AT Day 117

Miles Today: 13.69

AT Mile: 1877.2

(Unnamed Brook Tentsite)

Part 1: Mount Washington Visitor Center

“The Dungeon” was appropriately named…

When I arrived, paid my ten dollars, and walked down there, I was a bit shocked by how small the quarters were, but equally impressed that they’d managed to fit six bunks in those concrete and rock walls. Fortunately however, I was the only one there when I arrived. As I sat upstairs with the guests and worked on writing last night, another hiker rolled in and I heard her talking to the staff up front.

She was on a week-long hike, and at first asked about work-for-stay, but then asked about if there was any room in the Dungeon. I realized that I wasn’t going to have the space to myself anymore.

But then she said “a party of five.” And my eyebrows rose.

I thought I was going to have tight quarters to myself last night. It ended up being fully booked out.

The one advantage to six of us being in there was that it stayed warmer and I didn’t have to shiver. But otherwise it was a miserable “sleeping” experience. Thank god for ear plugs and melatonin!

The Dungeon was directly underneath the dining quarters for 75+ guests, and you could hear the footsteps of every single one of them! It was loud as hell. Fortunately, I was equally as tired as hell, and after a melatonin I pulled my beanie over my eyes, put in ear plugs, and promptly fell asleep for the first few hours of the night.

My melatonin tablets became completely crushed up into a powder about a hundred miles ago, so at this point I’m just taking “doses” of it out of a bag. It feels like doing hard drugs. But I promise, it’s just melatonin. My dosage however is mostly a shot in the dark.

It was enough to get me to sleep for the first few hours of the night. But I woke up somewhere around midnight and struggled to sleep much after that.

This morning they started scooting around upstairs fairly early, and it was a struggle for me to stay in my sleeping bag and bunk. But free breakfast for hikers wasn’t offered until 8am, so I basically just tossed and turned for hours until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I wandered upstairs, had a half cup of coffee, found the free bowl of oatmeal, couldn’t find a spoon so I used my own, and enjoyed a free meal with some left over scrambled eggs.

Remember the part about “half” a cup of coffee though? Well… I was also a bit stoned, having rolled right out of bed and hit my vape pen to try and cope with the reality of having not slept very well. That was a bone head move. Because that titanium, long-handled spoon had been with me for almost my entire triple crown. But when I went to give them my dirty bowl, I totally left my spoon in there with it. Didn’t realize until the top of Mount Washington, and wasn’t willing to go back for it.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Nothing last forever.

—

I start the journal today at the top of Mount Washington. It’s extremely smokey and overcast today, but no rain yet. There is rain for the forecast in the coming days though, so I need to be on my way soon. Have used charging electronics as an excuse, but I’ve also talked to some tourists who were enamored by my trip, so I let some time pass with them and let my battery bank charge up a bit. Now I’ve been here long enough that the pizza and soft pretzle bar opens in 15 minutes, so I think I’m going to start packing up, get lunch, and be on my way.

I need to get through the Presidentials today.

I had a tablet of mushrooms with breakfast (after forgetting my spoon, for the record), but think there will be more this afternoon.

—

Part 2: Madison Mountain Hut

If ever there should come a point in my life where I feel like I’ve run out of things to write about, the solution is to take a psychedelic in the middle of an American food court.

That’s basically what a lot of “Visitor Centers” really are. Let’s stop kidding ourselves.

The top of Mount Washington is strange place. It’s the collision between the “wildness” of the Appalachain Trail and the “strip mall” that is the Family-Friendly-American-Consumer-Wilderness-Immersion-Experience. It’s the crossroads of the AT and the COG Mountain Railway, which ushers hikers from the low elevations down below, all the way to the literal summit of Mount Washington.

With them however, they also bring their burdens and distractions, and it’s easy to see in how we walk who came here with the weight of the trail and who came here with the weigh of the world outside of the trail.

In all the ways that matter I was the outsider up there. Mind you that I had been there for awhile, having arrived well before most of the train loads of visitors, but I clearly didn’t fit the scene. It was like taking a hiker from the middle of the wilderness, in showers for 5 days, and dropping me into the middle of a shopping mall. Actually, that might have been a little less obtrusive. B

But I digress…

I took a half gram of mushrooms this morning on my way out from the Lake Of The Clouds Hut and the Dungeon where I slept, thinking that it would settle in nicely and make for a nice visit to the top of the mountain. What I didn’t realize was that I would end up hanging at the top of the mountain for almost two hours–charging electronics, calling Boots in TN, and trying to gather foods from the Food Court to make it 2-3 more days on trail.

It wasn’t so bad when I first arrived, but as the crowds built and the static energy from the collective gathering intensified, it came to my attention that I needed to leave.

By then it was almost 11am though… and that’s when the hot deli opened. I’d already been there so long; why not wait another 15 minutes for a hot slice of pizza?

Got my pizza, added a banana to my pack, and turned to go out the door, also adding another gram of mushrooms to my day on the way out.

But I got distracted.

There was too much going on.

I always get distracted too easily in situations like that.

I walked up to the summit, a grand total of twenty footsteps from where the railroad unloads its passengers, and snapped a picture with the mountain summit sight. There was no visibility, as everything is engulfed in clouds today, but it still felt seremonially important to me.

Then I went on my way down the mountain and continued along the Appalachain trail–forgetting that I don’t have enough water to make it to the the next Hut.

So I had to hike back a half mile, refill my water, observe that the mushrooms *really* had my attention now, and then turned back to go back to trail.

The last two hours have swallowed me into an ocean of clouds. No rain, but a thick fog that breaks as you walk through it. No telling the Mountain View’s that I’m missing.

I walked by a hiker, a lady who was hiking by herself uphill, in the opposite direction as me. As we got close, we made pleasant exchanges, and continued on our way. But then, just as I stepped away from her, she said, “I’m sorry, but from one stranger to another stranger, I just want to say that you have the legs of a god.” It made me laugh and I smiled. I told her that from one stranger to another, she had the aura of a goddess. Actually, I didn’t say that. I tried to say something like that, but I was so lost in the mushroom trip that I fumbled over my words and probably said something nonsensical. But in my head it was almost smooth. We parted ways and both continued into the fog and the mist.

—

Part 3: Tent

This piece seems unrelated, but still important enough that I added it to my notes as I walked through the Presidentials today.

I was quite into the mushroom trip and thinking back on the times earlier in my life when I didn’t feel like I was good enough or when I didn’t have the confidence that I might feel like I feel better within now. I was playing through a bunch of scenes of my past through my head, and at the end of each one, I asked, what would have made me feel braver in those instances? What life experience was I missing in those moments?

“Then do it!” I said aloud.

It was like having a conversation with an earlier version of myself, and but standing on the clear side of a two-way mirror, wishing I could shout loud enough so as to be heard by the earlier version of myself.

I played through another one. Asked what would have made me feel good enough in that scene, then again–“Then do it.”

In a way I was explaining to myself how I came to hike the three long trails–the PCT, CDT, and AT. A lot of it came from a place of not feeling like I was good enough, but having an idea that if I could do those things then maybe I’d feel better about who I was.

In a lot of ways, it’s sort of worked. I don’t think I’d feel as comfortable in the shoes I wear today were it not for the miles that I walked to get here.

I’d been in these thoughts for a bit when I met another hiker who was going southbound–the opposite direction of my own. We stopped and talked with one another for some time. When people ask about whether I’m a thru hiker, there tend to be those who zoom right off and don’t want to engage and then those who are super into it and do want to talk, like the guy yesterday whom I accidentally caught with his dick in his hand. This guy was like that too. He told me that he had friends who were thru hikers and that he was out on a training hike. I asked him what hike he’s training for and he told me that he wants to hike the Appalachain Trail next year. Not to talk shit about the AT, but I challenged him on it and asked why he hadn’t considered any other trails, but in earnest, his reasons for wanting to hike the AT sounded good, and I told him as much.

Right before we parted ways, I thought about giving him a coyote tooth, but decided against it. My fanny pack where I keep the baggie of teeth was tucked away in my bag and I didn’t want to drop pack and dig them out. Plus I had already given one of the teeth out today and I don’t just pass them out like candy. They are special to me, and I try to reserve them for special and sincere moments.

So instead of giving him a coyote tooth, I paused for a moment and then asked him, “Do you have any wisdom to share?”

The question must have landed well with him, because he thought about it for a few seconds, and then said, “Just fucking do it man! Whatever it is you’re thinking about, just fucking do it.”

And with that, we parted ways.

I never told him that I was on mushrooms. Nor that I’d been thinking to myself right before we met–“Then do it.”

—

Here’s one that I’m not sure how to address, but I’ve been playing along with many of the other ideas that bounce down trail with me.

I think I might be developing the awareness of another sense.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve reached the boundaries of rational human thought and have offically crossed into the legal definition of insanity. Or maybe now. I’m not sure. That’s why it makes me uncomfortable to talk about… or write about, as it were.

I don’t know if it comes from the psychedelics, spending too much time in the wilderness this summer, a coping mechanism resulting from some trauma that happened in the last two years, or what. But I authentically feel that I have started to tune into something that I didn’t know was there before, and that I defiantly used to not believe in. I still don’t know that I want to believe in it, but I’ve had too many experiences that seem to defy explanation other than there is some kind of energy that I’m tuning into that I didn’t know was there before.

I’m sorry; these journals deal with a lot of stuff that I find hard to explain or describe, and this is definitely one of them. Even as I write I feel myself clamming up from discomfort. I’m not crazy. Seriously. I’m not.

But this thing that I feel like I’m sensing is maybe what people have been calling “energy” for all these years that I’ve been rejecting the notion of such a thing. I always said that if it can’t be measured, then it doesn’t fit the definition of energy. So let’s find another word for it… but I’m becoming open to the idea that there might be something more than we currently understand about the human condition.

I feel like I’m getting a sense for people’s disposition just by being in their presence. Like there is an energetic presence in some of the places that I go to–the dungeon as a prime example. Like I can feel when the weather is going to turn or when I’m going to run into someone who I haven’t seen in a long time.

I’ve believed that there is more to our reality than we currently understand for a long time. This is maybe just new in that for the first time I feel like I’m personally experiencing something beyond what I can explain rather than just theorizing on it.

…And you thought you were tuning in to hear descriptions of mountains and trail today.

—

The trail through the Presidential Mountains was like nothing I’ve hiked before this. I want to compare it to some of the big mountains of the CDT or the PCT, but honestly, these peaks were different. Enormous in their size, their presence, and their age.

For most of today the clouds obscured the most spectacular or the views, but I refused to get lost in that concern. Whenever it tried to come to mind, I pushed it aside and thought to myself how dreadful these miles could be if it were raining or something of the like.

Things could always be worse.

That adage has brought me through a lot of miles.

—

One more story that I want to tell but I don’t feel like I have the mental energy, page space, or time for. But here we go.

I met a guy and his son at the Mount Washington food court today as I was attempting to resupply off of M&Ms and Cliff bars. The guy was about my age and his son around 11 or 12. He asked if he could show his son the tattoos on the back of my ankle–the ones that list my long trails and the years that I hiked them.

Never a stranger to the opportunity to tell stories about my miles, I told him of course, and we talked for five or ten minutes. The guy was stoked on thru hiking and had all the usual questions I get–how long I’ve been on trail, whether I see any wild life… the usual stuff.

I was mildly overstimulated by all the musings of the tourists all around, so I didn’t want to engage all that fully, but I did try to talk with the kid a bit and encourage him on his hiking and what not. They said that they were out for a few days or something like that.

I wouldn’t have thought much else of it, except that they caught me again at the next hut, some five or six miles later. I was there eating rainbow cake at $4 a slice (a dollar more than the other huts charge for cake, but I digress, as cake is cake), when I saw the guy and his son walk in. For the record, I wasn’t just sitting there eating cake; I was also working on writing my journal.

He noticed me and I noticed them, and we both remarked that it was funny that we’ve ended up hiking the same trail apparently. This led to some more small talk, and I ended up stepping outside with them after I packed up my keyboard and finished eating my cake.

Since I had my pack open and I could tell that the guy was trying to encourage his son to get into hiking as much as possible, I asked if the kid wanted a coyote tooth. His dad seemed to understand that it was a special thing that I did, and so yada yada yada… that’s not the reason I’m telling the story.

It’s because he referred to his son first by birth name, but then by trail name. He said his son’s name is “Warrier.” I told him that he has a cool trail name, and then his dad sort of mumbled something to me under his breath.

He said, “Well, I have a trail name too, but it’s sort of *politically incorrect.*” He mumbled the “politically incorrect part mostly under his breath.

I laughed and asked what his trail name is.

“It’s Nazi.”

Well, at that point he quickly changed the subject to something else as I tried to ask him about the name, but the subject quickly changed.

Somehow or another we all three ended up shouldering out packs at that point and it came to our attention that we were *still* hiking the same trail.

I find myself feeling like I need to explain how we ended up hiking together at all, but mostly because I shortly thereafter came to learn that this dude was a human piece of shit.

We hadn’t hiked far together, and I already knew that we weren’t going to hike far. The trail out from the hut was very aggressive and steep, and although the guy who told me his trail name is “Nazi” was in good shape, I didn’t think that he’d keep pace with me for long. I did note however that he had no trouble leaving his kid in the dust to stick with me and talk some more.

We were less than a minute out from the hut when I abruptly turned back to him and asked, “I’m sorry, but why in the hell is your trail name Nazi?” It was one of those things that I knew would bother me if I didn’t find resolution.

The guy was quick with his answer, and I was just as quick to realize who I was talking to. He started with, “Well, if you start going down some rabbit holes on the internet you can start to find out some pretty crazy stuff.” From there he rambled a bit.

I turned back again, ignoring any social niceties. “Do you or do you not believe in extermination of the Jews?”

And when he said “Yes, but you got to understand, the Holocaust never happened,” that I was no longer interested in continuing the conversation.

Of all the things that I have seen in the mountains and on long trials, never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would meat a neo-Nazi up in the mountains while I was under the influence of psychedelic mushrooms.

I quickened my pace immediately and left him gasping for air, all while he rattled throw several different reasons that he believed the holocaust was fake and that Jews are running the world. It was all quite deplorable shit, and I was glad when he was gone.

It didn’t take long before he was out of sight, but he stayed on my mind. It made me think about his son and how his son is probably going to become a lot like his dad. I hope that’s not comes of him, but knowing how ways lead to ways and how we become such a reflection of our parents, it’s hard to think anything else.

—

The clouds cleared in the later hours today and all that was left was smoke as I looked back on the Presidentials. The weather could have been better for today but it also could have been worse. Overall I think that I was fortunate. And I had plenty to get lost in my head about today that I didn’t need to see into infinity.

—

Will be one full day to my next resupply town. Will either get there tomorrow evening or the following morning. Depends on how difficult the miles are.

But I Yogi’ed some food off of weekend hikers at the Lake of the Clouds hut and again on trail today, so all combined I think that I have enough calories to get me through an extra night if need be.

I know I wrote a lot today. I hope some of it was worth reading.

Wormwood.

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.

AT Day 115

Miles Today: 15.26

AT Mile: 1850.0

(Ethan Pond Shelter)

Last night’s journal was a lot. I quite enjoy it when I’m able to get that much onto the page, although I will admit that some nights like last night, it’s as if I’m undertaking something so much bigger than I can manage at that hour of the day. Writing these journals at the end of the day has become a great source of joy and fulfillment for me over this summer, and may days I spend many miles looking forward to getting to camp so that I can lay down and write.

The trouble is that I’m so tired at the end of the day that it’s a race to beat my exhaustion. Most nights I’m barely getting a fraction of what I want to talk about onto the page. But there’s good practice in that as well in that it forces me to boil things down to what matters most, and then go for just that.

—

I didn’t expect that I’d be able to sleep in this morning, as I was camped in my tent and I normally wake up at the first light of day. And to be fair, that happened today, but I immediately put in ear plugs and pulled my hair band over my eyes to act as a sleep shade. I was shocked when I pulled my hair band off to see that it had somehow become 7:30 before I finally started to rouse.

Sleeping in that late no doubt slowed my miles, but I also don’t care, as the White Mountains have been beautiful and I’ve come to enjoy this go-with-the-flow style of hiking that I realize now that I didn’t have when I was hiking with Plinko. Maybe it was in the nature of hiking with a partner, or maybe it was specific to our dynamic together, but we always seemed to have a rough plan of what we were doing that day and the next. Since I’ve been solo however, I’ve really just let myself hike, I’ve checked for water as needed, and I’ve started looking for where to camp whenever it comes that time of day. So far it’s worked wonderfully.

Tonight I’m camped at a shelter, and although I could have made more miles before sundown, there was a good feel here and there was a lake where I could get a swim (read “bath”). It’s my second night sleeping in a shelter in the last three days, but I knew that might be the case more often when I got to the Whites, and I could actually set up my tent at one of the sites here if I wanted; there are only three other groups. But I’m the only one in the shelter, so although it’s more of an older and run down lean to style shelter, I don’t mind it. And the mosquitos aren’t too bad.

In contrast to what I just said about not having to have my days all planed out in the White Moutnains, tomorrow is something of an exception. Tomorrow either needs to be a 15 mile day or it needs to be a 26 mile day. And if it’s the latter, then god help me. Because it’s going to include the climb of Mount Washington and the traverse of the presidentials. Even as I write it down, I don’t like the sound of it.

I don’t think that’s what I’m going to do.

I think that the better plan is to stay at Lake of the Clouds Hut in their bunkhouse (which is kindly referred to as “The Dungeon”) and then hit the Presidentials the following day. It’s been a very long time since I have had acid on trail, and I wonder if that might be a good day for it. On the other hand, I wonder if it might also be a bad day for it. It depends on the trail conditions and weather I suppose.

And although these last few days have been very busy as I’ve hiked through the extended weekend, I have reason to believe that things are going to settle down significantly moving forward. I’m going to be hitting the Presidentials during the work week! That will make the crowd a whole lot less!

—

The hiking today was beautiful.

The White Mountains really have been something spectacular and worth witnessing! The crowds have not been nearly as bad as I was told to expect, the weather has been wonderful (especially after that last heat wave!), the huts are fun additions to things, and overall it’s just more enjoyable environment compared to the claustrophobic forests that make up so much of the rest of the trail.

I thought a few times today that the White Mountains seem to be like the High Sierra of the Appalachain Trail. Not that they are nearly as magnificent or even comparable to the High Sierra in any other way, but that they represent something that is so different than the rest of the Appalachain Trail.

Unfortunately there is a lot of smoke in the air from wildfires in Canada. I don’t know anything more about them than that, as “wildfires in Canada” seems to be something of slang term for any fire north of the border that Americans don’t need to know about. It’s weird. I don’t feel like I’m describing it right, but it’s along those lines.

Today wasn’t quite as amazing as the Franconian Ridge from yesterday, but it was still much more interesting than most of what I saw south of there on the AT.

There are indeed quite a few weekend hikers up here, and I have found myself to be quite the minority. In fact, I haven’t seen another northbound thru hiker since leaving Hikers Welcome Hostel and entering into the whites. I see SOBOs of course, but not a lot of them. And a few northbound section hikers. But nobody who is hiking thru. I guess I’m in between hiking “bubbles.”

—

This evening has been delightful.

I set my sleep area in the shelter, filtered water, and had dinner in the cooking area with four other hikers. Two of them are recent grandaparents and they were a pleasure to talk to. The wife was insistent that I tell them the story of my trail name, and so with some hesitation I gave them an elongated version of the story. I wasn’t sure how they were all going to respond, but it seemed like it resonated well with all of them. When I told them that I write about it they all said that they’d be interested in reading that book. It’s comments like that that keep me motivated in this pursuit. In times I do still have doubt, but I also feel like I’m doing it.

Anyways, the wife of the two smiled when I told them the story about the mushrooms, and right away she opened up the journal that was already in her hand to a page and walked over to show it to me. It was an old photo, maybe from the 1970s. A photo of a young man and woman, who the lady said was the two of them when they were younger.

“And you see the bag that he’s holding?” She asked emphatically. “It was a bag of psychedelic mushrooms!”

—

The camp host led an impromptu qi gong class after dinner, which was not what I was expecting when I arrived at this lake to camp, but was a nice added bonus to it all. His name is Peter and he has a super chill vibe. He was there when I was telling the trail name story. I quite like him.

—

I swam in the lake before dinner. It was warm and nice. Another hiker warned me that she’d heard about there being leaches in the lake, but I didn’t see any and thought it was just more fear mongering. But then an hour later when I was down at the lake to get water to drink, I realized that there were indeed visible leaches all over the place. How none of them caught onto me is beyond me.

—

I started listening to Stephen King’s “On Writing” today on audiobook. It is a book that I’ve read before but it’s been many years.

—-

This journal has felt like it’s been disjointed, but they can’t all be zingers.

Wormwood.