A Limp in the Woods (Day 155)

An Appalachian Trail Tale

Day 155: Monday, August 26th, 2013
Long Pond Stream Lean-to to Chairback Gap Lean-to = 11 miles

Miles to date: 2,097

Day 155: In which our subject finds himself tired and cranky, as has been the case the hundred and fifty-four days prior.

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There were just one hundred miles separating those of us in the Long Pond Stream Lean-to and Mount Katahdin, the path’s last great problem. The Appalachian Trail goes cold after that, unless one wishes to continue onto Canada. (The trail goes cold, all right.) There, the hiker can resume on the International Appalachian Trail, a corridor mostly in theory and name, not in actuality. The others sprung up early and sped back into the enchanted forest, impatient to reach that end. I might’ve joined them, but couldn’t find the shelter’s door.

Sleeping Beauty slept tight and snored all right, all night, but his sleeker version (Sleeping Beauty 2.1) snores nothing like his previous rotund self (Sleeping Beauty 1.0). More positive trail-related change, and the guy probably doesn’t even realize it. The mirror doesn’t share everything.

Continuing back to last night, one of our lean-to roommates informed us that the forecast called for clear skies for the unforeseeable future. Good news indeed. I argued that because the future is unforeseeable and not in fact news--yet--and because no one can accurately predict much of anything about it, said forecast was anything but clear. Still, we all agreed we’d accept it or whatever else alternative came our way. Little would stop us now--and it’d have to be big.

It was clear when I finally got going, but one can never tell just how clear, what with all the trees in the way. Long-range vantages in the Hundred-Mile Wilderness are maybe a hundred feet, both ahead and overhead. The rain arrived in minutes. The forecast was now downcast--and downpour. Things went downhill quickly. The rain was so powerful it knocked needles off their branches. Hiking is not supposed to be punishment.

A typical forecast wherever I am

It’d end up a head-down kind of day, up and over the slickened Barren Ledges, and over the rockslide that is Barren Mountain. Past logging operations (wilderness!) and past the point of requiring two knee operations (okay, not really). (One operation destroys things, one fixes things.)

I’d finish breakfast at the Cloud Pond Lean-to, nearly a half-mile off-trail and completely devoid of life, before tackling more bog, more log, more fog and more slog. First there was Fourth Mountain, then Third Mountain, then finally enough of mountains. Yep, a thru-hike of the AT is no tampon ad. There are no fluffy bunnies or bouncy puppies to cuddle with, and there are few Sound of Music hillsides swathed in wildflowers on which to rollick or picnic. The AT is a test of you as a person, on top of a test of you as a thru-hiker. Oh how I cry mercy! This has been the toughest challenge I’ve ever...

     Ah, never mind.

The hills may be alive, but I’m dead. And dead men do not moan. (When you’re prone to moan, all you’re really doing is placing yourself at the top of the list of people or things that annoy you.)

I’m currently cozy inside the Chairback Gap Lean-to, alongside Coolie McJetPack (“long time no see!”) and an older chap named Pat-agonia (“long time never see!”). All others remained out of their heads and were well ahead. Thankfully, there’s no shortage of entertainment with these two, nor with the Backpacker Magazines laying about, but more about that come morning; I’ve endured enough punishment for one day. Time now for nothing. And I never moan about nothing.