I usually start out in the early afternoon from the parking lot off 119 in Ashburnham and do an out-and-back hike, turning around based on my best guess as to how much light I'll have left. I usually make it to somewhere around New Ipswich Mountain before heading back. I had hoped to get an earlier start this time, but the margaritas from the previous night (a birthday dinner for my friend JBar) had done a pretty good job on me, so I ended up getting to the trailhead around 1pm. Not really an issue -- I had already assumed that I'd be hiking back in the dark given the rapidly shortening days and had brought a few extra layers along with a headlamp and the best freakin' flashlight on the planet. (Saved our ass on the Monadnock hike when we accidentally got off-trail.) The plan was to try and get to Rt. 124 in New Hampshire, the first road-crossing the trail makes, if not Kidder Mountain. I figured it was a bit less than the halfway point of a 21-mile trail, so guesstimated it to be about 10 miles out. I didn't really think much beyond that. I thought it would be cool to have a tangible goal and set off for the trail.
It was a beautiful day, and it was good to be outside. I'm glad the weather held out, since there had been forecasts of clouds and possible rain that night or the next day. (it ended up holding off the entire weekend)
It being a weekday, I only ran into four or five groups of people:
- A young couple and their dog sitting at the summit of Mt. Watatic...
- followed by two women and five fair-haired children just as I was heading back onto the trail
- A middle-aged couple in a beat-up blue Ford pickup with NH plates, the bed full of wood and a gas-powered chainsaw. Between the MA/NH border and the Binney Pond area there's a section of access roads, so it's not totally crazy to see a vehicle on the "trail," but it's the first time I've ever seen one. I think they were gathering firewood. It's New Hampshire -- Live Free or Die country. We made a little chit-chat about the Wapack trail as I passed, and I went on my way.
- As I neared Binney Pond, I noticed another blue truck, this time with MA plates, parked on the side of the road, a CD collection of baby tunes on the passenger seat catching my eye as I passed. Sure enough, as I started walking along the pond, I could hear the shouting of small children, eventually catching up to, and passing, a guy with a goatee and wraparound sunglasses with mirrored lenses, holding the hands of (presumably) his two daughters, each with matching backpacks. It really was adorable.
- Another middle-aged couple, the woman wearing a semi-dressy white top and capri pants, the man, in jeans and a navy blue shirt, smoking a cigar, backpack slung over his shoulder with a loaf of french bread sticking out the top.
By the time I made it to 124, I was just about ready to give up and head back. The timing worked out pretty well since the continuation of the trail wasn't immediately obvious to me. (Incidentally, the area around 124 is actually a cross-country ski and snowshoe area -- all the extra signage was a bit confusing until I figured that out.)
I was already pretty tired at that point, so I took a short break (taking the time to find a trail map from the ski area), and then started on my way back. That was probably around 5pm. It was around that time that a few things started to concern me. Sure, it was getting a bit late, but that was expected. (There were certainly a few moments where I had to get the Blair Witch Project out of my head. Annoying.) But my feet had started to hurt. And there was that sign I saw as I made my way down to 124.
Aw crap! I just brain-farted my way onto a 18-mile hike!
At first, I figured I'd be alright. Sure, my left heel was rubbing uncomfortably in my sweat-soaked socks and the laces on my right boot felt like they were starting to crush bone, but it's just a walk. A long walk, but a walk nonetheless. What's the big deal?
Well, the light-hiker socks and the light-weight boots to start. I think the light-hike ended about 3-4 miles ago.
I took a short break on New Ipswich to take in the sunset. I probably would have stopped to eat except for the mosquitoes that would have joined me. I tried to adjust my stride, hold my feet up with my shoulders, use my momentum to get one foot in front of the other, just concentrating on getting back to the car. It was the strangest feeling to have to struggle just to take one step after another.
7:40pm and I'm in the car, chowing down on cheese and pepperoni and triscuits. I actually leave the parking lot at 8pm and catch Ortiz's game winning homerun in the bottom of the 10th on the radio.
I'll be home in an hour.
Postscript: after cleaning up, we grab some dinner downtown. I'm craving noodles so we hit a Korean restaurant in Chinatown and I get jambong -- a spicy seafood noodle soup. Tasty. But having not eaten anything substantial all day, I end up feeling totally stuffed and bloated, and am unable to fall asleep until way late. Oy.
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