Vermud
Getoverit and I were making terrific time up the hills. It had not been an hour before that we were talking about Trail Disasters while we finished off our beers. I played out the night swim to Upper Goose. Getoverit talked of mud and rock and root faceplants down South. Weird, I hadn't yet tripped and ended on my belly - by accident. I did a bellyflop over the VA line on purpose to celebrate getting back home, but not by accident.
Vermont was indeed beautiful. Even the muddy trail. So we're cresting Styles Peak and yapping and gazing about. Not watching my footfalls. Ironic the day I brag about not tripping hours earlier became the one my toe caught a rock edge as I stepped down off, the other foot didn't find purchase, and the stick wasn't enough to arrest my fall. But the mud rescued me. Mud.
Embraced me, knees and arms, up tp my elbows and kissing my nose. No damage, but I couldn't stop laughing at my predicament. Getoverit asked if I was OK.
'Yes, but I'm a bit stuck.'
"Here, let me help... hand me your camera.'
Getoverit was gracious enough to not use me as a stepping stone -- took a picture instead.
I didn't know it at the time, but my faceplant into the mud and atop that rock nailed my brand new camera. Bright light picts would get a flare at the top of each image from a scratch courtesy of the rock. Bummer.