Project Eveningland

5/11/2023 Thursday

A last minute change and some transportation snafus led to me not getting back to the trail until just before 11. I more or less fell out of the shuttle van, and wanted to kiss the ground. I wish I had a dollar for every time the following thing has happened to me:

I am driven to or from trail by a friendly shuttler who likes to talk, holds the steering wheel loosely, and swerves a little when he gets excited about a point, all the while not noticing me freaking out and clutching parts of the car to hold on. Eventually they notice my silence and I end up telling them that I have motion sickness, which is true, but not the whole truth—I’m at the edge of a panic attack! I think of my great grandmother, Mary Krupar, whose nervousness about vehicular travel is family lore. In my case it’s not nervousness so much as horror at the casually bad driving and the sickening sway of a poorly maintained vehicle on curvy roads. The nausea is nearly unbearable. If I had a dollar for every time that has happened on this journey I would have 3-5 dollars.

It was a relief to gain the quiet and cool of the woods. How nice to be back here with enough food. Or enough food for now, anyway. The trail today was often a narrow path cut through enthusiastic spring growth. The birdsong has become layered and constant, with so much of it that I can hardly separate out any individual call. It’s deeply soothing and adds that three-dimensionality I mentioned the other day. The soundscape gives the forest depth.

The switchbacks up into the Shenandoah were gentle but quite dry. I sat upon a large flat rock next to the trail and ate a hefty lunch and snack. Tried two new flavors of electrolyte drinks today. A tropical punch that was pleasantly non-aggressive, and a mildly floral grape. Satisfactory, highly satisfactory.

The trail ascends gentle little mountains and traverses muddy orchard-like groves where the sun reaches the trail and many of the trees are dead hulks. It’s muddy, but no water sources. The tall shrubs (or perhaps small trees?) are covered in white, scented blooms. It has a celebratory feel. Bees zoom about merrily. The smells are layered. At one point—miles from any other person—I caught a combination of scents that put me in mind of wonderful cologne. Woodsy with spice and piney-ness. Ephemeral. Masculine in a sophisticated way.

It was hot! I covered about eight miles on two liters of water and decided to make it a short day. A short day out often town is nice when you have a pack heavy with food. Or an unexpectedly stressful morning.

I stink already. I’m at Calf Mountain shelter, which is down a .3 side trail with a piped spring on the way.

I’m set up on a tiny tent pad, one of four small clear spots amidst a jungle of undergrowth. There’s a massive tulip poplar six feet from my tent. It’s root mound creates a small hill. The shelter is nearby, and full of bold, partying mice. I saw one mouse smoking a tiny joint right in the middle of the day, sassy as you please.

I finished Nemesis Games and began listening to Babylon’s Ashes.

I fell asleep for a half hour after dinner. When I woke the birdsong was punctuated by the staccato rhythm of a woodpecker. Will there be whippoorwills later?