Day 6: Corliss Camp to Roundtop Shelter

Laraway Mountain demonstrates the difference in atmosphere between a mountain's northern and southern faces. I spend much of the morning quietly climbing the boggy, bouldery, north face -- tunnelling through a narrow trail overhung and edged by bright green trees and moss. There's plentiful moose poop on the trail, almost all the way to the summit. I wonder what a moose's daily routine looks like. My metal waterbottle clangs against my belt buckle with every step -- I've set this up on purpose so Wildlife Knows I'm Coming. 

Wondering what moose do, I notice that I've started making quite wildlife-esque noises myself on the trail. When I round a corner and see another massive boulder on the trail, an automatic dog-growl of frustration or vexation comes out. When I have to lift my backpack, or hop up to a ledge on the trail, a hearty grunt is helpful. On the interior, my thoughts are a jumble of basic narration, song snippets, drum loops, and instructions to myself. I stare at a bouldery section of trail, wondering whether the muddy or the mossy perimeter offers a more favourable route. "Take the green line, traverse, and transfer to the brown" says my automatic-instructional voice. I do. I mince across slippery duckboards, holding my hiking poles up and out as if they will hold me up (apparently I learned to walk the same way, holding Christmas decorations aloft). 

The summit's a little misty-creepy, and I can't see the view for the trees. I set my pack down for the first time this morning, and it steams like fresh moose droppings. Big birds circle, yelling "WAR!" and I'm spooked -- I strap my pack on and hasten down the southern side of the mountain. 

The trail has a different character this side, with lots of cliffs beside the trail. It's drier underfoot; miraculous trees overhang the cliffs, rooted almost entirely on a thin layer of moss. Unexpectedly, I arrive at Laraway Lookout. It's my turn to hike up to a view and exclaim "wow", beaming.

Down along the trail, I pass day-hiking couples. "There are only great things ahead", one lady tells me. 

This is really the first flat bit of the LT I've encountered. This photo shows how long the zero-gradient lasted. Back to knobbly descent right around the corner. 

I have a couple of small summits between me and Roundtop. A couple of northbound hikers cutting out at the end of a section tell me "it will be blowy up there this evening". 

I am so used to plodding on, up and down on the trail, that Roundtop Shelter comes as a surprise. 

It gets towards dusk, and looks like I'll have the shelter to myself tonight. I make a fire, and ponder whether I'm brave enough to sleep in the open-face shelter. Decide I'm not, and pitch the tent inside the shelter (leaving plenty of floor-space for late arrivals -- I'm not a total arse). Sunset is scenic and I go to sleep listening to the fire's embers crackling. Tomorrow: town. Plumbing, electricity, non-ramen sustenance.