Date: 2003-06-28
From: Wildcat Shelter

To: Brien Memorial Shelter
Miles today: 19.6
Weather: overcast clouds

Well, imagine that. It's chilly this morning. I have gooseflesh. We'll take it. The number one rule on the AT - be ready to adapt.I set out with Itchy. Within the first 100 yards, I feel something wet on my hand - a bird has crapped on me! What's up with that? Is this a portent for the day?Despite the 5:45 am chill, we are swatting mosquitos. The only way I slept last night was to crawl into my silk liner. That didn't stop the most blood-thirsty of the little bleeders, who bit thru the silk sometimes. I finally broke down and sprayed my liner with DEET, yes, DEET, the neurotoxin. That helped some. Then Cindy made a smudge of leaves in the firepit. The smoke helped some more. But they still bit me square on the nose, which was poking out.The bird dropping WAS a sign. There's no spring in my legs today. The day quickly heats up to June-like speed too. I am dragging butt. The heat and rock climbs of the last two days are taking their toll. I normally lead our little parade, since I can see the blazes, but today Itchy grows impatient with my dragging and surges to the front. Hurry, he urges. Hurry.Yet there is no hurry in me.Which is a shame, because the terrain is absolutely gorgeous. And fun. Take the Lemon Squeezer, for instance, a crack between two large rocks of wall. Not too much of a squeeze in the beginning, then it funnels quickly into a crevice in which the hiker must turn sideways then take their pack off and toss it up, then wedge themselves up after the pack.Itchy went up the Squeezer with his pack. I was impressed. Then, we faced a wall of rock to climb. Sigh. Wait. What's this? The wall is tilting slightly toward us? WHAT??!! What were the Trail designers thinking? Truly, I was shocked. I figured I would probably be able to scramble up there with much effort, and Itchy the rock climber would too. But not everyone is going to be able to get up this! I think of 80-yr-old Earl Schaffer, or the legally blind Bill Erwin. How did they do this? This is serious Class III, and a rope would have been welcome.I also think of my friend Anna, who just had a fall from the rocks in VA. I can only imagine her "opinion" of this one.Itchy and I did it this way. We took our packs off. He went up first, then I handed the packs up. Then I scrambled, heaved and oofed my way up. I don't know how someone would do it solo, it was a bit too high to heave a pack up alone.Once up there, we turned and saw ... an alternate, "legal" route. Damn! Without a doubt, I would have taken the wussy way today.We've been in Harriman State Park since this morning. There is actually a telephone, standing all by itself, on the southern border of the park. On the AT. A phone on the AT. I had to take a picture.The mountains here have grown steeper and the trails are without switchbacks. I always wondered why New York was one of the AT "quit" spots. Now I know why. The hills here suddenly go to standing on edge. No summit ridgeline relief, either. Folks have been doing 20s thru New Jersey, and then this. It can make you weep. All whining aside, Harriman is, without a doubt, a stunningly beautiful park. The rocks are wildly wild, and the forests are civilized and parklike, tall stately trees with grass underfoot - almost no under growth.The exception to the undergrowth rule is the mountain laurel. We've chased the mountain laurel blooms since late TN-early Virginia, meeting new waves of bloom with each advance. But these shrubs take the cake - they are in full bloom, all at once. And not a bush here or there, either. These laurels are standing shoulder to shoulder in some places, in solidarity, glorying in the open, sun-spattered shade, exploding with blossom, blooming their little woody hearts out. The sight is nothing short of stunning.Itchy and I stop for dinner - actually, I collapse - at the lovely and peaceful Fingerboard shelter. It is a stone hut built upon a natural slab of rock. There are no bugs. Of course, the mt. laurel is covering hills like snow. Too sweet. I wish we could stay.Inside, who should I run into but the AT thru-hiker No Agenda, who was out sectioning her second complete AT hike. It is her 60th birthday today, and this is how she chose to celebrate it. We had e-mailed a bit a year or so ago, and I knew we had a very unusual friend in common: that reprobate hiker/opiner Curtis H. Balls. We had a few laughs telling Curtis stories.I did all this lying down, as I am whipped. "Ready to go?" prompted Itchy? Sigh. The whip has been cracked. Miles to go and all that. But, what luck! Though it is nearly 5 pm, there ahead is a state park, with a lake, a water spigot, vending machines and showers. It is so hot, I am so weary, that a swim seems just the ticket to perk up the legs. We head down, even though it means that, in the future, we will have to head UP.The first thing I do is aim for the ice cream vending machine. The second thing I do is shuck the pack and sit on the picnic table. Aaaaah! Bliss!"HURRY!" urged Itchy.Hurry? Hurry for what? For swimming? For a shower? I was doing exactly what I wanted, where I wanted, when I wanted. And I was sitting DOWN. Packless, for god's sake!Which is why, at this utterance, my normally angelic demeanor and saintly forbearance cracked. Purely cracked. "I WILL NOT hurry!" I said. I glared at Itchy, and licked my ice cream bar defiantly.He shrugged and went off to the lake, which theoretically closed at 5 pm, though people were still swimming now at 5:30. I finished my ice cream, dug more bills from my pocket and punched in a lemonade, and drank that too. Slowly. Unhurriedly. Deliberately.After my shower, and his swim, both of us were in a better mood. We walked in the cool of the evening, and got to the William Brien shelter before dark. Another troop of Boy Scouts were in the area, but far from being an annoyance, they offered us water and hushed themselves up at 9 pm. Some thru-hikers yesterday had given them a hard time, and I was sorry to hear that. Sometimes thru-hikers get an "us-and-them" attitude, but we all pay our taxes. The Trail is open to all.B-Roc is already there, and we tent next to him. It is a peaceful evening, but I am too tired to journal. (I am writing this up days later, from field notes.)"Wow, we had a big day, said B-Roc from his tent. "We went over 6,300 vertical!" B-Roc has a watch that keeps track of it. Technically, that's an extra mile-plus. No wonder my hind-most parts were dragging. "Yesterday was 3100 vertical, and THAT wore us out," he added. "That's about like Georgia."Why doesn't anyone talk about how hard NY is? Well, count on me to spread the word...