Date: 2003-06-25
From: Sunrise Mt

To: View Entry
Miles today: 15.6

Well, it felt like 20 miles...Turned out Sunrise Pavilion was the local party spot. Noisy high school kids starting spilling in about 11 pm. Our mountain top Shangrila invaded! The din grew, and I stuffed my earplugs in, returning to the land of cool breezes and silent stars. When the party youth finally left, one lad offered Itchy his leftover six-pack, which Itchy accepted graciously despite the ungodly hour.So, no wonder I am sleepy today. That and the fact we were packed and walking by 5:45 am, well before sunrise. I hobbled my morning hobble - the NJ rocks were rough yesterday - down the Trail and found Walking Man and friends on a fantastic rock jutting out into space, over the cliffs. I stood with them and watched yesterday's orange ball return to the sky, in a different place. It was just as compelling as last night, inducing a reverent hush in the crowd. Walking Man promised pastries from Worthington Bakery, and sent his brother down the mountain with money. Alas, the Bakery was not open until 8 am today. No sticky buns for these hikers! We three - me, Itchy and B-Roc - walked down to Mashipacong shelter, fighting the mosquitos, where Trail magician Desperado had left water in this waterless stretch. He also left bagels and a pound of cream cheese, of which we partook liberally. Thanks!We also see that Commander in Chief is about half a day ahead of us. She was planing to zero at Kent, CT with friends so we will catch her next week, if not before.We are crawling up the next, hot, rocky hill, fighting more mosquitos, when all of a sudden, up trots our AT runner Buckeye. "Still hobbling!" he teases me.He's back, fresh from his 100 mile race. He finished 25th overall and completed it. He's lost a little weight. He had 35 miles planned today, to Vernon, NJ.He'll summit by July 26, he figures.Total time: 87 days. I tell him about Walking Man and my friend Trooper; both did it in about 90 days. "With packs?" he says, impressed. At Hywy 32, High Point State Park, we pass a phone, so I collect my pocketmail. My friend David sends me a funny note: "99,290.. Your journal today (23 June) shows that many visits. The counter will roll over to zero after 710 more visits because it can count to only 99,999. If each of your visitors walked a mere .022 miles (116 feet, or about 40 steps) to their computer to visit your journal, they will have (together) walked the entire length of the Appalachian Trail.If the same ratio of reported nekked hiking existed amongst those 99,290trekkers, as the number of people mentioned in your 21 June entry, 25%,24,822 visits were nude visits! I cannot tell their ages, however."Ha! Thanks, David, for a chuckle. At the High Point park office, guess who is waiting for us? Walking Man, as good as his word!He actually went to Worthington Bakery again, and bought us the pastries we missed yesterday when it was closed. "These jelly rolls are FRIED," he tells us proudly. "The old-fashioned way." They must have been 1,000 calories apiece, with raspberry jelly. SERIOUS hiking fuel. I could never eat one of these guilt-free at home. They tasted incredible. Mmmmm...He also brought us some famous Worthington sticky buns and, though we tried valiantly, we could not eat them all. We shared with Mud, a latecoming hiker. "You have to chortle," we informed him. "It's required."We've gone from a chilly 50-degree spring right into 90-degree summer, without transition. We are sluggish in this hot weather, and try to do the bulk of our miles early. It is painful for me, getting up a the crack o'dawn, but worth it.And in summer the pack heats up the back like an electric pad. That's what makes backpacking such a cold weather pleasure - the pack warms the kidneys. In summer, it cooks them.Still all together, we pause at a observation platform baking in the sun. Of course, we shuck our sticky packs and go up it to look at New Jersey's high point, upon which they have installed an even-higher Washington-Monument lookalike. The breezes are fine up here though. We hear the voices of children splashing in a nearby lake. We laze, inert, cooling down, drying off. Immobile. Packless. Bliss!"Okay!" says the restless Itchy Foot, jumping up, clapping his hands. "Enough joy! Let's go!" The whip has been cracked. We are headed tonight for the so-called "secret" shelter, open only to thru-hikers on land owned by a former thru-hiker, Jim Murray. It's a group of perfect, quaint cottages, a privy, warm shower, fan and icy cold well water on a beautifully groomed hill farm. In the pastures graze two Jerusalem asses, and every once in awhile one will let loose with a squeaky bray."I could stay here a week with a good book," says B-Roc appreciatively.But before we get there, we must traverse a mudpit. I manage to avoid the worst of it, then try to swing around the swamp sides by using a tree as a pole.Damn! It was COVERED in poison ivy! I have embraced the enemy, and now it is mine. I'm highly allergic too. I make a mental note not to touch my face until I can wash. Then I slip and sink in over my ankles in swamp muck.Damn. Damn.Sigh. Oh well. My trusty tube of Zanfel has not let me down yet. It may get another workout soon. And the abundant well water here will help me clean my shoes and wash my socks. And I can set them in the HOT SUN for once. Imagine! Being able to dry one's gear in the SUN.The guys let me shower off the poison ivy oils as soon as we arrive. I use a dab of shampoo as soap, and hope it will suffice. We cool down our hot selves in the icy well water by the pump.I search thru my still-too-heavy food bag and select an Enertia Meal, a gift from my AT-L buddy, Rev. Marty Fors. His Trail magic has been delicious and well received. I had never tried these meals before, but they are hearty and all my buddies are jealous.Two children, Krystal, 6, and Eric, 4, come by to climb trees and visit. I snap their pictures and enjoy their kid energy. But mom lets them paw through our stuff, and I have to put a stop to it. They are good-natured and stop. Still, it is a relief when they hie their vibrating kid energy away from us hot, worn-out, noise-weary hikers. We sit together on the porch as the evening cools down, journaling, sore feet resting, watching the birds and the hills, enjoying the evening's hush.Very little stress here tonight. What a shame we have to work so damn hard for it! Surely there must be a way to have this peace and hush when I return to town life. I saw a bumper sticker yesterday that said "Why can't we fish five days and work two?"Well, why not?;-)