Date: 2017-08-07
From: Hikers Welcome Hostel, Glencliff

To: Eliza Brook shelter
Miles today: 16.8

Finally a restful night's sleep. There are only two of us on the second floor of the bunk house that can sleep 16. The other is a 77-year-old section hiker who's done nearly the whole trail over 9 years. He complains he's too slow, but just being able to do it at all seems like a win. Speaking of which I'm told there's an 82-year-old named Greybeard (not the one at our hostel) on the trail trying to become the oldest thruhiker (81 is the current oldest).The others get shuttles to Kinsman Notch for slackpacking Moosilauke southbound or continuing northward. I walk back to the trailhead and tackle Moosilauke northbound. Ever northbound. Moosilauke is 4800 feet, my highest peak yet, and the climb from the road is 3800, most at a very steep incline. It looks pretty intimidating on the elevation map, but I find I can keep up a steady pace with few breaks. I pass only a dayhiker on the way up. The trail is initially groomed as if for tourists, but soon becomes a jumble of rocks, headed steeply uphill as far as one can see. As I crest the shoulder of the mountain the ambient noise from the valley drops away and it becomes silent. There's no wind, not even a bird. Finally I break out above treeline. My first time in an alpine region on this trip, and maybe in 25 years. The views are immediately astounding. I can see the entirety of the White Mountains and most of Vermont. There is mostly grasses and ground cover with occasional krumholz (stubby evergreens). Tall rock cairns mark the way. I cross paths with some dayhikers and southbounders on the summit. It's partly sunny and relatively calm, perfect weather. I could stay there all day, but there are many miles to go. On the way down I take advantage of the rare cell signal to call home. It's the first day of (home)school for the kids and there are mixed emotions. It's great to hear their voices and to talk to Sara. Being away is hard.There's a botanist from U Conn by the trail measuring krumholz seedlings. He's here for a week and camped at the shelter down the hill.On the way down I pass the slackpackers from the hostel. One is Mr. Magoo. He is legally blind and can only make out large objects. He's hiked 1800 miles, falls and turns his ankles several times a day, but he is sunny and optimistic. He's just navigated the extremely difficult northface climb on his own and he's looking forward to lunch at the peak and taking in the view. My descent is far steeper than my ascent. The trail follows a waterfall for a mile and a half. It's so steep there are wooden steps driven into the granite slabs in many places. There are at least as many rocks as going up, plus more roots and boulders and mud. And a lot of it is wet. A blind man just climbed this.Finally I reach the road. I look back while crossing the deserted pavement to see Moosilauke's profile one last time. Just then my ankle turns. Holy crow! I just hiked nine miles over the toughest terrain of my entire hike and I turn my ankle on the edge of the pavement! It hurts, but it's far from the first time and it's not sprained. Walk on it a bit and it goes away. As I head to climb out of the road a motorcycle roars past then sharply wheels around and stops. The driver calls up if I want some food. Um, yes. Yes, I do. Pretty much all the time. He offers me half a Rachel sandwich. He wants to hear all about my hike. Turns out he hiked 1800 miles of it last year before he quit. His name was Sierra Vagabond. Now he rides his motorcycle all over the country. He tells me about meditation training with Buddhist monks in Oregon, and wants to philosophize on the difference between attention and thought. Seems like a really interesting guy and we chat for a bit, but I'm way behind schedule and wish him well. In fact I am way, way behind schedule. The terrain is brutal, and continues to be as I pick my way along Kinsman Ridge. Even though my energy is there to continue, I am simply too slow. The hours tick away too quickly. There's no way to make Franconia Notch, 16 miles away. It's already past two. For the second day I find myself adjusting. Yesterday was a tough call but correct - I wouldn't have finished Moosilauke til dark. Today I just set my sights on a closer shelter. But my carefully laid plans for the Whites have now fallen apart. I was going to resupply in Lincoln tonight. I don't have enough to get to Gorham, 4 days away on the other side of the Whites. New plan.It starts to rain lightly. Soon the rocks are wet and the hemlocks brush me with water as I pass like a car wash.The shelter is packed. Silver Lining is here with his hiking buddies. Greybeard, Rocketman and others from the hostel are here as well, after being dropped at Kinsman Notch. I find a tent site. It's been drizzling for a couple hours now and I would much prefer to crawl into the shelter, which looks to have recently been rebuilt. Oh well. I'm still safe, warm, and dry in my tent on the AT, and tomorrow is a new day.