morvasaaty/AppalachianTrail-LD-Hikers-Blogs-and-Weather-20-years huggingface dataset:
Date: 2004-08-07
From: High Point Shelter

To: St.Thomas Episcopal Church,Vernon, NJ
Miles today: 18.9

It was a beautiful day today and wonderful walking--we came through some gorgeous sections of trail, a wildlife reserve, which was all low wetlands, miles of trail on bog bridges, and a wonderful section of bridges through a swamp filled with cattails. It doesn't sound beautiful, but it was. It was a beautiful sunny day, too. I still had some conflict, though--we passed a town, Unionville, four tenths of a mile off the trail, and I wanted to stop for lunch and County didn't. So we didn't--we cooked ramen at a water source instead--but I wasn't happy about it, even though it did mean we got more miles in today, probably, and that we were able to get to the church hostel tonight. As always, it's tough making decisions with another person. It's especially tough for me when I know I could be stopping at these places if I were alone, and when County walks ahead of me, as usual, and when he can rule out an option by just walking past it. I know I need to be less upset by things out here, especially things pertaining to food. But it's really hard to walk past town when you're starving. I try to let it go, but I'm not always able to. One thing I'm learning out here is that I think men and women's bodies respond differently to food. Men need food as fuel, to keep moving, but women need food for fat, to preseve life in their bodies. Maybe it's not true, maybe it's just me as opposed to all women, but it definitely does seem that there's a different physical response to food. But we made it, in record time, and tonight we're at the church with Scorch, Tex, and Oatmeal Start, the first female southbounder I've met. It's a cool hostel, just a church basement, but they have internet, laundry, and showers. Plus, after all that, we're going out to a pizza restaurant for dinner. So all's well that ends well, I suppose.
Date: 2004-08-10
From: Campsite past NY state thru-way overpass

To: Campsite near Beechy Bottom Road
Miles today: 12.1

Yet another late start today. Freebird walked by and found us breaking camp again. We climbed Island Pond Mountain, where we meant to get yesterday, and found the pond, which, was beautiful. I can see why Flare told us to camp there. Freebird stopped to swim and we went on to the Lemon Squeezer, a relatively famous part of the trail, which is basically rock climbing. Flare had told us it was nothing, that we'd go through stuff like that every day in the Whites, but it was brutal. I suppose it wasn't even that bad, but in one place the trail went right up the side of this unclimbable boulder. I suppose it wasn't unclimbable, since County hopped right up it, but I couldn't get up it to save my life. I tried again and again, and nearly killed myself falling off the side of the thing, and finally gave up. There was a faded white blaze on a trail off to the side, around the rock, but a brand new blaze painted smack dab on the middle of the thing. And it was like, especially after yesterday, that all my determination, all my purpose, everything was focused on that white blaze on that rock, and that if I couldn't climb that rock my whole thru-hike was pointless, that if I went around, I might as well just quit. But I eventually went around. And spent miles in a funk. The whole trail just seems so pointless. Why even bother if I can't climb a stupid rock? And what's the point if that's how the Whites are? I might as well blue blaze, yellow blaze, who the heck cares. My will has been broken. I don't care anymore. And maybe that's what the trail is supposed to do. Who knows. I don't care. I'll still get to Katahdin, but I don't know how. We ran into Nopain at the second shelter, and he's blue blazing around Bear Mountain tonight, to get to town--I thought about going with him. But we held out, at least for another day. We're camped tonight near a spring, after a very short twelve miles. The bugs are horrendous.
Date: 2004-08-11
From: Campsite near Beechy Bottom Road

To: Graymoor Friary
Miles today: 12.5

We actually woke up early this morning at around eight-thirty and got to Bear Mountain around ten-thirty, clambering up rocks in the mist. The climb wasn't bad, for the legendary Bear Mountain. I kept having Bob Dylans' song Bear Montain Picnic Massacre Blues going through my head. What's also cool, after I talked to my Mom later today, I found out that she and her family used to hang out here when she was a kid. She grew up in New Jersey, and they would come up to hike or picnic at the lake. When my Dad first came to New Jersey to meet her parents, she took him out to hike the mountain. Very romantic. Coming down the mountain was even easier--the trail was about as wide as a two lane highway. You can always tell which trails we overused--they're completely eroded dirt traps with loose softball sized rocks. Even on a Wednesday, there were a ton of people out hiking, including a group of six year old kids, whose leader was making them carry, in teams of two, a twenty gallon Igloo jug up the mountain. You wonder about some of these groups. At the bottom of the hill we came to a lake, where even more kids, boatloads of them, mainly from New York City, were picnicking and doing crafts. A nice getaway, I suppose, even if it is morbid torture for the thru-hikers walking by, seeing vast quantities of food prepared and consumed. Especially where, as we discovered, the snack bar charges four dollars and seventy-five cents for a burger out of a drawer. We were motivated to keep going, though, knowing that the Friary served dinner to those who were there by four-thirty. So we traipsed through the Trailside Museum, a zoo that the trail goes right through. A little depressing, as everyone points out, to see animals caged when accustomed to seeing them in the wild. But maybe a   worthwhile contrast. The Walt Whitman statue is the coolest part by far, has "long Brown Path" an inspiration to all thru-hikers. And then the Hudson River, on the one portion of trail that parallels the lake trip I took two years ago, then straight up another mountain, comming from the lowest elevation on the trail. On top of the mountain a storm that had been threatening all day hit. We were on an exposed ridge, and the storm was the heaviest I've ever been in--the rain was so thick we couldn't see the trail in front of us, water collected on the trail until we were sloshing through a river about six inches deep, our shoes completely soaked. It wasn't even worth it to avoid the puddles. The thunder was directly over us, thundering and echoing from both sides of the Hudson River valley, and it felt like there were ten lightning strikes per second, some right behind or before us. Coming across the exposed stone it felt like something out of mythology, like we had angered Thor and he was tossing thunderbolts in our direction. But we made it to the Friary, safe and in time for a delicious pasta dinner.
Date: 2004-08-13
From: Graymoor Friary

To: RPH shelter
Miles today: 18.9
Weather: light rain

We zeroed yesterday at the Friary--we woke up to pouring rain that didn't clear until late afternoon. Nopain was there with us, listening to his weather radio and telling us that two hurricanes were going to converge that night. After being caught in the rain, and with the promise of a second dinner we decided to stay. Not good at all for our getting to Hanover plan, but it was nice to hang out all day and get a chance to catch up on some phone calls. And the second dinner was luscious. But we determined to set out this morning, rain or shine, and the weather was much better today. So we did a relatively big mile day to RPH, another of the legendary shelters from which you can order pizza. Nopain's here with us again tonight, and we ordered a delicious NY-style large pizza per person. Life is good.
Date: 2004-08-14
From: RPH shelter

To: Telephone Pioneers Shelter
Miles today: 16.6
Weather: broken clouds

A good day, especially considering that we had to hitch into Stormville, NY, to pick up my mail drop. It was almost five miles there, an easy walk. The rocks have been far better now that we've passed Bear Mountain. The excruciating up and down knolls are no longer, meaning that we really can hike fairly fast. So we got to the road relatively quickly and got a hitch almost immediately. It was one of those great hitches, too, one that drives you there and back. The guy was just going straight to the post office, lucky for us. So he offered a ride back too, and even gave us a ride to the deli, point two miles down the opposite direction, " where all the hikers hang out." We apologized for stinking up his car and he said, " It's okay, it'll air out." Funny how no one even tries to be polite by telling us we don't stink. We hung out with Nopain and some southbounders at the deli, bought Gatorade to go with our leftover pizza and finally took off. For some reason I decided that I wanted to see if I could keep up with County today, so I raced behind him at a near four mile per hour clip, or what felt like it. The problem with trying to keep up with him is that he speeds up over the difficult bits, rocky sections or steep uphills and downhills, where any normal person would slow down. So I have to run on the flat to catch up the distance he's made. I managed to keep up for just five miles before he disappeared. It was fun for a little while. And now at least he can't complain about me not keeping up with him--if he does I can just say I have to run to keep up, and know it's true. We're here with Nopain again tonight. We built a fire, and have full stomachs thanks to a lovely mail drop.
Date: 2004-08-15
From: Telephone Pioneers Shelter

To: Mount Algo Lean-To
Miles today: 21.4

Another absolutely brutal day. I don't know why I have such a hard time with twenty mile days. I hate them, though. Every single one of them. And they feed on each other. Each one makes me more scared of the next one. And it's not really the hiking that's the problem. It's my own ridiculous, mind game that I play, where instead of thinking about the hiking I think about how much I suck at hiking, my inadequacies, how much worse I am than County or anyone else, how I'm never going to finish, how slow we're going. It's a vicious, inescapable circle, and you can't stop because you can't stop walking. The day started out well enough--it was a beautiful day for walking. We went by the Appalachian Trail Station, a train station just for the AT, that goes from Grand Central Station in NYC to the trail. It only runs on weekends, so we ran into a lot of day hikers, out for the weekend. We also crossed the NY-CT border and I got my requisite photograph. The terrain was pretty easy, so I should have been moving faster than I was, I suppose. It didn't help that County was in a foul mood, or that I got stuck behind one of those Sunday day hikers who had a ton of questions about thru-hikers.We went through Schaghticoke Indian Reservation, the only reservation the trail traverses. There are seventeen surviving members of the tribe, who are applying for national status so they can build a casino along the trail. Bad for the ambiance, perhaps, but I was halfway wishing there was an AYCE casino buffet along the trail tonight. Anyway, we ended up with five miles to go to the shelter at six PM. Doable, definitely, but the dark comes earlier and earlier. I was hurrying to beat the dark, came to a rocky patch, and had another of my bad falls. This time, falling, I hit the ground and burst into tears. I wasn't hurt at all--I've learned to take a fall really well over five months--just exhausted and humiliated and fed up. County was too far ahead to hear me, so I just sat and cried for awhile, like my heart would break, in the middle of the trail. Just Wandering, an 'O1 thru-hiker, told me back in the Smokies that this would happen. "Ya find people broken, crying in the middle of the trail in Connecticut," he said. "And you pass them and hope it's not you in a mile." So I suppose that prophecy came true.I eventually pulled myself together and moved on, but not before County had stopped long enough to worry about me and started back to check on me. And not before dusk had set in. By that time I was spooked--I hate rocks on the best of occasions, and after falling, I get scared of them and slow my pace to a snail's crawl. I fell three more times on the rocks before we pulled into the shelter at eleven, a magnificent mile per hour pace. We were as quiet as possible, trying not to wake the others in the shelter, but a southbounder still woke up, intensely annoyed at us. Bed feels good tonight. But I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. Isn't this suppose to be fun? Or is it?
Date: 2004-08-19
From: Hartford, CT

To: Pine Swamp Lean-To 
Miles today: 1.1

We're at the shelter tonight that we were intending to stay at three nights ago--we ended up taking two zeroes at Wade's and he drove us back today after work. They were good days, though--we cooked dinner two nights in a row, went grocery shopping, went to Walmart where we bought some very necessary trail purchases, including shorts for me, to solve my chafe problem and a six dollar watch with an alarm so we can start waking up in the morning. Those two trips alone, on the first day, took us five hours--County was so intimidated by the cars on the road and we were both so overwhelmed by all the choices in your average American retail outlet. I had a splitting headache when we got back, Wade was worried we had an accident we were gone so long. But our laundry's clean and we are full participants in consumer culture again--and we're back on the trail, if only for a mile today. It was a steep climb back up from the road and at the top was a little unimpressive vista with a rock, but after three days in civilization it felt like utmost wilderness. We sat and watched the sunset and felt utterly alone, even though we were a mile from a country road whose traffic we could still hear and a hiker could walk by anytime. Still. It's great to be back. We got to the lean-to after dark. Another northbounder we didn't know (of course) was there, as well as a father and son team of section hikers. We didn't feel like dealing with the vagaries of other hikers so we pitched and ate leftover town food mainly a whole loaf of bread. I feel increasingly caught between two worlds--not really in step with hiker culture but not excited about civilization either. I just want to be alone in the wilderness, without the pressure of a deadline. Even thru-hiking seems too schedule-driven. I need to build a cabin, like Thoreau. "In wildness is the salvation of the world," he wrote. But is this really wildness? What is wildness? How can I find it? The AT has plans, schedules, maps, mileage, altogether too much structure. Wasn't that what I was trying to escape?
Date: 2004-08-20
From: Pine Swamp Lean-To 

To: Campsite at Rand's View
Miles today: 12.4

I'm having serious problems with motivation. We both are. We dawdled all day today. Maybe dawdling is our new plan. We stopped at a vista for about an hour, where you could see a racetrack below and watched the races, as southbounders who bragged about their twenty mile a day averages passed us by. We dawdled by a beautiful river, the Housatonic, where the father and son from last night and teenage girls were swimming. We thought about going into town--there were two less than a half mile off the trail today--and finally decided to, after walking two miles past one and getting a ride back. It didn't hurt that we got caught in a sudden storm. We sat on a bench in front of the package store--the town's one place of commerce, evidently--and debated our options. We could call Wade and see if he wanted to come pick us up. We could get food somewhere. We could hike. Or we could call County's Mom and quit the trail. It's the closest I've come to that being a legitimate option. It's not, of course, still, and we didn't take it that seriously. But it was tempting, out of sheer laziness. Or something. Ennui, perhaps. The best way to describe it is lack of motivation. But we got burgers at the joint across the street, a posh-looking B&B that ended up having not too expensive bar food. And then a nice guy, a kayaker, gave us a ride back up to the trail after dark. He told us it was only a ten minute walk up to the next lean-to, and it was, but we missed the sign in the dark and ended up hiking an extra mile straight up the mountain in the dark. It was steep and rocky and I fell as badly as I've fallen, bruising and scraping myself up. We ended up camping in a forbidden spot, which we didn't know until after we had pitched. And I ain't moving. Maybe the motivation will return tomorrow. Or maybe not.
Date: 2004-08-21
From: Campsite at Rand's View

To: Campsite past Lower Cobble Road
Miles today: 3.4

Yet another big mile day. So much for the motivation. I woke up this morning to pouring rain, so didn't get out of my sleeping bag, despite the illegal camping spot and the lack of water. And as it kept raining all day I kept never getting up. So we collected rainwater, slept, cooked, slept some more until finally, the rain started to clear in the late afternoon. We watched the gorgeous sunset over Rand's View and started hiking. An all-time latest start. We thought we could at least do the three miles into Salisbury and camp by the road, where water would be easily accessible. We walked the three miles in the dark--our third night in a row of night-hiking--and got into town at ten, right before the kitchen of the only restaurant in town closed. We bought some overpriced quesadillas and watched the Olympics. Two other northbounders we hadn't met were there: Goofy and Terrapin. We eventually left, and found a lovely campsite in the pines just past the road. We could even hear the church bells.
Date: 2004-08-22
From: Campsite past Lower Cobble Rd.

To: Hemlocks Lean-To
Miles today: 14.0

We hiked a fair amount today, considering our continuing lack of motivation. It's an adjustment, too, hiking with a watch, actually knowing how fast you're going, and what time it is. Some absolutely beautiful scenery today, too--we climbed a second Bear Mountain, the highest point in Connecticut, which was a lovely climb with brush and rocky outcroppings and gorgeous vistas. Who knew Connecticut would be so beautiful? There were a ton of people out today, too, for a Sunday walk. We didn't stop on top of Bear Mountain, because of the throngs, but kept going, staight down the steep and rocky north side of the mountain. We ended up by this gorgeous river, which we walked along for several miles, surrounded on both sides by pine forest. The river eventually turned into falls and narrowed at the place we had to cross it. Because of all the rain lately it was very high and most of the stepping stones were covered, so we had to ford it--our first real river fording! It was fun, because it was a warm, dry day, and I didn't mind getting my feet wet. The socks were a bit soggy for awhile, but we agreed that this was the best introduction to a state ever. And only four left to go! Massachusetts has been beautiful so far--all afternoon was beautiful rivers, pine forests, and vistas.We climbed Race Mountain, an extended brush and rock covered ridge with vistas on both sides for a mile or two, and sheer drop-offs on both sides. The vistas are more spectacular than anything we've seen in a while--it's nice to feel back in the true mountains, or at least like we're heading into them. We decided to stop on top of the mountain, dry out our socks, and cook a late lunch--Goofy, Terrapin, and their gang passed us--we're camping with them tonight. We also ran into some cool Connecticut ridgerunners--Leprechaun and SteveO--who promised to take us to breakfast in the morning from the Guilder Pond access road. Breakfast--what could be better? Leprechaun's an AT thru-hiker and he hiked the PCT last year, so we can pick his brain about that. He's planning a five-thousand-mile canoe trip for next summer, from northern Canada near Greenland on down. I'm envious. Being a ridge runner seems like a great job--they get paid to hike and take naps by mountains and near waterfalls. Not very well, but that's beside the point.
Date: 2004-08-25
From: Mt. Wilcox South Lean-To

To: Upper Goose Pond Cabin
Miles today: 15.8
Weather: overcast clouds

We woke up again extremely late this morning. The peril of pitching at a shelter. Rocks, a fellow late starter, had already left. In keeping with our new modus operandi, though, we remained calm, ate breakfast, had a lovely walk. The bugs continue to be atrocious. Even in open fields it feels like a horror movie called "Mosquitoes", where the sentient insects drain their unwitting victims of blood. It makes it hard to take breaks. We found a nice spot for a lunch break, though, in a relatively mosquito-free spot, a field filled with flowers. I wish I knew the names of all the wildflowers. I wish I knew the names of everything I see and could describe them better. Every day has a different character, the light a different texture, and there's a moment that I remember perfectly but seem unable to put into words. Today it was coming down Tyringham Mountain into a stream--the air felt wet and green, the ground muddy and rich and the trail curved back away from the view up Tyringham Cobble, a hill separated from the mountain during the ice age. The maples were wired with syrup-collecting devices that looked like the old moonshine stills we saw in the South, and at the top of the hill we burst into a sunfilled field, gently rolling, filled with flowers and weeds with the humble green mountains opened before us. There we rested, on the flat rocks beneath the weeds, and then descended to the road, where we crossed and passed a gushing piped spring feeding into an algae-lined cattle trough, and from there more swamps equipped with bog bridges running alongside fields mowed by farmers, where we could see the mountains from tree cover. Every day has moments like that. Or the place where we sat on a stone wall in a boggy pine forest. Or any one of a number of moments impossible to put into words. I keep trying. I hope I can remember them, even if I can't describe them. Wordsworth's "inner eye." It's good to practice, I suppose I feel egotistical making a vain attempt to describe scenes everyday that so many have seen and attempted to describe in a journal so few will read. But I must continue the attempt, who knows why. We ended up at a spring three miles from Upper Goose Pond as dark was falling and we're undecided whether to stay or press on to the cabin. This is my least favorite moment of every day, deciding when to stop. I hate it. I always feel like we should do more miles, but I always want to stop, and I want to avoid walking at dark. Stopping feels like a failure, but continuing on is miserable. But we continue on today. I thought we could get to the cabin before dark, forgetting that it was a half-mile off the trail. We ended up doing about the last mile with headlamps. It wasn't so bad--a little rocky. We got in before nine, but all the other hikers were already asleep. The caretakers were awake and let us use the stove to make rice and lentils for dinner. It's a beautiful place, right on the lake, and it's a little chilly tonight so it's nice to be in a cabin with doors. And they make pancakes and coffee in the morning.