George Cathcart's Appalachian Trail Journals -- Part I (Selections)

4/3/82 -- 4:13 p.m. Hawk Mountain Shelter, where I am sitting in a warm sun, despite the winds. It has been blowing since early this morning when Robert and Mary brought me to Nimblewill Gap and started out with me to the top of Springer Mountain. Mary quit about half way. Even without a pack the approach trail is tough. Robert and I got there at 10:25, after 1:10 of tough 2.5 miles. My companions for the night are three men and a boy, all from Skokie and Moline, Ill. The boy is one of them's son. Nice guys, good hikers headed for Unicoi Gap. I passed a number of other hikers on the trail today, all of them thru-hikers, they say. One, Bob something, from Illinois, has a part-yellow-lab bitch named Cheyenne. I met him as he was redistributing the weight in his backpack to lighten it. I decided to stop at the same place to repair a major break on my pack today. Less than an hour from the top of Springer the attachment tab between the hip belt and the pack frame tore loose. I tried re-sewing it twice, but my thread was not sturdy enough, and twice more it tore off. Finally, I tied the belt to the frame, and it feels fine now, but I lost an hour's hiking time. Several re-locations that have shortened the trail made it easier. Back to Springer: Robert and I took pictures, and I finally left at 10:50 a.m. I spent a few minutes reading other peoples' notes in the registration box, then just wrote: "Nobody said it was easy. Just 2,000 miles to go." I added a note for Steve Ambler and Greg Oswald, signed it and posed for a picture by Robert at the top, with the Terminus sign. Then I hoisted my pack and was off. (I'm not filling this out in chronological order. Screw it. Time has ceased to exist, except day time/night time, light time/dark time, hike time/rest time.) Bob and Cheyenne showed up a minute ago. The shelter's already full, so they're camping right outside.

4/4/82 -- Palm Sunday Gooch Gap Shelter for lunch break, long break. Depending on what signs or books you read I'm 8 to 9.2 miles from Hawk Mtn. Shelter where I stayed last night. I passed a tolerable night, cozy in the shelter with the folks from Illinois. The wind blew hard all night, which made it chilly, but we were well-sheltered. It's been a tough hike this morning, but tolerable. Some steep grades, but with lovely (understatement) views. The trail to here has gone more or less easterly from Springer, following the east branch of the Blue Ridge. To look South from the ridge tops is to look at a blue vastness stretching out to the horizon. They are hills down there, but they look flat from up here. I started out at 7:20 this a.m. with Bob and his dog Cheyenne, which is lab, shepherd and malamute. Bob fell behind on the first steep grade, and I haven't seen him since. I've taken some long breaks, and I'm hoping he'll show up here soon, but I want to make another five miles today. I guess I really love his dog Cheyenne, who reminds me of Zar. Bob's even carrying a frisbee for her, which she catches and eats from. Among the others who camped near the Hawk Mtn. Shelter last night were two 68-year old men, one of whom is legally blind, and a younger man who is with them. I regret not taking the time to talk with the blind man. As this hike goes on and I learn to relax a little better, I'll take the time for such chats. Anyway, shortly after Bob and Cheyenne fell behind me, I came upon the two old ladies at the top of Sassafras Mtn. They are the "Mary and Mary" I have seen so many references to in the register books. They had "dry-camped" last night and were trudging along with no water -- or very little. I had two full quarts, so I gave them enough to make it to Justus Creek. Brave souls, those two. They gave me no last names. One of them hopes to make Harper's Ferry. The other plans to hike north until hot weather, then hop to Katahdin and come south. She expects to gain four weeks that way. Good thinking. As I left them behind and started down Sassafras Mtn., I got some lumps in my throat. I thought about the blind man, the two old ladies, and god knows how many other people who are defying all the odds to at least try this trek. Even if they don't make it they have done more than most people. And one thing more, they have humbled me. If I make it, I have no braggin' rights like they will. Which is not to take away from my own accomplishment. Hiking the whole AT is a feat for anyone. So the moral for the day is: The AT both humbles me and magnifies me. (Yes, sermonizing is allowed. It's Palm Sunday.) There were Army helicopters in the area today. It's exhilarating to look down on helicopters from a mountain top. I saw a red-shouldered hawk this morning, too. Spooked him from a tree near me and then watched him wheel and soar above me for a few minutes. How beautiful can it get?

6:50 p.m. Top of Big Cedar Mtn. About 14 miles from Hawk Mtn. Shelter. I'm sitting on a rock outcropping where I finished dinner a few minutes ago. The sky has grown hazy, but not threatening. The moon is visible through a thin film. I am the highest point on the AT so far, over 3,700 feet, but tomorrow will go over Blood Mtn., 4,400+. The view here from these rocks is spectacular. Low mountains just before me, then hills and flat, hazy blue plains. After dark, perhaps the glow of Atlanta will be visible. The wind has gone. It is unbelievably quiet and still here, but there is some animal below me, audible as it makes its way through the leaves. Probably deer. To think this is only the second day, and already I'm being rewarded with such beauty. And spring is coming with me. Even as I walked, from morning to night, plants opened, flowers bloomed, trees budded. If only the weather will hold!

4/6 4:40 p.m. Low Gap Lean-To I made it. My feet are sore, but I made it, despite the late start and the hour's layover at the store in Neel's Gap. I bought of couple of freeze-dried meals there in case I get delayed again by rain or whatever. I also ate breakfast there: 2 hot submarine sandwiches and a half-bottle of thirst-Quencher, a Gator-Ade-like substance that tastes better. I also called Wilderness outfitters in Savannah to have a new hip belt sent to Fontana Dam.

4/7 -- 6:25 p.m. Tray Mtn. Shelter. At last, someone has caught up with me. I have been passing so many people I thought I was going way too fast. But tonight a man named Stu has also reached this shelter, having hiked from Whitley Gap Shelter, about 21 miles. And just now comes another down the trail.

4/8/82 -- 7:10 a.m. Just sitting here in my sleeping bag wondering how much longer it's going to snow. There's a couple of inches on the ground now, visibility is maybe 150 feet, and the temperature, according to Roger's thermometer, is 26°. It was about 4 a.m. when I heard Stu sit up and say, "Oh, shit." I stuck my head out of the bag, and he said. "Snow." "Oh, shit," I said. "That'll make for some interesting hiking." I drifted back to sleep, woke again about a quarter to six and am still reluctantly deciding to stay here today at Montray Shelter. But I'm flexible. If the snow stops falling and the visibility improves, it wouldn't be too bad, although I'd have to go slow, as trail hazards, like rocks and stumps, would be hidden under the snow. Anyway, back to last night. Our new arrival was a guy named Roger, one of two "legends" on the trail this year for carrying enormously overweight packs. He started out with 90 pounds, is down to 65. Just a happy-go-lucky guy, taking his time and having the time of his life, he said. He's also a Vietnam veteran, and we talked about that some last night. Stu, the first guy here after me yesterday, is younger, quieter. He's from New York, Huntington, L.I., in fact. He's a long-distance runner and is in excellent shape for this hike. He hopes to finish by early August. It looks like the three of us are going to get to know each other pretty well today.

9:55 a.m. -- For a few moments there it looked like it was going to clear off. Stu Kane packed up, and the fog returned. But Roger had gone up the mountain and came back reporting it was cleared off all around us. Stu left for Plumorchard Gap Shelter. I hiked, without pack, to the top of Tray Mountain, but all I could see was gray. I'm back at Montray shelter now, in my bag, bundled up and contemplating going to Addis Gap Shelter later today. Snow keeps falling intermittently. The sky keeps changing from light gray to dark gray. I'm probably being overly cautious about this snow. I haven't had to deal with it in so long I don't know how difficult it would be to hike in. There are a bunch of birds outside the shelter scrabbling in the snow for food. I don't know the species. One type is small, fat, dark back and wings, white breast. The other is larger, with white diagonals on its upper wings and rust on the sides. It also has white breast. Perhaps same species, different gender. We haven't seen the skunk yet this morning. He hung around all evening, seemed largely unafraid of us. Roger just said he feels badly he's not hiking, and I agree, I guess. I'm just trying to get my courage up, or something. I really would like to get to Addis Gap. Roger spread some Sunshine cracker crumbs outside for the birds. Despite the cold, and the snow, and the general lack of food, they have no interest in the Sunshine crackers. There's a woodpecker hard at work out there.

6:17 p.m. Still at Montray. It is still a cold, frozen world out here. There was some rain this afternoon, and the trees are now heavy with ice. If it were sunny, they'd be beautiful, or at least more beautiful. When the wind blows through them they crackle. The wind, rising, is from the south, which gives me hope that it will warm and clear by morning. I have spent most of today in the sleeping bag, just trying to keep warm, occasionally napping. Roger talks incessantly, thinking out loud, he is jabbering even as I write, and I think he's oblivious to the fact that I'm not listening. I must get out of here tomorrow, regardless of the conditions! Roger is talking about going the same 15 miles as me tomorrow. I doubt he can make it, but I certainly hope not. I must admit, it might have been lonely here today without some company, but, well, nothing's free. He's done a lot of hiking in different places and he has some interesting stories. It's just that he's boring. This afternoon he outlined for me the whole plot of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. He means well. The skunk came round this afternoon, found some of our food scraps in the snow and hurried back to wherever he lives. He was shivering and looked miserable.

4/9/82 -- 3:57 p.m. Plumorchard Shelter. I want to record some more thoughts about Roger before describing today's hike. I really wasn't fair in what I wrote last night. After I finished writing that I asked him a few questions about himself and his background. He's got some serious problems, going back to his early childhood, and exacerbated by Vietnam. He's divorced, his father and mother divorced long ago, his brother was killed in an auto accident a year after Roger came home from Nam. He can't get along with his stepsister or his mother. He spent last winter "living in a gully" in a state park in N.J. My questions, and my responses to his answers, seemed to strike a chord in him. I mentioned at one point that I thought Stu, our erstwhile shelter mate, was "running from something, and he'll only have to confront it later on the trail." Roger wondered if we aren't all running from something, and what it is. We got stuck on that one, naturally. What are we all doing out here? Anyway, Roger's all right. He's lonely, which is probably why he talks so much, but he's confronting his deep and very real personal problems in a positive and creative way. He was smiling the whole time he was telling me his story.

(Our narrative skips ahead to the Alleghany Mountains between Pearisburg and Roanoke, Va., several weeks later, but before going on in words, here are a few images from North Carolina)

All Photos Copyright George Cathcart

5/23/82 -- 12:42 p.m. Leaning against a concrete block building at the base of a TV transmitter on top of Peters Mountain on the Va.-W.Va. line. It's been a grueling morning. The climb up Peters Mtn. was steep and rugged, with rocks, blowdowns, and everything slippery from all the rain. No sooner did the Trail reach the crest than my hip belt broke again. I had to stop and re-sew that. As soon as I can get to a phone, I intend to call Wilderness Southeast and find out why they never sent me the replacement hip belt they promised. That was nearly 2 months and 600 miles ago. Not a good way to do business. Then, instead of traversing the crest as I expected, the Trail suddenly dropped down the slope and went roller coastering, again through rocks and debris, for about 2 miles before finally returning to the crest near here. I just hope it stays on the crest for a while, or I'm going to be hiking by flashlight and probably in the rain trying to reach the shelter. But first, I'm going to trust this wind to keep the flies off, and I'm going to stretch out for a nap.

5-24 2:18 p.m. War Spur Shelter. Yesterday just got worse and worse. For a while the Trail leveled off and got reasonably smooth, and I spent an hour and a half trying to get in as much mileage as possible and watching a thunderstorm move up the valley parallel to me on the left. But just as I got to the edge of Symm's Gap Meadow I realized there was a second storm directly behind me. Since the walk across the open meadow was nearly a mile, and I didn't want to get caught in the open by a thunderstorm, I took refuge under a makeshift table strung between two trees by hunters. I draped the tarp over it and sat there for an hour. It finally cleared enough for me to start hiking again, and then I was racing time on a dull, wet, rocky, circuitous stretch of trail down to Pine Swamp Branch Shelter. I got there at 7:45, just in time to cook some dinner and get organized before the light all faded. It was a nice shelter, stone, inside fireplace and chimney. It had a dirt floor, but some enterprising person had dismantled the picnic table and propped it on rocks inside to make a bunk. As I was the only occupant, I slept there, quite comfortably. The hike yesterday was discouraging. I was carrying a lot of weight because I have food to last all week -- to Cloverdale, since the store at Newport is closed. The Trail really was a bitch, a lot of other people complained about it, too, in the registers. Add to that the fact that my left boot is still leaking despite the cobbler's work in P'burg, and it was a bloody miserable day, maybe the worst since the day I left Elk Park. I'm glad now that it was nearly dark when I got to the shelter last night. I was also too tired to write, but I might have been tempted to write some very discouraging words in here if it had been light enough. Today's hike has been much better so far. I'll end up with about 15 miles today, good mileage, but it won't have killed me. It's restoring my spirits somewhat. Later, though, I want to write down come of my thoughts on rough trail. There's been a lot of debate in the registers about it, and I want to toss it around some. But now, before I forget, I want to get some other things down: 1) Female ruffed grouse. Saturday, on Pearis Mtn., as I was hiking along, I heard a loud rustling and saw what looked at first like a turkey tail, very small, in the underbrush. Then there was a sound like a wounded puppy, and I saw that the "tail" was actually a wing, and it was attached to a female ruffed grouse, who was doing what female ruffed grouse are best known for: protecting her young with an Oscar-winning performance. I'd heard of, but never seen it. The mother acts as though she is injured to divert predators. She will go off with her "wounded" wing, crying pitifully, until the attacker gets too close, at which point, of course, she recovers miraculously and flies off. By that time, she hopes, the fox has lost its way to the nest. The one Saturday really did put on a show. Her crying sounded so much like a dog in great pain it nearly broke my heart. This morning, near Stoney Creek, I saw another one, but she wasn't nearly as good as the one Saturday. Her crying was half-hearted, and she didn't look convincingly wounded. An amateur by comparison.

7:34 p.m. Big Pond Shelter. The rain held off all day and just now began to fall gently. Happily, I've been here nearly 2 hours, and I have finished dinner and all my chores. I have nearly an hour's light to write by. Somewhere in the woods out there in front of me is a pond, they say. They -- those who have written of it in the register here, that is -- also say the water is awful. I don't intend to find out. About a mile and a half south of here I came upon a hiker's dream, a spring flowing cold, clear water at about a gallon a minute. Knowing I was close to the shelter, and having heard the pond is stagnant and muddy, I put about a minute's worth in my water bag, and also filled one canteen, and carried it up here. I have now plenty of water for tonight and the morning. Now, about rough trail. I have at times bitched in the journal and in the registers about rough trail. Sometimes it was little more than noting that a stretch of rocks had been especially rough on my feet. Other times, like the Elk Park to Moreland Gap stretch, I have complained that the local hiking club had done a poor job of maintenance and/or trail routing. I feel the same way about the stretch from Pearisburg to Pine Swamp Branch. Others have read the griping by earlier hikers in the registers and suggested that the complaints are unjustified. Local hiking club people have even made some choice personal comments about thru-hikers who would "only be happy on sidewalks." Other through-hikers who have been up north have written that people having a hard time with rocks here should really be in for it in Pennsylvania. I welcome the challenge the AT presents -- steep climbs, long stretches without water, having to contend with weather of all kinds. I even enjoy, to an extent, the challenges rocks present to balance, and blowdowns to ingenuity. But when I go over 18 miles of trail that seems deliberately routed over difficult terrain with little or no relief, and where it is obvious from the age of the blowdowns that no maintenance has been performed in several seasons, I think the local hiking club that's responsible deserves some criticism. I have seen some great stretches of Trail, notably the Carolina Mountain Club's sections, that show what an effective club is capable of. So when I see poorly maintained Trail, I honestly want to scream and I sometimes do. More than a few times I've stumbled on a rock or a root, or gotten tangled in a limb, or slid on a slick stick and turned in a rage and cursed the offender. Not all of these things are the fault of the hiking clubs, of course. Rocks and roots are all over the place, even on well-worked trail. When a long stretch of trail is rugged, however, I often see in the guidebook the lame excuse that landowner restrictions forced routing the trail in that way. What that tells me is that hiking club leadership is weak, unable to work things out with the landowners. Again, CMC appears to get along beautifully with landowners, and has worked out some excellent routing. Enough already. I have enjoyed today's hike. There was a wren nest in the War Spur shelter, and the mother kept flying in, feeding her young and flying back out. A great example of hikers and nature blending, as the birds grow up despite a constant flow of hikers, noise, lights, fires and god-awful smells of bodies! My feet don't even feel too bad tonight, despite several tough miles of rocks. Maybe they do get toughened up and stop hurting. Or maybe I'm learning to walk better on rocks. Down below in the pond, peepers are rejoicing loudly about the rain. The birds are being quiet now, but I have heard thrushes and warblers, and, not too far off, an owl. A good night for night sounds. Yes, there goes a warbler now. Time for the evening concert, and I must do some praying for a break in this weather. Tomorrow I have to camp out. The next shelter, I'm afraid, is a little beyond my one-day range. Good night!

5/25/82 -- 8:44 p.m. In the tent at a campsite The guidebook was right. I have hiked 16-1/2 miles today, and it has been the roughest section of Trail I've seen in the over 660 miles I've hiked so far. After I left my lunch spot I hiked a steep mile or so to the crest of Sinking Creek Mountain. For a while it wasn't too bad. Moderate ascent along the crest, old jeep road, grassy. The trail narrowed to a footpath, and soon it was on the rocks again. I had to pick my way, every step of the way. I got here about an hour later than I expected. When I arrived there were four people already here. They had a clothesline strung across the Trail, and I showed some annoyance. In fact I may have been a little rude, but they seemed to understand. Turns out they hiked the same section last year and realize how bad it is. They are an elderly lady named Elizabeth, from Vermont, 2 men -- one of the a poet (Richard McVain?) and English Lit prof -- and the son of one of them. They were really quite friendly and we all got along fine once I caught my breath and got some food in my stomach. They are all hiking the Trail in segments, and they've done quite a bit of it. It looks as though it might not rain tonight, which is a good thing. I've been trying to think of good things most of the afternoon. This day nearly broke me. I have never been so worn down by a stretch of Trail. I think everyone who hikes this thing has a hardest moment. For Ed Garvey it was the Stekoahs. For me it was today. These people said tomorrow, at least in the beginning, will also be tough, but I doubt it will be as consistently rugged as today. I'm glad these people were here. If I'd had to come in to camp and sit and brood alone, I'd have been in bad shape. They helped distract me some, as well as give me an audience to vent my feelings about this section. Here are some of the good things I thought about today: When I reach Cloverdale on Friday, I will have completed 1/3 of the Appalachian Trail, and I will be nearly half way through Virginia. My feet are getting tougher. Despite the rocks, they are not as painful as they have been before. Maybe by Pennsylvania, they'll be tough enough to take it. As rough as today was, I made it. Last August, a 3-1/2 mile hike on relatively easy terrain on the Chatooga River Trail was a hard day for me. Today I hiked 16-1/2 bone bruising miles, after doing 16.3 the day before and 18.2 the day before that, and over 650 since April 3. It hurt, but I did it, and tomorrow I'll do 16 more and the day after, 20. But tonight I'm just going to sleep.

5-26 6:57 p.m. Pickle Branch Shelter at the edge of a lovely hemlock stand. A frustrating day. God, it's getting tiring to feel so down at the ends of these days, but ever since Pearisburg, it has been flat out tough. In addition to the ruggedness of the Trail, though, I think the weather is partly to blame for my depression, and, much as I hate to admit it, perhaps a little loneliness. Except for last night, which was a little awkward, I haven't camped with anyone since Pearisburg, in fact long before that. The night I spent on Chestnut Knob, camped with P.J. and Joanne was the last time. That was over a week ago. I've seen few other people, too. There was a middle-aged man yesterday afternoon hiking South, but he had little to say. Then there were the four people last night, but, again, it was awkward, and I've found there are some things only another thru-hiker can understand. I mean, those people were sympathetic, but they lacked the perspective that 8 weeks on the Trail gives you, the camaraderie, the sense of humor (albeit black at times). But there may be hope. I note from the register here that quite a few people are planning to be at Lamberts Meadow Shelter tomorrow night, and it looks like there will be a good crew in Cloverdale from Friday on. I'm hoping for Lambert's Meadow tomorrow, too, but I'm going to see how it goes. It would be a tough 20-miler, but perhaps worth it for some thru-hiker company.

May 27 8:21 p.m. Lamberts Meadow Shelter. Yeah, I made it. Another bitch of a day in many ways, but not intolerable. In fact, I feel better tonight than I have in a long time, and one reason is that I do not lack for company tonight. P.J. and Joanne, Sam & Ed, Charlie Sullivan, Steve Diehlman and Jory from New York were all here when I arrived at 5:45 this afternoon in a downpour. The hike started out tough this morning, long steep climb, rocky, then a grueling, rocky descent from the top of Cove Mtn. I stopped at Catawba Grocery to call Katie to see if she could come up for the weekend. Evidently not, but I'll call again tomorrow from Cloverdale. I was disappointed, but set off up North Mountain on another steep climb. Inexplicably I began feeling better and better. My spirits rose as I climbed the mountain. I felt a little light headed at the crest, and I stopped early for a snack break. Then I kept on, still feeling good, singing again, laughing, enjoying the wildflowers and the deer and the mother grouse. Then came the rain. It started light, but got heavy. The descent from North Mountain was steep and muddy, and I practically skied down. But still I felt good, singing songs about rain. I was making good time, but I was relaxed and happy. As I made my way through the valley of Catawba Creek I slid and fell and my hiking stick broke. Faithful stick that has been with me 593 miles. I left it lying there and climbed Tinker Mountain without it, up steeply through the mud, but when I reached Scorched Earth Gap, I gave a yell and shouted, "Moose Power!" and sped up down the Trail to the shelter. The company's been good. Good stories, sharing the miseries of the last few score miles. Right now we're talking about the cold days and nights we left way behind, having already set our mouths to watering over the restaurants to come at Cloverdale tomorrow. The rain is still falling outside. Voices are getting tireder. It's near time for sleep. It feels good to feel good again, even in the rain.

5-28 -- 4:03 p.m. Traveltown Motel, Cloverdale, Va. The hike is one-third over. I've come 708 miles from Springer Mtn. in 8 weeks. The distance from Springer to Katahdin this year is 2,126 miles. So tonight we're going to celebrate the 1/3 distance. The hike down here from the shelter was pleasant, a fairly easy trail, just enough rock climbing to make it a challenge, but still fun. There would have been some great views from the rock outcroppings on Tinker Mtn., but they were fogged in. I'm not really sure how great the views would have been, come to think of it. I could "hear" the terrain: trucks and cars on the highways into Roanoke. My hiking was alone, but Charlie and Sam and Ed were only about 15 minutes ahead of me, Jory and Steve a short distance behind, and P.J. and Joanne not too far behind that. We all made it to the Traveltown by early afternoon, got mail and junk food and relaxed. Tomorrow's a day off. This has been, obviously, a tough stretch, and I hope to let my boots dry out before I hit the Trail again. Charlie's an interesting guy. He worked in a department store before starting this hike, but I would have thought he's a trained biologist. He has taught me a lot about wildflowers, and he's been able to tell me what kinds of birds are making what calls, like the resonant wood thrush and the conversationalist red-eyed vireo and the encouraging pee wee. That last is the one that Zan pointed out last week at Pearisburg. It sounds like it's saying, "You can do it, you can do it," and then, "Go for it." Charlie often enters quotes from Thoreau in the registers. He told me he first went to visit Katahdin after reading Thoreau's description of it in Maine Woods. As it is for many of us, the Trail is sort of a pilgrimage for Charlie. P.J. was surveying us all this morning on what church were "members" of. We all answered the usual, Methodist, Catholic, Episcopal, etc. Charlie was in the latrine. When he got back, she asked him. "Church?" he replied. "I'm in it." Right. A 20th century Muir, or, as he would prefer, Thoreau. I hope we can hike together for a while. I began 2 days after him, and have caught him briefly several times, so we're hiking about the same pace. I surprised myself at how much my spirits improved yesterday and today because of being with people again. I still love hiking alone, but when the going gets tough, it really does help to have sympathetic company. The same things that hurt so bad when I'm alone can make me laugh heartily when I can share them with others who've had the same experiences. Sort of like AA. Just like AA. I'm looking forward to the next section. Charlie hiked from here to the Susquehanna last year, and he said Trail conditions are much better from here to the other side of the Shenandoahs, and, except for a lot of road walking in N.Va. and Pa., on to Duncannon. Then come the dreaded Pa. rocks, but by then I'll be over half way and my mental goal-image of Katahdin will be almost palpable. So it's a time for relaxation and dissipation and over-indulgence in ice cream. But then it's back on the Trail with a new outlook, new hope, re-newed dreams. Just a couple of days ago, Cloverdale almost looked like the end of the Trail. Moose Power! P.S. 5:16 p.m. You might know that as soon as I get off the Trail for a day the sun would come out and the skies turn blue. P.P.S. 7:09 p.m. It's gray and black up there again, and rain is expected through Tuesday, it's said. Lightning's flashing and thunder's crashing, too. Oh, well, at least I'll be under a solid roof tonight.

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