The weather is MUCH better than predicted, so far. Wishful thinking that it might stay that way, but a girl can hope.
The owls are hooting away like crazy. It's like an owl rave out here.
I'm reading the register in what remains of the daylight. I forgot I left an entry last october. Sarge and Weaver signed it! How sweet, and wonderful, that I'll be seeing them tomorrow.
It's getting dark. I can hear the spring burbling fifty feet away, invigorated by today's storms. The air smells moist. If it rains, if it storms, I wonder if the shelter will stay dry. I wonder if my duct tape patched tent would be drier. I certainly can't set it up in the shelter. It's one or the other. I suppose I'll stick with the dubious charms of the shelter and a quicker time packing up in the morning. Or so I tell myself. Perhaps I'm just lazy. Perhaps I hope another hiker will come in and I'll get to meet them. The register hasn't mentioned bears since last fall. I have hopes that I won't see one here, but the days have been warm and they will undoubtedly start including the shelter in their daily rounds very soon.
As the dark gathers, my eyes become less useful and my ears automatically take over. The sounds of the woods haven't changed but I notice them more. This is why I have earplugs. Otherwise my hypersensitive ears and subconscious will alert me to every falling leaf and broken twig. I already know that most sounds are made by beetles, squirrels, mice, and birds. Nevertheless every sound conjures a bear. Earplugs. For my sanity and my sleep.
Either I should have brought twice as much scotch, or I'm a lush. Or both. I thought a cup was more than enough for both nights, but it looks like I'm finishing it tonight. I should sleep extremely well. I'll blame my hangover on theoretical mice.
Fog crept in while I wasn't looking. I was only fooling myself. The weather is going to suck tomorrow.
Watching the night slowly get darker is the most peaceful thing I've done since Maine.
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