Photo Gallery Style: White Mountains

Didn’t really see anybody out until late in the afternoon.

Well, that’s not entirely true…

I was about four hours into the day, peacefully reading on a ledge.  Birds and butterflies were flying about me, the sun was beaming down, warming my tired spirit, and there wasn’t a single sound disturbing the peace in the air.

Suddenly, I heard a small rustle behind me.

Then some twigs cracked.  Alarmed, the birds had grown silent and flown to higher ground.

Then I heard what could only be described as an explosion of incoherent grumbling as the forest behind me was being completely annihilated.  I stumbled (cutting my leg) before jumping up–positive I was about to be rudely introduced to my first bear–only to find an utterly defeated (semi) thru-hiker who had emerged out of nowhere.

His rugged appearance and inability to maintain contact with a clearly marked trail practically demanded his first line to be an exhausted, “what year is it?!”  Instead, eyes glazed and speaking only in a cracked whisper, he recited the phrase, “what were we thinking” about ten times, cushioning each recital with as much profanity as his drained lungs could pour out.  I’ll add that he was alone and I never ran into anyone the rest of the day that would prove the use of ‘we‘ to be correct.  That said, his pack was really nice, and considering mine broke and I had used rope and tape to tie it onto my back, I was quite jealous.

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