#211 Garfield Ridge Shelter to Guyot Shelter - Day 132: MM1830.2 - MM1835.7
Today truly was a good day - I got to learn about..... I got to sit inside a..... I got to see an old..... and made a new..... I walked across a.....
9-9-24
The wild winds died down somewhere in the night and the temp stopped dropping somewhere in the low twenties.
The guys on the neighboring platform were loud all night. They stopped talking and laughing after Ghost, my platform mate, artfully asked them to shut up, but the banging, constant thuds continued as they restlessly rolled around bumping elbows on the platform and knocking over water bottles.
I lay in the warm bag a little while longer than usual, knowing that the cold air will rush in when the zipper goes down. I have a fairly short day planned to Guyot Shelter, with one hut lying between, where I hope to stop, rest, and fill my belly.
Ghost, who received her name because she keeps appearing to other hikers who thought she was already way up the trail, begins stirring. For whatever reason, it’s easier to linger in my tent or shelter when I’m alone, but when others begin stirring, I feel compelled to start moving as well. I don’t know why - I’m not in competition with them.
We both avoid being quiet as we each bang around on the platform breaking down our tents - a little payback to our sleeping neighbors, who a kept us up late last night.
Time to pay my dues. I walk down the trail to the caretaker and pay my fifteen dollars for the platform.
Remember a few stories ago when I wrote about the Appalachian Mountain Club (A.M.C.) a.k.a. Appalachian Money Club creating a way for thru-hikers and LASHers (Long Ass Section Hikers) to not have to pay so much money passing thorough New Hampshire due to charging us to camp while simultaneously setting rules against stealth camping?
Well, here’s their solution - and I like it. Some hikers don’t think it’s enough.
The caretaker pulls out a small orange coupon card with the name of all the campgrounds written on it and tells me that if I buy one for ten dollars that my stays at the other campgrounds will be five dollars per night, plus free food and discounted stuff from the huts. I’m no math nerd but I know how to count money.
I hand him a $10 bill for the coupon and a $5 bill for the platform - but he says that when you buy the coupon you get that night free. Cool - saving money already.
To my BLOG readers who have a very observant eye - the date on the card matches last night’s stay and not this morning’s story.
While using the privy I read the A.M.C.’s Where Does My Poop Go composting cartoon posted on the wall. One of the responsibilities of the caretaker is to properly compost my poop.
Other literature posted inside the privy - Where Does My Fee Go? - reinforces the cartoon by enlightening me as to where some of my money goes. As it turns out, a helicopter periodically drops in the much-needed mulch into camp that is used in the compost process.
Appalachian Manure Club?
Just kidding.
Let’s move along now.
I’m glad today’s hike begins with hiking downward. I overdid it yesterday and am very sore. I might have been fine if it weren’t for the bad trail blazing and bad FarOut app debacle late in the evening, causing me to run up and down the mountain searching for the Garfield Ridge.
That’s behind me now, and I'm determined to enjoy this day, to take it slow and easy.
The lower elevations smell like autumn but up here it smells like Christmas. I soak up the sun, the scent, and cool air while enjoying the long downward hike.
About five hundred feet into a steep fifteen hundred foot climb I come to a short side trail that leads to Galehead Hut.
I plop down on one of the benches and watch as my boots and socks walk off my feet and rest in the sun. They know the routine and have been well trained.
I sit at one of the tables inside with a hot bowl of potato dill soup and a hunk of Anadama Bread in front of me. Before I know it, I’m sliding the last of my bread across the bottom of the bowl, sopping up the last drops of soup. Real hikers never leave behind drop nor crumb.
The front door of the hut opens up behind me and in walks Steady Eddie, who I thought was miles ahead of me. I guess he’s my ghost, as he will appear behind me a few more times this week when I think he’s miles ahead.
With my little orange coupon in hand, I get some hot coffee and a chunk of cake. The croo member takes it and marks through the bowl of soup and the baked good, leaving me with one free baked good at another hut. I’m only out one dollar for the coffee. Worth it for the fairly full carafe I have consumed.
Eddie and I sit and chat while he works on a bowl of soup, and I work on a chunk of cake. He doesn’t stay very long but we had a good visit.
I linger for more than an hour. It’s so relaxing here.
Books and board games line a wall of the dining area. The huts don't have anywhere to plug in electronics, otherwise people would be hanging out here all-day, draining the solar batteries and natural gas. I have three bars left on my back-up charger and low battery on my phone and am 3 days away from Mount Washington’s summit, where I know there are outlets for visitors. I hope my battery lasts until then. There's nothing between here and there but one or two huts.
There’s a gravel landing pad in front of the hut where large supplies are helicoptered in a couple of times a year. The daily items are hiked in by croo members. They hike trash and uneaten food down the mountain and bring up fresh supplies on wood-framed backpacks strapped to their backs. Fresh food and other supplies are secured with ropes to the wood-framed, and probably hand crafted, backpacks. I’ll show photos in future stories of them in use, but for now, think of scenes from Jack London’s Alaskan wilderness stories.
