Date: 2017-06-12
From: Stewart Hollow Brook Shelter, CT

To: Belters Campsite, CT
Miles today: 15.3

Today was a good day in so many respects. Technically, it started at midnight last night. I was still awake in my tent. When Butterfeet and I had arrived, I had spoken very briefly to my neighbor, who was 'cowboy camping' (meaning not bothering with any tent or hammock and just sleeping in his sleeping bag on a mattress in the open). I'd asked him how he could cope with all the prodigious swarms of mosquitoes, little black flies, moths, etc. and he said that had sprayed himself with a lot of insect repellent. That didn't sound too attractive to me - I always hate the idea of any ointments or lotions getting on my sleeping stuff. But each to his own. He was a bit gruff with me but I put that down to him wanting to sleep. However a few minutes later he was up and about cooking food. So here he was, at midnight, up and about again, putting up his tent. I felt vindicated. He was just a section hiker - really, what do those amateurs know? Plus, he snored. Loudly. Anyway, I made sure to make a lot of noise when I was getting going in the early morning, but he snored right through it all. Butterfeet and I were away by 7:32. He led the way. He needs a shower and a clothes laundering. He told me he is getting both in a couple of days. High time, emphasis on 'high'. But I digress. He pounded out a great pace, despite the hot weather. I had to make him stop a couple of times for a breather for me. We got to the road crossing I was aiming for by 9:26, which I thought was fantastic in that heat for 4.1 miles. He continued on, while I headed on the road to the little town of Cornwall Bridge, a mile away. Coyote, a Native American hiker with hawk feathers braided into his hair had been waiting for his pre-arranged ride to show up, but decided to go with me when he saw me heading off. We chatted about things Native American for a few minutes, and then his ride showed up and gave me a lift the rest of the way to the local post office. There, I collected my new Salomon boots. They feel so beautiful and clean and sleek on my feet - they are a whole size bigger than the 11s I normally wear. I then proceeded to (a) the hardware store (Gorilla glue); (b) the outfitters (propane gas canister and small compass); (c) the grocery store, Cornwall Country Market (food to eat on their porch and for resupply); and (e) the liquor store (where if you sign their hiker log book, they give you a beer - I asked for a Dr Pepper instead). The glue is to attach some Velcro strips to the back of my new boots that my gaiters can fix onto. At the grocery store, as usual I could only find 56.7% of what I wanted, but Christine came around from behind the counter several times to point me to the items I hadn't found. She's very patient. Hikers are stupid. I bought a giant jar of chocolate milk, a pound of American cheese, wheat thins, and two big bottles of Dr Pepper, all of which I consumed on the porch while my phone charged. Tolmann, another hiker of my age, was playing a hiker's guitar softly. We got talking. He was waiting for his phone to be shuttled to him from where he'd mislaid it further south. He was going to have to take a zero and stay in a motel - expensive mistake, forgetting his phone. Hikers are stupid. I also chatted to Brendan, an elderly first generation Irishman who was there with his wife and two grandchildren. He knows Ireland well and asked if I was from either of the towns of Thurles or Nenagh when I said I was from Tipperary. Then when I was putting some items in the recycle bin inside, I said to a fit-looking man of around 45 that he looked like a hiker and he said no, he was a cyclist. That set us up for a long chat about road bikes and relaxed geometry frames and other cycling arcana. He also knew Ireland well, especially Bantry, where a seafood company went bankrupt before he could collect through the courts the $1 million they owed him. He knew Eaglebrook and Choate, prep schools my kids went to in Massachusetts and Connecticut, respectively. He used to live on a Swedish island in the Baltic, so I was able to reminisce about swimming there as guests of the Schroders. So it was no wonder I killed a very pleasant three hours in that hamlet. I scored a lift back out to the trail. Then it was just carefully stomping out the miles in my new boots, drinking at virtually every stream I crossed and refilling a bottle to go, and taking occasional breaks to adjust my belt or put on a hat. At a larger brook, there was a bit of depth to the water, and I plunged in in my sweat-soaked sun shirt and shorts and lounged in the current for a few minutes. The water was surprisingly warm. Nobody came by. I enjoyed being cooler as I resumed the hike. I had several opportunities to stop for the day as I reached shelters and campsites, but each time I assessed how I felt and decided to keep going. Despite losing four hours to Cornwall Bridge and the 'swim', I still got 15 miles done when I arrived at a very well-ordered campsite in a fragrant stand of pine trees, with several areas clearly signposted and designated for tents, an open-air privy, a facility for washing dishes, and a spring very close by. I thought I had the whole thing to myself, but Stealth was already in residence higher up the hill. I pitched tent, ate, hung my food bags, and took a shower. The mosquitoes made the eating part quite unpleasant. As I type this out, I can hear them occasionally checking out my tent. They can test my defenses all they want. I'm secure in my castle. Oh and one big change. I decided that eating two Snickers bars last thing every night is unhealthy. So with resignation and no small amount of willpower, I will no longer do so. Instead, I'm substituting two Almond Joy* bars - way healthier, with all that coconut. Ah, yum!*For the Europeans - think Bounty bars. Tipperary