I slept well but started out sluggish on this very chilly morning. As I crossed the swaying bridge over the creek I could hear the sound of an axe biting into a log. A NPS Forest Ranger worked on clearing a large blowdown from the trail. I thanked him, and asked why so many of the trees along this part of the trail were axe cut instead of chain saw cut. He explained that Forest Service rules require at least two people be present when a chain saw is used. Besides, he loved being in the woods and was in no hurry.

Bridge over South Jacobs Brook at the base of Mt Cube NH.

I climbed steadily and gently to Smarts Mountain's 3240' summit where it started to sleet and spit snow flurries. I took a break in the fire wardens cabin/hiker's shelter and pushed on down the other side of the mountain. I met a father son hiking team, dad was dropping his son off at Hanover for college and they were enjoying a hike together.

Climbing the hill after the Dartmouth Skiway, just before the Trapper John Shelter, I came upon a most unusual hiker. He had his sleeping bag rolled around a stick and covered with a plastic bag, and slung over his shoulder, much like a hobo. He was carrying two large plastic bags of what appeared to be groceries in his free hand as he struggled up the hill without a backpack. His pants, regular street clothes, were filthy and tattered and what remained of his sneakers barely covered his feet.

He was a young kid - just out of high school, maybe, with a sad story to tell; of wanting to hike the AT but failing, of not being prepared or properly equipped, and not having the means (money). He had just come from a local church that helped him contact his parents, arrange a bus ticket home, and had just bought him some food. He had no money. He was heading to the Trapper John Shelter to wait a few days for the bus. His dream of hiking the AT was over - for now. But with a glint of hope in his sparkling eyes, he said he would get the right gear and start again - someday. He was disappointed but not broken. I liked his spirit. I wished him well and gave him some money for his journey home.

I passed up the Trapper John Shelter and its 0.2-mile side trail in the interest of making more miles - before dark. I still had to climb to Holt's Ledge, descend to Goose Pond Road and climb Moose Mountain and its long ridge. Holts Ledge was a vertical cliff face of solid rock 500 feet high. The AT came to it and turned abruptly south. It's one turn you did not want to miss and it could be fatal in the dark. The trail goes right along the edge and top of the ledges then drops through a beautiful pine forest, into some hardwoods and the valley.

I saw a note stuck on a branch - WARNING - BEES on RIGHT. I saw the nest and ran by, stopping a safe distance away. I felt something under my foot and I was standing on a little rat snake. He was squirming feverishly, trying to get out from under my boot. I immediately lifted the oppressing weight off him, apologized and hoped he wasn't hurt. He gave me a dirty look then slithered off into the brush. I felt so bad - poor little thing.

I was tired and low on water - not conditions favorable for climbing with a pack on your back- when I arrived at the base of Moose Mountain. It was about 4:20 PM and still had 4 miles to go - half of it up the mountain. I pushed on. The climb wasn't bad - just tiring. At 5:15 PM I reached the North Peak. At least it was level or downhill from here, but I worried that it was getting dark soon. Hiking after dark is not my style; neither is sleeping under the stars without water. Along the ridge I saw lots of moose tracks and a fresh pile of dung. I wondered aloud (somebody hearing me would have sent for the guys in the white coats) what the hell is a lowland inhabiting, water-plant eating creature doing at this elevation?

Spine of the Appalachian Mountains - ridge trail between North and South Moose Mountain.

Finally I reached the side trail to the shelter - another half mile to go. Out of water and out of energy and daylight, I needed that shelter. When I arrived I found I had the decrepit old place to myself. I could see why. The shelter floor was sagging badly toward center and it was filthy and in a general state of disrepair. Hikers spread the word very effectively about this sort of thing. The shelter register entries were disparaging and sparse. Oh well, it was a rusty roof over my head and a welcome water source. I filled up on water from the stream in the valley below the shelter. It was nearly dark and the trail was very muddy. As I retuned to the shelter I noticed that my tracks in front of the shelter had been covered over by fresh moose tracks. My hope for a sighting was kindled but diminished by the darkness that fell rapidly. I was so close yet so far. I set about my evening priorities: bathe, eat and sleep. Surrounded by abundant firewood, I allowed myself the luxury of a campfire to heat enough water for my bath and a couple cups of hot tea. I took my sponge bath by flashlight in a chilly drizzle of light rain. My lightweight aluminum pot, carried for just such a purpose, served me well.

I felt very weary and lonesome but good about the distance I had hiked. I fell asleep quickly knowing that tomorrow I would be in Hanover where I could fill my belly with good food and call home.