“Stiff Sticks & Mean Mountain Climbs”

AT Day 116

Miles Today: 13.6

AT Mile: 1864.0

(Lake of the Clouds Shelter [“The Dungeon”])

The White Mountains are something to be beheld. They are big in ways that I have not felt in the mountains that I have climbed before. They are big in their size, in their presence, and in their age. There is something big in these mountains that is hard to describe with any other word. They are enormous.

I woke in the shelter to the sound of birds chirping, and knowing that I had the choice between an early start to a big day or a late start to a mild day, I stuck my earplugs in and pulled my beanie down over my eyes to act as an eye mask.

By the time I finally surrendered to the coming of day it was just past 7:15am.

I was one of the last to leave the camp this morning, and before packing up and getting to trail I talked more with Peter, the site host who led the Tai Chi lesson last night… I think I called it Qi Gong last night. Close, but not the same.

I asked him about the weather forecast for the net few days and he said that it should be more of the same–mostly clear with a bit of wind, the potential for afternoon showers, and a whole lot of smoke.

I’ve failed to convey the seeming ever-present nature of wildfire smoke that looms in the air now. Some of the locals have told me that it has actually improved in the preceding week, but it’s still impossible to miss. The fires are off in some long distant part of Canada to the West, and locals keep talking how “it never used to be this way,” But this really is the new normal. I don’t mean to be too much of a hippy here, but we really have done a number on this planet man… it’s become so hot and so dry in places that used to not be like this. It doesn’t matter if “it never used to be this way” or not… the fact is that it is this way, and this is basically the new normal.

Thank you for attending my soapbox moment this evening…

The mountains though; let’s stick with the mountains for a moment.

The trail dropped down to a highway this morning, but only for around three miles before starting up the Presidential climb. I knew that it was going to be a lot of climbing today, but I somehow underestimated it. This morning in particular was absolutely brutal.

It was the first time in the entire AT that I’ve dropped pack, packed away my trekking poles, and used my hands as part of the climb in an ascent. It really was a bit more like rock climbing for small stints this morning.

The exposure didn’t feel dangerous, but the grade was the steepest that I think I’ve ever encountered in a thru trail.

The vegitation also fought me in the climb. The pine trees up here are small, strong, and stiff. They don’t just give way like the shrubbery of the southern Appalachian Trail. The trees up here hold their form and push back as you try to climb up through them.

But once the trail broke tree line the visibility grew to as far as the smoke would permit and it became possible to see the distant peaks of the mountains that I’ve traversed these last three days as well as the ones ahead and to the north, including the Presidentials.

—

Mount Washington looms on the close horizon this evening. It’s only a few miles away from where I’m ending my hike today. I could make it there tonight with ease, but then I’d have to hike another 5 or 6 miles through high elevation in order to find camp on the other side of the alpine exposure area.

Ultimately I could do that with relative ease tonight, but the fact hold that I just don’t want to. I want to do the Presidentials tomorrow while I have the full day. I want to wake casually, eat the left overs from the people paying $140 to stay at this hut in the mountains for breakfast, then make my way up to Washington itself. I’ve been told that there’s a gift shop with hot dogs and maybe a modest food resupply as well. From there I want to consider the possibility of taking psychedelics and spending the rest of the day hiking in bliss.

—

This morning before leaving camp, and as I was saying goodbye to Peter the site host, I asked if he wanted a coyote tooth. I tend to give out about one a day. I try not to give them out casually. The people that I gift them to mostly seem to understand the meaning behind them.

—

At one point today I met a hiker who was headed uphill while I was hiking downhill. Based on his outward appearance he looked to have about .2 miles of hiking experience under his belt, but he claimed to still have a trail name. But I digress… I shouldn’t be so judgemental.

“How are you?” He asked with enthusiasm.

“Great!”

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

I agreed, told him that we’ve had several days of great weather.

Then he said “Praise Jesus,” and I noticed that his hat had a Tennissee patch on it, identifying his connection with the south.

I shrugged my shoulders a bit. “I guess, if that’s your thing,” I said. “He’s not the deity that I choose to worship, but I don’t mind Jesus.”

The other guy looked up at me, a bit befuddled by the unfolding of our exchange, but also not completely distraught. I could see where things were going from here before they even progressed. Next thing he was going to tell me his name, then he was going to ask for mine, and I could already tell that he was going to recognize “Wormwood” for a reference in “Screwtape Letters.”

Let it be known that my trail name is not based on that book, but those who aren’t familiar, it should be noted that there is a book called “Screwtape Letters” by the author C.S. Lewis. The book is a series of letters from the Devil to his nephew, a demon named Wormwood. For the sake of brevity, let me just say that the character of Wormwood in that book is not a good character. To the contrary, he’s quite the iconic “bad guy.”

And while a lot of people don’t know the reference to C.S. Lewis’ book, a lot of devout Christians are very quick to think my name is a reference to that book.

So that’s exactly how things played out.

“My trail name is JesusSaves,” the other guy said.

My eyes rolled so heavily that it would have been audible if you were there to hear it. It was a struggle for me to refrain from saying “I fucking bet it is.” Instead I just said, “My name is Wormwood” and just like I knew was going to happen, I watched as the look on his face twisted and squirmed a bit.

“Well,” he said, “I hope you have a good day.”

As I write this tonight, I have to wonder if that guy is of the belief that he had a mid-trail encounter with the devil.

What is the devil anyway? Maybe it’s different for everyone. Maybe we each get to choose what are our angels and what are our demons.

For that matter, this life I live might be somebody’s heaven but I’m sure that it would be plenty of other people’s hell.

Perspective matters greatly.

—

I think a lot about my writing as I hike. About my daily journals and my aspirations for turning this into a book after the walk is over and done. Sometimes I talk through the workings of entire chapters in my hears. Sometimes it will feel so clear that it’s hard not to stop hiking just to sit down and write. I almost never do write mid day, but I like having the time and the miles to think through things that might or might not make it to the page later on.

—

I was hiking along today and reached a point where the trail dropped down sharply. I’d just passed one hiker, going southbound, and then met his friend who was standing at the bottom of the steep rock decline, with his pissing dick in his hand.

He looked up at me, eyebrows crumpled, and shouted “I’m taking a piss here man!”

I stopped hiking and turned around to face the other direction. While I waited for him to finish his business I hit my vape pen and let out a small chuckle over the whole scene.

Then I heard him shout again–“okay, I’m done now… oh… wait…” he looked up at me, the disgruntled look now changed to a look of surprise. “Oh shit; I thought you were my friend!”

I tend to be pretty quick in situations like this, and I shouted down to him that we can still be friends. “Strange way to begin the relationship, I guess, but I’m not one to get overly caught up on first impressions.”

I scurried down the slope to carry on my way, and figured that would be the end of our conversation. I don’t normally have much interest in carrying on a long conversation when someone accident walks up on me trying to take a piss. But this guy didn’t feel the same, it seems. And as I walked by and tried to be on my way, he asked if I was a thru hiker. “All the way from Georgia?” He asked. And I told him yes, it’s been 115 days.

Worth nothing here, thru hikers are the clear minority out here in the White Mountains. In fact, since that first day out from Hikers Welcome Hostel, I haven’t seen anyone who has hiked from Georgia. Up until this evening at least; there are a few of them here at the Lake Of The Clouds Hut.

The piss guy continued asking me questions about my pack weight and how much food and water I carry and how many miles I do a day, and eventually I started getting kind of lost in all the questions about gear weight.

“I mean, I don’t know man,” I tried to explain. “You see, I’m quite high on mushrooms right now, so questions about weight and time and space are all sort of slippery to me today.”

The piss guy paused for a moment, clearly processing what I’d said and far more shocked than I expected him to be. “You mean like a microdose or something?”

I’ve learned that this is the follow-up question most of the time when I mention tripping on trail.

I told him that no, a gram isn’t a micro for me and that it’s about 10x what I would call a micro.

We continued to talk about it for another minute or two, him staying in a state of what seemed to be befuddlement, then eventually we parted, just as if he didn’t know I was using illegal drugs on trail and like I hadn’t seen his weiner. Just two ships, passing in the night.

—

Tonight I’m camped in “the dungeon” of the Lake Of The Clouds Hut. It is basically the emergency storm shelter for the staff and it absolutely does fit the name. I’ve never stayed in a place quite as wretched as this. Six occupied bunks in a basement basically.

It’s a sight to behold. But it’s $10 and it beats $140 for a bunk, which is my other option.

Tomorrow I’ll climb Mount Washington, hopefully find some resupply options there, and continue through the presidential. I suspect that it will be psychedelic. The weather looks favorable.

For now I’m going to get some dinner then get to sleep.

These mountains have been big and the climbs do take it out of me. I find myself completely exhausted.

Until next time–

Wormwood.