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Aug
30 , 1983 Tuesday (274.9 mtg) From
Gonzo!s Appalachian Trail journal
This
morning the surroundings were kind of misty, remnants produced as
a result of the rain last night. I departed the shelter and began
the two miles of gradual uphill to the summit of Old Speck Mountain,
but the firetower located there yielded no views because of the
clouds. Three miles of downhill on a trail that was wet and slippery
took me past several day-hikers on their way up to the summit. We
greeted each other and continued on our separate ways, for me -
down to the road crossing at Maine route 26 through Grafton Notch.
There was a parking area for the trailhead where I stopped to leave
a congratulatory note for John Smart and Smokie, who would complete
their thru-hike at this spot. I tucked it under the bark of a nearby
White Birch tree. I found Roger Brichner at the parking lot in search
of the trail. He and Mike Patch were hiking sections together. Roger
would leave Mike off at one road crossing, drive to another crossing
and leave the car. When they met each other along the trail, he
would then give Mike the keys so he could retrieve the car and drive
to pick Roger up. I wondered what they would do if they should happen
to pass without seeing each other. I set Roger straight as to where
the trail went. Consistency gained from hiking in one direction,
in my opinion, is the best way to go, and gives the greatest satisfaction.
I crossed the highway and hiked the short distance of less than
a mile to Grafton Notch Lean-to, where I intended to eat lunch and
contemplate where to stay this evening. At the shelter, I met a
couple of hikers, and a ranger that I had seen at the parking area
earlier. Nice setting for a shelter. A nearby stream contained a
waterfall that produced a soothing sound, and although the lean-to
was very close to the road, the minimal traffic that goes down that
road could not be heard. Warnings from "The Maximus" about
mighty mouse, who ruled the shelter, convinced me that this was
not the place to spend the night. Besides, I had only traveled six
miles so far today.
Ever since entering the Whites, and now while I was in the Mahoosucs,
I had been observing the presence and behavior of a certain wild
bird known as the Spruce Grouse. These birds exemplify the term
"bird brain" in their actions when it comes to getting
out of the way of hikers. They seemed to pay little attention
to the presence of humans, and when they did fly away, it was only
for a short distance. I encountered the birds quite often in the
Mahoosucs. I began to think about my Upland Game Birds class from
college and knew that these birds were considered game birds that
some hunters shot for food. My mouth began to water.
The
climb up Baldpate Mountain proved to be another triumph of Maine
Appalachian Trail Club's (MATC) trail building prowess. The trail
went up very steeply straight through a "drainage ditch"
that was full of small boulders. Perhaps the ditch had formed from
hikers eroding the trail, I don't know. Water from the rain last
night was flowing between the rocks as if it were a stream. My feet
got soaked and mud deposits caked on the gaiters that covered my
calf muscles as my boots picked up the muck and deposited it on
the sides of my legs with each passing step. Gaiters are practically
essential in this northern climate, they help keep debris from falling
down into your boots as well as help shed water off of them.
While climbing the vertical river up West Baldpate, I passed Lan
A.T. Hiker, who had not stopped to take a break at the shelter as
I had. From the summit of West Baldpate, the trail dipped quickly
and then shot up quickly to the summit of East Baldpate. I was impressed
with the dome shaped summit that was virtually treeless, and it
reminded me of a bald head of sorts. To Hazy for any pictures.
On the way down East Baldpate my curiosity, and dreams of being
a mountain man lead me to attempt to catch a grouse for supper.
I stopped and selected a few choice rocks for the hunt, and scouted
out the prey ahead of me. My first attempt failed as the rock wizzed
past the first grouse and caused it to fly to the safety of a tree
somewhere off the trail. The second bird remained on the ground
as if nothing had happened, until the second projectile slammed
into it. The bird fluttered down the side of the mountain with me
in hot pursuit as if chasing a chicken down on the farm. I managed
to grab the bird and rejoiced that I would be eating a nice supper
this evening! The bird was the size of a chicken, enough for two,
so I left a note for Lan to meet me at Frye Notch Shelter for a
"special" supper, and continued on to the shelter.
Frey Notch Lean-to was a building in progress. When I arrived, I
found workers just finishing what they were doing for the day, and
then departing. The shelter was just a shell, the log walls were
up, but there was no platform, and more importantly, no roof. I
set up my tarp utilizing two of the walls as part of my shelter,
and began to prepare for the night. I had a feeling that it would
rain. The workers had a nice fire going in the fire pit. After they
were out of sight, I began to undress the bird in the manner that
I had learned to prepare a bird skin for stuffing that I had been
taught in my Ornithology class. I removed the feathers and skin
all in one piece. Lan arrived soon after and was intrigued by my
offer, not knowing what was in store. Even though she had been a
vegetarian for six years now, she was eager to sample the bird after
we sprinkled it with salt, pepper, and other spices provided by
some short term hikers also staying at the site. I grilled it over
the open fire just like the mountain men in the movies did - with
a stick through the body and suspended over the flames. That was
one of the best meals that I had ever prepared on the trail! Very
tasty! Lan agreed, and did not even think twice about digging in.
She did not seem to be adversely affected by her sudden change away
from vegetarianism.
Gonzo!
Appalachian Trail Journals ©1983
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