recalcitrant
I've been light headed for a couple of days. Mostly because I pared down my long locks over the weekend. A nice summer cut and now I won't get the pony whiplash when I run.
So I decided that I'll tell you the story of Bald Mountain. This was a hiking/camping/backpacking trip that P and I attempted three years ago during summer. It was, I think, ~ 20 mile round trip. It was somewhere in Vermont ( I am too bored to look it up now) and on the Appalachian trail. The plan was to for us to meet at the trail head, hike up carrying our backpacks (loaded with sleeping bags, camping gear, etc), camp at the top of the mountain (not the Bald One), and hike back down the next day. This is one of those memories. I doubt if I'll ever forget any part of it. We met around 9 or 10 at the trail head. We'd discussed this the previous night and we both planned to bring water filters so we could filter water from streams and other water bodies on the hike so we didn't have to carry too much water. I'd borrowed a battery operated water filter and I swear that I double checked that I packed the cells along with the filter. To my utter consternation, I discovered around 9 0r 10 am at the trail head the next morning, that the cells weren't in the backpack. They just weren't. There was no way that could happen. But happen it did. The wise P, of course, did not pack the filter at all. He didn't get all fancy about cells and missing parts - he just chose not to bring the filter. Interesting. It was turning out to be a pretty hot day and getting hotter by the minute. We drove back to a gas station or some such place and bought some water. The only thing that kept us from buying a whole lot of water was the fact that we had packed enough food to feed a battalion and we weren't letting go of it. And of course, we had our sleeping bags, etc. (I must admit that poor P ended up carrying most of the camping gear.) We came back to the trail head, repacked our bulging backpacks, took some food out, put back most of it, hitched our sleeping bags to the backpacks, took one long longing look at our cars and set off. The trail was apparently marked out with blue blazes and P had a trail map. So everything should have been perfect. Except the trail wasn't really marked out and we didn't know how to read a trail map. I am not blaming anyone here but at least, I didn't claim that I knew how to read a trail map. I am just saying. So we got lost. Multiple times. And we kept hiking. It was hot. It was humid. And the trail was thick with vegetation. It was almost claustrophobic. And we kept hiking. At some point, I realized I'd lost my glasses which I'd taken off at one of our rest stops. We kept up a brisk pace - stopping every 3 mins for a break. At every break, we would madly stagger around and yank at our straps and try to get those back packs off our backs. We would eventually succeed. Then we would frantically gasp for breath for a few mins, all the while bouncing evil stares off of one another. Finally one of us would venture to say that we should get moving again. Teeter wildly as we swing on the backpacks again, attain equilibrium and move on. Repeat the drill. As I said - military efficiency. It started getting dark - similar to our mood and the looks I kept shooting P. Oh, by the way, at some point we ran out of water and started drinking out of every water body we saw. Finally, after I almost gave up hope and was pondering on who to bequeath my electric keyboard, we stumbled up to the camp site. There were a few people up there - all of whom had been on the trail several days and some who were doing the whole Appalachian Trail (talk about excessive energy). We grinned sheepishly and they gave us the look they reserved for imbecilic, amateur backpackers who arrive at camp site waaay later than they are supposed to in order to pitch a decent tent, and the formalities were all done. We somehow managed to pitch a tent - I don't remember helping P - in fact, I don't recollect him pitching the tent either - and we were both so tired so maybe we just got down on our knees and prayed. And then there was a tent. I remember ripping the packaging off some frozen food (which had thawed, melted and half-evaporated over the hike) and gobbling it up. And then the icing - no pun intended - on the cake. It got cold. It was insane. I had literally lost a couple of pant sizes on the way up thanks to the heat and humidity. And now, it was squashing cold. Of course, in the interest of reducing weight of my pack, I hadn't packed too much warm clothing. The last thing I remember as we were falling asleep is one of the hikers calling out to us from the next tent asking us to check ourselves for ticks because there were instances of lyme disease on the trail. Good Zucching Night Hiker!
We got up at some point early next morning and spent about an hour checking out the views from the top of the mountain and taking a few pictures and in general, acting like the hike up was totally worth it. And then it was time to pack up and head back. I would have left the camping gear and my sleeping bag up there if I were even 50% convinced that we'd be able to make our way back to our cars by the end of the day. But still, it was the morning of a new day. And we were foolishly optimistic. We headed out, all cheery. The trail took care of it shortly. We got lost. Again. And again. Up to a point where I saw blue blazes everywhere. Or nowhere. It was hot. It was humid. The trail was thick with vegetation. It was claustrophobic. And much to our consternation, we found out that we were still not very good at reading the map. Every once in a while, P would state in a measured tone that "pretty soon we should be turning left and going downhill. That will indicate we are x% done". We would invariably turn right and start going slightly uphill. I would stare at him. He would stare at the map. He would say " Oh, I think I get it. Pretty soon ....". After a while, I silenced him with one of my looks. I did what I could to help. I muttered curses at him, at the trees, at the trail, at the Appalachian authorities. I shared my theories on what we could do with those folks who marked the trails and my thoughts on blue blazes, etc with P. I think this is when he started fearing for his life and came up with the Bald Mountain concept. I think it marked the mid way point or a little beyond that. But he kept harping on it. "Bald Mountain, Bald Mountain" he said. "Just an hour away, half a mile away, as soon as this uphill stretch ends, around this corner, I can almost see it" he said. And we kept hiking. Finally, when I had given up hope and was re-thinking the whole electronic keyboard bequeathal (at this point I was only walking so I could keep P from the joy of stopping and resting), we turned a corner and the tree line opened up and in a few minutes, there we were! At Bald Mountain. There it was all bald and rock face, (don't remember if there was any sign board there) scorchingly hot. I fell down on my knees and kissed it. We took a short break there. After that, it was much better. We knew we would make it. And the last stretch of the hike was pretty much missing a trail. It was basically a dried up stream bed. So it went pretty fast as we ran down wildly , the weights on our backs adding to the pull of gravity. ( Whether this caused lasting damage to our knees, we do not know. But if it did, it doesn't compare to the lasting damage that was done to our brains over this trip). And at long last we were at the end of the trail. Of course, there was a complication. The trail head was still a mile away by road. Apparently the trail didn't end where it started - that would be too easy. P strongly recommended a cab but I would have none of that. I didn't face a 20% weight loss, shortening of my backbone from my heavy backpack, 4 shades of tan, numerous scratches from wayward branches, possibility of lyme disease and permanent brain addling to end my trip with a cab ride to the trail head. So I marched him down along with me down the road. I think I killed a part of his soul that day. And so, battered, bruised and much browner than when we started, we arrived at our cars a while later. When we saw our cars, we almost cried. And that my friends, is the story of Bald mountain.
Do P and I still hike/plan trips together? Of course, we do. Told you - brain damage.
So I decided that I'll tell you the story of Bald Mountain. This was a hiking/camping/backpacking trip that P and I attempted three years ago during summer. It was, I think, ~ 20 mile round trip. It was somewhere in Vermont ( I am too bored to look it up now) and on the Appalachian trail. The plan was to for us to meet at the trail head, hike up carrying our backpacks (loaded with sleeping bags, camping gear, etc), camp at the top of the mountain (not the Bald One), and hike back down the next day. This is one of those memories. I doubt if I'll ever forget any part of it. We met around 9 or 10 at the trail head. We'd discussed this the previous night and we both planned to bring water filters so we could filter water from streams and other water bodies on the hike so we didn't have to carry too much water. I'd borrowed a battery operated water filter and I swear that I double checked that I packed the cells along with the filter. To my utter consternation, I discovered around 9 0r 10 am at the trail head the next morning, that the cells weren't in the backpack. They just weren't. There was no way that could happen. But happen it did. The wise P, of course, did not pack the filter at all. He didn't get all fancy about cells and missing parts - he just chose not to bring the filter. Interesting. It was turning out to be a pretty hot day and getting hotter by the minute. We drove back to a gas station or some such place and bought some water. The only thing that kept us from buying a whole lot of water was the fact that we had packed enough food to feed a battalion and we weren't letting go of it. And of course, we had our sleeping bags, etc. (I must admit that poor P ended up carrying most of the camping gear.) We came back to the trail head, repacked our bulging backpacks, took some food out, put back most of it, hitched our sleeping bags to the backpacks, took one long longing look at our cars and set off. The trail was apparently marked out with blue blazes and P had a trail map. So everything should have been perfect. Except the trail wasn't really marked out and we didn't know how to read a trail map. I am not blaming anyone here but at least, I didn't claim that I knew how to read a trail map. I am just saying. So we got lost. Multiple times. And we kept hiking. It was hot. It was humid. And the trail was thick with vegetation. It was almost claustrophobic. And we kept hiking. At some point, I realized I'd lost my glasses which I'd taken off at one of our rest stops. We kept up a brisk pace - stopping every 3 mins for a break. At every break, we would madly stagger around and yank at our straps and try to get those back packs off our backs. We would eventually succeed. Then we would frantically gasp for breath for a few mins, all the while bouncing evil stares off of one another. Finally one of us would venture to say that we should get moving again. Teeter wildly as we swing on the backpacks again, attain equilibrium and move on. Repeat the drill. As I said - military efficiency. It started getting dark - similar to our mood and the looks I kept shooting P. Oh, by the way, at some point we ran out of water and started drinking out of every water body we saw. Finally, after I almost gave up hope and was pondering on who to bequeath my electric keyboard, we stumbled up to the camp site. There were a few people up there - all of whom had been on the trail several days and some who were doing the whole Appalachian Trail (talk about excessive energy). We grinned sheepishly and they gave us the look they reserved for imbecilic, amateur backpackers who arrive at camp site waaay later than they are supposed to in order to pitch a decent tent, and the formalities were all done. We somehow managed to pitch a tent - I don't remember helping P - in fact, I don't recollect him pitching the tent either - and we were both so tired so maybe we just got down on our knees and prayed. And then there was a tent. I remember ripping the packaging off some frozen food (which had thawed, melted and half-evaporated over the hike) and gobbling it up. And then the icing - no pun intended - on the cake. It got cold. It was insane. I had literally lost a couple of pant sizes on the way up thanks to the heat and humidity. And now, it was squashing cold. Of course, in the interest of reducing weight of my pack, I hadn't packed too much warm clothing. The last thing I remember as we were falling asleep is one of the hikers calling out to us from the next tent asking us to check ourselves for ticks because there were instances of lyme disease on the trail. Good Zucching Night Hiker!
We got up at some point early next morning and spent about an hour checking out the views from the top of the mountain and taking a few pictures and in general, acting like the hike up was totally worth it. And then it was time to pack up and head back. I would have left the camping gear and my sleeping bag up there if I were even 50% convinced that we'd be able to make our way back to our cars by the end of the day. But still, it was the morning of a new day. And we were foolishly optimistic. We headed out, all cheery. The trail took care of it shortly. We got lost. Again. And again. Up to a point where I saw blue blazes everywhere. Or nowhere. It was hot. It was humid. The trail was thick with vegetation. It was claustrophobic. And much to our consternation, we found out that we were still not very good at reading the map. Every once in a while, P would state in a measured tone that "pretty soon we should be turning left and going downhill. That will indicate we are x% done". We would invariably turn right and start going slightly uphill. I would stare at him. He would stare at the map. He would say " Oh, I think I get it. Pretty soon ....". After a while, I silenced him with one of my looks. I did what I could to help. I muttered curses at him, at the trees, at the trail, at the Appalachian authorities. I shared my theories on what we could do with those folks who marked the trails and my thoughts on blue blazes, etc with P. I think this is when he started fearing for his life and came up with the Bald Mountain concept. I think it marked the mid way point or a little beyond that. But he kept harping on it. "Bald Mountain, Bald Mountain" he said. "Just an hour away, half a mile away, as soon as this uphill stretch ends, around this corner, I can almost see it" he said. And we kept hiking. Finally, when I had given up hope and was re-thinking the whole electronic keyboard bequeathal (at this point I was only walking so I could keep P from the joy of stopping and resting), we turned a corner and the tree line opened up and in a few minutes, there we were! At Bald Mountain. There it was all bald and rock face, (don't remember if there was any sign board there) scorchingly hot. I fell down on my knees and kissed it. We took a short break there. After that, it was much better. We knew we would make it. And the last stretch of the hike was pretty much missing a trail. It was basically a dried up stream bed. So it went pretty fast as we ran down wildly , the weights on our backs adding to the pull of gravity. ( Whether this caused lasting damage to our knees, we do not know. But if it did, it doesn't compare to the lasting damage that was done to our brains over this trip). And at long last we were at the end of the trail. Of course, there was a complication. The trail head was still a mile away by road. Apparently the trail didn't end where it started - that would be too easy. P strongly recommended a cab but I would have none of that. I didn't face a 20% weight loss, shortening of my backbone from my heavy backpack, 4 shades of tan, numerous scratches from wayward branches, possibility of lyme disease and permanent brain addling to end my trip with a cab ride to the trail head. So I marched him down along with me down the road. I think I killed a part of his soul that day. And so, battered, bruised and much browner than when we started, we arrived at our cars a while later. When we saw our cars, we almost cried. And that my friends, is the story of Bald mountain.
Do P and I still hike/plan trips together? Of course, we do. Told you - brain damage.
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