Days 114-117: Connecticut Has Rattlesnakes?
Day 114. August 4th: 10 Mile River to Mt Algo Shelter – 7 miles
Our first full day in Connecticut, I struggle. I’ve never had a reaction to antibiotics before, but now I feel fatigued, nauseous, and light-headed. Still, we need to make up the time we’ve lost to my illness. We hike through a steady drizzle on relatively gentle trails, but I still need to stop frequently to rest. Then the sun comes out in the afternoon. I put my headphones in, fix my eyes on the trail beneath my feet, and hike until I have to sit down or else fall down. I’m exhausted, but I was finally starting to feel like we were covering some ground. I drop my pack and slump onto a fallen log, and I ask Etienne how far we’ve come since this morning. He checks the Guthook app on his phone.
“A little over 5 miles.”
Five miles. In five hours, we’ve only come five miles. And this is supposed to be the easiest state we have left. It’s only going to get harder as we move north into New England. For the first time on the trail, it occurs to me that I might not make it. Not that I’m going to quit, but that I physically might not be capable of hiking fast enough to finish. At least, not in time for Etienne’s work deadline, and maybe not even before Katahdin closes for the season.
I’m not sure when I started crying, but now I’m suddenly embarrassed by my breakdown. I wipe away the tears and take a deep, ragged breath. “I’m not sure I can do it,” I explain to Etienne. “I want to. But I don’t know if I can.”
He squats in front of me, joints popping, and places his hands on my knees. “Of course you can. If you need to go slow, we go slow.”
We cover two more miles that day. I feel like I hiked a 20, but it was only seven miles total. That evening, we set up camp on Mount Algo, where a man seems to be living out of the shelter with his enormous Great Pyrenees named Ghost.
I go to sleep feeling grateful for Etienne’s patience, but the nagging thought of his work deadline lingers in the back of my mind. We can slow down, but not much.
Day 115. August 5th: Mt. Algo Shelter to Ceasar Brook Campsite – 14 miles
The miles pass more easily the next day, especially during a five-mile riverside stretch where the trail is perfectly flat. Late in the afternoon, we ford our first stream. Up until now, except for flooded areas, we have been able to navigate every stream crossing since Georgia by either crossing a bridge or hopping from rock to rock, but this stream is running high from all the recent rain, and I take off my shoes to cross in my camp sandals.
Shortly afterward, we encounter our first rattlesnake since Pennsylvania. It’s so dark it’s almost black, but the rattle is unmistakable. Another hiker is already standing there, taking pictures of it. He introduces himself as the local ridgerunner, one of the ATC’s official representatives on the trail. He insists that he’s never seen a rattlesnake in Connecticut before, and this must be highly unusual.
Day 116. August 6th: Ceasar Brook to Rand’s View – 14 miles
The next morning, we see two more rattlesnakes. Clearly, they are not as rare in Connecticut as the ridgerunner believed. I have never seen two snakes hanging out together, but as we pause to observe them where they are intertwined fifteen feet off the trail, we realize they are together. I shamelessly take pictures of the snake couple during their moment of intimacy, and then we keep moving.
Throughout the warm, sunny afternoon, the trail periodically crosses and follows a few quiet country roads and passes a scenic waterfall. That evening, we camp with a couple of other hikers just past a wide, green field with some of my favorite views in weeks. The mosquitoes are atrocious, but the sunset makes me want to live outdoors like this forever.
Day 117. August 7th: Rand’s View to Laurel Ridge – 12 miles
I’m almost finished with my round of antibiotics, and today I feel… normal. My energy level has recovered, and I’m not nauseous, and I don’t seem ready to pass out at any moment. Compared with the last week, “normal” feels amazing. We leave our campsite early and pass Giant’s Thumb and the 1500-mile mark on our way to Salisbury, Connecticut. We spook a flock of wild turkeys in a field beside the road into town, watch them flee into the forest, and then stick out our thumbs.
We have a difficult time hitchhiking. The cars that pass by are expensive, and the drivers pointedly avoid eye contact as they drive past. Just as we start to bemoan these fancy, rich New Englanders, too good for smelly hikers, a car pulls off the road. A nice car. The driver is a middle-aged Asian man in a crisp business suit. He smiles and asks where we need to go. On the way to the grocery store, we learn that he is a physician, and he is still jet-lagged from a medical conference he attended a few days ago in Scandinavia. We thank him profusely when he drops us off, and I feel sheepish for jumping to conclusions about the inhabitants of this posh community.
Our resupply is relatively efficient, and we’re back on trail within a couple of hours. In just a few more miles, we’re in Massachusetts.
