The mile and a half up to the peak of White Cap from our lean-to was the usual steady uphill trod. It had been raining since we'd all gotten up, making me thankful for getting a spot in the shelter the night before. I again indulged in a double helping of oatmeal to ready myself for the immediate climb. As I went up White Cap, the rain was only misting so I hadn't put on rain shell right away. By the time I'd reached the peak, I was pretty soaked from both the light rain and the water that I was running into on low branches, so I stopped to gear up in my anti-water suit. I was kind of disappointed because White Cap was the highest mountain in the 100-mile wilderness (elevation of nearly 3700 ft. above sea level), but the fog completely destroyed any visibility I could've had on the peak.

    Moving on, I found that a good section of the trail in this vicinity was massively overgrown. When the grass, bushes and other foliage was all waist to chest-high, completely hiding the ground, and there were no trees to bear markers, you sometimes wondered if you were still even on the trail at all. There were times I longed for a machete to cut down some of the interfering plants and pave my way. I had to be careful walking along this section because with the limited ground visibility, twisting an ankle would've been all too easy. When the flora finally cleared, of course, the other sight to behold was a steady covering of moose crap. The constant ups and downs over the sections of Hay Mountain, West Peak and Gulf Hagas Mountain made for a rough six miles past the peak. It was during these sections that I finished my cracker trail mix. I had but one bag left...

    Along the way, most of us happened to stop at a small clearing to rest momentarily. Joe's continued proliferation of Conan the Barbarian quotes earned him the trail name of (duh) Conan. While it didn't quite have the zest or appeal of "Mango", he didn't seem to mind. We also talked about an older gentlemen that some of the guys had seen hiking around farther north. Apparently, this guy was on workman's compensation. During the summer, he'd wander the trail, fishing where he felt like it. Some said he walked 28 miles in a single day earlier last week to make it back to civilization for supplies. He kept himself funded during the winter by playing the stock market and betting on football. Who knows how much of this was accurate, but this is where the trail legends come from.

    Our goal for the day was to reach the Hermitage, a clearing that we figured should be suitable for camping. It was about a third of a mile away from the West Branch Pleasant River, our first fording. Most of us, however, upon stopping in at the Carl A. Newhall Lean-to in the afternoon, decided to stay for the day after a bit of deliberation. The rain had only gotten steadier, so no one was particularly thrilled with the prospect of camping out in a clearing as opposed to staying in a nice, solid shelter. If Joe and I woke up early the next day, we could prepare ourselves for the 17-mile hike to Cloud Pond. I'd had a big lunch in anticipation of moving on, but since that wasn't going to happen, I simply went a bit lighter at dinner. I didn't mind eating more, though; I still had plenty of supplies with which to get to Monson, and removing weight from my pack was always a good thing. I still had tuna to complement my lunch for the next two days, regardless.

    I found it interesting that a lot of guys were complaining about the downhill sections. Obviously I preferred the flat terrain, but I still didn't mind the downhill. Sure, it takes longer to do since you have to be careful, but it doesn't tire you out as much as the uphill. The guys were complaining about their knees, in particular, but mine were fine. I didn't know if they were fully extending their legs when going downhill (bad), or whether my knees were in better shape somehow due to karate. At the very least, I didn't have to deal with blisters on my feet like everyone else, and I was convinced that was due to karate. Over the length of the entire 100-mile wilderness trek, I had but one blister form, and that was at the top of my left heel because of a rough spot that had formed on my sock. Everyone else was lancing them on a nightly basis and wrapping their feet in duct tape.

    As I looked over the topo maps, it seemed that the majority of our river/stream fordings would be coming up over the next few days. I wasn't quite sure how difficult they'd be, as I'd heard varying stories, but if these guys could do, I would too. Some of the comments in the trail guide gave detours in case the water was too high to ford safely, but as these were typically 2-5 mile detours, I was hoping I wouldn't have to take any.

Tunaberry: Crotchless spandex is great, the man in the cat suit told me so.