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This hike occured over the weekend of October 29-30, 1996.
Participants: Guy Brooks (expedition leader), Charlie Johnson,
Bill Isham and Doug Knowles (appointed recorder).
I caught up with Charlie J and Bill I (consuming large quantities of cholesterol and coffee) at the Toms Brook Truck Stop only to discover that Marty M developed car problems and couldn't make the trek. Jerry R had already e-mailed that he couldn't join in. We meet Guy B at the Park-n-Ride at US220 and I81 ~13:00. Charlie J quipped that I probably hadn't yet assembled my pack, and he was right. So I grab things from various and assundry containers and crannys in the Kranzy Trooper whilst others mill around awhile as no word from Mike C, but impatience gets the better of us and we shuttle the vehicles to the proposed destination trailhead. I enjoy the cool ride with the gear in back of Charlie J's truck to the start trailhead (running out of gas on the way, good thing he carries that extra 1 gal. can in the back and Guy B is thoroughly familiar with the sourounds, locals at the gas station suggest purchase of Blaze Orange as insurance against errant bambi whackers, Imchazj and I end up with stylish new caps.) Leisurely stroll up the mountain to the knob (eyes & ears sharp on the lookout for the war zone in the adjacent national forrest.) Short rest (it gets chilly quick when you're sittin' still on cold rock) admiring the view. Short stroll down to Campbell Shelter. Along the way, a nice view of the local airport runway lights as dusk (and rain clouds) approach. We manage to chase off a couple (apparently seeking privacy) from the shelter only to be joined around dark by a threesome who are a little more social. Charlie J and Bill I opt for tents and Guy B and I choose the shelter. Slip into dry duds, air out the damp stuff, and fix a little dinner. The threesome succeeds in lighting a small blaze (where Bill I failed, I suspect a little cooking fuel was used.) The general life the universe and everything patter around the camp fire and old hippie reminicing at Bill I's tent (and I was looking forward to another sintilating debate between Marty M and Charlie J.) Settle in for the nite to the snorting of a buck just far enough off in the woods to be invisible (the hats must have scared him off.) Awake to the soft patter of that penetrating to the bone drizzle we all so dearly enjoy trekking in (especially when the temperature is only marginally above freezing. Mike C, we know you're really disappointed you missed it.) For me, its a breakfast of coffee and simmered kasha (cracked roasted buckwheat) while we discuss our options for the day. I think we disappointed our guide but the long distance trekkers outnumbered him and we opted for a short hike and a long drive (Charlie J had a mere 300 mi to home and I had 1100 mi to cover by Monday AM.) We loiter a while and break out the rain gear. All dressed up we head back to the knob. All is well till we approach the narrowest spot along the precipice, where Bill I boosts everyone's adrenaline levels by involuntarily attempting to take a nap. Shame on those nasty rain slick rocks. Guy B is far enough in the lead to not get eased over the edge and still close enough to be of speedy aid, phew! But for a few contusions we move on relatively unscathed in our stroll through the glistening wood, watchful of where we step. At the forest road crossing we take a nano-break to further discuss our options, and Charlie J, Bill I and I decide to take the high road while Guy B opts for the low trail. None of us got to Scottland, but in deference to the lyrics Guy B was the last to reach the truck. Pain, agony, & indignation! The truck had been vandalzed! Whatever did anyone want with some dirty undergarments and an old pair of sneakers? (They were sweet enough to take my reading glasses from the pocket of my vest before they ripped it off.) The ride back to the intended destination trailhead surely was chillier with a busted vent window and several fewer jackets. A quick stop back at the gas station by the park-n-ride for parting reflections and a call to the authorities to report our losses. |
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