Posts Tagged ‘wilderness’

Night 44: Pink Wine At The End Of The Whites

Friday, March 25th, 2011

Pink wine at Jeffers Brook Shelter

Pink wine at Jeffers Brook Shelter

Sunday July 18, 2010

6.9 Miles, 1781.7 Miles to Springer, 397.4 Miles Hiked

Today’s hike would be my shortest in a while as my schedule was going to be dictated by the United States Postal service. My sister Caitlin had sent a package for me to the Glencliff post office which was just over seven miles away, unfortunately post offices aren’t open on Sundays so I would hike 6.9 miles to the shelter just before Glencliff and walk into Glencliff early tomorrow morning to get my package. Today would be  a relaxed day and I was looking forward to it.

I woke up as the sun rose, not because of the mileage I had for the day, but because I wanted to get over Moosilauke before it stormed again, if it was going to storm and I planned on taking a long afternoon nap at Jeffers Brook Shelter as soon as I got there. As I got my things together I talked with some of the weekend hikers who had shared the shelter with me. There was a man who looked almost exactly like a long haired Paulie Shore, which made me happy because Paulie Shore reminds me of being a kid. I was so distracted by his striking resemblance to Paulie Shore that I didn’t hear a word he said.

The other hikers I talked to were two girls who had attended Brown and Harvard and that was all they had to talk about. I lost interest in them immediately, and I got a very lesbian vibe from both of them, not that there was anything wrong with that. Believe me, I didn’t like them because they were elitists who loved to talk about how special and smart they were for attending an Ivy League school.

I kept the conversation brief, packed up my things and said goodbye to the Ivy League Lesbians and the Paulie Shore look alike and the other day hikers who I had shared the shelter with the previous night.

Before I left the Beaver Brook campsite and shelter area I stopped at the privy. A sign attached to it informed me that it was being maintained by the DOC (Dartmouth Outdoors Club). When I opened the privy door and stepped inside the odor was extra offensive. The door slammed behind me and it was like I was trapped in a four foot by four foot shit covered crime scene. It was terrible. What used to be the back window of the privy was now the toilet seat lid and was it was smeared with shit stains and crusted with dried urine and splashes of what I can only imagine was some poor hiker’s diarrhea.

After grabbing a corner of the plexiglass window pain that covered the toilet I lifted it up as though I was holding explosive material. With the dirty plexiglass removed I saw what was inside.

The toilet seat sat upon approximately a six foot high by four by four foot wooden box. We’re talking about 150 cubic feet ( maybe those calculations are wrong, but hey, math was never my strong suit)  for holding human waste.

Back to what was inside. The privy had been so heavily used and poorly maintained, cleaned, or composted that shit was literally beginning to overflow up and out of the toilet.

As I looked down at the rising, spiraling, tower of shit I knew it was decision time. I really had to poop and if I didn’t do it here I’d be squatting in the woods, potentially squatting above tree line trying to poop in the middle of an electrical storm.  I decided to chance it as I couldn’t hold it any longer and I sat down knowing full well that the poop tower could end up pushing up against me just from sitting or that whatever came out of me would be pushed up against me with nowhere to go down below. Yes, I had become a disgusting person. The decisions of my every day life were not what I had envisioned for myself when I set out on this Mecca-esque quest.

The privy incident left me unsmeared. I didn’t dare reach under myself to wipe for fear that my hand would make direct contact with the poop tower. I stood up with pants around my ankles and wiped while standing up. This is probably far too much to be sharing with the entire world, but this was the way I had to think now, these were my serious life problems.

Since it was a weekend the tent site was filled with weekenders, who had tents the size of Howard Johnson hotels, absolutely ridiculous luxuries that I was secretly jealous about. Just as I left camp I ran into a crazed looking Chihuahua that ran at me and tried to bite me several times. The dogs owners offered me some doughnut holes as a peace offering for the crazed dog nipping at my legs and I took them and gladly scarfed them down and headed to the trail away from the crazed Chihuahua.

The sunlight that greeted me at the shelter that morning was pretty much completely gone by the time I was getting close to breaking the treeline. It appeared I might just make it through the Whites without a single good view from any of the major peaks. The thing is that I didn’t care at all. I was just so excited to be out of the damn White mountains, and excited that I would never have to come back. These mountains as amazing as they were scare the fucking shit out of me.

As I reached the summit of Mount Moosilauke the large cairns came into view as white and misty clouds rolled past me with 20 mile per hour winds that blew and blew.

MVI_2165

When I reached the top I saw a tiny slit of blue between two massive dark clouds. I saw a young couple enjoying lunch behind a pile of rocks, protected from the wind. I sat down next to them and we talked. I wasn’t exactly in a rush with less than six miles to go to the next shelter and with no sound of thunder.

“I’m Lola.” The girl said.

“And I’m Sunrise.” The man said. They both wore copper wedding bands, something I’d never seen before and something about them seemed more free and wild then anyone I’d met so far, these people were travelers.

I told them about the Whites , the hut system, the insane weather, and I ate lunch with them.

Since I was in no rush I just waited at the summit even as Lola and Sunrise moved on. I envied them the fact that they had each other to hike with.

I met another couple a half hour later, Moose and Tetherball. They too were so full of life and positive energy they made me wish I was headed North with them. They gave me the boost I needed to keep on keeping on. They were accompanied by another young man named Chewy.

“The only animals I’ve seen so far are deers and bears.” Chewy said. “You get to Virginia and deers will be trying to get into the shelter to spoon with you.” Chewy said.

Moose gave me some of her swedish fish and then departed North. I ate them and then I too left the  and headed the just under five miles I had to hike to get to Jeffers Brook Shelter. I arrived around 2:00 P.M. with plenty of daylight left so I decided that after I finished what I had allotted for my lunch that I would take a well deserved nap. And I slept on the hard wooden shelter floor like it was a feather bed.

I woke up to a white trash looking couple named Tracy and Owen. They had two lab and pit bull mix puppies that were terribly disobedient.

They chatted with me and told me they had parked their car just a half mile away and were going to get their tent and food. Food that included hot dogs which they offered me, I was very excited.

When they headed back to their car to get their gear an older couple named Grace & Glory and Walking Man arrived. Both loved to complain and did plenty of it to anyone near enough that had functioning ears.

“As soon as I finish my hike I’m writing a letter to my senator about those huts.” Walking Man said.

Bishop arrived not too long after them and I was glad to see a familiar face who I knew I could talk to who I also knew was not crazy.

Turkey and Thrasher arrived shortly after Bishop and told me of the early troubles they faced in their hike.  They said Thrasher got hurt early on and they had a 1000 medical bill to pay and no insurance.

Tracy, the woman in the white trash couple walked back into the campsite dragging a giant cooler on wheels while Owen, her boyfriend carried more than the average camel could hull. Good thing their car was so close.  Tracey opened the cooler and pulled out two giant bottles of pink Sutter Home wine and poured us all very full glasses. One glass had me tipsy and the half bottle shared between Tracy and Owen had them talking about dropping everything and starting their own thru hike. They asked Bishop and I questions and said they were dead serious about hiking, I knew this was all bar talk and would amount to nothing, but bar talk with strangers is at least entertaining.

There was about two cups worth of wine left in one of the bottles as everyone headed to bed. Tracy and Owen offered it to Bishop and me to finish and we did. I poured half in my tin cup and Bishop drank the rest straight from the bottle.

Since Bishop was getting a new phone soon I gave him my number in case we got split up and so he could let me know how far ahead he was when we really got split up when I left Hanover and headed home for my two friends’ weddings.

I had pulled out the card Sarah had given me before I started my hike, the same card I read every night before I went to bed. The front had three pictures of her.  In the first she was pointing to herself, the second making a heart with her hands, and in the third pointing at me and on the inside was a picture of her blowing a kiss with the words ‘I love you’ underneath the picture.

“What are you looking at?” Bishop asked.

“A card my girlfriend made me before I left for my hike that she asked me to take with me the whole way.” I said.

“Can I see it?” Bishop asked.

“Yeah, but you can’t read what’s inside, that’s just between her and me,” I said as I handed him the card.

“She’s really pretty.” He said.

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous.” I said.

“How long you been together?” He asked.

“Just about two and a half years.” I said.

“That’s a really long time.” He said.

“It hasn’t seemed that long to me.” I said.

“Every girl I’ve ever been with has told me I have commitment issues, or maybe it was intimacy issues, I can’t remember.” Bishop said as he handed the card back to me.

“Maybe it was the girls that had the issues, and they just blamed them on you.” I said with a laugh as I tucked the card back in my journal and put it in my pack.

We turned our headlamps off and I felt so ready to be back home, back in the real world, back in the life I once inhabited even if it just was for a week.

We went to bed and I really hoped I’d see Bishop again, but I wasn’t sure if I could make up 10 days hiking on someone who hiked just as fast as I did. I’d really have to move fast if I was going to ever see him again. But people had told me you’d be surprised at what can happen that will bring hikers back together on the trail.

Rose – Glass of Wine.

Bud – Getting closer to Hanover.

Thorn – Only getting 6.9 miles hiked.

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Night 7: Time To Reflect

Thursday, June 17th, 2010

Underwater Picture Looking Up From The Creekbed Of Cooper Brook Falls

Friday, 6-11-2010
15.7 Miles Hiked. 2,119.4 Miles to Springer

It’s been a week into my 2,179.1 mile walk about and I’d like to reflect on the journey to this point.

The hike has been muddy, rooty, and rocky beyond belief. Half of the time we’re hiking I’m not sure I’m even on a trail. The only thing that let’s me know we are even on track sometimes is the occassional white blaze, which often times look just like the white colored lichen that grow on the trees and rocks.

Seven days into the trip and we sit 2,119.4 miles from Springer Mt. In Georgia. We’ve hiked 59.7 miles, actually 64.9 since we had to climb up Katahdin to get started. We are 44.3 miles deep in the 100 mile wilderness, and hoping to be in Monson, ME by Tuesday afternoon. I can’t wait for the shower, BBQ, and clean clothing that await.

Today was the most we’ve hiked in one day and it was in large part do to the fact that we had our flattest terrain in days.

Matt and I hit the trail at 7:09 A.M. today and booked it. We had 4.3 miles in before breakfast. The views from Jo Mary Lake were gorgeous. We stopped for lunch and then really contemplated hitting the shelter six miles down the old logging road at Jo Mary road where you can have a bean hole dinner and take a shower. The cost of which was 18.95 and that seemed a little too rich for our blood, so we moved on.

I was ready to be at the next lean-to and ready to get my boots off. My feet throbbed all day today. I’ve started thinking Janasty might have had it right. Carrying light weight tradeables would certainly make my back far less sore.

We finished our record day of hiking with plenty of daylight left to just sit in the shelter and relax. I was ecstatic with our mileage and felt it was a good indicator of what our last four days would be like.

Since my title promises reflection I suppose I should deliver. I would like to focus my reflection on my own stink, food, soreness, some miscoceptions about the trail, and trail names.

My stank. It is putrid at it’s worst. It’s unbelievable. It’s so bad it has actually made me gag and prevented me from sleeping at night. When I get in my sleeping bag at night is when I notice it the most. It’s at this moment that all my stank gets trapped in one small area. I’ve spent much of my time hiking just thinking of descriptions that would do justice to the stank.

As i describe it In I think it will help if you close your eyes and visualize the scenario I’m using to describe my stank.

Someone has accidently put some lunch meat in the vegetable crisper. They also accidently spilt some feta cheese when they opened the feta cheese tub and little bits found there way down below into the vegetable crisper. Accompanying the lunch meat which has now been forgotten are a hand full of decaying vegetables which too have been neglected. There are slimy baby carrots, brown lettuce, limp celery, soft tomatos, and some loose garlic cloves and budding onions.

All these food things were forgotten because honestly no one checks the vegatable draw in this house. The wrotting items have begun to release liquids which are forming into a soup at the bottom.

Someone opened the milk jug and drank straight from it. It was bad milk, chunky milk, sour milk. They immediately spit what was in their mouth out. The projectile spoiled milk is now dripping into the vegetable draw joining what already dwells below.

Two weeks have passed. There is now an inch of fury mold covering the entire drawers contents. It looks like that scene in Gremlins where the gremlin gets microwaved.

Someone finally notices the drawer. They remove the drawer from the fridge and take it to the backyard to hose it out. They get it outside and the phone rings. They go inside to answer it, it’s aunt Nelly. They get caught up in conversation and forget they were ever going to clean the drawer.

The drawer sits in the hot summer sun all day and festers away. A skunk comes from miles away, he is lured by the scent. That night after a fifteen mile trek the skunk finally reaches the drawer. It gets right up next to it. Even the skunk is not prepared for it’s putrocity. The skunk throws up into the drawer, it then sprays as it feels threatened by the scent. The overall remaining scent is how I smell except their is a slight sweetness to my scent that only bug spray can add.

Food. I was so worried about running out of food that I essentially starved myself our first few days of hiking. Foolish, without a doubt, yes, but fear will make you do crazy things. Now that I stand only four days away from resupply I have become far more carefree with food. This doesn’t make up for the fact that I was only eating about a thousand calories a day those first few days. I’ve probably already lost about eight pounds. I’m not too worried though, it’s just less weight I have to carry.

Soreness and misconceptions. I was in no way shape or form prepared for how difficult this trail would be. The endurance I had from college swimming also seems to matter very little in the mountains.

Pause. Please don’t think I’m not enjoying this, I am. I just currently am in a severe state of hurt that makes my whole demeanor a little more unpleasant. I very much over estimated my own physical preparedness and was not ready fir how tired and sore I would be each and every day, but everyone we’ve met says Maine and New Hampshire are the worst and if we can do those the rest will be a breeze.

Old Man River caught back up to us. He impresses me more every day.

“Hiked 19 miles today.” He said as he set his pack down in the shelter. I noticed he had a strip of bug tape wrapped around the fishing hat he wore and it was covered with hundreds of Mosquitos and flies.

“Got rid of my heavy leather boots. More trouble than their worth.” He said. “I also must have lost my tent poles somewhere further back cause they aren’t in the case.” He said. “I gotta get to Monson by Tuesday afternoon or I’m screwed. I’ll be all out of food.” He said.

I decided at this point hiking was risky business and I would perfer my parents not partake, I worry enough about them without fearing they might end up dead in the woods.

He said our other former shelter mates were nowhere in sight so they must be really far back now. He also said since he’d be at his cabin in Maine the next week that he’d be glad to pick us up and give us a ride into Caratunk. This marked our second sign of trail magic. I wrote down his number with every intention of taking him up on his offer.

Trail names. Matt has decided to go back to one of his old trail names and will be called Mud from this point forth. I have been thinking about what mine should be for the last several days.

OMR said, “Might as well pick one for yourself soon cause you won’t see too many people going SOBO. Probably won’t be anyone to assign you one.”

Upon hearing this I decided to combine Sarah’s and Mud’s suggestions. Mud suggestion Pyro cause I’m the only one that ever builds fires at camp. Sarah suggested Peter Pan since I don’t ever want to grow up and I want to be young forever. This led to me deciding on Triple P to make it more time convenient.

Rose – Picking a trail name.
Bud – Getting to our next rest point
Thorn – Finding three new blisters

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