We just about pulled a “Daniel” last night. We woke up before 6:30 to the sound of hikers walking past our tent. We had managed to follow Mud Bug (aka Patches Redux) through the woods and camp less than 3’ from the trail. In our defense, it was relatively flat and we did set up an entire camp.
It is the smartest thing we have done, including Mud Bug in our group. No matter how slow or late we are in the morning, Mud Bug is there to make sure we are not the last ones to leave camp. We improved our starting time by a whopping 3 hours over yesterday, yet, if it weren’t for Mud Bug, we would have been last to leave at 9:15.
It was a short, easy climb to the fire tower on Glastonbury Mountain. The views were pretty good, but nowhere near spectacular enough to make up for the trail getting here. I’m reminded of Bill Bryson’s quote about Australia: “There’s a lot of great sights in Australia, but there’s a lot of Australia between the sights.” We need more sights to payback for the running streams known as a trail. Perhaps a bear fighting a moose might be a good down payment.
As with any tough section of trail, fire tower or structure to climb, rock pile on mountain top, or rickety bridge to cross, Bunny is worried that it might fall with her on it. Bear told her that in New England, the standard safety factor applied is a factor of 2.5 to any posted limit. That means if the load says 4 persons on the tower at a time, then 10 can safely be on the tower. He was a NASA engineer and is not married to her, so, of course he is trustworthy (and quite full of privy matter), but he got to climb the tower.
I ran ahead with an unexpected benefit—the leaf litter on my boots was starting to dry and rain down on everyone below me. Leaf litter is to a hiker as stripper glitter is to a married man—a mark of shame to anyone not present but worthy of a knowing glance and smile from other hikers. Sassy was the largest beneficiary of my glitter. Since Bear was present, no shame needed.
We continued on to Kid Gore Shelter to have a snack. Sassy has a strict guideline for people that hike with her that first snack is a minimum 1/4 of the way planned for the day and lunch cannot be eaten before half way. Of course there is one exception to this guideline; if SHE is hungry, to hell with the rules.
We have already been hiking together for almost 9 days. Today, Sassy broke down and did what most women do within an hour of meeting me—fake a sickness to get away from me. She was very insistent that I keep going, she really didn’t tell Bunny to keep going. To top it off, she even managed to dig into her emergency makeup stash and paint herself white. She was seriously wanting some space. I thought the leaf glitter looked good on her.
It came to pass, as does all stomach viruses, that Sassy started expelling what sickness she had in her belly. There’s only two routes in and out with neither very pleasant for unplanned exits. She did not throw up anything. It was suggested that rather than run deep into the woods, she could just drop her load right in the trail. As long as she throws her tp off the trail, no one would notice another pile of crap in all this mud. If she was worried about detection, she could just step in it for good measure. I’m not sure if she took my advice, but I’m not going to touch her boots anytime soon.
The weather was the best we have had since crossing the border into this state. Bear quote: ”After a day of hiking in VT without rain and with nice weather, I forgive the trail maintenance workers in MA.” Could it be too little too late? I will admit, Verdemort is my least favorite state so far. I’d rather crawl on my hands and knees in PA than do this state again. In the interest of full disclosure, I think PA was the easiest state overall and hikers have fallen into a mass hysteria and have convinced themselves that it was “rocky.” To those hikers I say “quit your whining you pussies” in the least condescending way possible.
Even with a sunny day, we have taken to calling “Land Ho” if we spot a dry section of trail. Admittedly, we didn’t use that phrase much today. Verdemort has been kind enough to provide a trail level indicator rather waste time on trail maintenance. It’s very simple in its working, yet fool proof. If water is coming in your direction, you are walking uphill. If water is running in the same direction you are traveling, you are going downhill. If the water is not moving, you are on level ground. If you are standing on dry ground, there are two possibilities: 1) you are out of VT (the preferred option), or 2) you have taken a wrong turn and gotten off the AT.
People come from all over the world to see the way not to maintain a trail. I’m not sure why the GMC doesn’t do a better job: maybe the membership is too old, maybe it’s apathy, maybe the membership is pissed that the AT is more popular than the Long Trail. Whatever the reason, I think it’s time for the ATC to get involved. I’ve hiked trails on 3 different continents and have never dealt with a trail this poorly maintained before. I don’t expect dry, smooth trails (remember, I actually liked and defend PA), but water needs to be directed off of the trail.
In an ironic circumstance, as Sassy lost weight, she gained sass once again. We were allowed to stop for a late lunch at the Story Spring Shelter where Bunny “we need to put in more miles” Tracks wanted to stop. It was at this point that a 70 year old wife of three slack packers passed us going south. The three of them were doing a 20 mile day and Bunny wanted to stop after 9. We were shamed into continuing on.
Prism had told us she was doing magic today at the road crossing we were heading towards. The average age of our group is 56 (with me being the youngest at 54, but it doesn’t really matter—I like old people. That’s why I married one.), so we tend to move slowly. One of the things we are trying to prove is that the geriatric crowd can handle long distance hiking. Even so, we were too late for magic. We just filtered water then headed down the road to the Daniel Webster monument to camp for the night.
Mud Bug caught up with us as we were filtering water, so the four of them tried to ditch me and headed to the field without me. They were even so kind as to tell me to go left while I was down at the river and couldn’t see which way they went. There I was, left all alone under a bridge next to a raging river without a map. Mommy, help! I took my best guess and started down the road. Bunny got a pinge of guilt and came out to the road to guide me in (my only saving grace was that I had all the food and the tent).
There was a collective sigh of defeat as I walked into the clearing. The only people happy to see me were the 15,000 people Daniel Webster addressed here in 1840. I quietly set the tent up, crawled inside, and cried myself to sleep. Isolated and alone I fell asleep while I heard the joyous chatter of the others sharing dinner. I know how poor little Cinderella felt going to bed hungry after a hard day’s work. I’m pretty sure I heard someone spit on my tent. My attempts at being a bigger asshole are succeeding beyond all measure of hope.
EFG