Date: 2009-09-11
From: Ethan Pond Campsite

To: Nauman Tentsite
Miles today: 9.3
Weather: overcast clouds

I spent a fair bit of last night pondering what to do about my tents further deterioration.Dreaming up short term patches, mentally constructing semi-permanent fixes and dismissing more fanciful long term solutions. Then, taking a break from pondering the various merits and practicality of velcro and sticky backed plastic, I picked up my Thru Hiker's Companion and, low and behold, today, one mile west of Crawford Notch, I could reach Wiley House and its snack bar, pay phone, hiker message board and, wait for it, Tent Repair! Is this fate?Whatever it was it was welcome. It had been another cold night, the first night that I had slept in all my clothes, and even though I slept OK I still woke at 4:40 a little 'cool'. I though about Ernest Shackleton and the 8 months he and his men spent marooned in the Antarctic Ice and how they had been forced to live in their clothes; was I at the beginning of a similar, all be it, much shorter and much less extreme scenario? I hoped not.I walked down to the lake for breakfast, the odd fish jumping, presumably in search of its own breakfast before heading back to pack up and to hit the trail, walking to the road and then a further uneventful mile to my west. I didn't see any signs of wildlife but muddy tracks on the road showed signs of moose in the area and I wondered when (please don't let it be 'if') I would finally see one with my own eyes.I had imaged a little man with a sowing machine at Wiley House. Someone who took a pride in their handiwork. Someone who would send me back to the trail with a 'nearly as good as new' tent. I imagined wrong. However, Wiley house did not offer 'tent repair' as a service but as a kit. It was better than nothing and after an ice cream or two I headed back to the trail with a small kit consisting of needle, thread, patches and glue and with a cunning plan to stitch shut around two-thirds of my now inoperable and troublesome zip. That could wait until evening though. For the moment I had too much to enjoy.The walk up Webster was all that I remembered (if a bit longer). Its a great walk, gaining height over an impressive valley and with numerous rock outcrops and rock shelves where I could (and did) stop and rest. I kicked off my shoes, snacked and wrote. The view isn't perhaps idyllic, with the road and the railway down below, but you could not help be impressed by the mountains towering steeply upwards on the opposite side of the valley and stunning views off to the left.I met a view inquisitive Greyjays up near the top of Webster and, heading on towards Mt Jackson, some Spruce Grouse. Its always nice to notice something new and they were close enough and distinctive enough to allow a positive identification once I reached Mizpah Spring Hut's small library.But first I had the pleasure of a long break on Jackson. And it was a pleasure. One of those moments when you look forward (literally) to the next leg of the journey. From here, what lay ahead stretched out before me. I could see Mizpah Hut down below and the Presidential ridge weaving away towards Mt Washington. I sat there doing nothing, glad to have only nothing to do and could have sat longer had a couple of hikers not appeared making a song and dance about where the top was, taking photos, noting the time, reaching for their cell phones and then trying to make some calls. Time I was off.Reaching camp I reached for my needle and thread, stitching up half the gap before deciding that was enough, setting up camp and hoping more for a mild night than believing my running repairs would have a significant effect.