DAY 3
Miles 41.0-44.1
(2 hours, 3.1 miles, 70 flights, 16k steps)
I woke up completely exhausted, but denied it, staring at my Garmin “Body Battery” score of 45/100 as a gross misreading. Thankfully, Julie helped me take a nearo (near zero miles) day, heading up north for some exploration before she drove back home.
She helped make my dreams come true. 😍
I’d finally admitted that I couldn’t manage 53 miles in 2.5 days, so took on some panicked finagling to nab a walk-in campsite on the local college campus for the night, leaving me without an appetite and with a double dose of anxiety & the shoulda couldas. But at the end of the day, I was sleeping in my tent next to a college camp party, my car parked 18 miles away. If that isn’t motivation to take a hike, I don’t know what is!
DAY 4 – UMD to White Pine
Miles 44.1-54.4
(5 hours, 10.9 miles, 63 flights, 28.5k steps)
After a lazy Sabbath morning start to the sound of raindrops pattering on my tent fly, I hit the trail by 9:30a in order to reach the Martin Road trailhead (the historical southern terminus of the SHT) by noon to meet Will, an acquaintance from last week’s Master Naturalist program. He came bearing food-gifts, and I accepted his offering by inviting him to walk through shoulder-high, wet grass hiding stalks of poisonous wild parsnip on the local snowmobile trail. What a trade!
We made it to the White Pine campsite by 4:30 pm: Will exhausting his supply of fuel alcohol to attempt a campfire with wet wood; Jessica wading into the river to fetch water beyond the muddy reeds, emerging with squishy socks and shoes. What a party!
DAY 5 – White Pine to Heron Pond
Miles 54.4-63.6
(4.5 hours, 9.2 miles, 27 flights, 29.5k steps)
After a cool night, we were back on the snowmobile trail, soaking our shoes and socks (my last dry pair). A mile or two on, we came upon four deep, muddy, symmetrical holes in a rectangular pattern on the trail, marking the point where the trail switched from tall grasses to short cropped plants. I could almost hear the frustrated muttering of the tractor operators trying to get their rig unstuck untold days earlier.
Any adventure without a mishap isn’t quite worth having, so we decided to create some excitement. After a road crossing, the trail was a bit more overgrown, but soon turned to a very faint footpath. After 10 minutes of ducking limbs and fording waist-high ferns, we realized we’d been bushwhacking 50 feet parallel to the trail; amazing how a true perspective changes how clear the path ahead is!
We reached my car after 4 hours of relatively level, very soggy hiking. I took Will’s super stinky and helpful suggestion to place my socks on the dashboard, blasting the defroster with the windows down as we drove north (Will in his own car; I didn’t have an OSHA-certified respirator for the noxious fumes in this enclosed space).
After a delightful lunch at the Larsmont, I took Will for a whirlwind tour of the Two Harbors North Shore highlights before he shuttled me – with dry socks! – back to our hike out point at Normanna Road. Thanks for the lift, Will!
It’s a favorite, I told you.
I trekked into the trees, adrenaline rising. I don’t mind solo adventures, and the forest makes me happy, but there is always a slight apprehension that accompanies me on the first night back in the woods. Perhaps it’s like the first day back to school: you’re anxious, uneasy; it’s familiar, but you’ve been away for long enough that the fear of the unknown has crept in again. It will take some time before the silence of the woods becomes louder than the voices in my head.
Campsite to myself, lying in a fly-less tent, watching clouds cluster slowly overhead. Jays scolding, sandhill cranes chortling, finches peeping, insects humming, Jessica sighing… and letting her eyes close gently.
Conversations on El Camino 