Day 21: Bromley Shelter to Stratton Pond

The weather's lovely, but I feel kind of tired and slow today -- must be all the chairlift excitement and coyote howling of the last 24 hours. I'm sort of getting not-quite a cold; I'm hydrating hard. The trail's pretty, pretty flat, and pretty wilderness-y. At a brook I take some macro water shots:

I've become very fixated on the LT's white blazes, finding it quite unsettling when I'm on a shelter-spur trail and the blazes are blue instead. The blazes become a Morse-code rhythm of reassurance.

This chipmunk was not into being photographed.

Just occasionally, the green tunnel of the trail opens up for a view. 

I stopped for lunch break at Spruce Peak Shelter. Hardly any of the shelters still have stoves intact (probably because shelters burn down a lot). I bet this would be a cosy place to stay:

Cheese of the day is a cream Havarti. I eat it first because it seems potentially most sensitive to not being refrigerated. I score it 6/10 on the scale of amazing cheese. I am very happy to have full food-sacks, though.

My lower back/right kidney is twinge-painful for, usually, the second half of each day. I remind myself this is more tolerable than the atrocious ejaculating blisters I'd been expecting, and use the pain as a compass to guide my posture. Sometimes I just lie back on the pack on a boulder, taking "interesting photographs" as an excuse to rest:

I plod on to Prospect Rock, where I run into the Stratton Pond caretaker again (he'd also rolled up for lunch at Spruce Peak). I apologise for intruding on his solitude; he takes off walking at a normal pace and I'm happily left alone with the view:

Some foliage is kicking in. I walk some way on an old logging road, which is easy going.

At the end of the logging road there's a bridge and a stream -- I stop for snacks and water-refill. I'm tired; I hit my head quite hard on the bridge as I stand up with a full water bottle. I'm grumpy, but it's a good reminder to be careful and responsible for myself as I head into the Lye Brook Wilderness. The first designated wilderness area I walked through was intimidating -- the LT itself is "more challenging to follow in the Wilderness Area due to minimal blazing and brushing" (Green Mountain Club 'Long Trail Guide') and the wilderness entry and exit signs warn that rescue efforts take longer in these areas. Recently I've been busting through multiple Wilderness Areas in a day; today I remember not to get complacent. My ankles do what I think of as "warning rolls" -- little sideways dips on easy terrain -- which remind me that bipeds only really function when ankles are working. I need to take care. I swoosh through the unbrushed dry leaves and use my poles to distribute weight when I can. I feel a bit lonely for the miles through this particular wilderness. It's the price of admission to a glorious stumbling upon Stratton Pond:

The trail circles right by the water's edge. Right by the shore, I notice many tiny swimming lizards! Swimming geckos! I root around in my vocabulary for the word "newt" -- I haven't seen one of those since the 1980s. I love their dinosaury bodies and their reaching, slimy fingers:

photograph by Solvin Zankl

Three girls from Burlington are at the Stratton Pond shelter. They're doing a section of the LT, and carrying rather a lot of food. They mention 50-pound starting packs -- I reckon as a proportion of body weight that's similar to my 60-pound starter. They kindly share leftover beans and quinoa; I plod back down to the pond for water refilling.

As the sun reaches a certain horizon-angle, the whole sky turns rich purple. I decide, for some reason, to go and take a pee in the woods. By the time I'm ready to photograph the purple glory (probably less than a minute later), it's gone back to grey:

I sleep chilly but OK in a bottom bunk of the shelter. Tomorrow I'm climbing up Stratton Mountain.

Day 20: Peru Peak Shelter to Bromley Shelter

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...

Out of water and almost out of food, I'm hatching a plan to walk on to Route 11/30, get into Manchester, and buy some snacks to see me through to Massachusetts. I'm not sure how this side trip will work into my planned mileages, but pushing south with empty food sacks isn't an option. I need some more Twix bars. Or there will be trouble.

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.