Wolf Hill

Hiking up Wolf Hill has taught me a few things:

1. I am out of shape from a winter of sitting down, napping and eating
2. I need better shoes. A sneaker's sole don't cut it when you're walking over roots and rock
3. I can pant pretty hard!
4. When there is an incline of 35 degrees, they mean 35 degrees! My calves were burning
5. I forgot what shin splints were.
6. I made it

I did surprise myself on the time I took, it was only an hour but I haven't done this stuff in years so it's a good start. The other surprise were the old memories that had nothing to do with hiking that came upon me when I crossed National Grid's land. Why I was having memories of being about four years old I don't know why. I do pay attention to that, when old memories pop up for some seeming odd reason. 

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This is how it starts. It look sort of inviting as they put in railroad tie stairs for you to get up the very beginning of the trailhead. The problem is that this is the last time you see any engineering to help you out on the trail The rest is up to you. 

So far, so good, There were just some light rises and depressions to move along but the trail was open, clear and navigable 

Then as I made the turn I came upon this. Nothing but rock and all UP. This is where I find out Avia sneakers are useless on rocks like these. 

When I was coming down the path on the left, I got these weird memories from being a little kid. I wans't sure if it was the area, the sound of high voltage snapping and crackling above my head or what. But I felt as it were from some old vacation spot, trip or whatnot. I kept remembering the old Enchanted Forest kid's land that once was in operation a hundred years ago. Who knows? But the sense of deja vu was strong. 

I finally find it. This is a memorial to a WW2 crash site in the middle of nowhere. A Lockheed RB-34 lost it's engines. From the witness statements the pilot was trying like hell to restart them when the plane smacked the shit out of the top of the hill, into that boulder. When the rescuers arrived, the land was on fire, the fuselage was crumpled up against the boulder and other plane parts scattered around. A more grisly find were blackened, somewhat human being looking piles of goo thrown about the hill. There's absolutely nothing there now to suggest a plane had ground itself up there. Not even a tiny metal scrap. 

Here's the boulder and the memorial stone. I don't know how long it's been there but someone's been hiking out here putting up flags. Probably more than a few people because you can see all the memorial stones place upon that boulder as well.

The memorial itself. Again, I have no idea how old it is but another thought hit me. Who humped a 100lb gravestone and the cement to make a base all the way out here?

Coming back down the hill I came across this. A boat. Who the hell would tote a boat up a hill only to dump it in the middle of the woods? I've seen stolen cars left in the woods, that's pretty common, but this? Weird. 

I finally have a sit down to rest those legs. You can't smell it but my jeans, sneakers are covered with permethryn insecticide. The last thing I wanted to get out here are deer ticks. I don't want a months-long misdiagnosed Lyme's disease or babieosis. Bizarre blood borne pathogens are not my cup of tea so I'll stink of Union Carbide chemicals for a while.

Well that's it. My takeaway is that I can do it at 54 and probably a bit more if I got my legs a bit more worked out.