Date: 2017-07-01
From: Crystal Mountain campsite

To: Bascom Lodge
Miles today: 13.0
Weather: light rain

I don't know how long it rained, but as dawn came the trees continued to shake loose small torrents of raindrops, convincing my sluggish body to roll over and go back to sleep. Finally I was too awake to roll over again and looked at the clock - 5:30, imagine that.Taking down a wet tent is no more fun than putting it up. The forecast is calling for more thunderstorms later in the afternoon and evening. How much do I bother trying to dry out? I managed to keep the inner tent somewhat dry, but the rainfly and footprint hang from my pack in hopes they dry out. Putting on thoroughly wet clothes, socks, and shoes is as fun as it sounds. The shirt and shorts will eventually air out as I hike, but the socks and shoes stay wet all day thanks to endless mud and runoff on the trail.It's mostly downhill to Cheshire. The Cobbles is a marble overlook of the Hoosic valley and the town popular with dayhikers. I meet a number of weekend backpackers on their way up. I get to clean up a little and refuel at a convenience store in Cheshire before heading up Mt Greylock. Greylock is Massachusetts' highest peak at 3491 feet. That's about 2500 feet above the town. The climb takes a few hours. I pass a long train of boys from a camp out on an overnight trip. One asks me if the worst is behind them. They're maybe one-third up, but I try to be encouraging. I hope the storm holds off until they reach their campsite. The terrain is slippery and difficult enough for me. When I stop for a break, the mosquitos start to swarm me, trying to decide whether my fading coat of Picaridin should deter them.I pop in to the Mark Noepel Shelter to see if anyone I know stayed there. I have no idea where Predator, 4WD, or anyone else I'd hiked with recently have gone. There is just a ridgerunner and two weekenders there. It's 1:30 but they are already set up for the night to ride out the weather. I press on to the summit, three miles further.The summit of Greylock is capped with the state's war memorial. The AT goes right over it. There is no view, the cloud/fog has rolled in, but on a clear day you can see into NY, CT, VT, and NH. Next door is a lodge with bunks for hikers. The forecast is now calling for severe storms and it has already started drizzling. I decide to avoid the storm and guaranteed misery and cut my day short for the first time. I can make it up tomorrow in good weather. Bascom lodge serves all the tourists who drive to the summit with a cafe and lounge. The bunkroom is in the private second level. There's a weekend hiker taking a nap. I spread out all my wet stuff, take a shower, and get a late lunch.Thru-hikers Pluck and Wizard are eating on the porch. They started in Shenandoah and Harper's Ferry. They need to press on to meet people at the bottom, storm or no.I finally get a chance to call home. Everyone seems to be getting along well. The boys loved art camp. My daughter is away at camp and my oldest son is headed to scout camp for a week. We'll all reunite next weekend. I'm very much looking forward to giving them a big hug.Dinner is a formal affair at Bascom. Everyone eats in one sitting and it's gourmet fare - a scraggly hiker eating apricot-glazed sea bass on a summit in western Massachusetts is a dissonant image. The crowd is mostly tourists who will drive home tonight.I take an evening walk around the summit. The clouds have closed in and there seems to be nothing but this piece of earth. A plaque with a passage from Thoreau on his own visit captures the beauty of the moment perfectly. When I return the bunk room is full. 4WD has reappeared, along with Nemo and Volunteer, and I meet Grace Note, a perky woman in her sixties (so she claims) who's close to completing the trail in sections. There are some Danish girls fresh off the plane with stuffed suitcases. There's John, who is starting section hiking Massachusetts, one weekend at a time. Bill T is also here, reporting that the rest of the crew I'd been hiking with in NY and CT took a zero and is well behind. It comes up that he's lost 40 pounds since starting in Georgia (which by the way is four times the weight of his pack). After 1500 miles thru-hikers almost all look thin and hairy. It's easy to forget they didn't always look that way. I have no idea what I weigh anymore, but I feel like a hobo is looking back at me in the mirror. To trim or not to trim?