Date: 2017-09-19
From: Woods Hole Hostel

To: Jenny Knob Shelter
Miles today: 21.7
Weather: clear sky

It¢s raining. I¢m in the middle of lunch, sitting on my ground sheet, leaning against my pack with an 8-ounce round of smoked Gouda in my hand, a quarter consumed. I¢ve hiked 13 miles from Woods Hole Hostel. The sun has filtered through dense hardwood cover all morning, except when it played peek-a-boo behind innocent cotton-ball puffy clouds.Then the wind rose, followed by a crisp sharp patter. The wind increased, the sound rose and by the thousands they fell. Why am I still sitting here? Why was my first instinct to smile in awe of Mother Nature? Why was my second to capture it on video?Gracefully arcing, see-sawing the air and falling all about me in the open space of this campground where I¢m taking lunch are thousands of yellow leaves. As they slowly ricocheted across branches and as the brittle palm-sized forms hit the ground, they sounded exactly like rain.I¢d never seen so many fall at once. Looking straight overhead it was a golden cascade. All for me. On the AT, alone, but to be shared with you.Why would someone name a waterfall "Dismal Falls"?  http://www.trailjournals.com/j...I¢m back on pretty dang nice trail tread here in southwestern Virginia. I don¢t think any climb was over 500 feet, and the 21.7 miles felt well attainable all day.  But we are water challenged. More than half the water sources are dry and you can¢t really tell where there will be a serviceable pool or flow. I fill up hours in advance of lunch and do the same for dinner. I¢ve been around a few hikers lately that have run uncomfortably low and I¢ve had enough to share.So whose idea was it to swap out my one-pound 40° sleeping bag for the pound-and-a-half 30° bag? I could be walking around as bare as the tighty-whitey guy the other day and at nightfall here at the shelter I¢d be just comfortable fine. I think I¢ll be on top of my bag for a good part of the night.I arrived at 6:15 to find the shelter deserted. I¢d only seen one couple and one single hiker all day. By dusk at 7:30 I thought I¢d have the small six-person shelter to myself. But at 7:45, nearing dark, I heard footsteps. And that¢s what has me worried now an hour later.¢I lost my water,¢ he said. An odd phrasing. I¢d never seen him before and I wasn¢t getting an experienced vibe from him. ¢Lost,¢ when I asked, meant that in an unclear manner he¢s accidentally poured out his water. The guide says there¢s a spring one-tenth of a mile away, but I¢ve stopped trusting the guide. I filled up a mile back at a sketchy stream near an open campsite. I wasn¢t surprised when he came back empty-handed. My next water isn¢t for 10 miles, and his next source as he heads northbound is just that one mile. But he didn¢t listen when I offered dinner water and instead took off in the dark, leaving his pack here. He¢s been gone 45 minutes ¢¦ When does concern change to having to do something?Whew ¢ he just showed up. As happens on the trail, things change, turn on a dime. You never know what¢s around the next bend.Frodo is flying home today from Denmark. She¢ll be in that home I¢m rumored still to have in that mythical land, San Diego, located after mythical Georgia.