Puke Run: A Colorful Experience

Yesterday I walked out of the woods, looking for a good workout.
What I got, however, was a day of toughening that perhaps I've only seen a few times in my life.

I woke at 1:30am, and forced my stuff into my pack: axe, clothing, food, water, and propane tank. By 2am, I was headed the long way out of Garfield Ridge Campsite.

The waterfall/trail was tricky to navigate in the dark with my heavy pack, and this was compounded by my not having coffee. I had just 6 hours of sleep total the last few nights, so I felt kind of groggy.

I am not afraid of the dark, but am man enough to admit that my heart rate was higher than usual as I rock-hopped the technical 3 mile section from the campsite to the Galehead Hut. If I broke an ankle or had some other type of injury, I would be out there for a while before anyone came. There wasn't much room for error.

Upon reaching the hut around 3am, I was drenched in sweat. I de-layered and made the turn up South Twin.
Instantly, I felt the weight of the pack as I began to scale the slabs of rock they call a "trail". Gravity became my arch-nemesis.
.8 miles has never felt so long. I had given myself 6 hours for the 15 mile slog, to catch the Hiker shuttle...a 2.5 mile/hour average.
I could feel my time slipping away as I crested the 4900' mountain, but I just had to stop and admire the stars on a clear night. I'd never been above tree-line at this hour. The feeling was eerie, and at the same time, strangely calming.

As I made my way down the mountain and towards Mt. Guyot, I picked up the pace, making up for lost time. Occasionally I would look to the East and see the sky getting lighter. Time was going way too fast. At this rate, I would never make the shuttle.

I hit Guyot as the clear sky was turning from black to pre-sunrise gray. I cursed myself for breaking my camera, but no pictures could capture this moment... not in this light. Words cannot explain the monochromatic panorama of countless peaks in front of my eyes. I wanted to puke from going so hard, but some things are so beautiful, that even in moments of extreme pain, the mind can appreciate them. 9 miles to go.

Up over Zealand, the sky was every hue of purple, pink, and then orange as sunrise was in full bloom.
The forest was changing from predominantly evergreen to deciduous vegetation as I ducked below 4000', blasting over bog bridges and step stones, with my headlight only useful in groves of pines and hemlocks, where light still hadn't penetrated.

I crossed over Zealand Falls and as I ran by the hut, early risers on the porch gave me strange looks. Who was this weirdo with an axe-handle and random bicycling gear sticking out of his pack, running by at this hour?

Making the right off of the Zealand Trail and on to the A-Z Trail, I was behind schedule, but thoroughly enjoying a trail much less traveled than anything I'd been on so far that morning. The handle of my axe and my bike helmet frequently snagged low hanging branches, as I tried to go as fast as possible. The bushwhacking was fun, but being behind schedule was kind of stressing me out. I wanted time to get the Highland Center, change, and kill some French Toast and breakfast burritos before departing to Pinkham Notch.

Soon, the trail was going uphill in a big way, and I was back in evergreen country. Having only stopped twice for water and a few Nutter Butter cookies in 5 hours, I could feel my body using its last resources. Every once in a while, my stomach would heave as my pulse pounded to a rate it doesn't often see.
The intersection I came to said "Crawford Notch- 2.3 miles, Mt. Tom Spur-.5 miles."

I had hoped to go up Mt. Tom, but I was toast. I didn't have time, anyways. I plunged down the mountain, brushing past ferns and hobblebush, admiring the occasional cascade by the trail. Bear tracks were everywhere, but at this point, I figured I was making so much noise huffing and puffing and clinking down the trail that they wouldn't be interested...besides, I had gone 10 days without a shower. They wouldn't want to eat anything that disgusting.

It's always a weird feeling to exit out of the woods and into the world of vehicles. Walking on the smooth, hard surface of pavement feels strange and foreign, after rock hopping every step of every day for a week and a half. It was 8:15... I was a tad behind schedule, and seeing stars from depletion and deprivation of everything necessary for human life, but otherwise happy to see that breakfast was still being served.

After eating with a fury for 30 minutes straight, I boarded the shuttle and began the voyage to Pinkham Notch, thoroughly spent, but happy to be headed to civilization, and a shower.