Wildcat Shelter 11/7, 814.3

Its 2p.m. She’s insane. I know she is. She’s rocking back and forth and she has not stopped talking since she got here.

Its 2p.m. I have no tent but the weather is supposed to be nice. She is insane. I cannot imagine tolerating this for much longer.

Its 2p.m. It’s 12.4 miles to the next shelter. I’m really tired.

She’s a heroin addict, or former at least. It took her three times for her to finally understand that I had not seen the sights she had seen. I am hiking south, she is hiking north. No I do not know what the Cat Rocks look like. No I do not know if they were fun.

Tonight there are more people I have ever seen at one campsite. Four of us in the shelter. A Nazi camp of tents down the hill in the valley just 20 yards away, two tents behind us, and thirty-five boy scouts and troop leaders on the other side of the ridge. Too many people, sensory overload. Do I keep hiking?

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