Date: 2017-06-25
From: RPH shelter

To: Wiley shelter
Miles today: 25.6

Last night we were serenaded by coyotes. It sounds like someone screaming. Very disconcerting. I'm the first up in tent city and on the trail a little after 7 after a tuna breakfast. Most here are gunning for a 30 mile day but I am content to see how it goes. My pace is slower than many of them.The trail is mostly dirt with rolling hills and some swampy areas, mainly later in the day. This is the Taconic region. Feels like we left NY and its ledges behind at the Hudson, but Connecticut is still a day away. We run into a trail volunteer refreshing the white blazes. He notes all the weed whacking they have to do. I don't appreciate this until the Pawling Preserve late in the day where they don't believe in keeping the trail clear. There the swampy, muggy terrain is made more unpleasant by all the leggy vines and shrubs impinging on the trail. I wish I had a machete.We are still in deli country and sure enough there is one at mid morning. The mile round trip off-trail is worth it. I walk back to the trail with a mom named Minnie Mouse. She is going slow and I later learn she left the trail today. Hopefully she will recover soon. The afternoon is uneventful until a freak shower wets everything, including the rocks and ledges I need to climb down. This slows me down, but the sun comes out quickly and all is soon dry. I pass directly by the Appalachian Trail train station. It runs only on weekends but gets you to Grand Central. Trailer Steve is in the lot tailgating with his two big dogs and hands me a soda and a bologna sandwich. He's waiting for his thruhiker wife Maggie Simpson. He's been supporting her at road crossings since Georgia. I gratefully accept the unexpected treat. But what I've really been looking forward to is the outdoor shower at hiker-friendly Native Landscapes nursery next door. While I'm cooling off there, Chili, Ounce, and Buzz pop in. I thought these 30-milers were way ahead but they were napping in a shelter while I was walking in the rain.Finally it's time to press on to the next shelter for tonight. I go over stiles and through a dairy farm, dodging large cowpies. Then past hay fields with beautiful views. Then through the miserable Pawling preserve, slipping on wet boards over the swampy ground and dodging vines. I pass the Dover Oak by a roadside. It takes three or four men to encircle it and is older than the pharaohs. Maybe, I don't know. It's old. You can look it up.Three miles before the shelter I encounter true trail magic. They say the trail provides to those in need, and I've heard firsthand accounts of thruhikers finding a fuel canister just when they needed it, or rock plates for their shoes in just their size sitting in a random shelter, or hikers suddenly appearing to share their water when someone is desperately low. But you only half believe these stories. Well, for the last week I've not carried a sleeping bag. I left it home and took only a liner because I thought it would be plenty warm for  summer and save weight. Boy was I wrong. The liner leaves me shivering at 60 degrees, even with most of my layers on. It frequently drops to 60 overnight. Tonight and for the next few nights it's forecast to drop further into the low 50s and I've been trying to figure out how to manage until I can get more layers or a summer bag in a town. So what do I find draped over a log in the middle of nowhere, right next to the trail? A Coleman sleeping bag. I call out but no one is around. There is no campsite for miles. It looks like it has been there a few days. Someone must have set it to dry and then forgotten it when they moved on. It's a cheap and heavy model, for car camping only and likely not missed by its owner. I manage to stuff it in my pack. I can see if the owner is at the next shelter. If not, it solves my dilemma of how to stay warm. Why I should happen to stumble on a rare find like this now has no easy explanation. That's true trail magic.I reach Wiley shelter after 26 miles. It's past 7 and I'm staying put. Chili, Ounce, Buzz, and Bulletproof (named for her indestructible bear bag) are there to hear my trail magic story but then plunge into the evening for the next shelter.Several weekend hikers make a fire. Chef shows up. I make plans for a hostel in a couple days. Into the tent again to keep the bugs away and retain a few extra degrees of warmth.