We made it to the hut in about 7.5 hours. Great time (for me) and likely to have been an hour faster for the rest of the group had I not been with them. After a few moments on my back, I began to peel off my soaking clothes. While changing in the bunk room, Chris wandered in behind me. At a certain point, you are so tired that you cease to give a shit about things that in any other circumstance would put you into therapy. Namely, being topless in front of your brother. I couldn’t be bothered. He walked in behind me and I continued to change from a wet bra to a dry one as covertly as possible by facing the back corner. When I turned around, I realized it was not Chris, but Jamie (my husband) who had come in. No wonder there was no reaction. But then I realized my relief had come too soon: Chris was in the bunk in the back corner. I’m going to assume he was sleeping and missed all of this. (Along these same lines, I’m going to assume Kevin missed my boob falling out of my pajamas several times while he was in the bunk across from me), and even if they didn’t: we were hiking. Certain worries are suspended.
When you are hiking, you have to adjust to a different level of acceptable behavior; regular rules fail to apply in these conditions. For example, I’m fine with not getting to shower for a few days on a hike; it’s just part of it. I’m not on board with starting this washing-fast a day early (you know who you are). There are other things that would never happen in the real world but are totally normal when we’re hiking. For example, I’ll gladly tolerate, participate even, in a raunchy conversation with topis ranging from pooping in the woods to which of the French women wasn’t wearing a bra. My hiking companions are each intelligent, considerate, successful men. But something happens out there and we all sort of end up being more than a little base. I'm sure my mother would be horrified by the whole thing. And that's why she can't hike with us.
Dry, hydrated, and relaxed, we sat down to dinner at 6:00. At 6:45, the two women we had met up with on the first day crawled in. That was about 11 hours of hiking for them and the strain showed. They were stooped, sweaty and bewildered. But they did it. And what’s more, they had another hard day ahead. When they asked if the next day’s trail was easier, I said yes. And it is. What I did not tell them was that there is a killer, 1,100-foot gain in the first 0.8 miles of the hike. I didn’t have the heart.
The Galehead Hut was littered with children by 7:30 pm. And our bunk room was the Hub of Crazy. While we were hanging out on the porch, a gaggle of teenage girls had invaded our room and marked their territory by creating a maximum mess in minimal time. Like clowns exiting a clown car, the amount of crap which exploded from their packs seemed exponentially larger than the packs could accommodate. The once austere, simple room had been coated in flip flops, clothes, sheets, books, a lot of pink things I couldn’t identify, hair brushes, rubberbands, and all of it was sprinkled with giggles and gaffaws and mockery.
And then there was little Dennis.
Poor Dennis.
Dennis was someone’s kid brother who desperately wanted to be with the girls, but who the girls took great delight in shunning and teasing. Dennis, I am quite certain, is going to need therapy in a few years having suffered more abuse in the ten minutes I was in the room than most encounter in a lifetime. “DENNIS! Don’t get on my bunk!” “DENNIS! You are so weird.” “DENNIS! Stop looking at me.” “DENNIS! DENNIS THE MENANCE!” “DENNIS! What is your problem?” “DENNIS!” “DENNIS, why are you even in here?” “DENNIS, you are such a spaz.”
The girls were around 13 and despite the torment, there was still a sense that he was part of the group and that his older sister was looking out for him (while informing him of his endless mistakes and shortcomings, all of which seemed not to phase Dennis in the least. I don’t think Dennis listens very well).
I would like to note that not one of the five adults who arrived with these kids was in the room with them (and there were open bunks) and that they brought three bottles of wine to the hut. On the one hand, I totally understood that behavior. On the other, we were trapped with their kids. Without the wine.
These kids needed a little Thru Hiker Zen.And Gumby and Snowy were there and ready to oblidge.
Gumby's face seems to be perpetually smiling, one that never relaxes to a grimmace or even a blank expression. He was always ready with a good story -- often about bears -- and was happy to answer any question you could come up with. As such, the children in Galehead Hut followed that smile and story around like he was the Pied Piper, enthralled. However, what those kids did not get was Thru Hiker Zen. I blame Gumby and his bears.
As lights-out approached, one mother was quizzing, “Did you brush your teeth?” (No). “Do you have your headlamp handy?” (No). “Remember, you have to be quiet after 9:30” (Whatever). In the frenzy to get themselves ready and into bed, one threw her clothing across the aisle to her friend's bunk. Which she missed. And hit Jamie. He carefully handed the garments to the girl above him while she teased her spaz friend for throwing her stuff at “that poor old man.” As you can imagine, Jamie loved that.
The night closed in. One girl stayed up until 12:30 reading, her headlamp positioned ever so politely to shine directly in Kevin’s eyeballs. One talked in her sleep several times -- though jibberish, it was quite loud and distinct. Dennis screamed and woke everyone up. Including his father, one room over.
Dennis’ dad came in and fell asleep in his son's bunk, trying to comfort him. With snores, apparently. Dennis whispered, “Dad, are you snoring or is it the person across from me?” Note that I was the person across from him and I was about to point out that I was NOT snoring because The Snorer was keeping me awake. However, I thought an unfamiliar voice in the dark might screw up the poor kid even more, so I let it be. I'm pretty sure The Snorer threw me under the bus. Which is fine; I did not put a Hiker's Curse upon him. I decided spending a few days with a group of hyper miscreants was punishment enough.. I slept lightly -- and I think Dennis was staring at me, bug eyed, from across the way.
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