Magic

May 21, 2025

Mashipacong Shelter to High Point Shelter

Mile 1342

The shelter was full by hiker midnight. It shouldn’t be a shocking revelation that rain, or even the threat of rain, will send folks looking to get under a roof for the night. For most people, the hassle isn’t the rain itself–it’s the wet gear, and the prospect of packing up said wet gear into a bag while you’re being rained on. It had rained a fair bit overnight, and was due to start again around 8 in the morning. So except for the fellow who’d been tenting at the shelter when we arrived, we all got up early to beat the rain. (I found myself wondering about him a bit over the next day or so, as he never came out of his tent after that first greeting; I hope he’s OK, and that his hike went well once he got started.)

The only clear skies we saw that day were the ones as we were just leaving the shelter

Fairchild, Trash Tye, and Vancouver were aiming for Unionville, a 14.5 mile hike. They wanted to tent on the town hall lawn. Rules about camping are pretty strict in New Jersey and New York, so a lot of hikers end up getting permission to camp at local restaurants or community centers.  Unionville was known for the pavilion in the town square where folks could camp.  About 2 miles before Unionville was a place known on FarOut as “the Secret Shelter”--a cabin with a privy someone had built on their land just a bit off-trail, made for hiker use.  Reviews on the app were divided on whether it was a good bet: some reported no door on the privy, no water from the spigot, and ticks all around; others said that everything was in working order, and that it was a great enclosed shelter to spend a night in. Also between Mashipacong and Unionville was High Point State Park, and an official AT shelter about 8 miles out. Elaine and Brian were doing the 8 miles to High Point shelter, and stopping there.

 Me? I wasn’t sure yet. I knew I could do a 14.5, but it would be a long day, full rain, and I’d end by pitching a tent on a soggy lawn. From the reviews, the Secret Shelter sounded like a place to visit rather than a destination to rely on. Since it was going to rain all day and through the evening, a roof would be preferable, but doing only 8 to the shelter would mean bigger miles tomorrow—and now that plans were made with Tom, I had to get to Wawayanda shelter by Friday. With the rain, and the spacing of the shelters, it would either be an 8/12 divide, or a 14/6 divide.  No wrong choices here, but I want sure how the day would go.

I was also just not feeling it. Maybe worrying about my dad had taken me out of the mindspace for the hike, or maybe it was the weather. The company and conversation were great, but I just didn’t want to be there. I hiked with Fairchild for a stretch, and that helped, but I was still in a foul mood. For me in that moment, the trail I was on seemed just like all the others in that rain, with the possible exception of occasional oddly-shaped boulders dotting the landscape.

I guess they’re not that weird, but every now and then there was a much larger boulder just hanging out on the side of the trail.

also a few oddly shaped trees

I was seriously thinking of calling a shuttle to hostel out at the first opportunity, which was High Point State Park, about 5.5 miles from the shelter. I would need to find a way to charge my devices before the weekend regardless, I reasoned. Why not now? 

As I slogged into the parking lot for the park headquarters, though, there was trail magic waiting. A green tent was set up and a man was cooking out of the back of his truck. Several hikers were gathered around, several of whom I knew. There was fresh fruit, a cooler full of snacks. As I gaped, he offered to make me a breakfast burrito.

I accepted, of course, and joined the chorus of appreciative exclamations. It was a godsend. Suddenly, I had some hot food, and an indoor bathroom nearby with a hot air hand dryer. There were also extra supplies around for the taking, and I was able to rig up a trash compactor bag to serve as a pack cover. There were happy people all around me. Vlobster, the man providing the trail magic, keeps the Goose Pond hostel up in Massachusetts—it’s run by the ATC, much like Bears’ Den. He strongly encouraged all of us to stop by if/when we got up there. It made me wonder fleetingly whether hostels like Goose Pond and Bears’ Den were in danger of being shut down like the 501. I sure hope not. 

I had planned to sit awhile in the park HQ and think over my options, but the trail magic energized me to the point that I headed right out without really thinking.

Leaving the High Point State Park HQ

The High Point shelter was only a couple of miles away, after all. I might even be able to go further (spoiler: I didn’t). And if I needed it, I could still call a shuttle from any road up ahead and get out of the rain.

On the way to the shelter

I orbited Elaine and Brian and we reached High Point around the same time, with plenty of afternoon left to sit under a roof and talk. Elaine blamed all the rain we’ve been having on herself–apparently, this happens whenever she goes hiking: she brings the rain with her.  In the course of the conversation, the idea of ‘Rainmaker’ as a trail name came up, and she adopted it immediately. I think she really hadn’t loved the idea of basing her hiking identity around the injuries she’d been trying to leave behind her. 

Later, a young hiker named Tyler came in, and Rainmaker set herself to the task of finding him a name, but he wasn’t ready to commit to a trail name yet. Tyler was a prolific reader, as it turned out, and so I got to enjoy some great book talk as well. Eventually, Smiles, the hiker from Wales I’d encountered back at the Mohican, rocked up. He and Baby Steps had parted ways, and he had been traveling with a hiker named Moxie in the last day or so. He expected her to arrive that evening, so we made sure there was room in the shelter. Moxie is deaf, and Smiles had been teaching himself to sign with her so he could communicate. As we caught up with each other in conversation, he was working on a small carving as a gift for her, and hoping he’d finish before she arrived tonight. I reflected that his trail name was an apt one. 

We were all damp and cold, given the weather, but it ended up being a perfectly congenial evening. I went to bed early as usual, and as I fell asleep, I found myself thinking of the way that a single event or framing can change the whole picture. I hoped that I would be able to keep myself in frame going forward.