200 miles in

I learned a wonderful fact about newts the other day from an invertebrate specialist we ate lunch near. The spotted red eft is the younger stage of the aquatic green newts you find in ponds throughout the northeast . Apparently before they morph into the older, aquatic green stage, they will wander far from their birth pond. Most eventually return to breed and carry on as newts do, but others go wandering in search of new ponds. This is why you sometimes see them up high on mountains- they are hiking their own hike, the same as Moped and I are. 

I bet their feet feel better than mine do. 

My body is a bit beat up- my right ankle is swollen and my left arch is sore. I’ve got something going on with two of my toes, but I don’t know what’s wrong, other than that they hurt when I walk. My legs feel tired and my body is constantly asking for both nourishment and rest. Considering the last 40 miles of trail I’m not surprised- the section from Burnt Rock Mountain to Route 2 (up and over Camel’s Hump) is relentless. Lots of elevation gain and scrambling and rock climbing don’t result in a quick and easy pace. The climb today up and over Mansfield was also tough- there are a couple of spots that a wrong step will lead to a significant fall, ladders that were not fully upright and don’t extend above the rock face, making it hard to transition between the two, and rock that had worn down from thousands of feet, making it surprisingly slick. We took it slow and steady, and I only had to take my pack off once on a ledge to safely traverse it. Moped and I have been thinking about how difficult the last three days have been- how we’ve never felt one accidental slip away from certain death before. The AT certainly didn’t have terrain this nerve wracking: even the hike up the Wildcats didn’t feel this perilous, nor did the hike down Katadhin’s Knife Edge. Take note: the Long Trail may be only about a tenth of the Appalachian Trail, but it is pretty damn tough. Our caretaker at Taft Lodge said that it’s because the people who made these trails a century ago wanted to make them short enough that they could get to the top of the mountain and then be home for dinner, route be damned. 

Despite the challenges of the last three days we’ve had some wonderful moments. Moped saw a bear lurking near the privy at the Bamforth Ridge Shelter the morning after we stayed there. Our dear friend came to visit, bearing delicious treats, hugs, and Moped’s old backpack, as his new one was torturing him. We spent the night alone at Puffer Shelter, which had a view that stretched for miles and a sunrise that shone directly into the shelter. Swimming naked in cold and clear mountain streams. The joy of knowing that every newt I see has done big mile days to be where it is. Ravens playing in the thermals. Being out here is magical and wonderful and affirming. 

I am, however, looking forward to a proper shower. In the meantime, we’ll settle for such dips in mountain creeks as we find them, and the warmth of the sun drying us before we continue along our way, and dream of high efficiency washing machines with an aggressive detergent.