Date: 2003-08-08
From: Ore Hill Shelter

To: Glencliff
Miles today: 7.4

(Hey! As they say, "If you can't read, we got pictures..." My photo support guy, Ken, has been hard at work and has added a bunch of new pictures from Massachusetts. He's had some fun with them. Thanks, Ken! Love the collages!)The mosquitos at the Ore Hill shelter are abundant, vicious and blood thirsty, and for maybe the fourth time this whole trip I broke down and applied DEET. (I would have used my catnip oil, because it really WORKS, but I'd left it somewhere and one can't (yet) just walk in and buy catnip oil at the local sporting goods store, though it has worked as well as DEET for me.)This past week has been the most aggravating, damp, BUGGY, muddy, PUDS-y, Long Green Tunnel-y section I've been on yet. Maybe it's just the weather. But the bugs and mud and hard-work-yet-lack-of-views have about driven me mad.It is in the rain and with relief that we slosh into the Glencliff hostel late this morning. Chicken Feet and Flanders are here, and they tell me their parents are reading my journal. He says I type all the time (although this is the first time he's seen me do it). Not true. Most of the time I am sweating and groaning under a brutal packload. But I do pull out the 'ol pocketmail several times a day, to record my observations while they are fresh.I get a cool note from "Turnbill," Bill Duffy, about that spicy scent I was catching in the fields: He thinks that what I was smelling in those upland meadows "is Labrador Tea. It's a low shrub with a cluster of white flowers (mostly gone by now) with leathery oval leaves about 1.5 inches long and maybe about 1/2 inch wide. The leaves kind of curl over (kind of like a Rhododendron) and have short, reddish brown hairs on their underside. My book says it's found south to PA."Glencliff is run by Packrat, the caretaker, and Big John and Rhia of Moonbow Gear, lightweight gear manufacturers. The hostel sits under the shadow of imposing Mt. Moosilauke, wreathed in cloud this day.There we catch a shower, laundry, pocketmail, belly-filling - the usual town chores.I call Art Cloutman, a hiking buddy who lives in New Hampshire. He and my transcriber Suz hiked the first two days of the Long Trail with me and Clyde last year. We arrange to meet tomorrow. Art has been promising R&R at his family's lakeside NH resort, so this is one call I've been eager to make.I go off to eat a hamburger in town. I almost never eat beef at home, though I like it. But something about hiking makes me crave a juicy burger. No sooner is this gigantic, half-pound beauty set before my drooling self than in walks Chief, with Susan James in tow. Susan is part of Commander-In-Chief's home support. Susan lives just over the borden in Vermont, knows the Trail logistics pretty well, and figured out where I'd likely be.She wanted to know: Did I want to surprise C-in-C (Cindy) when she came off the Trail today?Did I ever!Cindy, she said, is back on the AT, hiking a grueling schedule through Vermont. She was coming off at Clarendon Gorge today, home (Vermont-NH border) for resupply, shower, wash and TLC, then back out tomorrow. I would have a chance to visit briefly. I believe ice cream was tossed in as further temptation to me.In addition, she offered to slack Chief and me southbound over Moosilauke tomorrow. This was a huge bonus, because the north side is an extremely steep, knee-crushing descent. I like my knees, thank you very much! This way we would have to climb up that bite of a slope, which would be tiring, but not joint-damaging.How could I resist? Chief is game too. I wolf my monster burger, return to Glencliff to assemble my pack for tomorrow, arrange my bunk so I can tiptoe in after dark, then take off with Susan for the evening. First stop is for "chores." Susan stops at a picturesque Vermont barn and feeds two Thoroughbred riding horses belonging to friends. Yes, I got to pat a horse today.At the main farm where Susan lives, I meet another CinC supporter, Denise, who runs the therapeutic riding program here in this stunning part of Vermont. They live on a tree-shaded farm lane, adjacent to an active dairy. From their farm, you can see the Vermont side of Moosilauke, with the setting sun lighting it up.I Shoo-Goo my "new" shoes, now filthy and muddy, then sit at their picnic table and drink Coronas and eat slices of the ripest orange melon as the sun slides down. We're all waiting for Cindy to get home from Clarendon. She's late.The farm kitties crawl in my lap and bump and purr. A very pleasant evening's wait. These ladies couldn't be nicer, and let me on the internet to see my hike pictures, newly posted. Still no Cindy, so we head out for ice cream on this warm evening. Now 1200 more calories to the good, I finally feel full. Still no Cindy.We decide to go check out her house. They have to let the dogs out for her anyway. I leave a note: "I was in your kitchen and could have ROBBED the place if I didn't have to CARRY it all!" It's way past hiker midnight (dark) so I have to swallow my disappointment and go back before I turn into a gourd. As we are leaving, in the dark, up swings a car - it's Cindy! We squeal, bear hug and babble Trail chatter, catching up on the news for a short while. With her schedule, I think she will catch me before long. It was really great to see her. Her friends worry that she's gotten too thin. I wonder why none of my friends worry about me that way? Probably because I never miss a town meal, ya think?Well, the perfect end to the day. We bid good-bye, Cindy and I. Tomorrow she goes off to her Trail, I to mine.Susan drives me home and promises to return in the morning. She has been more than kind, giving me a care package of Sho-Goo, bug dope, sore muscle rub and such.I tiptoe through the sleeping bodies to my mattress on the floor, and am quickly asleep.