Date: 2004-09-03
From: Thundering Brook Rd.

To: Lookout Cabin
Miles today: 13.2

Even though Dick and I were up early to run to the local market and organize food supplies and Dick¢s equipment, we didn¢t get onto the Trail until nearly 9:30. No matter, though, because today was another perfect day for hiking and there was such a positive energy in the air that we could go any distance we wanted. The temperature was cool, and we were treated to light breezes with warm sunshine and a gorgeous countryside to look as we walked along the Trail. During the day we passed through spruce forests and later through forests of silver birch and mixed hardwoods. In spite of the great conditions, the Trail proved to be a bit ¢pesky and testy¢ which had us constantly climbing then descending all day long, starting out with a 2,000¢ ¢up-down¢ right off the bat. Although it was his first day out, Dick did extremely well, especially under such challenging terrain. Along the route we got word from passing SOBO¢s of a special, privately-owned cabin just off the trail that has a commanding 360 degree view that was worth seeing. We decided to check it out and, upon doing so, immediately decided to stay to have an early dinner and then enjoy the sunset from the observation deck attached to the roof about 30 feet up in the air. It¢s no wonder this place is called ¢Lookout Cabin!¢Not since my evening last April in the Smokeys with ¢Freebird¢ and ¢Stumpknocker¢ at Mt. Cammerer have I seen a view like this. We can see probably 100 separate mountain peaks from where we¢re sitting on the observation deck. To the west is the Camel¢s Hump and beyond it to the north are the Adirondacks including Whiteface up by Lake Placid. On the horizon due north of us are the Laurentian Mountains of Quebec, Canada. Between them and us it looks like an entire Sargasso Sea of green, rolling waves of mountain after mountain after mountain. To the east, the horizon is dominated by Mt. Monadnock in New Hampshire and the beginning of the White Mountains beyond it. At some point down the Trail will take me through them. Down to the southwest we can see the tip of Pico that I came around yesterday, and the massive top of Killington where I had lunch yesterday. I can trace my previous five days¢ journey across the tops of the Green Mountains back as far as Bromley and Stratton. Several hundred feet below us, and probably no more than a mile away, is a small pond, that appears so absolutely peaceful as ripple-less as any mirror ever made by human hands. It is tracking the progress of the sun¢s retreat with the deepening color of its now coal-black surface.As the final light of the day fades from the nearest mountains the world is turning into one of those big, homemade Irish sweaters compromised of innumerable shades of greens and muted reds with dabs of rusts and mottled orange flecks thrown in here and there. I want to pull it on your head and snuggle into its warmth as the first chill of the evening brushes against my skin. But all too soon, my sweater is gone: faded to black and only a shapeless memory of what was and, yet, what will be again. ¢Day is done. Gone the sun; from the lakes, from the hills from the sky. All is well. Safely rest. God is nigh.¢ The sound of ¢Taps,¢ sings silently in my head.