#176 West Mtn Shelter to Stealth Camp - Day 101: MM1399.9 - MM1414.9
The trail is not only comprised of a roller coaster of elevation, but also of emotions.
Warning to the reader - this is a big day and big post, better fill up that coffee cup before beginning.
All good? Let’s go.
4-27-2024
Natures pre-dawn chirping alarm clocks sound, waking the sleepy-headed residents of the wilderness.
“Five more minutes,” I mutter, rolling over as the on-again-off-again overnight rain starts up again.
Sitting up in the tent, I begin changing into my hiking clothes and packing up everything but the tent. The rain stops falling as I finish up inside and unzip my tent fly to exit.
Forgoing breakfast, as there’s no time for breakfast, nor items left in my bag to make breakfast, I move on to the next chore, retrieving the bear bag from the cables.
Beacon and I exchange words of encouragement along with expressing our appreciation for one another’s company and friendship over the past few days. I grab my phone to type in his number.
His hand appears below his rain fly near the ground. Already hunkered down beside his tent, I reach for it. Our hands connect in a final handshake.
A steady light rain returns while making my way down West Mountain.
I’m not sure exactly where Bear Mountain State Park begins, but the hike up Bear Mountain from Seven Lakes Drive and Perkins Memorial Drive makes me suspect I’ve just entered it. The trail just went from mud to a carefully constructed stone stairway. It will continue this way for the next five miles - not so much for Appalachian Trail hikers, but for the benefit of Bear Mountain State Park visitors.
I’m not complaining. This well-manicured section of tourist-friendly trail helps me to significantly close the gap on my time-crunch.
Hand crafted wooden benches with memorial plaques fastened to them rest upon the summit of Bear Mountain.
The trail glides through the trees across the summit along crushed black gravel to Perkins Memorial Lookout.
The steep thousand-food ascent on the other side is as easily navigable as the ascent, with its well-manicured path.
Just as the Bear Mountain Inn comes into view from the other side of the field, my Trail Angel sends a message saying she had just parked at the Inn’s parking lot.
Meet Courtney, My Trail Angel:
When my wife (Becky) reached out to her PCUSA Leaders group to see if there was anyone in the 1400 mile-marker range of the A.T. who could receive a package and coordinate with my northward progress to get it to me - Courtney answered the call.
We meet in the parking lot of the Inn where I grab the box from the back of her vehicle.
You’ll recall about two weeks ago my having to replace a leaky air pad with a second-hand gray foam pad. This resupply box has one of my other air pads form home in it, it’s actually my son's old pad. Included in the box are food and hygiene supplies - not a complete and purposefully prepared resupply, but extra items I tossed in before the trip, not intended to find their way out here, but I had Becky toss them in with the pad anyway.
The used foam pad probably saved my trip, and possibly my life, as it gets very cold in the mountains at night, and without proper insulation you can freeze to death. The odds and ends in the box will help carry me to my next resupply.
Courtney will mail the foam pad back home for me.
Fun little side story -
Nearly one year to the day, on 5-1-24, Becky and I were packing up the apartment in North Carolina to move back to Kentucky.
I was thinking about what I could use to protect the front glass of her China Cabinet when there was a knock on the door. I walked four steps from the cabinet to the door, opened it, and on the stoop was a box with the gray sleeping pad Courtney had mail me.
The pad was exactly the right size to protect the glass. I then used the box it came in for added protection.
Perfect timing. The pad came one day before the move.
Thanks Courtney.
Trail magic extends beyond the trail
Wandering into the inn, I’m greeted like an ordinary visitor by the staff, though I’m a dozen days unwashed, gritty, and unshaven - Hiker Trash.
Dropping my pack on a chair that I’m claiming as home base for the next hour or so, I head into the restroom to wash my face and clean up a bit.
I’d gotten to the inn too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, the dining room is closed. I gather what I can find to create a decent snack.
Sitting here in this swanky resort, with an apple, a banana, and a muffin, with a cup of coffee and small peanut butter and jelly containers in front of me, I write in my journal, send out a few messages, and charge my electronics.
Life is good.
Two hours fly by. Temptations to stay increases by the minute, but for the mere high, high price of a few hundred bucks per night, Sprawl will be merely passing through.
There’s inexpensive hiker accommodation somewhere across the field, away from the general population. Beacon told me last night that he’s spending the night there tonight and taking a zero tomorrow.
I figure sleeping on the trail is free, so I scan my map to plan my next moves, then move on.
