My pack's getting lighter, mostly because I'm almost out of food. Been eating uncooked ramen for lunch, and cooked ramen for dinner. One of the gents from PA gave me a mini baguette, some cherry tomatoes and some mini cukes in a Ziploc bag yesterday, and I'm saving this for brunch. Anticipation level is high.
I've developed a preferred pattern -- sleep at a lower elevation, warm up for the day with the first uphills. I climb Peru Peak, then knock out a few connected peaks before breakfast. I like the way this furry caterpillar moves:
After a couple of hours, I sit and I eat. I've become rather canine about food -- last night on the way down from Baker Peak, I had an emergency moment in which I threw down my pack, actually yelled "I need a ******* Twix!" and dug violently through my dry bag with my front paws, growling, until I unearthed the last Twix bar. If there hadn't been a Twix, there would likely have been an actual tantrum.
On this peak, I open the Ziploc bag. The baguette is heavier than I expect. "Oh my God... there's cheese in there", I whisper with some reverence. It is the very best sandwich in the world ever, this morning.
I'm happy it's dry, toddling on over rustly leaves. The falling leaves sound a lot like rain. After a few hours I come down to a forestry road. Should have checked whether the water pump was working (it wasn't) before draining my water bottle...
I climb Bromley Mountain; at the top there are daytrippers in clean clothes, taking pictures of the 360-degree vistas. None have backpacks. I realise there's a chairlift running, and I wander over to take a look at this amazing machine. I've only been on a chairlift once before.
"Hey hiker, would you like some water?" asks the bloke operating the chairlift. There's a cooler set up on the disembarkation platform. "It might taste a little of chlorine; I'm sorry". The water's clear and not iodine-yellow. The operator notices my water-bottle is blazed with a cymbal-company logo. Turns out we both play drums. "We let hikers ride the chairlift for free, if you're interested", he says. "Is there... anywhere to buy food at the base?" I enquire with tremulous hope and a thin layer of fake nonchalance. "Bromley Market -- turn left at the road and it's probably a quarter of a mile".
"Should I take off my backpack?" I'm standing on the platform and a wide chairlift is approaching fast. "Yes -- sit it next to you. Have you never ridden a chairlift before?" I plonk myself and my pack down, loop my pole-straps over my wrist, pull down the bar and cling very tightly as the lift rounds the corner and I take off into an amazing view. The foliage is just starting; the sun's shining; I'm moving without walking. It's amazing.
At the base I fly over people playing mini golf, leave my pack with the other operator, inexplicably literally salute him, and start hobbly-running up the side of the road in my rigid hiking boots. The Bromley Market appears after only a couple of minutes. Their signboard proclaims they have the best BBQ north of the Mississippi. I gather a basket of various cheeses, one pepperoni, a stuffed acorn squash and risotto slice from the deli counter, some baked goods, salt and vinegar crisps, the cheapest nuts, Mounds, Snickers and several Twix bars. I unroll the cash from the Lincoln house concert; I have to put back one of the cheeses I'd greedily picked up. No worries -- I can have a Cheese Of The Day almost every day left on the trail. I have just "run to my cheeses for refuge". Arf.
Then I sit in the sun and eat quite entirely the best meal I have ever put in my dirt-streaked, sweaty face. The acorn squash was stuffed with blue cheese, quinoa and multiple other premium ingredients. The San Pellegrino was the very freshest and fizziest. The hand sanitizer tasted alright too.
Back up on the chairlift, I remembered to take my camera out this time.
I headed downhill not too far to the Bromley Shelter. The same lady I'd run into on Whiteface Mountain and at Clarendon Shelter (Notorious BOB) was there, hiking one more day only then getting picked up by a friend. We were both sniffly with incipient colds. The shelter was newer and nice, with a sheltered picnic table under the "porch". I climbed the loft platform and Notorious had the lower level. Coyotes came howling round the area in the small hours; they sounded like humans fighting. When the coyotes left, an owl took up residence in a tree by the shelter, whinnying-hollering a descending fifth over and over. So, it was difficult to sleep through -- the coyotes scared the crap out of me to be honest. Notorious thought about going to photograph them. Putting my own bravery-level in perspective -- I am a relative wuss. Not ever going to face coyotes in the cold dark, if I can help it.
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