I slept better than I had on earlier nights. I assume this was partly because of the level surface inside the shelter, as opposed to the slopes I had set my tent on previously. In fact, I had woken up expecting to be in my bedroom. It took me a moment to reacquaint myself with my surroundings. Joe and I were getting ready to make breakfast, but Piper had made a huge pot of oatmeal with all the helpings: brown sugar, craisins, raisins, honey and almonds. I was beginning to understand how his pack weighed over 60 lbs. He insisted we dig in because there was no way he could finish it on his own. Between this breakfast buffet and the previous day's accomplishment of 18 miles, we had little motivation to speed through our morning routine. We were still looking over the maps for the next few days when a hiker walked into the shelter area, northbound, at a surprisingly speedy pace. He dropped his pack sat down, and began to munch on a PowerBar. We asked where he'd come from, and he told us the Cooper Brook Falls lean-to. Joe and I glanced at each other, given that it was only 9:30 a.m., and Cooper Brook was our goal for the day! Granted, it was only 11.3 miles away, but...it was 9:30! I mean, I guess I should've expected such craziness from people at the end of their long northbound journey, but I was still taken aback.

    We departed around 10, leaving Piper to gather his many belongings. However, Freddy Baby and Little Moose were long gone (again). We began the moderate uphill trek on Potaywadjo Ridge and continued for 3 miles until we hit the Antlers Campsite. We broke there for a short time as it was a rather nice campsite. I inspected the privy which was indeed even slightly better than the one at the lean-to the previous night. A squirrel made off with one of Joe's stray PowerBar wrappers, enticed by its shininess. I tried to take a picture of the amusing squirrel, but it came out rather poorly because I couldn't get close enough, and the camera had no zoom available. So, another wasted shot.

     While we had some food at the campsite, we stopped for our belated lunch when crossing Jo-Mary Road. Several others like Colonel and TunaBerry came along to rest and eat as well. While there, we learned a bit about Colonol, mainly that he was pretty religious and, in fact, a missionary. A man drove by in a truck from the nearby town (where the others had stayed last night) asked us how we were doing. We, of course, mentioned the skeeters, and he told us that this year was the worst he'd ever seen, bug-wise. I was really hoping it would get better past White Cap as everyone had said.

    As Joe and I moved out around quarter of 4, I picked up the pace and started to get ahead. The lean-to was only 3.7 miles away and I really wanted to see the swimming area mentioned in the guide. Later on, when I passed a hiker heading the other way, I asked him how far away the shelter was. He said it was only about fifteen minutes back, which motivated me to move and get there quickly. However, after the fact, I realized something very, very frightening. I had opened my conversation with that guy by saying:

...

...

"Howdy."

    I'd clearly been around these hikers entirely too long. Most of them were from the south, and their vernacular had already started seeping in, though it hadn't even been a week yet. I didn't want to start thinking what I'd sound like if my original plans to stay with Joe through the entire Appalachian Trail had remained intact.

    I arrived at the Cooper Brook Falls Lean-To around 5, dropping everything and relaxing a while before unloading my gear or thinking about getting dinner ready. Joe strolled in shortly, and after informing him of where the privy was situated, I decided to join everyone else in the water. The water was, of course, quite cold, but the dip was much-needed. I swam around for a while, but found that the current at the base of the falls was such that I couldn't overcome it. Don't ask me why, but after a day spent hiking, I found it enjoyable to swim against the force of the falls, which kept me relatively stationary in the water until I relaxed. One of the guys who went into the water with the rest of us in the water was sporting black Speedos, which promptly earned him his trail name (Speedo, of course). Some of us also soaked their clothing in a half-hearted attempt to get some of the smells out. Everyone had garments drying around the shelter - some on the side of the lean-to, some on ropes between trees, and others on rocks in the fireplace. Anything even remotely moist was covered with small, harmless green bugs (possibly aphids of some sort?).

    Despite leaving much, much later than us and carrying over 60 lbs. on his back, Piper strolled in while we were drying up from our dip in the water. In the meantime, we were informed by Mike that Squeaky Quail was being bestowed with a new trail name. He went on to explain that Freddy Baby and Little Moose had been at this shelter earlier, but decided to keep moving. Unfortunately, they left behind some supplies (a first aid kit, I believe). Quail dropped his pack and ran two miles up the trail to catch them. For his act of selflessness, he was renamed "Trail Runner". It should be noted that we were still used to calling him Squeaky Quail for the duration of the hike, so Trail Runner became more of a secondary name than a replacement.

    As the evening approached, we all sat around and got to know each other a bit better. In preparing mashed potatoes for Joe and myself, Speedo remarked that he should've thought of that. I spoke a bit more with Speedo that evening, and he was a nice guy, even if his choice of swimwear was highly questionable. Since I was lucky enough to claim a spot in the shelter, I settled in for a rewarding snooze on some hard wood.

Mike: So, he is now "Trail Runner".

Colonel: At least now you have a dignified trail name.

Trail Runner: What? There's something less than dignified about "Squeaky Quail"?