Date: 2013-07-03
From: Stratton Pond Shelter, mi 1,637.1

To: Bromley Mountain
Miles today: 13.7
Weather: light rain

It was another NERO day! It seemed that I was hiking a higher frequency of sub-20-mi days the further north I got. Was it the high frequency of roads the trail crossed, which led into towns? I resupplied at Manchester Center, VT off VT 11. After shopping at the supermarket for a light resupply, I met a young woman who was section hiking, named Trench Foot while repacking my food on a bench outside the market. I offered her lunch at the pizza place across the large parking lot. It was part of my mobile trail angel service. After lunch, we got lucky and found a local in the parking lot, who it turned out had thru-hiked the AT in previous years. His car was loaded with junk, some of which included a fishing net and AT paraphernalia. When he opened his trunk, he grabbed us each a beer, before stuffing our packs in, and then to driving us both back to the trailhead. I guzzled my beer in the back seat. Trenchfoot, who was shotgun, had to wait until getting dropped off at the trailhead. In the parking area at the trailhead, Trench Foot chugged her beer, and we both got started on the ascent up Bromley. The ascent was moderate to steep, with perhaps a quarter mile of hiking up the center of a ski run carpeted in grass and stripped of trees. At the summit, a couple of women by the names of Six Pac Abs and Von Frick were laying supine, passing a water bottle of Vodka between them. Six Pac Abs was probably 18 or 19, and VonFrick her past chem teacher in high school. They were both waiting for a couple of hikers to return, whom left there packs on the summit for them to watch. They described them to be bearded, one of them with tats. Only moments later a middle aged, bald man named Analog first returned, followed later by FoxTrot, a younger man, perhaps half his age. Both had taken the gondola down the hill to a resort restaurant to work for food. FoxTrot came back pissed. He had busted his balls working all afternoon for a single slice of pizza, rather than a whole pizza which he had verbally agreed on. I guess the lesson is; don't enter a work agreement unless you understand clearly what you're getting in return, AND get it in writing! A small party of hikers were now hanging out on the grassy summit, reclined and talking about the adventure ahead through the remainder of Vermont, the Whites, and Maine. Another hiker, but not the last, to join our group was a middle-aged man who brought a bottle of booze to the summit party. As it turned out, he himself was somewhat a light-weight. After a few swigs, he was slurring his words and telling us stories that no one was interested in hearing. He wanted to fit in badly, and had hoped that the booze was his ticket. While he was making a clown of himself, I learned that VonFrick apparently spent much of her time hiking back and forth through Maine, though she had never attempted to through hike the AT. Von Frick spoke highly of the bed and breakfast in Monson (the gateway to the 100-mile wilderness). She insisted that we stop there. Von Frick had an MS in chemistry, but apparently was burned out on academics so was killing her brain with Vodka and corrupting a teenager. As the sun sunk into the distant dark, stratified clouds, we made the commitment to camp on the summit even though it was off-limits to camping. As darkness covered the ridge, another couple with a small yapping terrier appeared from seemingly nowhere. I never conversed with them. They both hung out close to the ranger hut, sitting on the bench on the side deck. The majority of the group decided to sleep in the ranger hut. Although tenting was not permitted on the summit, I pitched my tent on a clump of grass perhaps 50 yards from the hut. Trenchfoot had initially set up her tent not far from mine, but decided quickly as low clouds blew over the summit, that she would sleep in the hut too. After I was set up, I made my way to the hut in darkness, and into the common area, where everyone was cooking with their alcohol stoves under headlamps. I set my stove up on the kitchen sink on the opposite side of the room, and opened the window for ventilation. After cooking, I ate with the group and enjoyed the camaraderie. I was sleeping soundly until being woken early in the morning by the terrier, which barked loudly. No attempt by its owners was made to shut the dog up. I wanted to strangle the dog, but more so the owners.