August 26: Just like in the White Mountain Hostel, we had grown used to having a home base for slack packing at Pine Ellis. After three nights at the hostel, it was time to move on. (I used Subaru's pad over the trundle bed and prevented springs from poking my ribs this night. Worked well.) We had packed up and were ready to head out with full packs. We ate the leftovers from our chicken-dinner-for-two meal the night before for breakfast and caught the 7 am shuttle to the trail head.
It was not raining today, but it was foggy and it had rained the night before, so everything was wet and slippery. Once again,the day called for slow, careful hiking. We stopped at a bench by an overlook (from which we saw only clouds and fog) and were passed by Carbon. He was set on doing 16 miles today, which was going to be a push on the wet rocks and roots. After the bench, we saw a sign that said 2.7 miles to the next shelter, our lunchtime destination. It was a ridiculously long 2.7 miles, taking us almost two and a half hours! As we were picking our way down the sloped, exposed rock faces, my boots slipped out from underneath me and I ended up sitting down, hard, hyperflexing my knee. I thought I had done some ligament damage, since I felt a pop, but miraculously, when I pulled myself up, the pain disappeared and I could push on without a problem. Thank goodness.
We reached the shelter to find Carbon there, wrapped in every article of clothing in his pack, lying on his back and looking at the ceiling. "Do the miles seem really long to you?" he asked. Yes. Yes they do. This marked the first shelter where we started seeing graffiti on the wall: Brooks was here (from Shawshank Redemption). Somebody else had sharpied: So was Red. We continued to see this through Maine.
After lunch, we felt rested and much more apt to tackle the day. Well, maybe tackle isn't the optimal word; tiptoe over the wet, slippery rocks was more like it. I fell once again in the afternoon, slipping on a root and pitching forward. Usually, I can catch myself with my trekking poles, but this happened so fast, I found myself sprawled out, pinned underneath my heavy, resupplied pack. I was just about to roll on my side and take my pack off to get up when Subaru grabbed my pack from above and hauled me up. Much easier. We continued on at our slow pace.
After a long, slow descent, we reached a campsite, our destination for the night. It was still fairly early; we debated pushing on but our books had cautioned that there wasn't great camping terrain. And the campsite was a really nice, flat spot. With a good water source. And we had the whole place to ourselves. So we set up camp, ate, hung our food, and retired early. Good sleep tonight.
It was not raining today, but it was foggy and it had rained the night before, so everything was wet and slippery. Once again,the day called for slow, careful hiking. We stopped at a bench by an overlook (from which we saw only clouds and fog) and were passed by Carbon. He was set on doing 16 miles today, which was going to be a push on the wet rocks and roots. After the bench, we saw a sign that said 2.7 miles to the next shelter, our lunchtime destination. It was a ridiculously long 2.7 miles, taking us almost two and a half hours! As we were picking our way down the sloped, exposed rock faces, my boots slipped out from underneath me and I ended up sitting down, hard, hyperflexing my knee. I thought I had done some ligament damage, since I felt a pop, but miraculously, when I pulled myself up, the pain disappeared and I could push on without a problem. Thank goodness.
We reached the shelter to find Carbon there, wrapped in every article of clothing in his pack, lying on his back and looking at the ceiling. "Do the miles seem really long to you?" he asked. Yes. Yes they do. This marked the first shelter where we started seeing graffiti on the wall: Brooks was here (from Shawshank Redemption). Somebody else had sharpied: So was Red. We continued to see this through Maine.
After lunch, we felt rested and much more apt to tackle the day. Well, maybe tackle isn't the optimal word; tiptoe over the wet, slippery rocks was more like it. I fell once again in the afternoon, slipping on a root and pitching forward. Usually, I can catch myself with my trekking poles, but this happened so fast, I found myself sprawled out, pinned underneath my heavy, resupplied pack. I was just about to roll on my side and take my pack off to get up when Subaru grabbed my pack from above and hauled me up. Much easier. We continued on at our slow pace.
After a long, slow descent, we reached a campsite, our destination for the night. It was still fairly early; we debated pushing on but our books had cautioned that there wasn't great camping terrain. And the campsite was a really nice, flat spot. With a good water source. And we had the whole place to ourselves. So we set up camp, ate, hung our food, and retired early. Good sleep tonight.
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