From studying FarOut this morning I determined that I would be going up, then down, up then down, and then up and down again. What a day I had planned!
The rain had drenched everything and I walked slowly through the wet….I wanted the miles to take all day, but like before, hiking slow seemed to lower my mood. I was in an unexplained funk.
I stopped to take breaks when the sun popped through, but always the rain returned. I even tried an optimistic lunch and strung up a drying line for some of the wettest gear, but the rain shut that down quick. Me and my funk continued on.
Today’s mantra: Just keep moving.
I read some more of my post-apocalyptic book and was struck by this page:
As I lumbered down the trail I passed a guy who recognized me. Scavenger and I had met at some hiker gathering out west, he was out to hike the Long Trail. 👣👣👣 happy trails Scavenger!
Even though I was moving slow, I made it to my destination mid-afternoon. I set up my stuff and this time the sun stayed out when I hung my wet out to dry.
I got up out of the tent to do something and wobbled around, unsteady on my feet. This often happens when I stand up after a while… I am unencumbered from the usual weight of the pack and don’t have the hiking poles to give me the extra stability these used and abused feet have come to rely on. This time I wobbled, stumbled, and fell….on my tent, and broke a pole.
“Welp,” I thought, “I guess that means the hike is over.”
I took a tent stake and begged some tape from another hiker at the shelter to splint the pole. It was ugly, the tent leans heavily to the broken side, but it stayed up.
I decided to finish tomorrow and truly be done. I could try to stretch out the paltry 20 miles to where I was getting picked up, but I knew the pull of the end would be strong, and now with this major injury to my kit, I was ready to call it.