A great day took a very wrong turn, changing an easy 26-mile day into a maddening 32 miler and an early five o'clock arrival into a later one at seven thirty. I was making great progress and enjoying super weather that had finally dried out most of the trail. Even the climb to Killington Peak seemed somewhat effortless. Then, I made a mistake. At the Maine Junction, I took a left and headed down the Long Trail, which in this instance should have had the name, the Wrong Trail. I guess I wasn't paying enough attention. I thought the junction was closer to Vt. 100 and Killington. Another factor leading me astray was that I was following white blazes. Why were there white blazes on the Long Trail?!
Anyway, not knowing any better, I blazed a path to Ralston Rest, the first shelter on the Long Trail after separating from the A.T. ARGH!!! I cursed myself for being so stupid and my mood instantly soured. Retracing my steps to regain the right path it seemed as if nature was against me. Roots and rocks trying to trip me, skeeters distracting me with their incessant whine, trees blocking out the best of the sun, the terrain full of pointless ups and downs, my pack sitting uncomfortably on my shoulders. I had given myself over to the dark side, awash in negativity and boiling mad.
Back at the Maine Junction, I learned how easy it would have been if I'd gone straight on for another twenty yards instead of blindly turning left. A prominent sign pointed the way to the Appalachian Trail. Well, could have, should have and would have, but didn't. The anger I'd used to drive me back along the Long Trail was slowly beginning to subside. Nothing had changed really apart from my mood and all I'd really suffered was a time delay and the inconvenience of having to tramp a few extra miles The weather was still super and a nice trail lay beneath my feet. I guess the lesson that was driven home was to try and maintain a positive attitude even when things haven't gone as planned.
As a reward for my attitude adjustment, I saw my first beaver paddling in a pond that was part of the Ottauqueechee River floodplain and for some reason this made me really happy. Part of the magic of long trails is seeing the wildlife along the way.
One last strenuous climb up Quimby Mountain and over to Stony Brook Shelter and I was able to call it a day. Stretch and Zippers, a northbound couple weren't expecting anyone to join them due to the late hour, but were very accommodating. I enjoyed perhaps my finest field bath in a stream/oasis just north on the A.T., the cool water both cleansing and soothing. Returning to my corner of our wooden hut, I got an added surprise of finding an extra can of Chef Boyardee spaghetti that had worked its way to the bottom of my pack. More to snarf on!
The Help of a Ladder
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