Date: 2005-08-06
From: Gifford Woods State Park

To: Appalachian Trail House / VT 12
Miles today: 20.5

Guest Journal Writer: Snowbunny   Last night Red Wing saddled up to the picnic table and casually offered, "Journal time, anyone want to write ours?"   My eyebrows raised and I said, "Yeah, I might be up for that."    We don't have a trail journal so this will be our (when I say our I mean Hairball and I) moment of fame. I'll count on Hopeful to edit any content that might not be suitable for children or those with heart conditions.   Per usual, Hopeful was up like a bolt of lightning this morning. Strange noises came from their tent; Red Wing was stirring. Hairball and I had some QCT (quality cuddle time) and emereged from our own abode, the luxurious Hubba Hubba tent.   We left Gifford Woods State Park by 7:45 AM and crossed Rt. 100. We passed Kent Pond, already sporting sevearl boisterous fishermen. My new sneakers felt good, which was a relief. As much as we're constantly coveting new gear, it's always nerve wracking trading in the old reliables for something new and shiny that could rub, chafe, cramp or cause any number of discomforts, despite the new gear's luster.   Hopeful and Red Wing caught up to us just in time for the morning's first climb. Red Wing entertained us with an old camp song, "I'm changing" and we conquered the hill despite our burning lungs.   A southbounder strongly recommended "The Barn" off Rt. 12, four miles past our original destination. Red Wing and Hopeful agreed because it was a 19.9 and didn't break their "no 20-milers" rule.   The four of us walked most of the day together. We had lunch at "The Look-Out", a private cabin with a rickety observation deck on the roof. What an excellent view! We saw most of Killington's slopes and bluish bumps in the distance that must be largish mountains but we have no idea which ones. Hiking the AT doesn't require a very keen sense of direction.   Hairball and I were enjoying some rehydrated hummus and pita when a little boy marched up the trail to us.    "How's it going?" we asked.    He replied, "OK", but didn't seem to know what to do with himself. He quickly broke down and admitted to being lost. His name was Jesse and he was seven years old, wandering the mountain alone. I quickly realized that he was looking to us for a solution--the grown-ups. Oh yeah, I'm a grown-up, sometimes I relate more to the lost, sobbing kid than to the search party. Only a few days before Hairball and I found ourselves in a similar state on top of Bromley Mountain in the fog. Red Wing and Hopeful took Jesse back to the trail to search for his parents, while we packed up. We left a few minutes later and within a mile of the Look-Out, two southbounders passed on the message that Jesse had safely been returned to his parents, and Red Wing and Hopeful were on their way to the barn. The Trail has quite a communication system. I'd love to play telephone and send a message south, then have it written in the register of Springer Mountain, GA, to see how much it had changed.    Here we are at the barn, thanks to Dan Quinn's marvelous hospitality. We're tenting in the backyard after a hot shower under Dan's porch, some gourmet Kraft Mac & Cheese and some chit chat with Woodrose, Muleskinner, Red Wing, Hopeful, DA and some SOBO's who drifted in late. Bella (Woodrose and Muleskinner's yellow lab) cleaned my pot for me tonight. I wonder how many calories dog slobber has, we'll see tomorrow night.