Date: 2009-08-23
From: Kay Wood Lean To

To: Mark Noepel Lean To
Miles today: 16.7

I had a short walk into Dalton this morning, but it was a much needed one as by now my food supplies while not quite exhausted were so depleted as to make little or no difference.I headed straight for 'Cumberland Farms', a gas station and convenience store, where I wasted little time in procuring my by now usual tub of ice-cream, bottle of cranberry-grape fruit juice and an accompanying Milky Way bar.I settled down outside the store like the vagrant I surely resembled. Plopping down on my pack with various bits and bobs scattered (hopefully not too untidily or too unthoughtfully) around me. I don't really like doing this but see little option and console myself with the thought that it is unlikely to be an unusual sight in this particular trail town.A lady came up and spoke to me about my hike. She looked down at my feet and asked, with the barely disguised doubt of the unbelieving, whether I hiked in my sandals. Only people who disapprove, and are sure that you are wrong, ask. They are not bad people (this lady was very nice); just blinkered, set in their ways and convinced of their own judgement. They don't want to here about how great hiking in sandals might be, they just want you to hang your head in shame and admit your inadequacy. I have given up trying to promote sandal wearing. I now just say that I have both sandals and trail shoes, that they are both OK but that neither is perfect, that so far I have worn sandals for around 600 of the 1600 miles and then I just suggest that they might try it and see if it works for them. But today going through my little speech I stumbled on a new truth, a truth that had so far had escaped me, namely, that personally I find hiking in sandals more agreeable when conditions are damp but that I prefer my trail shoes when everything is nice and dry.Like many she seemed dubious, trotting out the 'I couldn't do that' line. Of course, when asked if they have ever tried hiking in sandals, the answer is 'no'. So it's not so much a case of 'I couldn't do that' but 'I don't think I could do that' and 'I'm not even going to try to do it' and, in fact, you are wrong for even suggesting I could do it. As I said nice people but frustratingly close minded none the less.I want to speak about the footwear I have seen on porters and Sherpas in the Andes, Tanzania and Nepal. I want to speak about the truly important pieces of kit, like knowledge and experience. I want to laugh at the folly (but undoubted success) of the marketing man and his promise of being able to buy ability, comfort and success with nothing more than a credit card. I want to, but instead I nod and smile (or at least I try to).Anyway, back on my sandalled feet I continued in generally murky conditions towards the town of Cheshire, a mere 9 miles further North. I remembered fine views over the town and across to Mt Greylock in 2003 but despite dawdling the clouds were not to lift, part or anything else that might have allowed me even the merest glimpse of the delights I remembered. Instead I saw mist and instead headed straight down to town, pausing briefly by the cheese monument before reprising my role as vagrant beneath the eves of another small town gas station.2,500 vertical feet of ascent lay between me and tonight's destination high on the slopes of Greylock but they proved far from quiet as I passed hiker after hiker heading south, or more specifically hiker after hiker slackpacking back towards Dalton. Round these parts it seems that people do not so much hike their own hike as hike the same hike as everybody else. It is possible that all these hikers independently chose to slackpack but then again it could be a combination of group think (the sheep effect); a persuasive and accommodating hostel provider; and hikers own innate but surprising preference for towns rather than woods. It seemed around 90% of 'North Bounders' had decided to hike Greylock south and while it made for a busy trail it did have the advantage of allowing me to stumbled across both Ramble On and Firefly as they headed in the opposite direction.It also made for a nice quiet shelter. Just 4 of us here tonight. Jim and his son who were out from Boston on a 40 mile hike and then one other North Bounder sauntered in. No common or garden north bounder though but none other than Fletch.I had last seen Fletch way back at Fontana Dam and even then I think it's fair to say that he had started to acquire a certain reputation amongst the class of 2009. Back then I didn't give him much chance of getting too much farther. Perhaps unfairly I thought that once people stopped paying attention his desire to make miles would wither and die. I was wrong and I was pleasantly surprised to find him to be a courteous and considerate young man. He has certainly done it his way (evidenced by his single minded decision not to slackpack out of Dalton) and he still spoke of his near legendary heavy pack, but it didn't look too bulky to me and when quizzed he admitted that it was down to nearer 45 pounds (heavy but manageable) and that his 70 pound days were behind him.I'm not convinced by trail legends - either self proclaimed or proclaimed by common consent - and so I don't proscribe to the idea of Fletch as a legend. He is though undoubtedly a character (a well known and much talked about character) and good company to boot. I was glad to have this opportunity to speak to him a little and to no longer have to be guided solely by his reputation.