Feral Snowman and Tupelo at Manchester Center
M=12.9;C=1622.1
GOI and I came down off Stratton, and half way down the hill we came upon the 'Swiss Family Stratton', the family weekenders we left in the cold wind next to the fire tower the night before. They had ended up sheltering two women (mother/daughter) who had become lost while dayhiking. The ladies slept without gear, but didn't freeze. We, of course, thought it best not to mention the heated hut we had - no reason to pour salt in wounds. Glad they had a story to tell.
Coming down from the Spruce-Fir forest, through the bogs. Bogs everywhere, amidst the overgrowth of Beech roots and dwindling laural. Birch trees - they rot from the inside out, leaving white circular husks of bark, cylinders of has-been trees, soil in the making for trees generations yet unborn may pass - if we have the sense to leave them be.
Bogs we walked and microPUDs - seemingly endless little ups and downs, hiker mogels to chew knees and feet, destroying my pace cadence and my 'big' miles. Why is a 20+ miler easier than a (relatively flat) 13.5? Anticipation of a town and a mail drop? I'm stopping more now - the same phenomena befalls my comrades in boots - somewhere we all want part of this trip to end - and there's a countering force within us to delay the end. It's drawing measurably closer, always has been since Springer, but 500 miles is an easier value to grasp than 2100. And in several days, below 500.
We climbed from the last shelter UP to the road crossing. What a difference. Usually we go DOWN to a road crossing. Hitched in immediately - no trouble hitching anymore - what a relief.
At the hostel, it was 1) pictures off at the PO, 2) sort out the mail drop, 3) hit the Ben and Jerry's for this mythical Vermonster thing.