[at-l] Jan Day 17

[kahley@ptd.net (kahley)]

At the Hyde Away Inn's all-you-can-eat buffet, I eat
enough breakfast for three: coffee, scrambled eggs,
OJ, half a pig's worth of bacon, whole wheat bagels,
more coffee, cantaloupe, blueberry pancakes with real
Vermont maple syrup, a third coffee, more OJ, an apple
strudel, more bacon, grapes, one last cup of coffee. It
comes with the room. I took a yogurt and a plum for a
mid-morning snack.
Long distance hikers can eat like that, yes, they can.
At home, I would bloat. Here, it holds me till lunch.
The room we had over the bar was noisy and hot, and
I tossed and turned until 2. Then I went downstairs and
removed a box fan from the common living area. It helped
a little, but I still slept fitfully. I have a headache this
morning I can't shake.
Smoothie, the yo-yo End-To-Ender, is a gearhead and
comes in to sit on our beds and watch us sort out our
gear. He has a pleasant energy, two large leg tattoos,
bike races and is a fountain of Long Trail info. Smoothie
tells us that the astounding descent of yesterday,
the so-called "trail" we came down has a name: Stark's
Wall. Today we ascend Baby Stark and Molly Stark.

  "Everyone HATES the Stark's," he tells us. "Beware the Starks."

Today, sometime, we cross the invisible line that puts us
  less than 100 miles from Canada. And the butt-kicking
scenery and terrain is just beginning. We agree, upon hearing
Smoothie's advice rundown on the North, to throttle back
to 10 mile days and suck up the rest of the trek.

Since we will cross right through Jonesville in two days,
we decide to bounce all but two days food ahead from our
  maildrops. No sense in dragging unneeded weight up The
Famous Camel's Hump, our second bald peak of the Long Trail.
Since there is no camping above 2,500 feet except in shelters,
I send my hammock, stakes and bear bag rope ahead too,
saving nearly two pounds. I should be around 29 pounds with
food and 60 ounces of water.  The lovely, abundant water of the
south is far less frequent here in the north. We plan to carry
enough water to get us shelter to shelter.

Margaret Hyde, our incredible hostess, has shuttled us to
town chores and shows us General Stark Mountain. It looks...
so...BIG!   From the ground, I mean. There is no way to adapt
the vast scale to the micro scale of roots and rocks at our feet.
There is no middle ground.

We walk over Baby Stark Mountain and Start up on Molly
Stark."C'mon, Molly!" hollers Clyde. "Your husband couldn't
whup us, and your young 'un couldn't whup us. Show us what
you got!"

Mindful of the ferocious descent down Stark's Wall yesterday
into Appalachia Gap, I holler back "He's just KIDDING, girlfriend...!"
Part way up Molly, Clyde pulls me aside. He is in a great mood
today, thank goodness, it makes everything easier. I, on the
other hand, am in a funk.

"Here," he says, "step up on to this here rock."

The rocky outcrop is called Molly Stark's Balcony, and
offers vast sweeping views.

"There," he says, pointing with his pole. "See that
dip out there in the farthest mountains?"

I nod, yes. A far blue line, almost smoky enough to
be mistaken for clouds, has a dip.

"Smoothie told me to show you this. That's Pinkham
Notch, of the White Mountains. You'll be walking
there next year."

The presentation was perfect. I am moved. Nature,
once again, takes me out of my head and into the present.
We climb up on the beautiful Burnt Rock, a rocky outcrop
we follow for at least 30 minutes. THIS is the sort of thing
I came for, bare rock, space and wind. I expel a holler.
Very unladylike, but these things happen. Energy! LIFE!
A woman above me, unseen, laughs at my pleasure. I
feel an instant connection with her, as sometimes happens
spontaneously. She KNOWS!

"If you like this," she says, smiling, "you'll LOVE Camel's Hump."

I am uplifted by the understanding and communion of a
kindred spirit. I was not to know until the next day, but
she was very right.  Clyde and I cannot resist stopping and
feasting on the abundant mountain blueberries. The original
organic food, little dusty-blue bursts, wrested from the
minerals of the mountain.

We reach the simple Cowles Cove Shelter, anchored on
a natural rock slab. I am so exhausted the past day I just
fluff out my bag and crawl in. hear two women come in,
then two more, but I can't rouse myself to greet them,
though I am starving for some female energy. Not that
there is anything wrong with guy energy, nothing a all.
But a BALANCE is nice. I was just missing the conversation
of women.

Eventually I rouse myself, and Clyde is holding forth,
entertaining the entire group. Young August, newly 17,
sweet and endearingly goofy, has joined our merry group.
He is southbounding.  It is quite the social scene. I chat
with Liz and her sister, they are bunked next to me.
We are squeezed in cheek to jowl.

I go down to the watering spot. I have been deeply drawn to
springs and creeks on all my hikes, but especially on this
one. I take water for granted in "real" life - it comes out of a
faucet when you turn the handle. Out here, it is a living,
plastic, elusive substance.

This icy little pool is a honey - secluded, ringed with mossy,
cracked, rock shelves, a little musical trickle down the broken
stone above. Though I long to join the social scene above - I
can hear bursts of laughter from above - I am unable to tear
myself away form this secret, moist place. The birds, settling
in for the night, flit through the trees, then stop rustling. Dusk falls.
In this healing little spot, as I grow quiet, it is inevitable that
some of the sadness that accompanies the sweetness of life
should leak out. It leaks and leaks, and keeps on leaking, too,
until young Auggie comes down for water and flushes me. I
return to my bag and sleep the sleep of the dead.