I got up early to do some writing. Tater is adjusting to East Coast time, but I tend to be the first one up. I’ve come to enjoy these couple of hours to myself before starting the day in earnest.
Our southbound plan, hatched the night before, was a good one. This way we’d only have to hitch five miles out to the trail. The only problem was that Tater seemed to be coming down with whatever illness I had been battling, and when she woke up we seriously considered taking a full zero day.
I called down to the office, but our room price (with an “already a guest discount”) had risen fifty dollars overnight, and that before tax. We found a much better rate at the inn across the street, but vacillated on the decision for another hour.
Ultimately we decided to hike on.
The efficacy with which two hikers can pack, even after covering every a available surface with damp gear, should not be underestimated. We were ready to roll in about twenty minutes. Our decision was rewarded with absolutely stunning weather. With temperatures in the 70’s and not a cloud in the sky, the trail gods smiled on our decision to push.
A young energetic man in a CRV broke rank with the column of kayak-topped vehicles headed out of town. We had our ride back to trail. He dropped us off with offers of water, and bowed to us as a Buddhist does, palms together and lifted headward. I returned the gesture and Tater and I wished him a fine day on the lake.
Everyone up here attends the James Talyor concert in Tanglewood for the Forth. He was headed there with the rest of the greater Barrington, Stockbridge, Lee populace.
We found trail easily enough, though as usual I chose the wrong direction. Tater says she’s never in her life been a better navigator than someone, but there is a first for everything.
We passed Upper Goose Pond and met many new faces. These were all the Northbounders still a few days ahead of us. Among them were Rolo and Bumblebeast, two of the first hikers we met when we started.
The miles were silly easy, pine needles cushioning every step. We stopped at a shady trailhead for lunch, and while we sat two cars pulled up. One contained a Class of 2015 thru on an overnight with his family. The other car contained a dog (of course) who gravitated to my hiking partner like they all do. A young puppy with floppy ears, the owner’s choice of a huge climbing rope for a leash was comical. Though, when the pup smelled my peanut butter tortillas, I was glad he was so well secured!
For the third time since 2016 I passed this lovely drink stand in Mass. This time there were dog treats on top of the fridge, tokens to appease the guardian beast patrolling the fence line. Despite his robust frame, and piecing eyes, he didn’t bark and approached us assertively. Tater the canine abbasodor had him eating out of her hand, despite warnings to throw the food to him instead.
I scarfed down the last ice cream sandwich in the fridge, while Tater annilated an unsuspecting snack bag of Chips Ahoy. We staggered on, down the picturesque country road, with farmsteads upon which either of us might comfortably spend a whole lifetime.
After a strong, clear-flowing brook, the best we had seen in days, we came upon the Shaker’s Campsites.
A moss adorned wall of stacked stones was the only remnant of the residents who once called this place home. The ridgerunner was kind enough to leave a small report about the village that once stood here, founded in 1766. Apparently these poor celibate souls, who simply wanted to live off the land, spin textiles, and make ox yokes, were constantly persecuted by their more traditional Christian neighbors.
The nearby village of Tyringham is closely related, and according to the report, is where many families of the Fern Road settlement eventually moved. We could see the iconic red barns and massive church graveyard for the ridge.
The current persecutors of the site are giant Massachusetts mosquitos. They’re thick, grotesque creatures with girthy middles and insatiable appetites. An attempt to eat dinner at the picnic table was quickly thwarted, and so we retreated to our tents once again.
The entire site was covered in jewelweed. A medicinal plant with soothing properties against both bug bites and poison ivy rash, I took a few leaves with me. I applied the poultice to my feet and legs, while Tater looked on doubtfully. More than once I’ve put trailside berries or greens in my mouth to her rebuttals about certain death and stomach aches. I’ve had great teachers though, like Mark Warren of Medicine Bow.
We fell asleep bellies full of mac and cheese, but not before laughing loud enough to disturb the neighbors. If any Shaker spirits remained, they left us un-haunted. Our joy at being together was obvious and palpable.
Dirty Girl Hikes 