Date: 2013-08-20
From: Stony Brook Shelter

To: Stealth camp beside Totman Hill Rd
Miles today: 16.0

I didn't sleep well last night. I was HOT in my 12 degree sleeping bag. I was also afraid the mosquitoes would eat me alive, so I tried to keep my head covered with my silk bag liner. That, of course, made me all the hotter. I finally found myself getting some rest around 6:00, which was when I wanted to get up. I allowed myself another luxurious half hour, and then I started packing up. I made myself a cup of coffee, and I raised my cup to the morning sun. It's always nice to know that the sun rose again. I also happily discovered that my clothes had dried nicely overnight, so no cold, clammy clothes to have to put on. I hit the trail by 7:30. It was cool, and I found that the spiders had been quite prolific overnight. I couldn't walk 10 ft without intercepting a spiderweb. I was happy to find that my feet weren't screaming nearly as bad as I had expected. I'm not sure if I'm finally getting the boots broken in, or if I'm just squished all the nerves in toes. If I can just keep the skin intact for the next few days, someone will soon find a awesome pair of virtually new Merrells in a hiker box. The trail bobbed up and down, climbing rocks and meandering down the other side. I saw my first pile of moose scat. I'd heard there were moose in the area, but this is the first concrete sign I've seen. At 5 til 8:00, I came upone a ladder climbing down the face of a rock. It seemed a little early in the morning for this sort of mischief, but it couldn't be avoided. I threw my poles down one at a time, like javelins. Each stuck nicely in the soft spongy, pine straw covered ground. They both wobbled as they hit. I wished that I had more poles to throw. Thankfully, the ladder was wonderfully sturdy and well-secured.As I was passing Locust Creek, I encountered a Sobo thru-hiker. We both stopped to chat. I noticed that the hose and mouthpiece on her hydration system looked strikingly similar to Tom's military issue gear. It made me wonder.... As we chatted, it turned out she was also a military spouse (though she was, herself, prior service). It's nice to know I'm not the only one out here! Her name was Breeze, and she and her huband were stationed at Ft. Hood. She said that she'd stayed at the Lookout the night before, and that made me curious.I got to the turnoff for the Lookout at 11:45. It was early for me to stop and have lunch, and it was .1 off the trail. But my shirt and shorts were soaked in sweat, and I thought it might give me a chance to dry out. The cabin is techincally private, but they leave it open for hiker use with only the request to treat the property with respect and pack out any garbage you might find. It's perched on top of a hill with a steep ladder that climbs up the side to a viewing platform on top. I dumped my pack on the front porch and peeled off my sweaty shirt. I hung it on the banister in the sun to dry out. I did the same with my socks and knee braces. I sat on the covered porch and had lunch. Sycamore walked up. He'd started the trail the day after me in Georgia, but this was the first time I'd met him. Crazy how that can happen!I took my time eating lunch and letting my clothes dry. I stared down at my glowing white torso. I could blind someone. My clothes were close to dry when it came time to get moving. My feet protested loudly when I shoved them back in the boots. I followed Sycamore's recommendation and climbed up to the viewing platform. There was a fantastic 360 degree view. One mountain stood particularly high. I wondered if it was Moosilauke, to be my first encounter of the Whites. The air had a heavy white haze to it. It seems like it could be the early stages of rain. If so, I hope it gets it out of the way before I get to the Whites.The trail followed a general downward trend for much of the afternoon. It opened into a small pasture, the tree tops at the far end were topped off. There was that tall mountain again. It had to be Moosilauke. It certainly looks tall but not too imposing. I passed a couple of section hikers and Sobo thru-hiker. He told me a about the On the Edge Farm just a few miles ahead. They had Maple soda, he told me. Now that's motivation!I rushed down the hill through the woods. The woods opened up onto a pasture with head-high Queen Anne's Lace and chamomile. The whole area smelled like a florist's shop. I crossed a beautiful crystaline stream that looked ripe for a swim. But there was Maple soda to be had. I popped out onto the road, and to my left about 100 yards up was an "Open" flag swaying gently in the breeze. Maple soda! The front of the store was lined with beautiful beds of "cottage garden" flowers. Hummingbirds and fat bumble bees tended to the blooms. The "golden hour" was just setting in. I set my pack down outside and pushed through the screen door. A friendly face, Dana, greeted me and pointed me towards the Maple soda. I also grabbed a bottle of blueberry lemonade, a freshly baked apple pastry, and an apple with a stem and leaf still attached. I would live here, if she'd let me. I took my bounty outside and sat on a bleached wooden plant stand. I watched the light shift across the hills. I counted three trees that were in full yellow and red fall foliage extravaganza. It won't be long now...Dana said that there was a local farmer that allows hikers to camp behind his barn. The stream could be mine... but it was only 4:45. I passed Sycamore, and he said he was planning to set up camp as soon as he found the farmer to ask permission. I was tired, but I still had some energy left in my legs. And there was a steep climb to get out of the valley. I didn't want to start off tomorrow with the climb, so I decided to go ahead and tackle it. Plus, it would get me that much closer to New Hampshire. Dana Hill had me huffing and puffing almost immediately. I heard a voice behind me yell up that they'd changed their mind. Sycamore hadn't been able to find the farmer so he was continueing on as well. There were few, if any, switchbacks. The trail just headed straight up. At the top of the hill, the woods opened up to a beautiful pasture and a view. And there was a that big mountain again. Moosilauke.The trail entered back into the woods and headed right down the other side. Sycamore took off like a bat out of hell. I worked my way down slowly as always. My feet were pretty sore by now. But at least it took my mind off my knees! There were parts of the trail that were badly erroded. They just seemed to smear down the side of the hill they were traversing. I was so grateful that the same trail wasn't attached to a more precarious hillside. I might have had to crawl on my hands and knees.I got down to Barnard Brook. Sycamore was sitting on the bridge. He'd already gone for a dip. There was another hiker sitting next to him that I didn't recognize. They were drinking beers. Something about my instinct said to move one. They posed no obvious threat nor did they act in any way that made me uncomfortable, but something urged me to keep walking. So I did. I climbed up and over another steep hill hoping that the stream and footbrige on the otherside might offer some sort of camping option. When I got there, it was marshy and muddy with lots of high grasses and bushes. Damn. The creek was small, and swimming or soaking was out of the question. I filled my water reservoir and game myself a quick sponge bath to get the salt and dirt off. I could see a large farmhouse with lots of windows. I imagine a farmer staring back out at me, watching and getting ready to pounce on my stealth-camping intentions. So I kept going. I crossed a small gravel road and climbed the steep embankment on the other side. And there was a perfectly fat, pine straw covered piece of ground sitting about 15 yards back off of the trail. Perfect!I got my tent set up and sorted through my things. Then I headed back down to the stream and took a little more involved "bath". I washed some clothes. Yeah. I headed back up to my camping spot. I cooked dinner and accidentaly spilled a cup full of sports drink all over the floor of my tent. I didn't realize it until I felt it soaking through my shorts. Oh well, so much for being "clean."So now I look forward to some sleep. There is a tree frog in the tree next to the tent. I'd like to think he's either serenading me. A hoot-owl is calling across the floor of the valley. He could be 15 ft away or 200. It's hard to tell. I can occasionally hear a car door and some voices up at the farm house. I can also hear the creek babbling away. I'm leaving my rain fly off tonight, which should help keep me a little cooler. Thanks for another good day, AT!