Project Eveningland

5/12/2023 Friday

The long water carry loomed, but I had a plan to stay hydrated for the dry 12-mile stretch between a weak creek .6 down the trail, and the spring at Blackrock Hut a dozen miles away.

Here’s the plan: carry three liters from the creek instead of two. Also I drank a fourth liter while I waited. Call it obvious if you wish. I call it a deceptively simple, elegant approach. As I was filtering, a man who’d been at the shelter ran down the hill. It’s weird to me when people run down an incline with their packs on. Seems like a good way to lose your front teeth against a rock.

A different sort of azalea is in bloom here. Or maybe it’s mountain laurel. The flowers look like the pink and white firecrackers I admired back in the 750s. These however are completely pink. I heard two women debating whether one of their plant identification apps was wrong when it identified the plant as rhododendron. One kept saying “rhododendrum.” It turns out some people are even worse at plant identification than your old pal Doug/Rhetoric.

It was hot today, but the forest finally has enough foliage that you walk into it—out of the sun—and feel cooler. I stopped early in the day for a long break at Sawmill Run Overlook. Some of the stone wall at its edge was in the shade. A level perch, relatively bug free. Good breeze. Two women on bikes stopped to chat with each other.

People complain about the green tunnel, and I do miss views and having a clearer sense of the landscape ahead. But it’s time for shade. The tread was wonderfully soft with few rocks.

I reached the turnoff for Blackrock Hut just before four. I’d steadily drank my way down to a quarter of a liter over the course of the day. I walked the .2 miles down to the shelter to find an older couple who’d been at the shelter last night, and Poppins, with her standard white poodle, Wiley. Various other characters were milling about. The spring in front of the shelter was gushing out of a pipe. Cool, clear, and sweet.

I climbed out of the valley in which the shelter rests, determined the get a few more miles in for the day. I stopped at Dundo Picnic Area and Campground. A huge group was down the hill with tents the size of RVs. The privies are open! The water pumps are on! But thru-hikers can’t camp there. Even if you wanted to pay, the sign says to check in at another campground miles away. I smelled a skunk somewhere in the area.

I forged ahead, crossing back out of the “no camping zone” that surrounds the campground. All these rules! I just want to sleep on the ground—I’m not gonna build a fire or anything.

I’ve been hyper vigilant about tick checks. I pulled one off my ditty bag and one off my leg (hadn’t attached—likely distressed by DEET). Those were the first two I’ve seen. And they might have actually been the same one. You can tell a tick from any other bug because the latter can be brushed off easily. Ticks really know how to hang on, even before they bite. I think I checked my legs at least 100 times over the course of the day. There’s a limit to how much you can mitigate the risk.

I set up alone in a small clearing just above one of the innumerable road crossings. A large doe slowly circled my tent, munching and chuffing and generally showing no fear. Very emasculating! Though I was glad for the company.

It turned into a 17-mile day—that means fewer miles to hike tomorrow. There was rain in the forecast when I last looked.