Date: 2013-09-28
From: Wilson Valley Lean-to

To: Stealth camp @ stream north on AT
Miles today: 14.9

Boy was I tired last night. I looked at my watch at 5:30, and I wasn't the least bit interested in getting up. So I didn't. I slept until 6:15. My shelter mates were up and moving and headed out well before me. I set off around 7:20, and it took some looping through the campsite to figure out where the trail went. I crossed back over the brook to get to the AT just to have to recross it 10 steps later. Before I knew it, I was standing between the shelter and the privy. Huh? I back-tracked and found where the trail had turned abruptly left and skirted alongside the brook. Goodness. For a little bit there, I thought I was going to have to live at the Wilson Valley Lean-to forever. The morning started off well. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. It was crisp but not cold. I moved along at a good enough pace. I'm definitely still nursing the ankle, and I didn't want to take any step that might compromise it more than I already have. It was rooty and rocky. I crossed a few streams, and I came to one that was listed as a "ford." It was no such thing. I felt so smug as I carefully pranced across the rocks. I got to the Long Pond Tot Rd., and I stopped to savour the "Only 100 miles to go" moment. One hundred miles is still a lot, but now I'm down to double digits. And that's pretty surreal. I followed the trail down to Long Pond Stream. I saw a blue rope tied across the river, and I thought, "hmmmm... Looks like the ford was mislabeled." I walked upstream to see if I could find a place to rock-hop across without having to take off my boots. By the time I stumbled over all the rocks, pebbles, boulders only to realize that a true ford was inevitable, I'd wasted at least 10 minutes. Oh well. I tookoff my shoes and socks, leg gaiters, knee braces, and ankle wrap. I secured them all to my pack, and I put on my crocs. then I waded in. The cold water was a shock, but it was also incredibly soothing. I knew my ankles and knees appreciated it. Only my toes cramped up in the icy water. I got to the other side in about 15 secs, 20 tops. By that time, a half hour had passed since I'd arrived at the stream. I took a photo to mark the "Less than a 100 miles to go", and then I put my stuff back on and hiked on.The trail followed alongside the river for a long time. There were so many great stealth camping sites, but I had no need for such a thing at this time of day. I thought back to when I was still in the planning stages of the hike. I'd highlighted my guidebook to note where I thought I'd be camping/sleeping every night. It was always at a shelter or established campsite. I wonder how many times I've actually ended up where I thought I would. Not many, I suspect. I've embrassed the stealthcamp. I passed the turn off for the Long Pond Stream Lean-to, and I kept pressing uphill. I just couldn't shake my annoyance with the trail. It always seemed to take the path of most resistance, most rocks, most roots, most mud, most pointless climbs. I've felt so negative and whiny/bitchy lately. I miss Hobo and the gang, but I'm also glad that they don't have to be around me when I'm in this mood. I found myself sobbing openly and loudly and unashamed. I am in the 100-mile Wildneress for goodness sake, and I just keep thinking, "Why am I still doing this?". I could be at home with Tom, and yet here I am out here limping around in the woods, snarling like an Orc at every chirpy weekend hiker that congratulates me on my hike. Everyone I pass, and there have been several, all say the same thing, "Congratulations! You've made it!" To which I respond, "Thank you, but I'm not there yet." I try to hide the condescention in my voice, but I'm not always successful. And I can't seem to stop crying. I'm crying because I can't seem to get to Tom quick enough. Ugh. I'm so happy that he'll be able to hike the last 50 miles with me. But the 50 miles between then and now is torture. I got to the Barren Ledges. Buffalo, Rigs & Planet were there having lunch, laying in the sun and taking in the view. The vista looked out over a huge lake/pond with another mountain standing behind it as a backdrop. There was a fall color extravaganza surrounding it all. We could see small boats moving across the pond/lake, or maybe they were just really big moose with motors. Either way, my attitude soured the moment. I apologized for being such a Debbie Downer. I ate lunch and sent out photos. After the trio left, I called Tom. I tried hard not to cry, and mostly I succeeded. But the call kept cutting out, so eventually we exchanged endearments and then said good-bye. There was a nice stretch from the Ledges up until the climb up Barren Mountain. And even the stretch to Cloud Pond Lean-to went quickly. I ran out of water right before I crossed paths with three ladies. They were really nice, and I tried hard not to cry while I was talking to them. They said the usual thing, "Congratulations! This, the beauty of the 100-mile Wilderness, is your reward." I don't want this reward- roots, rocks, mud, PUDS, and vistas (I've seen a thousand of them) are a sorry reward. If you want to give me a reward, bring me Tom. That's a reward. I didn't say this of course, but I thought it, as I do just about every time. Luckily for my water situation, I passed a nicely flowing clear stream just a few minutes after passing the ladies. Thank goodness. My directions showed that the next water source was more than 5 miles away, and there was plenty of geography between me and it. I passed the Fourth Mountain bog. It was listed in my directions, and there was a sign on a tree as I passed over it. What made this bog so special, I wondered? There was as sign saying to stay on the trail, so there must be some species of flora or fauna they are trying to protect, but there was no information about it. Fourth Mountain was a hardy climb followed by a nice vista and a nasty descent. I thought Maine was done trying to kill me, but apparently not. Sharp stacks of steeply piled rocks, some wet spots and plenty of opportunites to rearrange my dental work. I spat in anger. It was starting to get late, and I realized that I probably wouldn't make it to the shelter. So I opted to shoot for the water source 1.7 miles before the shelter. But first there was Third Mountain. Was this some sort of joke? Had they run out of mountain names? I have to say though, from the top of Third Mountain at Monument Cliff, there was an arresting view. The golden hour had set in, and the lighting matched the fall leaves. The grey stone under my feet was awash in golden light. I took a photo, but I knew the magic couldn't be captured in the little box. Then I raced down the hill to try to find a place to camp before the sun set. I started to get worried, but then I heard water and voices. Buffalo, Rigs and Planet were getting some water before they pushed for the lean-to. I gambled that there would be camping by the stream, and there was! The sky glowed melon orange through the yellow and orange leaves. The mountain across the way stood defiantly blue. I didn't get as far as I would ahve liked, but I still think there's a chance that I can get to Tom by Oct. 1. I sure hope so. If not, I'll be a walking bag of tears. Sweet dreams, AT. Thank you for putting up with me.