Birds woke me at five in the morning. Five! The sun was already cresting the surrounding hills, casting red hughes across my face. I slept with both vestibules open last night, partially for ventilation, and partially because I lacked space to pitch them.
One thing you get spoiled with when using a bivy, is that the footprint is body-sized. If you can lay on a patch of dirt (or rock, or edge of a tent platform) you can setup there and sleep for the night. The Gossamer Gear Two though, is a behemoth.
What I assumed to be a camp full of thru-hikers when we arrived last night, was in fact a troop of scouts with a few parents. They were the quietest boyscouts I’ve ever encountered, respectfully silent even as they packed up their pots and tents this morning.
I had breakfast with the three parents and a thru-hiker named Santiago. He told me his name was a reference to Hemmingway’s Santiago, from Old Man and The Sea.
Tater slept in till 9am, as she’s still adjusting to Eastern Standard Time. In the meantime I reorganized my pack, read the shelter log, and layed out my food to take inventory. When she woke, she gave me these fashionable “Tater” braids:
The heat kicked both of our asses out of the gate, but the trail was so lovely and gentle for much of the day. We crossed the boarder into Connecticut after a short detour off trail due to a damaged bridge. A local on a bike gave us directions, but I must admit Tater is the better navigator.
Around lunch we found a view with some fine sitting rocks, and realized to our dismay that both of our appetites were waning. They should have been ramping up by now.
Tater made a call to home, and I checked Gaia and the guidebook for some place we could cool down. The Housatonic was .4 straight down hill, and the mere thought lifted our spirits. In 2016 I sat in this river for a full hour, cooling from what was then 100+ degree heat indexes day on end.
We found some fine shady rocks and sat submerged to our knees for the better part of an hour. The river isn’t safe to drink from, and we found a couple of dead crayfish, perfectly intact but otherwise inanimate. Nevertheless, a fly fisherman greeted us on his way back to town, excited to tell us he had never caught so many fish before. Hopefully they were catch and release, the river is full of heavy metals!
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, though we did get some fantastic views off the side of Schaghticoke mountain.
While lounging we met a thru named Bumble Beast, who chatted with us for twenty minutes or more.
At the nearby campsite we were delighted to find a strong, beautiful, and drinkable stream. By dinner time we were both actually hungry and thirsty again, putting my mind to ease.
It takes time to settle into a long distance hike. The mind and body eagerly protest what is in reality a total and complete upset of your typical daily life. I overhead Tater’s mom say “be kind to yourself,” which is the antidote to every ailment of this transition period. I’ve written that phrase in countless trail registers now, especially on the southern AT where so many are just starting out.
Complicating the transition, the bugs have been horrendous. I caught my first tick attempting to hide behind my knee tonight. They always end up there for some reason, but my Tick Key and lighter made short work of him. I was delighted that it even worked on a nyph, which this certainly was. Being so near to the town Lyme, which the disease is named after, has Tater and I both at a heightened level of diligence.
We’ve only a few days at most in Connecticut, then we’ll be on to Massachusetts. New England is such a beautiful place.
Dirty Girl Hikes 