After cresting Bear Mountain (another one), I found myself in Sages Ravine, the prettiest state transition on the trail. A small brook spilled over rocks through the entire length of this leafy paradise. As I took a break, I met a southbounder who took

The bridge over the Mass Pike, a familiar landmark for me. Sort of.

out a small videocamera upon reaching the brook. I suppose he was recording a momento for the folks at home and something to jog his memory later on. But the camera! To deal with the weight of the thing and to worry about its exposure to the elements was too much hassle in my eyes. It could only record sight and sound and missed so much more - a digital memory to be replayed on a stale window in someones living room.

We talked for a bit. It turned out that this was his second thru-hike. I never asked about the camera; I was too busy wondering why I felt a camera was okay but a vidoecamera not. There is a sort of code among the woods about what is appropriate for a thru-hiker to carry and what is better left at home (Or “better found on a dayhiker,” as one thru-hiker snorted). It is subject to extensive, and thorny, debates. Guns, bear spray and big hunting knives are generally agreed upon as not being needed. Small battery operated television? No. A small radio? Split down the middle, half saying it's needed to combat bordom, the other saying the woods are music enough (and why are you bored??). It is generally agreed that cell phones are not needed, a waste of space and weight and if used, done so where no one could see.

So where did a videocamera come in? Most hikers wouldn't bother with the weight of a tent let alone the extra couple of pounds of sensitive - and expensive - electronics. It would be nice to have a video record of friends and special places but what if one was taping a shelter scene and one hiker mentions that they came to the woods to escape such stuff? Or would one say such a thing? Tricky debate. At 45 pound pack weight, my camera worked well enough for me.

That was day two of a four day high mileage spree. That night, after traversing the mosquito infested flats of Great Barrington, I stumbled through two miles of darkness to the shelter that was my goal. Once there, I hadn't even the strength to fetch water (which turned out to be a good thing since the source for the shelter was at the bottom of a gorge). Feeling tired the next day, I opted to take it off, an easy decision since it was pouring rain. There wasn't much to do at the shelter but someone had left a paperback there - The Silent Blade by R.A. Salvatore. It was one of those crummy Dungeons & Dragons books (fer pete's sake, was the author die-rolling the plot as he went??) but any port in a storm I guess. There must be an unspoken rule that bad novels must be left in shelters for the desperate to pick up and read. I found Along Came a Spider by Patterson in Maryland and I couldn't finish that improbable mess fast enough.

The trail passes right through the town of Dalton. The town is also where the paper for U.S. currency is manufactured.

The next day, I packed up everything (including the crappy book) and began another twenty mile day. This time my goal was Upper Goose Pond Cabin, a former hunting lodge that the Appalachian Mountain Club somehow became stewards of. Along the way I was rejoined with Tim Tank and he shed light on how I had lost them in Connecticut. They never found the shelter after Kent, which was understandable considering the poor signage. I apparently passed them in Falls Village half a week ago. After Raindancer fell behind, Tim Tank kept up his pace.

My reunion with him was short. As I made miles the next day, I passed him sacked out in the first shelter past the cabin. Heavy snoring had kept him up the night before (funny how that sort of thing never bothered me). That day I passed over the Mass Pike, a landmark acomplishment for me. Even though I had never driven this particular section, I had been on it further east. I was entering familiar lands.

Onward. I spent a night in the quaint New England town of Cheshire staying at a chuch that allowed thru-hikers to camp on the floor of the back room. I met plenty of other thru-hikers, most of whom were heading south. After Cheshire though, the so-bo's were few and far between. The next morning the pastor said that the hostel would be closing for the year of 2000. There had been talk up and down the trail that there would be tons of thru-hikers doing “millenium hikes” and the church wanted nothing to do with the hordes. Besides that, there had been a few problem hikers that year. Hostels all have established rules - no alcohol and no drunken hikers being some of the most universal - and of course every year there are those few who flaunt their disregard for them. The pastor said that this year had been particularly problematic. Then he politely kicked us out.

I spent that evening on Mt. Greylock, the highest peak in the state. The Appalachian Trail crosses over or really close by many “highest in state” summits: Clingmans Dome (Tennessee), Mt. Rogers (Virginia), Unassuming highpoint on a ridge (Maryland), High Point (New Jersey), Bear Mountain (Connecticut and while the highest summit is not the highest point in the state), and now Mt. Greylock. The last two of these select peaks are Mt Washington in New Hampshire, and Katahdin at the end of the trail.