Summary
June 25th
NOBO mile# 1606.3
Tolmann’s daily mileage 12.5
Tolmann’s total mileage 582.6
Slept in a little this morning. I wasn’t too sure what was ahead of me today, and wasn’t too keen to rush to meet it. Could have had an impact on how I met the day overall. You tell me…
The spring near the camp wasn’t running well enough to use, so I tried to find a way down to the brook below and to the right of the trail. With a certain amount of difficulty, I got down to it and was able to top off my bottles. As fate would have it, shortly thereafter the trail intersected with the brook, anyway. Huh.
The trail was climbing, getting steeper as it went. It felt like Masschusetts didn’t want to let go! In the end it was rock scrambles, putting away the poles and climbing with hands. Then I was at the top of the ascent in a place called the “Rock Garden”, a rather important sounding name for a couple of cairns. It was nice, but the climb up was more interesting as a geological feature.
The stretch from there to the border was very pleasant, with smatterings of mud. I came on the signs almost as a surprise. 
The first part of the AT in Vermont tracks along Long Trail for 105.5 miles, which then continues up to Canada through the Green Mountains. I saw a fair number of Long Trail thru-hikers. It’s a pretty popular area.
I stopped for lunch at the Melville Neumann Shelter, where I met another AT thru-hiker who also stopped for lunch. It helps so much to feel plugged into the thru-hiker community. He was saying he was aiming for the Congdon shelter, as I was. After he left, I filtered some water for the afternoon, and as I was packing up to leave, a pair of young guys sectioning the LT stopped by. It sounded like they were also intending to stay at the same shelter. 
The afternoon simply became a smear of mud. I have to wonder about the area’s popularity, cuz the Mud. Is. Aweful.
Take some water. The same Water I was rhapsodizing back in Connecticut. The kind we can’t live without. Take it, mix it with the ground we walk upon. The very same ground we are trying to walk on. The trail, don’t you know. Oh, you can add more water than that!! <sigh>
Yeah, we’re talking Mud (with a capital “mmmm”)!
There is little one can do, except scan the mud for rocks or roots, something to keep the feet above the fray. I thought the amount of focus needed to hike on dry trails was high, to keep from tripping or turning an ankle. You drop your guard for a second, and the probability is high you’ll end up down.
This new obstacle ups the game tenfold. The rocks you aim for may tip and send you forwards or backwards (or a random direction) ending in wet feet or worse. Or it may be very slippery (same result). Or it may be a trick of the light and not be a rock at all. Kerplunk.
As I describe it, it sounds too much like a game. Or at least like slapstick comedy. And if I were watching Robert Redford or Nick Nolte fall into a mud puddle, I’d laugh, too.
But you have to understand how close to the edge I am a lot of the time.
I’m not sure if I shared this earlier, but I got a text from Meeko back when I was at Upper Goose Pond. She had reached Vermont and was encountering the mud. Here’s a direct quote: “Be warned: The mud is terrible. On Friday <we were> trekking through ankle-deep water for large sections and it destroyed our feet. 😫 ”
I was thinking that I would send her a text later to ask where that section was.
That’s about when I sank up to my ankles in mud.
Stop for a minute. Think about this. When have you ever felt your feet soak in muck? Oh, and was it when you were absolutely counting on your feet to keep carrying you for hundreds more miles?
My foot disappeared. And my instinct was to yank it it out and float through the air to a dry place. The foot did not magically extricate itself. It just stayed there. Soaking in the ooze. For what felt like forever. Then I was moving, and the other foot was in up to its ankle. Damage complete.
At that point, it becomes a ridiculous exercise to keep avoiding the deep mud, but the instinct is to continue to stay up and out; maybe you’ll dry in time. That’s when I hit one of those slippery/tippy rocks and down I went onto my side; I didn’t come down on rocks, but did I really want to wear more mud?
Then it began to rain.
If I had a transporter device, the Grand Adventure would be over. Seriously.
A second existential crisis?
All I knew for certain is that I would get to the shelter in about an hour, and at least the day would be over. Also, that in the morning the trail would intersect with RT 9, which leads to Bennington, VT. And I was getting off-trail.
The trail seemed to get wetter and wetter as it ran along a fast moving stream, and by the time I got to the shelter, even the clearing out in front of it had water puddled around, and mud between the rocks.
There was a young couple there, trying to decide whether to go on or stay the night. Eventually they moved on. I peeled of my shoes and socks (I wish I could communicate the feeling of separating my feet from mud encrusted shoes and socks. The suction of soaked shoes and socks. What’s the onomatopoeia for that sound?) and put on my sandals. Then, since I was alone, I changed out of my wet clothes and into something dry.
I was determined this evening to have a warm and full meal. So I ate well. As I finished, another Long Trail hiker showed up. It helped tremendously to have someone to just chat with. So, by the time I went to bed, my mood had shifted. I was still determined to go into Bennington, but now more as a time to reflect and regroup. We’ll see what tomorrow brings…
Tom Maynard 
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