Appalachian Trail Mile 1766.8

Friday, September 6, 2017 (Day 127)

I did not want to rise. The rain started and stopped, then started again.

It always sounds worse when sitting inside a tent, I told myself.

I procrastinated with a bit of writing, then exited my tent.

The rain seemed to stop just for me. I was terrifically happy and energized. Because the rain was likely to be a constant this week, I packed my pack differently. I positioned my tent on the outside of my pack. In doing this, I would not need to open my pack to set up, and could be completely packed before leaving my tent on rainy mornings. Though it left my pack feeling a bit lopsided between my shoulders, it was worth it.

I made my way to the top of Moose Mountain. At the summit I met a familiar face. I took a small break beside them. They shared whiskey and offered a peach. I enjoyed both gratefully, as we took in the view.

The rain started and stopped continuously. It was ever so light in its falling, like butterfly kisses.

I crossed Beaver Pond along decrepit bog bridges. The view was stunning; The colors, the clouds, the reflections! I paused to take it all in.

It remained foggy, the clouds settling low to the ground as I moved through the trees.

The cliff edges seem to look out in to the end of time and space, like the whole world was erased, save for this little floating piece of magical forest that I trekked upon.

As night came, I decided to continue. It was risky. There were not a plethora of places to camp, and the chance of rain increased greatly with the resignation of the sun; as did a severe decrease in visibility, should the fog thicken.

Finally, I came to Grant Brook. There was an enormous amount of cool, clear, strong flowing water. I was pleased. I collected enough for the night and the early morning. I then set off. There should be a campsite just a quarter of a mile north of the brook.

I followed a side trail I thought may lead to the site, and a fog settled around me. There seemed to be blazes on this trail as well. Could it be due to a reroute? The fog became thicker. The beam of my headlamp caught the moisture in the air. I tried returning to the AT. I was turned around. Had I passed here before? I had a brief moment of panic, imagining myself lost in the rain and fog, unable to locate a place to pitch my tent.

I soon found my way, however, as well as the site I had been looking for.

Filled with relief and satisfaction, I quickly pitched my tent, and safely tucked myself away for the night.

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