Date: 2008-09-09
From: Grafton Notch

To: Andover Guest House
Miles today: 10.3
Weather: light rain

Slept in. The breakfast was fantastic, fresh fruit and blueberry muffins, yogurt, cereal, coffee, juice, omelets with home fries. We were just beginning to sort through the food Ularu had brought for us when it began to drizzle. By the time he drove us back to the trail, it was pouring, a cold, terrible rain. Thought about going back to town, but we forced ourselves out into the rain. I discovered I¢d left my water bottle in the car, so I was stuck with my backup, a half liter bottle with no carabiner. Not that I was drinking much, anyhow, as it was so miserably cold and wet, my cloak pulled tight around me, the rain stil driving into my face, my feet heavy, completely saturated, slipping on the mud-clogged trail. Terrorized by the rain, Slayer and I ducked in to the first shelter we came to to get dry for a little while. It was thundering, with great flashes of lighting illuminating the day¢s drab grey. There was a section hiker hanging out in the shelter, hiding from the rain as well. We ate some lunch, put on all the dry clothing we had because it was so bloody cold. Snackies hiked in, bottle in hand, jovial as always, and got us convinced to hike on to the Andover road crossing and hitch in to town. The prospect of being dry, sleeping in a warm bed, renewed my resolve, and, stripping back down to my dress, I set off into the rain once more. The trail began to get steeper, and I couldn¢t keep my rain cape wrapped around me and climb, so I resigned myself to getting soaked. The trail came to a bit of a plateau, breaking treeline . I was struggling to keep my cape wrapped around me as the rain relentlessly beat down. Lee was hiking along with me. Miserable cold, wind knocking into my knees, causing me to stumble, pulling myself up the dome of Baldpate slowly, sometimes on my hands and knees, the sheer, steep rockface made dangerous by its slickness and the ferocity of the wind. Almost frantic, scanning the bare rock for the next cairn finally reaching the wind-lashed summit. Shivering, afraid of hypothermia, I hurried across the mountain¢s humped crest and began the treacherous descent. Slayer caught up with me as I was struggling for footholds, afraid of slipping. If I had, there was nothing to stop the fall for a long time. We picked our way down together, slowly, over tall boulders, holding on to trees and lowering ourselves carefully. Finally reached the lean-to, where Oats and Hare were huddled in their sleeping bags, taking a long break. We had a quick snack, then began hiking again, as it was too cold to stop for long. It began to pour rain again, although the hiking was easier, the trail running through beech groves, wet leaves falling yellow on the slick mud. Came to a rushing waterfall, a crevice carved out of a sheer cliff, the water seething, swollen with rain, plunging into the pool far below, down through twisted channels in the riverbed. The trail forded the river just above the cataract, then began to climb a pine-clad hill, ground littered with rusty needles. I was pushing myself, wanting to reach the road, wanting to be warm. I finally got there, only to realize how remote it was, not a car in sight. Slayer finally caught up with me again, and she began walking up and down the road trying to get a cell signal so that we could call the hostel. A car finally drove into sight, and I flagged it down. Nice old man who happily drove us into Andover and dropped us at the Pine Ellis Lodge. The hostel was full, but the owner gave us some hot cocoa before sending us on our way. We walked the few blocks over to the Andover Guest House, where Hare had already gotten a room to share with us. Grateful to finally be in a dry place. We did the usual round up of laundry, took an exquisite hot shower, raided the hiker box for food. The place was packed: Just Mike and Gonzo, Scatter, Architect, Clause and Lee, the Jersey Girls, among others. There was a convenience store across the street, and we got beer and huge sub sandwiches for dinner. There was a bluegrass band staying at the hostel that night, and they sat on the porch and played long into the night. With my beer and a blanket, I settled in to a comfortable armchair and enjoyed the music, watching the sun go down in muted pinks and greys, the stars slowly appearing to a soundtrack of banjos and mandolins. A perfect night.