Project Eveningland

6/24/2023 Saturday

Just after I woke this morning to pee, a torrential rain arrived. It’s hitting the tent hard enough to cause tiny droplets of condensation to dislodge from the underside of the rainfly and fall inside the tent. You can feel the droplets on bare skin but they are too small to see.

It’s not as bad as it sounds. I’m quite dry but trapped for a little while, unless I want to start my day (and thereby finish my day) soaked to the bone. It rained so hard the spiders started crawling up the sides of my tent, hoping to escape the rain. The only thing between me and total, complete wetness is a thin polyester tarp. And news from Russia, which I am reading while waiting for drier conditions.

I packed up around nine. My tent fly was sopping wet but the inner part of the tent—which I detached from the inside—remained mostly dry. It took more than two hours to walk the three miles to a shelter with the last on-trail water for 20 miles. On the way I took in foggy expanses and the white void which substituted for views. The trail is rocky and exposed and awful through here.

I’m glad I didn’t push all the way to the shelter last night. It’s an old one with no tent spots that I saw. I remarked to two other hikers that it had “old shelter smell” to a degree I haven’t smelt since we left the south. Those two young women (Terminator and I can’t remember the other—her trail name was short and maybe food related?) were traveling at ludicrous speed. You can tell they don’t socialize much, because why would they? They won’t see anyone twice.

The trail dropped down to cross the Lehigh River. The road right after the bridge required a terrifying pedestrian crossing. The heat and humidity were startling.

After the river crossing, there is a bad-weather alternate route, which I took without hesitation. It adds a half mile to the day, but any opportunity to do less walking on wet, jagged rocks seems smart right now. Also there was thunder.

The rains came and went. Then teased but stayed mostly away. The alternate was quite rocky enough, thank you. I got an up-close look at a massive chain link barrier designed to prevent falling rocks from hitting the roadway.

I reached one of the many open, scrubby stretches atop the ridge. Things turned piney just as the skies cleared and the sun shone. I got out my tent fly for the second time (I dried it a bit at the shelter), and took a long break to let it and a few other items dry. I had peanut butter and Nutella with tortillas for an afternoon snack. This staple has degenerated over time: I now just eat the PB right out of the tube and then dip the tortillas in the Nutella. It sort of tastes like a cream stick (donut), but without any of the joy of the actual thing. Another perfect backpacking meal!

The rocks, the rocks, the rocks. Just relentless. I saved back a liter of water in case I can’t get any more today.

I reached a road crossing and took stock. I’m beat to hell and still doing pretty good. I made almost ten miles in difficult conditions.

But it’s going to be wet all fucking week. Also I don’t fancy camping and hiking another several miles on just one liter of water. There’s a kind woman in Danielsville who rents out a rooster-themed set of basement rooms. I found her in the FarOut app. It is a little pricier than typical hiker fare, but it’s about the cost of a hotel room and it’s extremely clean and dry. And decorated in a really fun way! Barbara, the owner, picked me up at the trailhead which was quite near her. Apollo the dog sized me up from the backseat and deemed me not an immediate danger but worth keeping an eye on.

Barbara had printed out a recent news article about how the rocks on this part of the AT “break” people. I read it sitting at a merry little table. It cheered me up—at least I’m not the only one having a rough time.