Kaladar Jack Pine Barrens Conservation Reserve -- Day Five (May 23)

Again, it rained all night.  I could not find a good sleeping position, and a whip-poor-will called throughout the night about 30 m from the tent.  I never thought that I could wish for a whip-poor-will to disappear.  However, I stayed warm and dry.  The rain had ceased when I rose about 7 AM.

After breakfast, I judged that the rain would hold off long enough for me to fetch water and wash my clothes.  It did.  By 9:15 AM, however, the skies again looked threatening.  I retreated to the tent and napped until about 11 AM.

When I rose for the second time, the clouds looked more patchy, with hints of blue.  I decided to risk a hike, this time on the south side of the highway.  I followed the highway east about 800 m to a previously-noted pull-out, then headed toward a ridge showing on the map.

The geology of the area fascinates me.  I must go back again just to check out the rocks.  The "ridge" turned out to be one side of an abrupt fault occupied by a chain of beaver ponds.  A series of parallel outcrops intercepted the fault perpendicularly:  each outcrop overlooked the ponds, while each intervening gully carried a rill or seep toward the water.  In some of the gullies, small alder swamps had developed.

I followed one of the gullies down to the bottom of fault, where one beaver pond spilled into another over a charming little beaver dam.

Gradually I made my way back to the third, largest beaver pond.  The sun broke through entirely for a few minutes.  I sat in a comfortable fold of stone, took off my shoes and socks to air my poor feet, and snacked on Cliff Bars.  Several painted turtles crawled out on to a log across the pond to bask.  For about twenty minutes, all seemed idyllic.

Then the sky closed over again.  A long black bank of cloud appeared behind the dreary, grey clouds.  Ahead of it, a cold breeze picked up.  I pulled on my raincoat and rain pants and began hiking back to camp.  The wind continued to rise in gusts.  Rain began to fall.  In the space of a few minutes, I felt the temperature drop at least five degrees.

Back at camp, I cooked and ate supper in the shelter of my tarp.  The rain thinned to a dreary drizzle, but band after band of cloud rolled through from the north -- cold and blustery.  I retreated to the tent with plans to remain until morning or until the sun returned, whichever came first.  I set a candle in my lantern and burned it for light, warmth and cheer.

To my surprise, the wind blew harder as the night wore on.  At the beginning of the week, the weather forecast had called for clearing late on the 23rd, with sunshine predicted for Friday the 24th -- my last day.  I kept expecting the wind to blow itself out -- surely a pressure gradient this steep had to be equally narrow.  But it continued unabated, shaking the tent fly and dodging under it to sweep in through the vents.  The night sounds changed:  the shivering and slapping of my cooking tarp, twigs and branches snapping in the forest, mysterious patterings in the grass like footsteps.  I burned the candle until I could stay awake no longer, then snuffed its comforting, yellow glow and snugged as deeply as possible in my sleeping bag.