We woke at the Shakers Campsites late, well past nine in the morning. Both of us having been feeling much better of late, but our bodies definitely needed the rest. Tater’s new air pad has been a great addition to her fine little nylon cottage.
The bear box at this site, a giant steel toolbox where hikers put their food at night, was guarded by a motion sensor activated game camera. I couldn’t help but smile and put two thumbs up everytime I heard it begin to record. No doubt it is being used to judge the efficacy of these boxes against bears and other critters.
A few of these were scattered along the trail in 2019, but they seem to have become a staple now, at least in CT and Mass. Few people hang bear bags properly, and I’ll admit that after twenty miles in the rain I’ve more than once just slept with my food. The boxes though? They’re just too convenient and secure not to use. There’s nothing worse than waking to a day’s worth of trail mix slobbered over by an enterprising mouse.
The plan today was to get back to Great Barrington, thus finishing our impromptu southbound trip from Lee. Tater remembered a fine beach spot in the Bear Town State Forest, and being the Forth of July, we needed a beach day.
Benedict Pond did not disappoint, but where as Upper Goose Pond is by hikers for hikers, here we were outliers among the clean cut, mostly Connecticut families.
At .4 off the AT, the sandy beach was a paradise. Two concerns immediately presented themselves: Where’s the potable water, and can we get a pizza delivered out here?
A man camping near the lake confirmed that the well was down, and so I searched the lake until I found a man-made spilloff acting as a stream. I gathered two liters out of this, and when the man offered us some of the spring water from his car, I told him we were fine. He was pretty impressed with the Sawyer’s .1 micron capabilites. Sure, some viruses can get through, but it easily wards against all the common North American water nasties.
Tater went to use the restroom, which still had flushing toilets but no usable sinks. (Pond water seemed way more appetizing than toilet water, for those wondering…)
In the meantime the filter also attracted the attention of two older ladies, and of course I struck up a conversation. The running joke is that if Tater leaves me anywhere for five minutes, I find five new friends. I am my father’s son!
The ladies recommended a pizza place in the heart of Great Barrington, and when Tater returned, we decided we could put off delivery and eat after hitching to down.
Now that we both had inflatable sleeping pads, we decided to blow them up and use them as pool floats in the lake. I fell off mine a few times, but eventually I was able to lay flat and enjoy the rays pouring down on this seventy-five degree day.
Tater directed my attention to a fine specimen of femininity in an orange bikini on the beach. Truth be told, no woman rivals Tater in running shorts. When my trail partner decided to get out and lay on the beach I kept repacking things in my backpack, dropping them, and essentially navigating a dumbfounded existence. Peering over at me under her roll-up sun hat, a staple of her hiking repertoire, and in my mind one of those most “Tater” things, I get all kinds of melty. Or maybe it was just the sun exposure. Sure, let’s go with that…
After a few hours on the beach our stomachs said it was time to go. Right after making the turn back onto the AT we ran into Henry Keegan, an ECT thru hiker I had met during the Bartram Loop back in NC. I actually passed him before he turned and asked if we had met before. I asked if he had successfully sold his Prius, and he had, thus giving him the funds to complete his 4’800 mile trek from Key West to Labrador.
When last we spoke, his odor was so overpowering I thought I had forgotten what hikers smell like. Today though I smelled nothing, which can only mean one of two things. He wasn’t twenty days without a shower this time, or I smelled just as bad. Judging by our fellow beach goers an hour ago, the latter is likely true.
He had paired up with another Eastern Continental Divide thru, who’s name I forgot to get. It was wonderful to see them. They had also met Bud, and looked forward to running into him again. A niche among the niche, these guys are the real deal.
We made Highway 23 easily enough and hitched into Barrington with a couple in a small Toyota sedan. We were on the curb a while until Tater finally said.
“Hide behind that tree baby boy, I got this.”
Sure enough, the very first car stopped. Even female drivers must enjoy her shorts as much as I do.
Sending your female hiking friend out to get a ride for the group is a common practice among hikers known as “hitch baiting.” Tater is damned good at it. I usually have to dance go get rides into Barrington, and it takes a lot to muster those funky rhythms on a desolate chicory-lined road.
The recommended pizza place was closed, along with most of the town. We walked the wrong direction for half an hour before finally hitching cross town to Four Brothers Pizza Inn. Like locusts we descended and ate their marinara filled dough treats of love enmass. Then we sat in the booth nursing our carb comas.
After dinner we made for the Berkshire South Regional Community Center, where I have camped three years in a row. We pitched on the far end of the field there, past two other travelers we hadn’t met yet.
Around nightfall, after a call home to Tater’s parents, fireworks became to boom in the distance. So we left camp and walked towards them, ultimately finding the best view outside of a McDonalds. Over a cinnabun and large fry we watched the satellite arrays of flash and color bloom noisily across the parchment sky.
“Merica!”
“Merica” I agreed. After the show we returned to our homes in a field where nature was putting on a finale of her own. Hundreds of fireflies. They were beautiful.
That was before the slugs came. More on that soon…
Dirty Girl Hikes 