Date: 2003-06-15
From: 501 Shelter

To: Port Clinton
Miles today: 23.7
Weather: clear sky

My Z-rest is killing me.The thin, folding mattress is a joy to carry, being light. But it doesn't provide enough padding for my hips, which grind into the shelter boards. Even on the ground, its protection is insufficient.I sent my full-length inflatable Thermarest home in Hot Springs, and have been grinding my teeth, er, hipbones ever since. It slept great, but was heavy to carry. I needed some sleep!Today, June 15, makes exactly three and a half months since I started this trek. Because of recent high mileage days, my daily average (including zero days) has jumped to 11.1111111 and so on miles. I'm feeling strong, the weather is improving, and I feel that - short of an accident or family crisis - I will be standing upon Katahdin this fall.If I get some sleep...Today is sunny and hot. The land is still draining moisture, and we walk through extensive Pennsylvania Game lands. One of the day's highlights was spotting a turkey hen. She just walked purposefully through the underbrush. I knew how wary these birds were, and wondered why I was having this great view. Ahhh, two fuzzy turkey chicks waddled behind her. She was clucking softly, urging the little bleeders to HURRY, but they were having none of it, in fact going in separate directions and neither of these directions were toward mom. I moved quietly behind a tree so as not to stress mom out - mothers have it rough enough as it is - when a movement from me set off five small birds nearby.This purely undid Mrs. Turkey, and she too flew off, abandoning her chicks to their fate. Perhaps it was a diversionary tactic, I really don't know enough turkey lore to say. Anyway, I left the scene lest the foxes find the chicks before mom reunited.The land is flat today, rocky in spots. Mostly it's a blueberry /mt. laurel forest understory, and then hickories and oaks above. Nothing in the middle.Again, I feel as if I am walking backward in time, florally speaking. The laurel blossoms here are very late. Some bushes are barely budded, though this heat of late is bringing them on fast.I find the turn to Eagle's Nest shelter, our destination for the night. Just Do It (Ben) has a big fire going on this hot day, and everyone's stuff is hanging from nearby bushes, steaming. Truly, there is a tree nearby with nothing but socks on it. The sock tree. Who says they don't grow on trees? I find the privy first thing. I return to take a nap, then prepare to walk the last 8 miles into town. This hike has played havoc with my womanly cycles, if you know what I mean. "Things" are unpredictable.Itchy wants to know why in heaven's name I am leaving. "I need supplies," I tell him. Itchy doesn't buy it. "What do you need, I have extra.""I need supplies you probably don't have.""Oh," he said, and was quiet for a moment."I USED to have some of those," he volunteered. "They made good first aid compresses. But I sent them home."Port Clinton, dead ahead - the 1200 mile mark! On the map, the last 1/4 mile looked like a plunge straight down."You'll have to get on your butt and slide," said ItchyFoot.Now that I have seen them, I remain alert for rattlesnakes, ears perked and eyes peeled. Beautiful as the snakes are, rock jumbles are less innocent places now.I reach the "butt-slide" just at dusk. Wow! I feel sorry for the SOBOS who must climb this greased slope.Somewhere, today, I lost my guidebook. One time I had it, the next time I didn't. I was flying blind without it. I had hoped someone would come across the bag - it had stickers with my name on it, these things sometimes happen - but alas, no one had come trotting forth with it.I walked into town right at dusk. Buzzards flying in the faded sunset. I counted 19 circling. Port Clinton bills itself as "the buzzard capital." Of what?Into town, over the tracks, past the famous Reading Railroad cars. Now I know where my Monopoly card comes from. The historic railroad that moved anthracite, the hardest coal around.Passed the 1200 mile mark!I stop in at the Port Clinton Hotel, they point me to the pay phone, which is more complicated than any pay phone I'd ever used, PLUS the touch tone signal was so weak my calling card worked only half the time. Oh well, such is life on the Trail. The bartender DID give a glass of milk for free though.I trudged on, dark now, to the wooden church pavilion where hikers were allowed to camp for free. I was afraid I would be too late and wake up hikers, but no. Bag o' Tricks, the unofficial pavilion angel, was holding forth with beer and welcome."I know you," I said. "I've seen you hanging around with Baltimore Jack at the Gathering and Trail Days.""Are you an ALDHA (Appalachian Long Distance Hikers Ass.) member?" he asked. "Aw man, an ALDHA sister? We take care of our ALDHA sisters! This may call for a pizza."He offered more beer, chips, vanilla pudding, even that pizza but this tired hiker was only good for pudding and one beer. Supper of champions.Notes was crashed asleep on a picnic table. His girlfriend Caroline was coming to Port Clinton tomorrow to hike the rest of the AT with him. By the light of one candle, thru-hiker Mike, me and Tricks discussed the Trail coming down into Port Clinton. I told Tricks I was glad we didn't have to go UP that." He laughed."I think that is one of the worst downs on the whole Trail." He assured me that the way out north was switch-backed.I didn't feel bad after the 23.5 miles last week to IronMasters Mansion hostel, but tonight I feel as if I had been bucked off a squirrely horse.Crash! The sound of a tired hiker falling into bed.My longest day yet. Almost 24 miles. That's all a body needs to do in one day.