Day 55: I am Ready for the Storm

Summary
June 19th

Shaker Campsite to Upper Goose Pond Cabin

NOBO mile #1548.1

Tolmann’s daily mileage 9.9

Tolmann’s total mileage 524.4

The thunder slowly worked its way into my consciousness. Then, like a switch was flipped, I was totally awake. What time was it? 4:23. Dang! We had hoped it would be an afternoon storm! I heard Rover stirring. It wasn’t light enough to start packing up. I lay there for a while, with the question of whether I should act or wait. So far it was just distant thunder. Then I saw a flash, heard the wind pick up, and heard the first drops. 

I kicked into high gear packing up the quilt, deflating and rolling up the pad, stuffing everything that needed to stay dry in the contractor bag inside the pack, pulling the tent down, rolling and stuffing it in it’s sack, grabbing my food bag from the bear box. Knowing that nothing was where I usually put it, and praying that I had everything…

Rover was doing the same. 

And as we stood there, eating whatever bar we could easily get to for breakfast, the rain stopped. 

But we were both loaded up and ready to roll. I looked at my watch. 5:20. Huh. That’s a record. And one I may never beat. But still, there’s no reason NOT to start…

We had roughly 10 miles to go to get to Upper Goose Pond cabin. At 2mph, that’s 5 hrs. We’d easily be there before noon, so should beat the nasty weather handily. IF the forecast was accurate.

We rolled out. I took point, knowing that Rover would overtake me on the next extended climb. It actually didn’t take too long to hit that. The trail ran downhill for a considerable distance, then doubled back on itself, winding through the woods and regaining most of the elevation it had lost,  until it summited Cobble Hill. Early in that climb I let Rover go ahead. Up to that point, I realized I had been infected with Rover’s anxiety about the coming storm. As I watched the sun rise, I took a deep breath and let all that anxiety go. 

The trail reached and followed a road for a few hundred yards; in the opposite direction was a picnic table and a shed with the AT symbol and “Trail Shack” painted roughly on it. I went down to the table to stop and do my morning foot prep, which I had skipped in my rush to pack up and leave. I also made sure I ate more, since I had the climb up Mt. Baldy ahead. 

Then it was back up the road, across a cow pasture (complete with cows, including some calves. There was one calf that had been laying some ways from the main group, but decided to get up and cross in front of me. He stopped right on the trail in front of me; I was trying to remember if I had heard any stories of mother cows going berserk to protect their young. It moved away. The path was clear, so I crossed the field, then went down into the boggy woods. 

The early morning sunshine was like something out those Hudson River School paintings. Those first few hours justified the early start, if not the half-panicked packing. 

Then it was the intense uphill to get up Mt. Baldy. There was a false summit, a dip, then the final push to the top. I expected some kind of view. With a name like “Baldy”, wouldn’t you expect some tree-less peak? Hmph. 

I pushed on, got some water from a stream, and then passed into the Upper Goose Pond Reservation. Shortly thereafter, I came upon Rover take a rest break. He was wondering why I hadn’t caught up to him earlier. I told him I stopped to work on my feet. He invited me to pass him and press on. And so I moved on, completing the last miles around the east end of the pond, and getting to the cabin around 10:30. 

When I got there, I met No Rush. He’s a hiker who’s had some bum luck, including Lyme disease that knocked him off trail. He’s very gregarious, and it wasn’t long until I knew much more about him than I really wanted. But he genuinely seems to love the trail and the way it makes him feel. I think he liked me because he saw me as a kindred spirit. He is a Quincy, Ma, native, and he was floored when I told him I grew up in Weymouth. 

He was sitting out on the porch, so I asked if the cabin was open. No, he said, the caretaker had to leave on some errands, and wouldn’t be back until later in the afternoon. 

Hmmmm. We would have to ride out the storm on the porch. Should be ok…

Well, Rover came along a little while later, and the three of us sat and chatted and ate snacks, waiting for the anticipated deluge. Or not. I changed into dry (non-sweaty) clothes, then took my hiking uniform down to the pond to rinse the sweat out. Just before I could do anything with my hat (which is getting pretty gross at this point), a shower rolled through. Not wanting to get my dry clothes wet, I ran back up to the cabin to wring my rinsed things out and hang them to drip, I mean dry. 

We were laughing at the shower, thinking maybe the forecasters were wrong again. But No Rush seemed to have enough signal to get updated weather news, and they were still talking about the big one as being on the way. His son had warned him that there were tornado warnings for our area. 

Then around 1:45, the darkness wrapped around us and the thunder exploded, the wind began driving the rain sideways, while we scrambled to get our things as close to the cabin wall as possible. In the end, we were only partially successful. The rain ran across the floor of the porch, so anything on the floor got wet on the bottom. It seemed to go on for some time, but I don’t really know how long. Maybe halfway through, other hikers started to show up. They were miffed that the cabin was locked, and eventually we had filled the porch before the caretaker showed at a little past 4pm. There were eight of us there to spend the night: Sugar, Frog, Relentless, Wistful, Floater, No Rush, Rover and myself. 

We got inside, and grabbed our bunks, then prepared to make dinner, when the second wild storm cell blew in. Rover had extra hot water, so I put away my stove and such and we went back into the cabin to eat. Someone had brought in firewood, and soon a little fire was burning merrily away. 

I’m not sure I’ve spoken about hiker funk before; it’s the smell of unwashed bodies and most especially unwashed feet and wet socks and boots/shoes. Once smelled, it cannot be forgotten. There were eight of us, remember, five of which had been exposed to the first deluge. The hiker funk was thick. 

I had planned to lay on my bunk and write today’s blog (such a meta comment; how often do you think of the writing of the blog as an event in my day?), but the fire was burning, and I just wanted to sit there and be part of this day’s trail family. 

Half of the crew were playing games (Yahtzee, then Scrabble) while the rest of us just chatted. It was very pleasant. The most pleasant of all, was the anticipation of the pancakes that Joy, the caretaker, would be preparing the next morning. At supper, she had tried to get someone to take some food someone else had left behind: a can each of corned beef hash and Spam. I suggested that she add them to our breakfast the next day. Eventually, everyone ran out of steam, the wood ran out and the fire burned down to coals, and it was time for bed.