2207 – 2229
Sucks waking up to rain and a low gray sky. I camped next to a pond but there’s no way to get water from that stupid pond. The entire shore is shoe-suck mud and there are no logs to walk out on. Stupid pond. I felt pretty sorry for my pitiful self and popped open a couple hand warmers. And toe warmers. If there ever was a morning for warmer packs, this was it. Thanks Caroline!
I found a stream flowing over the trail in less than a mile and filled up my bottles. Didn’t bother making coffee because I didn’t want to dig through my Burrito in the rain. Even though every single thing was alreadyslimy wet. I didn’t want to spend the time it would take to boil water, because the only way to stay warm was to keep walking.
Mushrooms! Really darling ones, popping up out of the soil and clinging to logs. I just can’t get over them. I could’ve taken dozens of pictures. Should’ve. But I don’t like taking my phone out in the rain. Every time, I’ve got to unzip two jackets and mess around with my gloves, and everything gets damper.
The mushrooms that look like a coral reef are the trippiest. I saw a couple that were football-sized. And also the tiniest, smaller than my pinky finger red mushrooms. They were so small, I couldn’t get a clear picture of them.
Towards the end of the day, I started running. First just in bursts on the downhills. Then longer on the flat parts. It felt nice. I was moving fast and pumping up my body temp. I focused on keeping my center of gravity low, feet flexible. It wasn’t raining much and I was fine, totally warm enough. Also, fooling myself that I wasn’t worried about camping.
I didn’t want to hitch at night, nor would it be a good idea to roll into a tiny town late at night. At the forest road leading to Trout Lake, I found some campsites. I pitched my sopping wet tent in the rain. It got wetter. I jumped inside and then realized I’d brought along a giant wet horse turd on the bottom of my shoe. That made me yell a little bit. I blew up my new mattress and got inside my sleeping bag liner, still wearing all my rain clothes. I just have to make it through one night. It will suck, but I will be fine. I told myself this over and over. I thought about other sucky nights. I changed into my last pair of dry (ish) socks and shirt. I arranged my quilt so it wouldn’t touch the tent walls. I was cold and wet but I comforted myself with fantasies about car heaters and bathtubs to come.