#204 Fire Warden Cabin to Hexacuba Shelter - Day 125: MM1774.2 - MM1779.5
As tough as these first few days on the trail have been, they’re a mere warm-up for what’s coming. Things only get bigger, steeper, rockier, and more dangerous for the next few hundred miles.
9-2-2024
I sit in the on the front porch sipping coffee and forcing down oatmeal while I watch a chipmunk play near my bare feet on the rock that doubles as a step for the slowly decaying cabin. The pine’s shadows streak across the ground and the cabin and the chipmunk and me.
Dunkaroo leaves before I do. A day-hiker who came up from the bottom to see the cabin rounds the front porch with camera in hand. Thinking I’m the caretaker, she asks if it’s ok to go in. I tell her it’s ok, then proceed to charge her ten dollars for a quick peek. I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I tell her it’s ok to go in and that two of us slept in there last night, and that it is now a shelter for hikers.
To climb or not to climb…?
Climb, of course!
I didn’t have it in me last night to climb, though I’m sure it was a spectacular sight with the blanket of stars stretching out over the sleeping mountains in all direction. This morning’s view is spectacular with the deep blue sky above and giant clouds hanging over the mountainous horizon in all directions.
The morning’s mostly gentle four-mile hike down Smarts Mountain lands me in the notch between it and Mt. Cube. South Jacobs Brook flows between the two at the bottom of the “V” where they meet. I stop to gather water and force down some snacks for the steep and rocky climb up to the next shelter.
Sunshine comes and goes as the big white clouds from this morning’s horizon have found their way across the mountains to Hexacuba Shelter.
There are many uniquely constructed shelters on the trail, but I believe this is the only six-sided structure, at least it’s the first one I’ve come across in my journey.
The two front sides are open, the four other sides are walled, and there’s a thick wooden post in the middle reaching from ground to ceiling to bear the load of the roof.
The little radio plays 80s hard-rock music while I sit on the edge of the platform with my feet dangling, trying to eat a little to build up my energy.
My body doesn’t want food, especially the morning oatmeal. My gag reflexes make it hard to eat, but I’ve been forcing it down the past two days.
A chill fills my body, though the day is mild. The cold is rising from deep inside.
Exhaustion and nausea win this round. I lay out my pad and crawl into my sleeping bag, then slip into a deep sleep.
On the fifth day of last year’s hike, in early April, I found myself on the opposite end of the spectrum - it was very hot and humid, and dehydration and dizziness forced me to stop for the day after only six miles of hiking.
Reaching Pen-Mar Park in Maryland, just south of the Pennsylvania boarder and the Mason-Dixon Line, I called a nearby hostel owner to pick me up because I couldn’t cool myself down. It was early in the year and the city hadn’t yet turned on the water supply to the park’s spigots.
Today, with no bail-out options, I do what is the best - stay put.
An hour or so later I awake feeling better. I lay still for a while longer because it just feels so dang good to be horizontal. But know I should move around a little, mostly because I really have to pee.