[at-l] Some Local Hiking

["Poor Writer a.k.a. Ern Grover" <ern@tick-tock.com>]

In preparation for some extended days of trail maintenance in the Gulf
Hagas area of the Appalachian Trail in early August, it was time to check
out my equipment and motivation.  Not too many hikers I know need much of
an excuse to get away from their work, their office, and this time eater,
the computer.

Everything was checked, double-checked, and I even thought of consulting
Mrs. Puddleby, but Felix had taken her out to dinner already.  

"C'mon dog, let's go!"

I normally take the van down a deserted dirt road which was formerly a
railroad bed.  It's only about 10 miles away from home.  Pulling up aside
the first stone bridge, I parked the van, removed my equipment, and hid
anything that looked like it might be of value.  Buddy and I meandered
upstream from the bridge for a fair distance, and I set up camp at a nice
plushy spot near the brook.

I spent nearly an hour clearing damaged tree tops from our spring ice
storm, pulled it into a neat pile for later use, and selected a level spot
for my tent.  Having just put in the last pin to attach the rainfly, the
sun suddenly disappeared and a thunderhead opened up with a torrent of
driving rain and lightning.

Buddy was the first wimp to be standing at the tent doorway, but I was the
first one in.  The rain came down unceasingly for almost an hour.  Sunshine
pervaded the forest floor again, casting shadows across the waters.  The
nesting cranes atop the dead swamp oaks didn't care one way or the other. 
When the rain stopped, they came down from their towers, skimming the
waters for a meal and poking around the reeds from time to time.

All was at peace.  Aside from the rain shower it was a perfect day. 
Finishing up my chore of digging and turning sod to set in a fire ring, I
went to gather some peeling bark from a yellow birch as fire starter. 
Small wood was everywhere up to eye level on surrounding pine trees, and
the stack of ice damaged tree tops would make a decent campfire.  I rigged
up a clothesline above the fire to hang my wet clothing above the fire
ring.

It was time to make our evening meal of haddock au gratin with curried rice
and stir fry veggies.  I only had to soak it for a half hour prior to
cooking in order for this homemade concoction to soften up a bit.  Heat
from the campfire felt so good, the woodsmoke lingered in the area and
provided a little welcomed "atmosphere"  A bed of coals was ready in less
than 30 minutes.  Wet clothes hung over the fire.  My cookpot was nestled
between a couple of large pieces of firewood, as our evening treat
simmered.  When it started to boil, I pulled it back from the center of the
fire a bit, dumped in some thick pancake mix on top of the haddock au
gratin.  In 15 minutes we'd have a great meal with dumplings.

Delicious!  It seemed rather strange sitting on a rock in my underwear
eating this gourmet delight, as my clothes above the fire steamed from the
heat.  Withing a couple of hours the clothes were finally dry enough to put
on, which was too bad for the mosquitoes.  Standing in woodsmoke to evade
those rascals does have a limit.

Having read a few chapters in a book, I finally put out my light.  A
bullfrog here and there, a bird in the distance, an occasional stir from my
dog outside the tent was all that could be heard.  Gone was the sting of a
ringing telephone, street traffic, and the voices of other people. 
Delightful!

Buddy growled a warning, and soon I could hear one or two four-wheelers in
the distance on the railroad bed where my van had been parked.  It was
after midnight already, and I didn't need to deal with something like this.
 Silence.  Man's best friend let out a blood curtling howl, then their
lights turned in our direction.  I hoped that they had not vandalized my
van, but at this point I couldn't do anything about it.  They started their
engines again, revved up, and sped off.

Within a couple of hours Buddy started growling again, then she suddenly
went racing and howling in the direction of a stir in the bushes.  She
returned shortly, coming to the open rainfly with her nose against the
screen door, nuzzling her nose in my ear seeking approval.  I tried to go
back to sleep, but by this time, some birds in the upstream swamp had
already started their morning routine.  I never carry a watch when I hike,
so I could only guess at the time.  It must have been early, because even
the mosquitoes were still asleep.  Reluctantly I got dressed and groped
around for my boots outside the screen door under the rain fly.  My cold
clothing and cold boots were not an enchanting experience.  

Poking around the "dead" fire, I found a couple of coals still alive enough
to get some morning heat into these old bones.  Ordinarily I would never
leave a fire going at night, except the ground was so soaked from the rain,
and I'd also let it smolder out by 7ish the night before.  When I clear an
area for a fire ring, I remove (and stack) the sod for twice the diameter
of the ring in order to prevent any ground cover or foliage from igniting. 
When I leave the campsite, the stones are returned where I found them, the
ashes are turned into the soil after a water dousing, and the sod is
returned to cover the bare spot.  Any remaining firewood was scattered, and
our tenting spot was "roughed up".  It's called LNT (Leave No Trace) I
believe.

Dog and I had some pancakes for breakfast.  She doesn't like coffee, so I
drank her share.  The fire was now out, doused, and broken down (by the
means I just mentioned), and we packed up.  Leaving the area meant that I'd
have to return back to the commotion of life that I sought to escape.  We
took our time, and I made a slight detour to the swamp to spy on the
nesting cranes.  The morning sun was beating down on us, dog was stretched
out catching up on her sleep, and I grabbed for my book to take in a few
more chapters.

Eventually we made it back to the van.  Fortunately nothing was damaged,
but the area had been visited by the signs of fresh tracks from ATV going
around the van.  I panicked when I couldn't find my keys.  "Rats, I bet I
left them in the tent pocket."  Dog smiled and snickered, and she meandered
off to have a good laugh behind a tree.  Unpacking my tent, I found the
keys.

Well, there's no place like home, a hot shower, a snuggly bed, clean
clothes, microwave, toaster, dry feet.

...... and then, there's no place like the forest, a cold shower, hard
ground, dirty clothes, campfire, burned fingers, burned chow, spilled
coffee, and wonderfully alone.

Poor Writer a.k.a. Ern Grover
http://www.tick-tock.com/morgan.html

"If I was to write a book about " how to fail " and it never sold, would it
be a success?"

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