Stats and Final Thoughts

Day	Setting	Miles hiked	Miles by auto	Sleeping Arrangements
1	Road, High Park, Waterfront Trail, Glen Erin Trail	13.2	9.6 (bus)	Hotel (Glenerin Inn)
2	Kulham Trail, Road, Kelso Conversation Area	8.5	16.9 (bus)	Public campground (Kelso)
3	Bruce Trail	9	0	Unauthorized camping
4	Bruce Trail	14.7	0	Unauthorized camping
5	Bruce Trail	18	0	B&B (Dundas Glen)
6	Bruce Trail	13.7	0	Hotel (Homewood Suites)
7	Bruce Trail, Red Hill Trail	7	0	Hotel (Carmen's)
8	Bruce Trail	10.9	0	Established but probably unauthorized campsite
9	Bruce Trail	7.7	0	B&B (Crown Ridge)
10	Bruce Trail	9.5	0	Unauthorized camping
11	Bruce Trail	13.5	0	Patently illegal camping (Short Hills)
12	Bruce Trail	12.2	0	Hotel (Stone Mill Inn)
13	Bruce Trail, Brock Trail	14.5	0	Hotel (South Landing Inn)
14	Niagra River Recreation Trail, Road, Conservation Trail	7.5	0	Hotel (Red Coach Inn)
15	Conservation Trail, Road	8.3	14.6 (bus)	Hotel (Lafayette)
16	Conservation Trail	12.7	24 (taxi)	Official landowner-permitted campsite
17	Conservation Trail	13	0	Semi-authorized camping next to cabin
18	Conservation Trail	13.4	0	Unauthorized camping
19	Conservation Trail, Nature Trail Loop, FLT	15.1	0	Camping in Bear Creek State Forest
20	FLT	10.6	0	Camping in Bush Hill State Forest
21	FLT	21	0	Unauthorized camping
22	FLT	16.9	0	Hesse Lean-to
23	FLT	10	0	Airbnb (Dave's)
24	FLT	12	0	Bossard's cabin
25	FLT	13	0	Camping in Bully Hill State Forest
26	FLT	9.1	0	Hotel (Hornell Days Inn)
27	FLT, road detour	14.5	0	Burt Hill Lean-to
28	FLT	18.2	0	Hickory Hill Lean-to
29	FLT	8.4	0	Hotel (Vinehurst)
30	FLT	11	0	Camping in Birdseye Hollow State Forest
31	FLT	16	0	Official campsite in Goundry Hill State Forest
32	FLT	13	0	Camping in Sugar Hill State Forest
33	FLT	8.4	0	Hotel (Villager)
34	Watkins Glen (zero day)	0	0	Hotel (Villager)
35	FLT	10.5	0	Camping in Finger Lakes National Forest
36	FLT	16.2	0	Camping in Connecticut Hill Wildlife Mgmt Area
37	FLT	14.1	0	Sierra Lean-to in Robert Tremen State Park
38	FLT	15.6	0	Airbnb (Karenville)
39	FLT	14.8	0	Camping in Shindagin Hollow State Forest
40	FLT, short bushwack in Potato Hill State Forest	11.4	0	Camping in Robinson Hollow State Forest
41	FLT	13.1	0	Camping in Kennedy State Forest
42	FLT	13	0	Camping in Tuller Hill State Forest
43	FLT, road	9.5	0	Hotel (Cortland Hampton Inn)

About 513 miles hiked total, about 12 miles a day average. Sleeping breakdown was 16 nights posh (hotels, b&bs, airbnbs) and 27 nights rough (camping and primitive shelters.) These numbers aren't particularly impressive in the through-hiking world, but it's the way we like to do things! Thanks for sharing our trip, D&J

Day 43 (Sept 25)

Noisy hoots from an owl very close by, right at dawn. I guess that's our alarm clock. Let's do it.

Rough and washed out trail as we finish up Tuller Hill State Forest and wiggle down to civilization. A nice museum of rusty contraptions:

With heavy hearts we sign into the very last trail register:

And minutes later we're down on the road. Technically we're still on the Finger Lakes Trail for the next 3.6 miles, because it takes a very major detour north towards Cortland in order to get to a bridge across the Tioughnioga River. (That river doesn't actually look too deep. A few nicely placed boulders and I bet we could hop it.)

Along the way, this imposing totem to property rights:

This is elaborate but not atypical. In Canada I think I could count the number of "No Trespassing" signs on two fingers, but pretty much all the private land in New York State is posted. It's generally just the boilerplate "No hunting/fishing/trespassing for any purpose, violators will be prosecuted" but pictures of firearms accompanied by "We don't call 911" (or the slightly gentler "Protected by Smith & Wesson, THEN we call 911") are prevalent. Even many property owners who actually allow the FLT through will still have the POSTED spiel, right on the blazed trail. I wouldn't want to deny landowners the joy of hanging signs around, but perhaps they could be a little more lenient with their prohibitions. I'm imagining some sort of customizable set of rules akin to the Creative Commons licenses: 

"Private property,

No hunting / Hunting by permission only

Trespassing permitted / Trespassers must remain on trail

No camping  / Camping for 2 days max / No fires

No dogs / dogs on leash only," etc, all with cute little intuitive graphics. Well, a fella can dream.

We ruminate on these dreams as we walk, and with little warning, we arrive at the city limits of Cortland:

In the near distance, you can see where the sidewalk ends -- or for us, begins. Here are some sights from our tour of Cortland:

At what point does a hike really end? I think for us, at the Green Arch. We're lucky enough to get a table here for dinner -- what a fantastic place. It's like an Italian version of Peter Luger, with pork chops instead of porterhouses and old fashioneds instead of martinis. After a meal like this, there's no denying that we're no longer in trail mode.

Tonight, a soothing stay at the Cortland Hampton Inn. We chose this town because it has bus service to New York City, so tomorrow we'll hop the Greyhound and see just how unfit for city living we've grown. Fingers crossed. Thanks for sharing our journey! I'll post some coda and statistics soon.

Day 42 (Sept 24)

A joyful morning on Owego Hill. Can't recommend this little hill enough. Looks like there used to be a small mine or stone quarry here.

Amid our joy, a little unspoken sadness. The elephant in the tent is that this hike will soon be over; in fact this will be our last full day on the trail. We're not ready to leave, and we're not at all close to home... we're still weeks away from even our Plan B goal of reaching the Catskills. But we've got some slightly pressing bits of business back in the city that might not keep well without our intervention. Plus we're not really well equipped for the colder weather that the coming weeks will probably bring. Another reason is the fall deer season, which starts October 1 for archery hunters. A lot of the private land trail sections will start closing for the season. It's still a week away, but in that week we're not going to find a better place to bail than the town of Cortland (with bus service back to NYC), which we'll be quite close to tomorrow.

So it's settled. Let's enjoy our last day and night on the FLT.

We breeze down to the lovely Foxfire Lean-to, which we'd considered aiming for last night. No regrets -- doesn't look like anyone was here, but there's a lot of trash from what looks like a recent Polynesian-themed party, to which a large family of mice was invited towards the end. We haven't encountered a trash can since Karenville and we're actually carrying more garbage than food at this point, but knowing that we'll be in town soon, I can't help cleaning up a bit... tragedy of the commons and all that.

The weather is perfect: bright and warm with just a little cool wind. The trail is lush but well-kept. We cross over Greek Peak and Virgil Mountain, small-scale skiing destinations. We nab the very last blackberries from a well-picked-over bush.

The map indicates that we will pass an old boiler on the side of the trail:

Indeed! But what did it boil? And why here?

Shortly we pass "Gatherings, Restaurant and Cabins," also called out on the hiking map. But it's changed its mission and now just does events, the kind of events where you'd want a cabin nearby after dinner I guess... weddings, reunions? No longer of much use to passing hikers; it's locked up tight, but we're thrilled to avail ourselves of their dumpster.

Back into a lovely pine woods dubbed Tuller Hill State Forest. Sadly it seems the whole place is subject to the constant drone from nearby Interstate 81, but here's where we'll spend our final night on the trail. There's a shelter here, Woodchuck Hollow Lean-to, decked out with Bibles and flags and patriotic bunting. No one there, but it sort of still feels claimed. Not that great a structure anyway, says Deb, and no table. We continue, but not far, because there's not far to go -- another few miles and we'll be down by the highway. In a soft spot near a rushing brook, we pitch our humble home for the last time.

Cheer up! Here are some more lovely fungi:

Day 41 (Sept 23)

Good morning!

Grandma's oatmeal cookies, purchased from Young's gas station near Robert Tremen State Park, make a poor breakfast. Luckily the sun is shining, so we're running on solar energy today.

Beautiful trail down to Highway 38, near Dryden. Here we find a couple of good apples, just within reach. Then we're shunted for a quick spell onto the Jim Schug Trail, an old railroad bed turned bike path through the swamps above Dryden Lake.

Jim Schug has provided us with benches every half mile, and we take advantage for a long sunny lunch, spreading out all our moistened possessions to dry, to the amusement of a few passing joggers.

It works, though; we're dry down to the boots. It eases the toes and the mind, not to mention the weight savings!

Here's a pair of nice looking horses on the way back into the woods:

Unfortunately, as we proceed eastward, the trail takes on a less pleasant character due to a large logging operation. Shouldn't be a surprise, since the land is actually owned by a lumber company, so really it's pretty delightful that they let the trail through here at all. But trudging through the muddy ruts in our just-dried boots is a bit of a heartbreak.

Also jarring, a short run along the right-of-way of some deafening power lines. My theory that the electric field somehow attracts and hypnotizes a large population of invisible crickets seems to be false, according to Scientific American. This is just something that high-voltage power lines do, especially older designs, especially in bad weather. The weather's great so these must be quite old.

Soon back in the state forest again, to our great relief. A wide and gentle path winds slowly up a crystal-clear creek. We make a splendid campsite and dinner at the top of Owego Hill.

We fall asleep to an elaborate conversation hooted by surrounding owls. Going by the sound samples at owlpages.com, I'm going to guess Great-horned.

Day 40 (Sept 22)

The rain's still pouring in the morning, and we patiently wait for it to stop. The tarp's kept the tent reasonably dry. One of the advantages of the tarp-over-the-tent approach is that we can pack up everything except the tarp and the rope without being exposed, and then lash those to the outside of the pack, after a good shake-off. The system works, sort of, but we're still damp and cold. Looks like it's going to be a sunless day.

No sign of life from the idyllic pigsty down by the creek below. Resisting the temptation to jog down the trail and write "caution: shelter hogs!" on the white Subaru at the trailhead, I'll have to settle for scribbling a nasty note in the next trail register.

That's a Wegmans trail register, by the way. Earlier in the hike I scoffed at the trailside advertising on the Bruce Trail in Canada, but it turns out the Finger Lakes Trail isn't free from this sort of encroachment either. There have been several of these mailbox registers since we hooked up with the FLT, nominally related to some sort of public fitness initiative, all sponsored by Wegmans. They're often located in close proximity to the official FLT registers, so that's a bit annoying. The official Wegmans FLT pamphlet actually has some useful maps in it, though.

If you like rock piles, that pile of rocks around the mailbox may look impressive, but there's more to come:

Has Andy Goldsworthy been hiking out here?

As we get further from Ithaca, the cairn art and private easements peter out, and we're doing a fair amount on the road. We short-cut just a tad of this to dodge a road repair crew on our way into Potato Hill State Forest, the first bushwacking we've done since joining the FLT. (Though of course we've wacked plenty of brambles and nettles in the literal sense, right in the trail.)

During a short stretch on busy Highway 79, we attract the attention of territorial dog, who rouses himself and makes a beeline for us, snapping and barking. We jog across the highway to avoid him, but he bounds fearlessly after us and is inches away from being plowed over by a fast-moving pickup. The dog's owner chases after, screaming in horror. Wow. Tense. Sorry?

Thankfully, we're soon back in the woods, at the next shelter. Tempting to spread out, hang all of our wet items all over, and scare off latecomers, but Deb judges the place is not stupendous enough to be worth the karma hit. So we push on a bit and make a camp in a quiet piney hilltop, cozy enough for now.

Day 39 (Sept 21)

Breakfast at Karenville is an elaborate feast, with our hosts' offerings augmented by contributions from our fellow guests. Last night's campfire-baked bread is accompanied by coffee, juice, oatmeal, pancakes, pesto, goat cheese, sausage, hand-whipped peaches and cream, and a wild mushroom frittata courtesy of Robert's wildcrafting and Karen's hens. Having hiked in on strict rations, we've got nothing to offer, but we are not only not chided but earnestly encouraged to stuff ourselves like mad. Which we do. Thanks, humans and chickens! So long, Karenville!

Really great trail (or maybe just a fine mood?) in both the balance of Danby State Forest and afterwards over a lot of excellently-maintained private property, with scant road walking. The landscape is hilly forest with some great little creeks and bridges. In Shindagin Hollow State Forest we pass through an area crisscrossed by mountain bike trails, but nobody's biking today.

Heavy rain predicted for the evening, so we're heading for a shelter -- the Shindagin Lean-to, specifically recommended as scenic and peaceful by Karen of Karenville. As usual, I like the idea of leaning-to...

...while Deb is more cautious with her affections for this style of camping, usually persuadable only by the foulest weather or the most excellent architecture and landscaping. And though our spell at Karenville has softened our hearts a bit on short-term communal dwelling, we still can't help hoping that we'll get the place to ourselves.

Approaching the shelter, these hopes are dashed as we smell a campfire. But hey, last night's group campfire was a joy! We never (hardly ever) light one ourselves, but if someone else wants to do the work we're happy to crowd in...

Ah, but that depends on the crowd. One glance at the lean-to and we can see we're dealing with unabashed shelter hogs. Inside, camping gear is strewn on every surface, and two hammocks hang longwise, leaving no room for our sleeping bags. Outside is a large tent and a rigged clothing line with what looks like a week's laundry for a family of five. But they are only two! A heterosexual couple from Binghamton, we glean from the teensiest of small talk.

"Are you hiking the white trail or the blue trail?" inquires the male with poorly feigned comradery. This is a pretty silly question. The Finger Lakes Trail is blazed in white, while the blue blazes mark the short side trail that leads from the shelter to the outhouse. It's clear from the accumulata that these folks have been here for some days, and if they don't know their way to the privy, I shudder to think where they've been depositing their refuse. There are a lot of buckets and jugs scattered around, among the tarps, packs, hatchets, knives, stoves, and piles of unidentifiable equipment, mostly in camo.

Nonetheless, the rain is clearly coming, and what we expect -- standard operating procedure in this situation, universal hiker etiquette -- is that they would apologize for spreading over the whole shelter, clear room for us, and welcome us in. Especially in the rain. That's what's generally happened in these sorts of situations in the past, and we've been on both sides of it. Not a move was made in that direction though. The male, made aware of our desire to claim some space in the shelter, merely assures us that this is their last night and they'll be gone tomorrow. Well that doesn't do us a heck of a lot of good. The female only giggles sullenly, staring at the dirt.

Years ago, while hiking the Long Trail in northern Vermont, we'd been given an unsatisfactory welcome by a gloomy lean-to first-comer by the name of Greylock. He strongly encouraged us to make a little more distance and keep hiking to the next shelter, which he claimed was just over a mile away. Though his ulterior motive was clear enough, naively we trusted him and didn't even check the map. Well it was 4.3 miles away, it got dark, it rained like crazy, and Deb slipped on a slimy puncheon and seriously injured her knee, which compromised our entire trip. And we vowed never to heed inhospitable shelter vibes again, especially when pitted against inhospitable weather.

But Greylock was merely an obnoxious asshole. These guys are weird. And they're armed. I would not sleep peacefully amid their filth, beneath their hammocks. So, breaking the vow, I insist that we move on.

The rain's beginning to fall in earnest though, so we're frantically looking for a campsite with a few close trees to hang our tarp from. Just in time, I find the perfect spot! Okay, not quite just in time; in fact I'm absolutely soaked through while shoving in the last few stakes, but at least Deb's mostly dry. And it's not perfect; it's got a giant rock sticking up, but at least it's more or less in the middle.

...And I thought we'd pitched far enough away from the lean-to, but even through the rain we can hear the Binghamton shelter hogs hollering and whooping in the dark, enjoying the storm under their sturdy roof. Deb shouts at them to pipe down. And they do! Hey, we're weird and armed too.

Day 38 (Sept 20)

We cross the highway and take a quick detour north to the Eddydale Farm Stand.

Not much for us in the way of produce... we're not in the market for pumpkins or giant cookies. But we enjoy a second breakfast of corn chips and cheddar cheese while we wait for the phone to charge a little.

This farm stand will be as close as we get to the city of Ithaca. There's even a bus stop here; we could give up the trail, ride into town, and catch a Greyhound back to New York should we choose. Nah, let's keep going!

"Ithaca is gorges" is the unofficial town motto. The Finger Lakes Trail takes us up the gorge of the Lick Brook, with excellent cascades and pools that must be thick with swimmers in the warmer season.

Next is another segment of private property, with some road walking and some trails with wacky notes from the landowners. A lot of people on the trail in sporty attire -- looks like it's a popular jogging destination.

The end of the day takes us into Danby State Forest, where we can once again camp with impunity. But it's our anniversary and we're feeling celebratory, so we've got something else planned: A night in the whimsical village of Karenville.

This place popped up on AirBnb, not far offtrail, and we couldn't resist. It's an off-grid compound of tiny homemade buildings right on the edge of the state forest. Turns out Karenville is a pretty popular place, but luckily one little house was available for us.

Also of great interest to us was the shower. Grab a bucketfull of rainwater, heat it on the gas stove, pour it into a bucket with a faucet at the bottom, and it's pure bliss. There's no denying that we got clean.

Above, the shower house (with pink vent), the "hotel" (the grandest of the micro-dwellings), the greenhouse (mmm fresh basil) and the fire station (extinguisher and first aid kit.)

Here's the sitting room and the cafe, whose antique stove provides heat for the shower and for our anniversary pasta dinner. The fresh basil is put to good use, and a few greens from the garden, and the tiny box of secret wine we've been carrying since Watkins Glen. Grand and delicious! And as the sun dips, we're clean, full, and sleepy...

The hosts and other guests of Karenville, of course, are not running on hiker time. They been busy in Ithaca all day and reconvene for an evening of congeniality. The founder, Karen, is a survival skills teacher, and demonstrates the art of baking skillet bread in a campfire. Her partner Robert roasts mushroom and sausage, and plies us with red wine. Our fellow guests are friendly people too, and we share some common interests, such as eating, sleeping in strange places, and huddling around fires.

The fire's still going strong, but eventually we can't keep our eyes open, and toddle off to our little house in the corner of the property. We can only party so much!

Day 37 (Sept 19)

A cold, restless night and a chilly breakfast. We're beginning to doubt the wisdom of travelling with no stove. No way to warm up except to quickly pack and hit the trail. The forest is crisp and quiet.

Leaving Connecticut Hill, we're surrounded by private land and mostly on roads for four miles, but as we get further east a few landowners have embraced the trail and allow passage. One includes a lively homemade map of the grounds, with notes on particular tree groves and other trails and campsites planned for the future.

We're closing in on Ithaca, NY, which sits at the south end of Cayuga Lake, the second largest of the Finger Lakes after Seneca. The trail doesn't get all that close to town (or to the lake), but perhaps some of the famous sharing-is-caring peacenik ethics of New York's "most liberal city" have begun to influence the surrounding land use choices. Works for me.

As of now, though, there's only one place that actually welcomes us for the night -- a shelter at Robert Tremen State Park, specifically reserved for Finger Lakes Trail hikers. 

Again, it's iffy to be putting the tent in there, especially in such a small lean-to, but the nights have been getting quite cold, and there really don't seem to be any other hikers around. (Deb is worried, of course...)

Unfortunately, the lean-to (and the whole state park) is very near to some noisy major highways. Fortunately, one of these highways sports a gas station convenience store within walking distance. Unfortunately, the food they serve is hard to keep down. Fortunately, they sell lemonade, which we mix with our trail-magic vodka for a stomach-soothing nightcap.

Day 36 (Sept 18)

Steeply downhill into the swamps of Texas Hollow State Forest, and steeply back up again. There's nothing even remotely Texan about the place. If I were inclined to name a forest after Texas, I'd first make sure it's flat and dry and shaped like a belt buckle.

Out across empty county roads with open fields and wildflowers. That's a little more like it! (Like Texas, I mean.)

A steady cool breeze. Not too long ago, roadwalking on a cloudy day like this, we'd have been chasing the shadows, but now we're chasing the sunny spots.

The road takes us into Rogers Hill Motorsports Area, sounds noisy but it's tranquil and empty.

It's unclear who owns this, or even what the sports in question are -- maybe just winter stuff? -- but it's kind of them to let the trail through here. There are campsites, privies, a shelter, and even a trash can.

Coasting pleasantly downhill on what I'm guessing are snowmobile trails, we arrive at the Schuyler County Veterans Memorial Park.

This picture shows one of two bronze eagle sculptures; the other is balanced on its wingtip and slowly rotating. Hmm, I smell electricity! Good thing too, as the phone is nearly dead already. I've been snapping too many pictures.

This is an eventful spot. A small news crew arrives, and a young TV reporter does several takes of "It was here in Odessa where he took part in a reenactment and stole from another reenactor, a crime that landed him 100 days in the Schuyler County Jail," then they pack up and drive away. The thief in question is Eric Frein, a deranged survivalist who's now on the FBI's most wanted list for murdering state trooper in Pennsylvania a few days ago. Hope he's not holed up anywhere in the woods around here. [Update: Captured October 30th.]

A cute little produce stand across the street, noted in the photo above, tempts us with some fresh peppers, but we've foolishly spent all of our coins and small bills at Berta's in Burdett. Inquiring for change at the house, I'm quickly cornered by the largest German Sheperd I've ever seen, the size of a state fair hog, snarling and salivating. "Bear! Get back here! Bear! You get inside! Bear! Bear! I told you to get back inside!" His name is Bear. Reluctantly he obeys and I get the change. Those'd better be really good peppers.

At least this drama has given us time for a good charge on the phone. The park also has water, a trash can, and a porta-potty. Thanks, Schuyler County vets!

We follow the dank and fetid Cayuta Creek upstream into the Connecticut Hill Wildlife Management Area. At 11,645 acres, it's the largest contiguous block of semi-wilderness that we'll pass through on this hike. It's got peaceful forests, slatey gorges, and some sturdy bridges:

Regulations are a little stricter -- we can only stay one night within the boundaries without a permit -- so we have to push about halfway through. It's kind of dank, which is nice for the mushrooms. Deb swears these are chanterelles:

But we're not brave enough to find out. Here are some other fungi, our only friends in the dankness:

I keep telling Deb to stop picking those things unless she's planning to eat them, but of course, these mushrooms only put out their fruiting bodies in order to spread their spores... so it's generally not seen as inhumane to help this process a little.

Deb constructs luscious prosciutto, Swiss, and pepper sandwiches. They really are pretty good peppers. The wind's getting quite cold now, and as we dress for bed in all our layers, our pillows shrink down to small, hard lumps. (Because we use our clothing bags as pillows, of course.) Luckily the ground is soft, if a little dank.

Day 35 (Sept 17)

Heavily laden but in good repair, we follow the blazed sidewalk out of Watkins Glen, through a handy lakeside park (restrooms, trash cans, and outlets! A hiker's dream! Also the lake is nice.) and up the smaller, less-famous gorge on the east side of town. Not even sure what it's called. Fun, though. Our waiter from last night had advised us to look for the remains of an old fort up here, but we can't spot it.

A bit of road walk on Jolly Road and Middle Road. Jolly Road is as good as it sounds, full of treasure! Deb found $15 and I found a small bottle of Grey Goose vodka.

Who's luckier, really? (Can't just go by weight and price because in these parts vodka is much scarcer than cash ... sadly, that is a glass bottle though.)

Middle Road is a quiet dirt path with a great view of the lake (our last, as is turns out.)

In the distance, the Watkins Glen harbor with its wine and boats. Looks like there's a construction project happening up here, though, maybe the big lakeside condo development we saw advertised in a downtown window last night? I worry for the FLT. Technically this stretch of trail is already a road walk, but it's going to be a lot less pleasant once hikers have to start dodging vehicular traffic. Hopefully the condo board will do the right thing and route the trail along the penthouse terraces, with frequent restrooms and trash cans, maybe a snack bar?

We follow Hector Falls Creek up to the surprise village of Burdett. Somehow my research had failed to reveal this place, but it's real, right on the trail, and there's even a delicious cafe open for lunch (Berta's) as well a couple of bars that open later. No stores though.

We return to semi-wilderness in the Finger Lakes National Forest. Much of this land was once vineyards, and few surviving grapes still greet us along the way.

Toward evening we encounter a gang of Hobart students (from Geneva, at the far north end of Seneca Lake) attempting to harvest salamanders .. for science? Luckily for the salamanders they seem pretty complacent.

Nonetheless we don't really relish the idea of camping alongside these huntresses, so Deb throws up a quick wall:

"Good fences make good neighbors." It's hard not to think about Robert Frost sometimes, what with all the walls and birches and forks in the road.

We're really not sure what the camping regulations are here in the National Forest, so we're just going to assume they're the same as the state forests and camp anywhere we like, on our side of the wall. Maybe we're a little complacent too.