Date: 2008-08-09
From: Story Spring Shelter

To: Douglas Shelter
Miles today: 15.0
Weather: light rain

Today has been the perfect example of how quickly a day can turn around out here. Was awakened far too early by the british guys¢ alarms. If you are going to sleep in a shelter, it¢s rude as hell to set an alarm for 5:30. Assholes. Cold, foggy, damp morning, shivering out of the sleeping bag, nearly in tears at the prospect of getting wet again¢¦.hiking hurt, slogging painfully through thick, boot-sucking mud. Slow slow climb up Stratton Mtn, feeling totally incapable of hiking as far as planned. I was in this wicked mental rut and couldn¢t pull out of it¢¦.talking to Oats, trying to distract myself, telling her about the previous night¢s dream, the most vivid I¢d had in awhile: A steep pink-walled canyon, my old art teacher directing me to the trail to the base of the canyon where there was a river. I was to make a burnt offering there. Aftaid to go down. The other two were going to come with me. I gathered fragrant cedar , incense sticks. Began the descent, only to find myself alone. Fear, but focused on building the fire, adding wood to the small blaze on the river bank. Noises. I turned, startled, to see a herd of unreal wild spirit-horses on the other bank, blowing air heavily through their noses, stamping. A man came to me and told me important things I cannot remember. Somewhere in the telling of the dream, we reached the clearing on the mountain¢s summit. Slayer and Tetris were waiting for us, sitting on a rock and talking to the caretaker, and the whole mountain was pristine sub-alpine forest, blue spruce, fir, thick varied mosses, blue bead lillies, bunchberry. We ascended the fire tower together, climbing above the pines to reveal a stunning view, unlike anything I¢d ever seen on the East coast. A sweeping panorama, encompassing the deep greens of the closer ridges, all covered in evergreens, the lower lying marsh lands a brighter green, blue sprawling lakes, distant peaks a minty green, a frosty blue. Looking back at Mt. Greylock, days behind us, hazy in the distance. Such a sense of expansiveness, a healing wildness that atones for the rigors of the 1600 miles of hiking, all worthwhile for this one view. Clouds piled high in white, wooly masses, greyer storm-filled ones laying their shadows here and there on the land below.   Called the hostel in Manchester Center, made reservations for tomorrow. Relief. Don¢t have to hike 21 miles today. 15 miles seems reasonable, doable. We descended the tower, chill autumn wind blowing. Doesn¢t feel like mid-August. The caretaker¢s a mathemetician who¢s writing a book on the Golden Ratio. He and Tetris began the most wild discussion I¢ve ever heard on top of a mountain. We found out that the ski resort a mile from the summit has a gondola that runs down the mountain for free. We ditched our packs at the caretaker¢s cottage, and, in high spirits, unencumbered, we jogged off down the trail, Talking of synchronity and fungi. Had a fun ride down the mountain through wildflower studded meadows. The ¢town¢ of Stratton was a ski resort so utterly plastic it was terrifying. We found the cheapest sandwich joint in town, and sat there eating veggie burgers and hot coffee, laughing at all the eco-yuppies on vacation in a ski resort in summer (idiots). The waitress gave us free refills, even though it was against policy. Too much caffeine and sugar. Had fun roaming among the clean ¢outdoorsy¢ types while plastered with mud and sweat. Back up the mountain in the gondola, glad to be away from all the people. Chatted with the caretaker awhile longer before hiking on, finally, around 2:30. Flew down the trail, talking about dream-symbolism, the death of culture, freedom, life. Reached Stratton Pond, feeling good, nearly giddy. Beautiful glacial lake in the evening light. No afternoon rainstorm, for a change. The others decided to go swimming, but I was glad to be dry and wanted to stay that way. I ate some blueberries, then hiked on in a caffeine-induced flurry, feet flying. Hardly even noticed the half mile off trail to the shelter. No one else there but the four of us. The shelter¢s surrounded by blooming touch-me-nots, hummingbirds flitting among the blossoms, stands of old pine. Downhill a little ways, a tea-coloured stream where I rinsed out my socks, carved my legs out from the mud coating them. We built a good fire, after fiddling with the wet wood. Made an awesome dinner, laughing about gastrocoitus. Moon rising, half full. Chilly night, but good, good day.