TRAIL DAY 8 (CONT)

Well, we finished our morning routine on Poor Mountain and carried on our way in another glorious winter day, cool and dry.

The hills I believe were the usual ups and downs but moderate.  The big guys were coming.

By late morning, we came to a shelter not too far east of the trail.  We made our way there to resupply our water and have an early lunch.  With the help of my AWOL notes, I remember very well those at the shelter.  There was Manney, retired from the military, Jennifer who was tall with dark hair and pretty and Perry or “Scorched heels.”  They were all very nice and, since they were just on a day hike, they offered to pack out our trash.  Jennifer gave me some snacks and some life savers.  We all enjoyed the table at the shelter and the water running past on two sides.  It was a time of nice serendipity on the trail.

In the afternoon we had the first of many long, interminable descents on a brown-dirt trail through fallen tan leaves under bare trees.  The ascents were the same, some demanding considerable heavy lifting.  You might think descending would be easier than climbing but it was really the other way around.

While climbing you are facing into the mountain.  You are stepping forward with flexible toes holding the ground.  You can use all fours if need be.  If you fall, you will probably fall into the mountain which is closer to you than the surface you just traversed, now below you.

Descending, you are facing out into space.  You lead with your stubby and inflexible heel.  If you fall forward – well, let’s not go there.

A dry day on a smooth trail. Think of the work to maintain that wall.

Somewhere in this long release of elevation, I came upon Jena and the “Fisherman.”  Fisherman was a buff sort of guy who naturally took the lead.  Jena followed him and seemed to feel secure in his presence.  They’d been hiking together for a bit but did not seem to be partners.  He was more like a father for her.

Fisherman and I did a good bit of talking as we carried on at a fair clip down. . .down. . .down.  He was from the north and spoke of three different unofficial fishing seasons: little ones, near embryo stage; some bigger fish and then lobsters and perhaps game fish.

He was also a drummer which prompted me to brag about my self-taught son, Christopher, who is an excellent drummer.

We split somewhere, perhaps at Red Clay Gap, and I carried on into the late afternoon for Blue Mountain Shelter which was just shy of the 4025′ summit.  The climb was not terribly steep, especially given what was to come, but I remember stopping every 20 steps or so and struggling through every restart up to the shelter.  I could see it several hundred feet up the hill and marveled at how tired I was.  There would be other such times but this was the first and it weighed me down in the moment but I did not project it into my future as if wondering how I was ever going to be able to complete the trail.

Theo, as was his custom in our shake-down hikes, would climb up ahead, stop and look back to check on me, and then sit looking down at me as if to say, “Are you coming?”  On occasion, he’d lie down, jowls between paws, knowing this was going to be a while.

We finally made the shelter.  Scorched Heels was there carrying on conversation with a southbounder who had started at Katahdin on August 15, 2015.  He had taken 3 months off in the winter and was finishing up.  We knew precisely how close he was to his goal.  Scorched Heels asked the SOBO what his favorite part of the trail was.  “The 100-mile wilderness without a doubt,” he said.  “It was August and the weather was perfect.  I went swimming in so many lakes.”

That’s the trail in the center of the photo. I’ll never forget being so tired here with the shelter up a steeper section ahead.

There it was, the 100-mile wilderness, that distant, mysterious place of countless stories, lore and legend, awe and fear.  “My favorite!”  Must not be too bad.  I guess we’d find out in time.  It would be August for some of us but for me it would turn out to be a good bit later and colder.

Mike and “Farmer” showed up full of piss and vinegar and ready to liven things up.  I’d run into them somewhere before and they did not seem to be serious hikers.  A little under prepared, over-packed and burning up energy better saved for the climbs.  They acted as if, “Hey, we got this thing knocked.  No problem.  Let’s party.”

Happily they decided to tent somewhat removed from the shelter which Scorched Heels, SOBO and I enjoyed in relative quiet.

Day #8    Poor Mountain > Blue Mountain Shelter 9.9 miles