Sherbear Blackberry hunting
The terrain through this section was neither rocky nor challenging. I was hiking the day mostly with Sherbear and Jettbutt, philosophizing on the meaning of life, education, jobs, relationships, etc. It was pretty warm and we were all conscious of keeping hydrated, as water wasn't readily available. Nonetheless, we only managed a bit over 15 miles.
Were ripe blackberries to blame? All of us had stained fingers and lips. Grazing requires that deft touch, not only to pull just the ripe ones (the ripe berry comes off with a delicate tug. Any more force, and it's not yet ripe -- the discovery one makes with a mouth full of sour or bitter mush. The hungry hiker harvester is also avoiding the berry defense systems of spider webs, poison ivy and thorns. So it's not a rush job. Risks we were willing to take at the cost of miles to make. Only to Alec Kennedy Shelter for the night.
Register entry from 6/23:
'As I was walking up the hill from Whiskey Springs, I rounded a corner and almost stepped on a tremendously good looking girl. I must admit that I just stood and stared for a while, speechless, and so did she. Then I sat down in the trail with her, still not speaking, and we both simply gazed into each other's deep brown eyes.
Our eyes said things to each other that no words could ever convey. Our gazes in turn caressed and wrote poetry of singing lights. Though we had not even touched or spoken, I knew we would travel the world together, side by side, for the rest of our lives.
But then a familiar misgiving, an often felt doubt crept back into my mind. I pulled the Audubon Guide to Eastern Forests from my pack, flipped to plate 512 and my fears were confirmed; she was an Eastern Box Turtle. Female, but a Box Turtle.
Now, don't get upset - I'm not condemning Eastern Box Turtles, or even Turtle/Human relationships, which are fine when they exist between the right individuals. It's just that I'm young and free, and love to roam - and box turtles often live their whole lives in an area the size of a football field.
I just couldn't confine myself to an area that small for any woman; even if she was the most tender honest and beautiful Box Turtle I've ever known.
So with great sadness, I got to my feet, put on my pack, and dejectedly stumbled down the trail. Right gender, wrong species - story of my life.' -- Greaser