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Due to the thick canopy of the woods, the late afternoon and early evening light was filtered out quite effectively. With nightfall not too far off, I sensed an urgency to establish a safe haven for my food. I would ensure that (this time) no stinkin' bear would get MY food. Nearly 30 minutes went by before I found the right trees and was prepared for a trial hoisting of my food bag. I decided not to use the Gorham-LaBella measurement system (used by the Gorham-LaBella expedition to Lake Colden in July) that relied on safety precautions a little more secure then leaving one's food on the ground.

Success! I had easy access and protected access to my food using the Enhanced LaBella Black Rope/Bag with Carabiner method. Now I'm really cruizin'!

Now, I'm really thinking bears. I find it easy to be on edge, holding my breath, and becoming hyper-vigilant! "Breathe," I think, "Keep your thoughts in the present. ACK! WHAT'S THAT SOUND!!" (Nothing.)

Everything was wet from the recent storm. With my food hoisting device dangling near the brook, I turned my attention to wood gathering. I established two uncomfortably small piles of sticks. One comprised of thin (sort-of-wet) sticks and another of weightier (wet) ones. With limited firewood, I broke the sticks into 6" lengths to optimize my ability to keep a small fire going. (Think bears.)

Thanks to my fire starter sticks and bellows created from a Tupper-ware lid, I managed to get a fire going. I stoked it up so I could enjoy two cups of instant mashed potatoes and a slab of cured ham for dinner. (Think bears.) After dinner and clean-up, I packed up my food and headed off to my dangling rope. Having tied my food bag to the line and hoisted it well into thin air… A BEAR! JUST TO MY LEFT! Midway up an adjacent tree was a darkened image! PANIC! PANIC!!… No… a shadow… from my Mag light. "Really, I've got to get a grip.")

Ok. So at about this time I realize that I'm losin' it. Surrounded by the loud chatter of rushing water and bear sounds everywhere, I'm now engaged in heavy self-talk. "Ok Gary… Breathe… Breathe… Keep your thoughts in the present…. Even though there's no one for miles and your blood-curdling yells from a bear attack would never be heard… You haven't seen a bear… Yet… Breathe… Breathe…"

Before I could consider a restful night, there was one final anti-bear device to erect: A bear alarm at the mouth of my lean-to.

Stringing a low rope (about 6 inches) above the entrance lip to the lean-to, I carefully positioned and hung two small aluminum pots in the center. Multiple tests proved that ANY critter trying to enter the sanctity of my place of sleep would bonk the rope resulting in the clanging alarm of pots banging against the lean-to floor. Extreme comfort came from the notion that an unwanted intruder WOULD awaken me. As you might expect, this short-lived comfort was infiltrated by the plaguing image of a bear knocking through my alarm. Trapped inside my sleeping bag, I imagined grabbing my bear whistle and itty-bitty Mag Light and stinging the furry beast with noise and a narrow beam of light! Ohhh… This was gonna be one hell of a night! I really couldn't wait for sunrise.

Too tired to distract myself (Think bears.) and not able to sleep (Think bears.), I read from a novel. (Believe it or not, a murder mystery that occurs in a remote, woodsy park. Oh, jeez.) Several times I left the lean-to to stoke the fire. I decided it would not be babyish to keep my 9-hour candle lantern burning throughout the night. However, I eventually snuffed it out as I began to feel somewhat like a "wus." To compensate for a darkened candle, I maintained a blood-curdling grip on my flashlight in one hand and my whistle in the other. Many times throughout the night I would awake to the striking pain and numbness in both arms. Heart attack? No… Numbness from my paranoid grips on that poor little blue Mag light and orange whistle. 3:40 A.M. was the last peek at my watch before (happily) awaking at nearly 8:00 AM.

"Body in one piece? Check... Bear alarm still activated? Check. …Food bag intact? Check. …Very cool. I'm still alive. I'M STILL ALIVE!"

Breakfast was wonderful. Two steaming cups of hot chocolate (pre-measured with leftover mini marshmallows from my canoe trip with Abbe), oatmeal and dried cherries and strawberries. I was packed and ready to go by 9:00 AM.

Hiking away from the lean-to proved perplexing. No matter which path (an understatement) I took, it seemed to gently blend into lost-ness. After re-reading the trail narrative many times, I finally realized that I must cross the South Meadow Brook. What? Under normal conditions it would be a simple hop over a few well placed rocks. But, now… "It's time for Mr. Gadget!"

Pruning a hefty balancing stick and prepared to topple into the rapids, I gingerly crossed the white watered brook on mostly submerged rocks. For hikers coming the opposite way, I left my poker/balancing-stick on the shore for the next (would there ever be a next?) hiker.

The narratives were unclear and I was concerned about not finding the trail junction to the Olympic Stadium. My trail seemed to wander up and down as I gradually increased in altitude. Periodically, I began coming to forks in the trail. I keep left as the narrative explained However, the haunting pit in my stomach seemed to worsen with every "fork in the road" I passed. There were no trail indicators to suggest that I was on my way to the Olympic Stadium or Mt. Van Hoevenberg.

It should be simple. Follow the ski trail markers to the Olympic Stadium. But, which one? There seemed to be zillions of forks in the trails and some with arrows erroneously pointing in different directions… Could they all be all leading to… the Olympic Stadium?

Aside from feeling dizzy due to the plaguing notion that I might be lost, and the notion that these ski trails were merely crisscrossing one and other in a big loop, I also felt claustrophobic. The woods seemed to be closing in on me with no clear way home! Of course, this frenzied feeling was exacerbated by not seeing any other hikers!

After about 2 hours of perplexing and lonely trail thinking, I was finally rescued from isolation! Peeking from around the bend of the rather wide and grassy ski trail I could see the corner of a large pink tent. My pace quickened, my energy peaked, and all of a sudden I felt confident because... at that moment… I knew… "I'm one heck of an experienced backpacker! I'm in the groove! There's hikers ahead! I'm not alone after all! This has been a great trip!"