[at-l] Jan Day 14

[kahley@ptd.net (kahley)]

HUMP DAY for Jan and Clyde. More days out behind
us than in front of us, Long-Trail-wise. Yesterday, AT
vt 73, we walked off Map Six of our 12-map series.
Today, we will reach our half-way mileage.  We are
keeping pace with a few other Long Trail hikers. Branch
and Stick hiked in right at dark last night and set up their
tent. A couple, Corey and Joe, are hiking north from
Brandon Gap.

We met Colin, a friendly young fellow who has been out
a few days doing "forest inventory" for the Forest Service.
He told me the main northern hardwoods here are yellow,
sugar maple and American beech.  I try to get Colin to ID
a low-growing plant, but he is hopeless with non-woody
plants, he says. Maybe someone out there in internet-land
can tell me.  The leaves are broad, flat and wide, resembling
a thicker, more substantial lily-of-the-valley. It also lays flatter
to the ground.   From this whorl of 2-3 leaves rises a single
thin stem. On this stem is borne 3-5 striking blue-black berries,
about the size of blueberries, but harder and far glossier. It is
abundant on the forest floor. I have seen it in the Boundary
waters of Michigan and Canada.

Clyde has run out of toilet paper. He tries to bum mine, but
Joe offers his at the first whimper. Clyde has the makings of
a great yogi ( a hiker term for getting something for nothing).
We are heading to Skyline Lodge today, and all but Colin
think they might try for that too. Colin is wrapping up his job
here.

The thing is, we are all moving slow today. Everyone feels
overheated and ground down. Clyde is limping on his blistered
toe. We're all tired. It's not til 8:45 that we get moving.  The first
hour of trail is uphill up Mt. Worth, tho I have dubbed it Mt. Unworthy.
The weeds are the most overgrown yet, obscuring the trail,
snatching at our legs and clothes. Hiking sticks are rendered
nearly useless, snagging as they are in the tangle of raspberry
and nettles. Their only function a this point is to steer the worst
of the brambles away from our tender leg flesh.

Finally we top a ridge, and the spruce take over, shading out the
underbrush. Near the summit, I observe about 3 dozen spruce
blown over by some fierce wind. Their heads lay in one direction,
and their roots dangle nakedly above the sheer rock they were torn from.
Though this looks like a lush ridge environment, it is another reminder
of how tenuous a hold life has up here on a rocky pinnacle, in the
Kingdom of Weather, where the topsoil is only a few inches deep
and the power of the wind and other natural forces are king.

The trail is descending now to Lake Pleiad, where good swimming
is promised. I need to jump in fully clothed. This is the third hot and
humid day in a row, and my inner Trail Princess is getting edgy.
All six of us end upon the Middlebury "Snow Bowl" gondola platform,
looking down towards Rt. 125 far below. Clyde is unhappy because
the gondola is going the wrong way - down - and he was hoping for
a ride up the mountain. It's not running anyway, so the point is moot.
It's getting hotter and we're all sweating, grumpy, and short-tempered.
Clyde and I miss the turn down to the lake.We hit the hot pavement
of Rt. 125 at 12:30 and wait 20 minutes as car after car passes us
by, blowing hot wind.  Well, who can blame them.

Finally, an Indian couple, slows, then stops. They offer us water,
and I drink nearly a liter. They have dropped us off at Middlebury
college, Breadloaf campus, where we will scout out pay phone,
soap, running water and flush toilets.

I was on the phone when Clyde burst into the booth:"We got us a
  ride back to the trailhead. Come ON!"

Whoah, dude!  I dashed into the rest room next door, threw water
on my face (no soap, no time), skipped the potty and the luxury
rinse, and scooped up items on my way to the car. So much for
my fantasy of slipping into a dorm to take a hot shower, getting
a co-ed to cover for me.

There was 19-year-old Damon, who had hiked a good chunk
of the Camino Real in Spain and France last year, and knew
the look of hikers in need. He and his father Wingnut (I am
not making this up) happily drove us to the trail in their van,
and we thanked them profusely. Such simple acts of kindness
mean so much when one is afoot.
Halfway up Burnt Hill ("Damn," said Clyde, "it's damn hard
mountain and it ain't even got a proper name - hill?! - what
kind of name is that for a damn hard mountain?"), I realized
I had failed to top up my water bottles. This was NOT a Good
Thing, Martha, on such a dry stretch of trail.

We chugged on to Boyce Shelter, passing our halfway point.
OFFICIALLY HALF-DONE with the Long Trail of Vermont. Hurray!
We have walked in two weeks what my 4-cylinder Subaru can
do in two hours.  Brilliant idea, Sherlock!  Everyone was there
at Boyce - Branch and Stick, Corey and Joe. But they were all
pushing on the Skyline Pond shelter, because the spring here
was dry. There was supposed to be a spring at Skyline, a fee site.
The heat was doing a number on me, and I was nearly done in.
Cooked. I thought I might feel better if I ate supper, then walked,
so let the others move on.

Ah, solitude! Exhale.

I used the last of my water to cook a tasty melange of mashed
potatoes, dehydrated refried bean flakes, soylent green
(home-dehydrated kale, chard, spinach, and broccoli, ground
to a powder), vidalia onions, TVP and hamburger gravel, seasoned
with cheddar cheese powder. Don't barf. It actually tasted fantastic.
The post-prandial walk to the shelter took forever. I was sure I
was on the correct trail, but I never saw a white blaze from Boyce
Shelter to Skyline. Future hikers take note! Jay, the friendly GMC
caretaker at Skyline, promised to pass the info along.

I came in weary, dry and thirsty. Horrors! The only water at
Skyline was from the putrid shallow mudflat pond out front.
The spring was long dried up. Can you say slime water?
What does eutrophic mean? It looked eutrophic. Eutrophic
should mean that.  Clyde had me use his water filter, and
it was clogging rapidly. The pump was hard to depress. It
took all my strength to filter what little water I did, balanced
on a slimy log surrounded by dragonflies and birds settling
in for the night. The last part was fine.

This was the only water for the next 14 miles?  I'm not kidding,
this was a dying pond, frog--and-lily-pad-choked, decaying
matter prolific. There was a huge beaver lodge on the far side,
but "even the beaver left" said Jay. "And in even in this dry year,
the moose don't come anymore."

The plan for tomorrow is to hike to Battel Shelter, site of running
brook water not stagnant pond water. But its 14 miles, and we
are in need of some relief. Time will tell. Hope the heat breaks
soon. Heat is predicted for tomorrow.  I think it is the heat that
has made the last few days such an endurance and patience trial.
Skyline Shelter itself, I might add, is lovely and roomy.
A dynamite shelter.