It was a cold night, friends. It dipped below freezing; I know this because of the ice I found in my nalgene bottles. It had been a rough night, with me experimenting throughout the night with different layerings. My head suffered the most; the only covering I brought was a North Face ear gear. I was seriously jonesing for the headsock I had forgotten in the cab of the truck.
I woke with the sun but I did not stir right away. I lay in my tent, dreamily considering the day ahead of me. It was going to be the day that I hike all the way up the west side of Angleworm, do an end-around on home lake, pass by Whiskey Jack lake and blow in to camp on the coveted northernmost campsite on the eastern shore of Angleworm.I traced my finger over the map lazily and dozed, listening to the warmongering red squirrels as they quarreled over pine cones. Without warning the peace was shattered by a shotgun blast.
Off with a bang
My first thought was that maybe someone was slaughtering the campers at the southernmost campsite. I was fully awake and on red alert now. After determining that no holes had been blown in my tent, I quickly dressed and cautiously crawled out of my tent. Nobody there, no sound. The woods had already settled back down. Not certain how far off the shot had come from or even what direction the shooters were moving in, I decided to multitask and begin making both my breakfast and as much noise as possible so that I would not be mistaken for Grousezilla.
As I heated the water for my oatmeal I discovered a curious crack on the toe area of my right boot. "Oh no," I thought. "Gonna have to be careful around water for the rest of the trip now." I didn't know the half of it. Not too long later the great hunter and his companion came down the trail. They said that they were sorry if they had scared me and then chatted with me for a few minutes. The guy was a local, who said that the temp when he left his house that morning had been 28 degrees. He was carrying some sort of pistol that you can swith barrels on, his choice du jour was a .410. Not a bad choice for grouse & rabbit. Leaves you enough animal to eat. I gave that fellow a good head start before I set out.
Back on TrackThat pack still felt darned heavy. I trudged along slowly, but really I was too spellbound by the beauty of the Angleworm to care. The first couple of photos I shot were a little hazy, due to condensation on the lens. But there wasn't a cloud in the sky, the air smelled like pine needles and fallen leaves, and I couldn't have cared less about heavy packs, cracked boots, or foggy pictures. I was just darned happy to be there. Even with the tougher ascents like the one near the site of the old fire tower, my spirits stayed high. I took a lot of pictures and kept my eyes and ears open. It is insufficient to say that I enjoyed these woods; I was drinking them in. I considered the 23rd psalm and knew then that if I had been the author it would not have been green pastures that the Lord would make me lay down in but rather rocky outcroppings, overlooking glacial lakes, surrounded by boreal forests.
"Too wordy!" I thought to myself as I moved along. I had to make frequent stops but it worked out for the best as it allowed me to check the map frequently and monitor my progress. Anybody who tells you that the 'Worm can or should be done as just a day hike is definitely not someone who stops to look at the view.
Lunchtime Decision
I approached the northernmost campsite on the western shore of Angleworm just before noon. It was occupied and I did not want to disturb the guys camped there. I found a spot on the lake shore about several yards south of the campsite and unloaded my pack for a breather. I had been on the trail for just under two hours and had not covered a very impressive distance. I drank the last of my city water from the second Nalgene bottle and evaluated my situation. The campsite that I wanted was directly across the lake from me and currently unoccupied. By my best guess it would take me almost six hours to get there, if I continued at the same rate of travel and encountered similar terrain.
I set up the stove and boiled some lakewater, as I was going to need more water regardless of what I decided to do. I munched on my apple and stared long and hard at my boot. The crack had expanded to a full-blown tear and was not looking good. It looked to me like a very real scenario that I would hump all afternoon through the woods just to make it to my target camp right at sundown, most likely to find it claimed by that point, only to have to go find either an alternate campsite or else to just set up somewhere off the trail in the dark. And that was if I was LUCKY and my boot didn't completely disintegrate somewhere along the way.
I really did anguish over this, even though with the benefit of hindsight it was such an obvious no-brainer. I considered the consequences that come from making stupid choices in the wilderness and with a heavy heart decided to scrub the mission. I took this photo a few minutes after having made the decision, which explains the long face. It was better this way, I thought, as even if everything went according to plan I would have zero goof-off time in camp and I would be cooking my dinner in the dark. I loaded up my pack and turned back the way I had came.
From whence I cameThe hike back was light-hearted; once I had turned back I really made my peace with the whole deal.
While resting at the top of a climb, a pair of hikers overtook me. We chatted briefly and as it turned out they wanted the campsite that I had spent the previous night in. I told them that was cool, I would go for the southernmost (Which had been occupied the day before).
I hiked the rest of the way a little nervous, that my new target campsite would be occupied. I resigned myself that if that were the case I would simply keep going right on to the trailhead. As it turned out the southernmost site was available and was quite nice, although not quite as scenic as the previous day's.
Although available, there were many natives around; the usual suspects: Conniving red squirrels and panhandling whiskey jacks. In the southernmost reaches of Angleworm lake there is a muddy, weedy bay, and it was patrolled by a pair of ducks who kept just far enough away to keep me from identifying them. They looked too small to be mallards, but then again I am accustomed to big fat city ducks, which is a vulgar way of saying 'waterfowl with sedentary lifestyles.'
While eating my dinner I was startled to have an otter swim up and poke his suspicious face out of the weeds at me. He was long gone before I even had a chance to reach for my camera.I spent time sketching, reading my bible, and taking this panoramic shot:
As evening closed in the sky grew cloudy; no chance for stargazing. I lay down in my tent as it grew dark, exhausted. I lay in my tent and listened to request night on End of the Road Radio on a small transistor radio (Told you I packed in a lot of crap) as I drifted off to sleep.
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