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.