So, I was flipping through some of my old LiveJournal entries (as much as someone can 'flip through' a web page), and came to late August of 2005, the week in which my good friend and outdoors partner Dan Bush and I ventured out into the back woods of Maine with a canoe, a really great atlas, and a few days open on the calendar.

I won't re-tell the entire story here, as I can't reliably remember the whole trip even after so few years. However, there is one moment that was permanently etched into my memory, and helped to define the insatiable love of wilderness that lives in many of us.

Bush and I made camp on our second night afield on a small, unnamed island in the middle of Third Machias lake in eastern Maine. Since a canoe shoulders a heavy burden with less injury or complaining than most backpackers, and we had no need to portage along our route, we had brought along enough gear to camp in relative luxury. After dinner, we sat in our camp chairs and watched the evening pale as our camp fire crackled to life, a pale solar impostor we raised in an effort to prolong the beautiful evening.

I can distinctly remember looking out through the shroud of evergreen into the heavy twilight that hung over Machias. I was stunned by the silence of a lake too far into logging country to be lined with summer homes and boat launches. Usually, the glassy waters of a lake or pond are a magnifying glass for civilization, carrying the sounds of human conversation or machinery for miles, constant reminders of our neighbors in the world. That night, the only sound carrying over the black waters of Machias were the groans of a thousand acres of white pines leaning against the wind.

That is, until I heard an eerie wail whose plaintive notes cut through the silence with alarming clarity and the kind of superhuman tonal perfection usually reserved for concert halls. I was baffled, unable to guess what could make such an emotive and shockingly loud call. When I asked Bush, a more experienced than I in the back woods, he explained that it was the call of the loon, possibly the same pair we had stalked up on and photographed earlier in our canoe.

I had heard tell of the loon's famous cry, but was nevertheless amazed that such a sound came from these diminutive waterfowl, in their black and white spotted tuxedos, riding low in the water like overloaded canoes.

That night, I laid awake in my tent, listening to a bevy of loons conversing from across the lake. It was an experience that was as humbling and spiritual as any I have encountered

http://www.atl.ec.gc.ca/wildlife/loons/sounds/wail.au

The wait continues...

Less than 6 weeks until I hop a flight to Atlanta, point myself North and see what happens!

Keeping plenty busy back home until then, working on the new (ancient) house and getting my preparations for the trail squared away.

Progress on the former is slow and steady as usual... Rough electric and plumbing are in, central vac set up, and almost ready for a final inspection before sheetrocking. I hope to get the sheetrock entirely done before leaving for my hike, that would be a pretty huge milestone.

Visited my darling eldest sister Jess in New York City last weekend. While it was a blast (as always), even 48 hours in the Big City serves to remind me of how much I prefer the great outdoors to the concrete jungle. The pangs of vertigo I got eating breakfast on the 53rd floor of Jess's building are just another gentle reminder that I am a country mouse at heart.

Just scheduled a visit down to my alma mater, American U in Washington DC, to visit my friends from school (whom I am so rudely abandoning for 2 semesters to play in the woods!).

In Trail news: I am now in the process of getting my final pack assembled. I recently spent some time making sure my trusty old Camp Trails external frame pack is dialed in and properly adjusted, and gathering up my gear from all corners of the house.

Next step: a little shopping to fill in some of the gaps on my gear list. Most importantly:
A new sleeping bag (I have decided to switch from down to synthetic)
A new 3/4 length thermarest (the old pad I got at EMS has developed yet another leak. It served pretty well for a few years, but just hasn't stood up to abuse like the thermarest can)

Also, considering a digital camera... although it is a big investment! Any guidance on this one would be appreciated

Best
Rob

Alcohol stoves

So during the course of my regular internet trolling, I came across a rather tantalizing deal on www.steepandcheap.com, my beloved purveyor of one-time surprise outdoor equipment in limited quantity (like Woot.com for gearheads).

The deal in question? The legendary Primus multifuel camp stove for 50% off, a scant $55.

This raised the thorny issue of hot food on long trails. Now, up to this point I have been a devoted fan of my MSR Whisperlite, the reliable old white gas burning jet engine that has been a workhorse for me for more than 5 years. However, I have my doubts about the availability of white gas along the trail. I know, some people who know more than I do about things will say that it is incredibly easy to find, and I'm sure they're right. However, the idea of being able to burn a lot of easy to find fuels (the Primus burns unleaded gas, LP gas cylinders, and white gas)

Enter the Alternative: denatured alcohol stoves. I have heard time and time again about these little home-made wunder-stoves, but have always had my doubts. But, with the half-price Primus sold out, I decided to bite the bullet and make a few soda can stoves.

Thanks to the great guides at PCTHiker.com (http://www.pcthiker.com/pages/gear/pepsiGstoveinstruct.shtml), i was able to bang out a few prototypes. I have to say, it was surprisingly easy. The hardest part of making my first mini stove was drinking two Red Bulls in 48 hours. Yuck.

Even more amazing? These things work. They burn idly for a minute to get up to temperature, and then suddenly ignite like a genuine gas burner in your kitchen range. They boil water in well under 10 minutes, and are silent (a great improvement from the inappropriately-named Whisperlite, which sounds like a jet turbine).

More on this, and pictures, at a later date.

Happy Trails!