hitch in, eat pizza and call my friend Mrs. Gorp. Cindy is a fellow hiker and lives near here. I'd sent her an e-mail from Bromley Warming hut, but hadn't seen a phone since. For all I knew, she was out hiking, as is her wont.I warned Poncho there was a 50-50 chance I would be staying in town, but that we would get him back to the Trail if that was the case. He agreed to hitch in with me. I didn't know how hard it would be to hitch with the 70-lb Sage, but after 15 minutes we got a ride with a great guy who crammed us all in his car.In Wallingford, the restaurant was... CLOSED! Just as Itchy always predicted! However, a market just a block away had hot lasagna AND garlic bread AND milkshakes, so we were golden (and calorie-sated). I collected my pocketmail from the phone outside and found Cindy WAS home, so a call later she was on her way in to scoop me up. Friend of the animals, she also brought an old Z-rest as a pad for Sage to sleep on. Poncho was delighted.We dropped them back at the Trailhead, and Poncho promised to sign my guestbook to let me know whether he and Sage completed the Long Trail. Cindy advised them to take the bad weather route around Mt. Mansfield to avoid the ladders and dog-dropping gaps, and I agreed.Then, within minutes, I was showered and laundered and in brand new flannel jammies, sipping merlot wine out of a thin-stemmed glass in front of the lastest James Bond movie (the one with Halle Berry). Yah, the AT is a harsh environment...Tomorrow Cindy and I will slackpack a leisurely 12 miles southbound, so I may be able to say howdy to Notes and other friends after all.And, NO STINKIN' PACKS! Hurray!