#161 Stealth Campsite to Stealth Campsite - Day 86: ATMM1165.7 – ATMM1184.0
..she says she could hear my eerie up-stream scream over the roar of the water and wondered if I had fallen in.
Wednesday
I crawl out of my tent to see Faze had put the rain fly on her tent sometime in the night and wonder if she did it when the bear was messing around across the trail or if she lost interest in gazing at the stars.
She’s still sleeping so I’m as quiet as a Sprawl can be, though I doubt I’ll wake her - I introduced her to the magic of Tylenol PM’s deep sleep a few nights ago.
Since there’s no water for oatmeal or coffee I pack up more quickly than usual. The last order of business is to pull my food bag from the tree limb. I notice Faze’s bag hanging from the same limb, so I lower it, wind up her string, and lay them both by her tent. She stirs inside as I approach and says she’s going to take the morning slow.
The two mile hike to a water source is mostly downhill. I cross PA325 into a gravel parking area. I find a flat area just beyond that would have been a great camp spot last night, with a large stream by it, but I am still happy that I camped on the ridge. I drop my pack to fill my water bottles.
Steadily climbing upwards on what used to be a road of rock and dirt I come across a large spring flowing from a mass of boulders. The water is discolored and has an oily smell to it. I’m glad I tanked up on bottom of the mountain.
There's a large dammed lake in the valley on the north side of the trail, and it looks peaceful down there. It’s peaceful up here. It’s peaceful in my soul today.
On the summit of the thousand foot climb lies a camping area most likely for people on horseback. There’s a large fire ring with slate (flat rocks) positioned around it to create makeshift seating - and the seats look like thrones. Near the campsite is a plaque on a boulder in memory of Cyrus C. Sturgis Jr and a golden horseshoe nailed to a tree - both symbolizing the end of The Horse Shoe Trail, an equestrian trail which begins in Valley Forge National Historical Park.
Several military jets roar across the blue sky. I cannot locate them with my eyes but I can hear them all around. They fly low and fast, sharing an occasional sonic boom.
About four miles later - eight miles into the easy and enjoyable day - I break for a late-morning breakfast by a hidden stream. I have to wrestle the rhododendron to get to it, then wade into it to collect water.
The heat is rising, though currently it is pleasant next to the stream in the shade of rhododendron and budding trees.
I lay my boots, socks, and shirt in a sunny hole in the trees to dry out, then sit the stove atop a large rock to heat water for oatmeal and coffee.
Faze walks off trail just as I finish off my coffee and drops her pack to take a break.
Copter walks in five minutes after that and drops his pack.
We sit on rocks in a triangle and talk about things hikers talk about.
The three of us hike together for several miles, passing the site of a ghost town called Yellow Springs Coal Mining Settlement.
Steady conversation fills the air. Faze opens up more to me about her past and why she’s out here every time Copter falls behind a little due to his ankle.
The trail remains flat but very rocky, Small fist-sized rocks, the kind that you can easily trip over or roll your ankle on, slow our progress tremendously. But who cares - where do we have to be?
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