Rocks---your arches bash.Rocks---your toes will mash.
Rocks---your ankles thrash.
Fall---your knee they'll gash.
I made rapid time down towards Delaware Water Gap this morning, stopping for breakfast on a bench overlooking a still mountain pond covered with lily-pads. While devouring my usual fare of Pop Tarts, a turtle walked out of the woods onto the sandy shore and then submerged itself into its watery home. Not bad for a wildlife sighting because I don't see that every day.
Another milestone crossing the Delaware River, another of the large rivers coursing toward the Atlantic, fed by the rains that fall here on a regular basis. My passage though was not as historic as George Washington and his troops.
I thought that having left Pennsylvania and entered New Jersey that the rocks would somehow magically disappear. Oh, silly me! I suppose I was lulled into this false sense due to the nice track in the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area and the beginning ascent up the Holly Springs Trail. However, after a six-mile reprieve, the rocks were back with a vengeance at the far end of Sunfish Pond. Shortly before arriving on its rocky shores, I came across Cologne, who informed me that as I was zeroing in Palmerton, Snorkel had passed me on the trail. A bit disappointed at first, Cologne said she was planning to take a zero day herself some time soon, so I figured I'd still have my shot at seeing her again. I was also glad to know that she was still on pace to achieve her goal of setting the women's unsupported record. After sharing a bit of trail time and idle conversation, I pressed on ahead of the German, who is in no hurry to make miles up the trail since he's scheduled to meet a friend in the Big Apple later in the week.
There were a few interesting points along the trail, particularly the ponds, but in general it was another hot, humid and hazy afternoon trekking through the green woods. I'd heard New Jersey has the highest population of bears per square mile, which must surely be true since I saw one shortly after entering the state As late afternoon turned to early evening, thunder was chasing me and another hiker named Turkey Feather along the trail. Fortunately for us, the rain never came and with daylight to spare I arrived at Brink Road Shelter, which, well over 40 years old, was one of the smallest and sorriest I stayed in. Its redeeming quality was its nice setting in the woods with a very clear spring as a water source. For those interested in a bear sighting, this may be the place to stay because one wandered into the tent sites as I was having dinner. I didn't see it, but those that had pitched a tent ran off toward the area when they heard their dog barking. They came back to the picnic table and reported the incident.
I'm sharing the shelter and tent sites with Stardust, La La, the Medic, Elvis, James the Lost Boy, and the New Yorkers, two section hikers from, you guessed it, the Empire State. They couldn't believe I had just finished a thirty-mile day because they were dead on their feet after fifteen. One of them was slumped over the table when I pulled in, looking a little worse for wear with a pale and ashen face. Probably suffering from low blood-sugar levels, he looked much better after eating his evening meal.
There is one thing that makes me apprehensive about sharing the miles I log on the trail with other hikers I meet and that's the fact that some of them take it to mean that since they aren't also doing long days it somehow results in a failure on their part. That somehow it doesn't make them a good hiker. Nothing could be further from the truth. Every single person has their own hiking style, their own pace, their own ideas of how long and how frequent their breaks should be. In the spirit of Hike Your Own Hike, the determining factor of success on a trail is not determined by daily miles, but rather by the enjoyment, growth or personal fulfillment one gets from the experience. For me, I embrace the challenge of pushing myself physically. Coming from a cross-country background, I find that the runner's high I achieved in a 5K or 10K race is quite similar to a hiker's high on the trail when my body and breathing get into a rhythm striding along the trail making mile after mile fly past.
This probably leads me into the topic of "getting high". When I was in the mountains or national parks as a youth in the 1970s, I remember seeing people on trails wearing T-shirts that read "Get High on the Mountain" or "High on Life". Such messages, to me, emphasized the fact that spending time away from it all in such beautiful places, breathing in fresh air, gazing up at a brilliant night sky while sitting around a campfire with friends and family, all of this and more were part and parcel to a natural high leading to happiness and unforgettable memories. That's the reason I find it so incomprehensible that on a long distance hike surrounded by nature, some trail walkers would sully the experience through drug use, as if nature and trail life were simply not enough for them, that an additional artificial high was somehow also needed. It certainly was the case this night as the Medic and James the Lost Boy came back up a side trail toting plastic bags full of booze bottles from their liquor run and then, almost as if on cue, everybody to a man went to their packs and dug out a bag of weed from the side pockets. I just shook my head in astonishment and tried to go to sleep, knowing that I'll never understand it. Something I was never exposed to as a Southbounder on the Pacific Crest Trail and thankfully so.
Mountain Pond
Rock Sculptures at Sunfish Pond
Reminded Me of a Van Gogh Painting
Iris
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