Heron Pond to Big Bend

Miles 63.6-77.6
8 hours, 14.0 miles, 75 flights, 29.5k+ steps

I awoke to the birds’ dawnsong and a kerplunk from the beaver pond. My sunrise stroll revealed a team of 3-4 flat-tailed friends galumphing their way up the lodge to place another stick. I smiled to myself, pleased at their industrious ways, but more pleased with my plans to crawl back into the tent with the excuse that my sleeping quilt needed higher sunrays to dry the morning’s condensation. 

I would later rue this decision.

I rolled out of camp at 9:30a under bright sunshine and in high spirits. My muscle aches have subdued to just stiffness in the morning , oiled up with 15 minutes of “motion is lotion”. But I should have known that shorts and rolled sleeves at this time of the day was a bad omen, the humidity high and temperature rising.

I picked up some water at a questionable beaver pond, carrying it just in case the next water source wasn’t any better. But Sucker River was beautiful! So I used the filtered beaver pond water for a luxurious high-pressure spot shower aimed from my squeeze bottle, then wandered out to the river to gather more water. 

My litheness and grace has deteriorated as my fatigue has grown, and the log balance beam out into the river was a little tipsy. By the time I recognized that the patch of mud under my next footstep wasn’t just mud, it was too late. I withdrew my foot as hastily as my precarious perch would allow, lifting my shoe in time to see the “mud” hop into the river, leaving behind a frog-shaped silhou-wet. I apologized profusely; no frog army came to claim retaliation, so I think we’re ok. But I keep looking over my shoulder…

Lunch consisted of taking 20 minutes to chew a 290 calorie brick containing 20 g protein and what I think was a pound of soybeans, washing it down with Propel. I think I burned half those calories just with the effort of chewing and swallowing. You who eat protein bars regularly, I salute you and your well-developed muscles of mastication. 

Sucker River was the last joyful moment of the day. Thereafter the humidity required hourly sweat breaks to cool off and let my torso air out from under the backpack. The trail passed through multiple timber harvest areas with thick undergrowth that required a repeated tuck of your head while hugging your arms in to dive through the brush, inevitably jostling up a fresh hatch of mosquitoes.

I regretted my decision to have a leisurely morning, now racing the clock to beat forecasted afternoon thunderstorms, but with a speed governed by trying to manage fluids and avoid overheating. I chugged water and electrolytes, sitting in the shade if I dared face the mosquitoes.

The afternoon was a continuous choice to die by heat stroke or by being eaten alive. I took a dose of both, wearing long sleeves and short pants, demonstrating some terrible version of hip hop dancing as I stomped, squatted, heel kicked, and arm flailed, my hyper vigilance causing me to swat phantom bugs and letting my sanity fall away in chunks. 

Two miles from camp, the hot spot on my right foot finally talked louder than the whine of mosquitoes. I sat down within a swarm, exposing new sweet flesh to the blood suckers as I inspected my first toe. Nuts. Blister forming. I taped it up, muttering to myself that I let mosquitoes run me to blisters. Little jerks.

I stumbled into Big Bend at 5:00, exchanging shell-shocked greetings with camp neighbors who had also traveled through the battlefield. I collapsed into my tent to tend to my blistered feet, my legs looking like a case of smallpox. Yes, I felt sorry for myself. It helps, you know. 

The mosquitoes lifted just enough to allow stepping outside to make dinner. After cleaning up and hanging the bear bag, I tucked into the tent – just as raindrops fell. Whew. What a day.