8 Miles of flat, 1 mile of really fucking steep (1,500'), fuck around on the top, then do the whole thing in reverse. Well, I think the consensus is: Owl's Head isn't so bad if you do it as fast as you can... in dry conditions ... in nice weather ... and with good company... and you only do it once. Today's adventure was #1 for tMail, #2 for me and #3 for MPM. Apparently common-sense is inversely proportional to height. Or maybe willingness to abuse oneself is proportional to height. Or maybe ascending Owl's Head causes growth in adults by providing essential nutrients.
Speaking of which, I just don't get this tMail guy. As I said to the MPM, chasing him on the way back on the rail-bed was okay until he looked back, saw me, and slipped away into the distance like a wave washing back off a beach. Buh-bye. Where the fuck does that come from? Fucking alien species. But tMail and the MPM set up a good pace on the way in and the way out. I was caboose.
It's also worth noting that tMail's disappearance into the distance was fine by me. The MPM and I were great pace-partners because of his sprained ankle and brace. It slowed him down enough and caused enough pain to match him to my speed. What a great coincidence.
- At the point in the pemi where we turned to head up the Owl's Head ascent, we greeted an older couple in the woods that the MPM somehow recognized as a couple we encountered in Huntington Ravine on the day of treadmill's race up the Bad Boy. Lots of cheers and fellow-feeling. A meal was prepared and a sow slaughtered and the fruits of a good harvest were shared amongst the townspeople. Shouts of "Huzzah!" were heard, and much ale was consumed.
- We found the 'real' summit of Owl's Head. There's enough of a trail that it's possible to find one's way out there, although it seemed to require detours along a "douchebag trail" that had no physical manifestation other than causing hikers to feel like douchebags when they found their way back to a visible trail. Photos (posted later this weekend) will show proof of our achievement, as evidenced by a sign that somebody strategically bolted to a tree in a kind of permanent-really-fucking-big-bolt-kind-of-way.
- At the end of our journey back at the Lincoln Woods campground, we scrambled down the bank and soaked in the cold water of Franconia Brook. The initial thrill of immersion and subsequent cooling and cleansing of the our swampy grundles gradually faded into a relaxed, non-moving, contemplative, cold, restorative soak. Several minutes of silence in the bright sun, cloudless blue sky and gurgling brook were punctuated by the MPM commenting: "this is much better than being at work". Truer words were never spoken - at least not after climbing that horse-cunt of a mountain.
- In preparation for Jay, I pretended to step on a loose stone while crossing one of the larger sections of Lincoln Brook, and followed that with a fake stepping of both feet into the water up to my calves. That gave me the opportunity to experience exactly what my shoes feel like completely water-logged while banging on a trail and climbing up Owl's Head. I changed socks at the summit. On the way back, at that same crossing, tMail and the MPM were feeling left out, so we all used the knee deep water to all experience that same slushy lusciousness. Having experienced this on the way in, I used the excuse that I needed to wash off the dingleberries made of glops of mud that we all acquired on the trail.
My conclusions about Jay, as a result of this adventure: fuck that shit.