Day 2: Shooting Star to Laura Woodward

My plan had been to hike from the Shooting Star shelter over Jay Peak to Jay Camp today -- just under 8 miles -- but I'm so much slower than I'd anticipated. Day-hiking the Long Trail, I've quite easily done double-digit days, and on the Coast-to-Coast last year my sister and I did some daily mileages in the upper 20s.

The Long Trail is not the Coast-to-Coast, and with my monster backpack it will take however long it takes. I'm simply not willing to hike in the dark, so I decide to take it easy and hike only as far as the next shelter on the trail. I've already completed this northern-frontier division of the LT as day-hikes in the past, so in terms of trail completion I do have some mileage already "in the bank" if I need to bypass sections to get to Johnson on time.

Every hour I take my pack off for a few minutes. I've also invented "table stance", in which I stand with my back parallel to the ground, my hiking poles supporting the weight of my backpack together with my own legs. I start bargaining with myself, using "table stance" as a reward (just get to the top of this hill, then you can have some table-stance time...). I hope nobody comes along the trail behind me while I'm in table stance. Nobody does.

I only cry once today, near the start of the hike. I'm not physically hurting really, mostly just lonely. After 9-and-a-bit years as an emigrant/immigrant, I've got used to missing people pretty much all the time. I think of my Mum every time I see a cardinal, because she is always excited to see them when she visits the States. Chipmunks make me think of my best-bud Lindy. I try to imagine what my spouse would probably do in any "camp craft" situation -- I'm carrying this massive tent partly because it includes an empty space for him. I think of my brother's advice about bivvy bags ("you won't be comfortable, but you'll survive") and wish I'd taken him up on the offer of checking my pack-list for total viable weight. I think of my sister every time I perpetuate our tradition of grumpily "flicking off the view" -- I do this at the top of Doll Peak, a boring, wooded summit after a quite boring and boggy climb. I stay out of the at-least-thigh-deep boggy puddles, balancing on slimy logs and prodding the mud with my hiking poles. I have a few good slides, but don't actually fall down. It's misty, moist and eerily quiet on the LT today.

I have much in common with this snail today.

I've way overpacked on food, coming down on the heavy side of the balance between caution and uncertainty. I'm surprised that I'm really not very hungry so far -- in fact, I feel nauseous a lot of the time. I'd envisaged snarfing calorie-dense snacks every couple of hours; instead, I'm struggling to finish my oatmeal in the morning. I get to Laura Woodward shelter -- 4.3 miles having taken me a little over 6 hours -- and cook some ramen on my little solid-fuel stove. The fuel smells a lot like old dead fish, with the regrettable effect that so does much of my pack.

I fill my water bottles from a seep, and pop little grey iodine pills in each. I hadn't tried out iodine-water before starting the hike, but decided I'd just Have To Deal With It in any case. Turns out, I quite like the yellowy-brown taste. It makes bacteriologically-questionable water safe to drink.

There's a clearing big enough for my tent, and I've set up my little nylon home hours before dark. A gent probably my Dad's age arrives to sleep in the open shelter for the night. This is his third time hiking the Long Trail, and he's also completed the AT. Today he fell in a bog up to his hip. Tomorrow, he's planning a 16-mile day. I am not. If I can drag myself and my pack up and down Jay Peak, I'll stay the predicted frosty night in an enclosed camp the other side. It's a windy night but I sleep early.