Date: 2011-07-19
From: (102) Stratton Pond Shelter

To: (103) Little Rock Pond Shelter
Miles today: 30.5
Weather: few clouds

Sore from the previous big day, I sought to do yet another. For half the day I hiked in my still wet socks to allow them to dry. Then, as my feet were beginning to take a toll, I switched to my second and dry pair.Around Noon I reached a ski resort (Bromel?) and the trail actually followed one of the slopes up to the top, where there was a chair lift and a tower. From the top of the tower I had a grand view of Vermont and all of its dark and powerful looking Mountains. A man approached me to find out where and how far the nearest road was, and I helped him find it by using my guidebook, it was my good deed for the day. Karma in my favor, I left the ski slope and dived back into the dense woods.Later in the afternoon, I came to a lake that had flooded the trail because of all of yesterday¢s rain. A few wood planks led across the deep water, just barely above the level of the edge of the lake. Unconcerned, I stepped on the first, but it began to sink downward into the murky water. Alarmed and falling forward, I made a desperate leap off of the sinking plank and landed on the end of the next plank, but instead of holding my weight like I had hoped for, the second plank sunk even faster than the first, causing me to lose my balance and fall backwards into the lake. I was submerged by about two feet of water, followed by a mucky bottom. I was soaked, muddy, and smelled awful. (There is no such thing as Karma, and if there is than to hell with it!). As it turned out, the wooden stepping planks had never been touching the ground (like they normally are), but were actually floating on the water¢s surface, creating the illusion that they were crossable. Looking back I saw that the planks had settled back into place, and had I not just fallen in I would have believed them to be solid. It was all smoke and mirrors, a clever trick played by the trail! I thought about moving them so that the next hiker would not sink as well, but further investigation revealed that there was nothing to be done, and that due to the lake being on one side and a wall of thorns on the other, everyone was going to get wet no matter what. I then checked my gear. The only luck I had was that none of my electronics or paper items had been damaged, as I had lined the inside of my pack with a garbage bag, followed by zip-locks over smaller items. Still, it was the closest call I had ever had of serious damage being done to my gear (The loss of my journal would have been devastating, and don¢t even get me started on toilet paper). I did not dry off after this because the sun was setting, and I no longer had any dry socks. I couldn¢t believe that my feet could take such punishment. It had been another big day, the majority of which had been spent soaking wet, and now, covered in mud. Upon passing my second to last shelter of the day, around 7pm, I looked in and saw Gypsy, whom I hadn¢t seen since hiking with Helm in Virginia. Gypsy, an old English Woman, had attempted to thru hike the year before, but was unable to after being set back by injury and then running out of time on her Visa. Upon hearing my name being said between Gypsy and I, the middle aged man sitting beside her in the shelter lifted his head, and I was thrilled to see H3! H3 recognized me immediately and exclaimed, ¢Lemur! I haven¢t seen you since you hammocked in that huge storm on Blue Mountain! (See journals 14 and 15) I¢m not surprised though, I knew if you could make it through that you could handle anything!¢ H3 and I talked for awhile, and then I left, assuring him that we would meet again, and I hope we do. H3 was a fellow April 1st starter whom I had last seen in Georgia during the great storm. He had been so worried about me in my hammock (The shelter was full) that he had come out at 2am to make sure that I was ok. I was, though the next morning my hammock was a block of ice from the all the frozen rain. I continued my remaining miles to the last shelter (Little Rock Pond) for a total of 30.5 miles. While very sore, I was proud that despite the increasingly difficult terrain I had achieved yet another big day; mileage that is unheard of in the northern states. When I went inside the shelter I found several other hikers, though I did not have much time to talk to them as I needed to use what little light remained to collect water and cook. One hiker I knew, however, a guy named REM who recognized my name as we had both spent the night together at the Kincora hostel in Tennessee. He congratulated me on the success of mine and Helm¢s 50 miler, as he had never caught up to us again. As with H3 and Gypsy, I had to explain to him that I had been set back several weeks with Lyme disease. After eating in the dark, I climbed to a top bunk and hung my bug netting to fall asleep under. The temperature had dropped dramatically since nightfall, something that I had been noticing ever since the start of Vermont. Fortunately, I still carry my 15 degree bag that I had started the trail with, as I now need it in its entirety.