Home Stretch! Isolation and Jackson

getting above treeline

I'd been wanting to get out to Mt. Isolation for a while, so on the weekend of September 22nd, I decided to do it. It was the first day of autumn, and was appropriately gray and misty when I arrived at the Rocky Branch trailhead at about 8 on Saturday morning. I was meeting up with Scott, a fellow Massachusetts mountain enthusiast I met at the Garfield Ridge shelter a couple of weeks before. We were spotting my car at Rocky Branch, then heading north up Route 16 in Pinkham Notch to the Glen Boulder trail, which we'd take as the approach to Isolation.

It was misting and a bit chilly as Scott and I started up the trail, and though we started off with rain jackets they were quickly shed, as the going was steep and the woods were muggy. We hit treeline shortly, and soon reached Glen Boulder, an immense rock that is actually visible from the road as you drive up Route 16. We stopped to take a couple of pictures, and then pressed on. There were some tricky hand-over-hand scrambles, made more arduous by the moist air making the rock quite slick. Blue sky grew more prevalent as we gained altitude, as we climbed up out of the fog.  It was quite beautiful, the clouds forming a pillowy floor, sweeping up over the Wildcat Range, across Pinkham Notch. We passed through a scrubby alpine grove, and back out onto the exposed mountainside. Cairns marked the way, and eventually the rock gave way to a beautiful, clear view west, and grassy alpine meadows of Bigelow's Sedge that swayed in the cool breeze. We pressed on into the Dry River Wilderness.

slippery rocks give way to scrubby alpine fields

The trail became less steep as we crossed the mountainside; we were getting up around 5000 feet and just over 3 miles when we came to the trail junction of Davis Path. Going right would take you up to Mount Washington - would've been a great day for it! - but we were going left, south, but first we took a lunch break in the sun. It was a spectacular place for lunch, positioned under a small crag, with views sweeping over the fields of scrubby burnt ochre grass, rows of cairns disappearing into the distance, and mountains in the distance shrouded in thick snowy clouds. As we ate, a group of hikers, men and women who were apparently on a over-forty Meetup hike, came up over the ridge and we exchanged greetings. They were also going to Isolation, and Sheila, one of the ladies in the group, said it was her 48th! They hiked on, and Scott and I finished up and headed down the trail after them.

junction of Glen Boulder and Davis Paths

Most of the elevation was done with at this point, we'd actually climbed almost a thousand feet over the summit of Isolation (4003'). It's name is no accident; it is pretty removed - the route we took brings us over 13 miles of mountain trails. We hiked down the Montalban ridge along muddy trails stamped with moose tracks into the col and then up a bit on the approach to Isolation. We ran into Sheila and her fellow hikers again, just as a view of Mt. Washington opened up behind us. We hiked along with them, more or less, past the junction of Rocky Branch that we'd later return to, and up the .9 miles to the summit of Isolation. If you're heading down this way, watch for the "turn" onto the summit spur on your right; it's easy to miss. We hiked up a short, steep rock face out on the open summit. The sun was out, the skies were blue, and the peak was busy with people, mostly from the Meetup group, I presumed. The view of Washington and the Southern Presidentials was terrific; Mizpah hut was visible in the distance. Everyone celebrated Sheila's final peak, and Scott and I ate another lunch. It was number 44 for me. By the end of the weekend, I'll only have 3 peaks left.

on the Davis Path, heading toward Isolation

I've seen a lot of the White Mountains since April, when I decided to climb all the peaks. The cool thing about doing "the list" is that it requires you to visit parts of the mountains that you might not otherwise, parts that are more remote and free from the throngs of tourists that flock to Tuckerman's Ravine or Franconia Ridge. Several times, the only other hikers I encountered were also peakbagging, and the common drive - some may say compulsion - to pick off peaks binds hikers together in their love for the White Mountains. Every summit is different, every peak is memorable and special, even those whose views are obscured by forests or clouds, or whose trails are muddy and blocked by Irene's blowdowns, or tangled with thorny thickets and obnoxious buzzing critters - they are all beautiful in their own right.

Fall colors coming in

We grudgingly descended from Isolation's scenic summit, and headed back down to the junction of the Davis Path and Isolation Trail, which would eventually bring us to the Rocky Branch Trail and back out to 16, where my car was parked. Sheila and two of her hiking partners accompanied me and Scott, as they didn't feel like taking the same way out, which was the plan of the rest of their Meetup group. I told them I had room for them in my truck, and I could give them a ride back to the Glen Ellis Falls area, where they parked. This last leg of the hike (it's over 7 miles from Isolation to the end of our hike) was arduous, a long haul, the trail sloping down gently most of the way, with a few easy brook crossings and lots of early fall colors coming into the foliage. The trail was very wet, at many points you're basically hiking down a shallow brook, hopping from rock to rock to avoid stepping in the water. At this point my feet were pretty wet, since I was wearing my Merrell Vents, which are light, non-waterproof, but dry quickly. But I wished I'd been wearing my boots - my feet were killing me, and my stiff, sturdy boots would have made this a lot more comfortable. I think my new rule might be for hikes longer than, say, 8 miles, I might go for the boots, even though they're heavier. As the weather gets colder, the boots will be a necessity.

We all trudged on, sometimes engaging in jovial conversation and sometimes just quietly taking in the colors in the trees that the first day of autumn was offering us. I had a minor spill, when I planted my foot on a smooth, large rock, that turned out to be slicker than I thought; I wound up splayed out on the ground in a hurry. I was fine, just a bit muddy, and carried on. Eventually, at about 6 PM, we staggered out onto the parking lot where I was parked. We were all tired and happy to be done, and we snapped a few pictures before piling into EmmyVue and heading back north to the other cars at Glen Ellis. Meeting cool people who enjoy the challenge of hiking in the Whites is really a big part of this; I feel really lucky to be able to make these connections. We all parted ways, agreeing to plan to get together again - possibly to all hike my last 4K, Carrigain - and I headed up to Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, alone, to try to rustle up some grub.

Route to Isolation

I went into the visitor center and a woman who worked there looked me up and down and said "looks like you're wearing a bit of the trail!" - I looked down and saw dried mud running the length of  my leg, a souvenir from my spill on Rocky Branch. I smiled and shrugged. I bought dinner for 23 bucks (that's with a 5 dollar AMC member discount - membership has its privileges), but it was worth it. Homemade carrot soup, fresh bread, baked chicken, salad, and strawberry-rhubarb pie for dessert. I ate heartily, and sat with several older folks, who were very friendly. A man seated directly across from me was a Vietnam vet and had lots of crazy stories about his world travels. He also told me that he had tried a couple of times to sleep in his car in the visitor center parking lot and was asked to leave - which was a bummer because that was exactly where I was planning on spending the night. I started thinking about other places I could go; there's that seedy hiker's motel in Gorham, just up the road, that caters to AT thruhikers. Wouldn't be bad, I thought; or maybe a campsite, but it was pretty dark at this point, and I didn't really feel like driving around on a campsite-goosechase. I put it out of my mind for the moment, and chatted with my tablemates. A couple of older ladies asked about a hike they could do the next day, and I recommended the Mount Willard hike from the Highland Center, which I'd never done but heard that it's the best "bang for the buck" in the area. A "small world" moment happened when I realized that one of the ladies is the mother of a guy who's in a Somerville band with guys I know. We talked for a while, and eventually everyone parted ways after we finished our pie.

early morning at PNVC

I decided to go for it, and make camp in the Vue. I had parked in the back of the lot, hoping not to attract too much attention, and I blew up my Thermarest and got cozy under my sleeping bag in the back. I couldn't stretch out all the way, but it was pretty cozy. I fell asleep quickly - 13 tough miles and a hot home-cooked meal will do that - and slept pretty well. I woke up in the middle of the night to a downpour, but it was actually kind of nice; the rain hitting my truck's roof soon lulled me back to sleep. I finally roused at about 7, having slept a fairly sound 10 hours!

After drinking a cup of coffee on the porch of the visitor center and watching the morning mist burn off into what would become a beautiful day, I headed back down 16 and headed west on 302, toward Crawford Notch. Just before reaching the Highland Center, near a large pond, I found the trailhead for the Webster-Jackson trail. I put on my Vasque boots - my shoes were still wet from the day before and didn't treat my feet well on the previous day's hike - and started up at about 9.

The Webster-Jackson trail is a pretty straight shot up, about 2 1/2 miles to the summit of Jackson (4052'). I hadn't gotten all the way to Jackson during my Presidential Traverse; sometimes it's included but we didn't have the time. It's on the smaller side of the 4000 footers but this trail isn't an easy one. Soon, I passed a sign that pointed out a "cliff view" on a side trail, and decided to check it out on the way back down. The weather was overcast, and looked like rain might be in my future. But, it held off, and grew sunnier as the day went on. About halfway to the summit, the trail splits, to the right will take you to the Webster-Cliff trail, part of the AT, which will also summit Mt. Jackson. I haven't been on the Webster-Cliff trail but I've heard it's very challenging. I bore left, and continued up.

It took me some time to get into a rhythm; I was becoming sweaty and the moist mountain air was putting a chill in my bones. Especially when the temperatures start to drop, sweat management becomes important. I didn't want to put on any other layers yet, as I would just sweat through them. I pushed on, and eventually I saw the tell-tale signs of significant elevation gain; the trees were becoming shorter and scrubbier, the air got colder and drier. I was growing a bit weary and was really looking forward to summiting. I rounded a corner, which I thought might bring me to a final scramble to the top, but instead saw the peak towering above me. There was quite a bit more to go. I sighed. It's a common occurrence, and it can be a bit disheartening. I decided to take a break and have a snack. Usually a good idea, it's amazing what a breather, some water, and some chocolate can do for your mental game and your physical stamina. Three older ladies - I'd later learn they were sisters - passed me with a very friendly black lab who stuck her nose in my pack, looking for treats. I donned my rain jacket, to conserve a little body heat and to break the wind that was beginning to pick up - and we exchanged pleasantries. They disappeared around the corner, and I took a few more minutes before getting back in my pack and trudging on. I wasn't worried about getting my rain jacket sweaty - it's not really an insulating layer - and I had my down sweater and a light fleece in my pack if I needed dry layers.

summit of Jackson

I quickly caught up with the ladies as they paused at a very steep rock face, trying to figure out how to ascend it. I scrambled up the rock without too much trouble, but there was more where that came from. Actually, this was some of the trickiest hand-over-hand scrambling I'd done in a long while; the rocks jutted from the side of the mountain, askance, with gaps and slick faces making traversing them fairly precarious. I was cautious, but the energy boost I got from my last stop carried me through. I finally saw the summit sign, and after a bit more tough climbing over slick granite, I made it to the top. It was windy and quite chilly, and after I dropped my pack I added my down coat over my rain jacket, and put on a wool hat, and was pretty comfortable. The views were partial due to blustery, cloudy skies, but they were striking. I ambled around the summit, greeting a couple of other hikers, and checked out a couple of outlooks. The sisters eventually made it up, and we took each others' pictures. I was surprised to learn they were descending the Webster Cliff trail; the conditions were wet and slick, I know that trail is tricky coming up, let alone down, and they didn't seem to be super comfortable with scrambles. I said "that's a tough trail," but I didn't want to be discouraging. I ate some sausage, dawdled a bit, and finally headed back down.

cliff view, off Webster-Jackson trail

I was glad to be heading back; I made pretty good time going back down, steadying myself with my trekking poles. I shed my additional layers and tied my bandana around my head to try to sop up some of the sweat that streamed into my eyes in the muggy woods. I passed a lot of people coming up; I got an earlier start than most, it seems. Eventually, the clouds mostly burned off and the sun came out fully, thought I couldn't enjoy it too much, as I was under a thick canopy. But, at a spot about halfway down, near a brook, a sunny spot presented itself, and I stood in the warmth for a couple of minutes. A small mountain pleasure; a little sunny patch to dry your sweat and chase the chilly ache from your bones.

Conway Scenic Railway

The descent went smoothly, other than a misstep that landed my foot in six inches of water and sent me stumbling back, landing on my ass on the trail. Thankfully no one was around, and all I could do was laugh. My boots did well, though; even stepping in water past my ankle, my foot remained dry as a bone. I exchanged greetings with several more hikers, and finally got back to the sign pointing to the cliff view. I was glad, it meant I was close to being done, and now I had a final outlook to enjoy. I scrambled up a large boulder and crossed over a small clearing to a cliff face, and a very cool view of Rt. 302 and the Highland Center. I hung out for a few minutes before heading back down. I came out to the parking area shortly; a lot more cars were there than when I arrived, 4 hours before. Not great time - well over my usual 2 MPH - but it was a nice hike. Challenging, not too long, with beautiful forest hiking and a rugged, exposed summit. As the Conway Scenic Railway chugged by, I changed into a dry shirt and jeans, and took off, up 302 to I-93, toward home.

And then there were five... a 2-day jaunt through the Northern Pemigewasset wilderness

The weather for the weekend of September 1st and 2nd looked great; 70s in the day, low 50s at night - great for hiking and sleeping outside. So, there was a 2-day backpack I had in mind that would allow me to bag a couple of peaks I needed along the rim of the Northern Pemigewasset Wilderness, Galehead and North Twin. John and I had taken this particular route last year, so I was familiar with it, at least most of it.

My route for the weekend would run up to Mt. Garfield, from the Gale River Road, off of Rt. 3. The Garfield trail connects to the AT, and from there I'd take the AT east, stay at the Garfield Ridge campsite, and then the next day continue to Galehead, and then to South Twin. From there, split with the AT and hike to North Twin, and back out. The total mileage for the weekend would be just over 15 miles.

Now, if you look at a map, you'll notice that my end spot is pretty far away from my beginning. If I was there with another person, we could spot a car on either end, but I was alone. But not to worry... I spotted my bike my end point, and then drove back to the start. Simple! But on the was back from spotting my bike, driving 60 MPH down Rt. 3, I realized just how far the bike ride back would be. And, after completing a 10-mile hike that day over some very difficult terrain. And, as it turns out, in not-so-great weather after all.

Thruhikers emerging onto the Garfield summit

I took the Garfield Ridge trail in more so because I wanted to do an overnight at Garfield Ridge, and other than Galehead Hut there wasn't much in the way of sites. And, John and I stayed there last year and it's a very cool little site. The 4.8 Garfield Trail is fairly inconsequential; a steady uphill slog through the woods, with very few views in any direction. I saw a lot of people pass me going the opposite way; I didn't actually see anyone going up like I was. There were lots of cars in the lot and along the road on the trailhead, I'm guessing a lot of these were folks doing a dayhike. I'd gotten a pretty late start - around 2 PM I think - but I only had a five mile hike the first day. After reaching the trail junction (right goes to Georgia, left goes to Maine...) I headed down a very steep trail to the campsite. I figured it was wise to get there early and claim a spot - I was counting on sleeping in the shelter but had my tarp in case. Turns out, they'd rebuilt the shelter recently, and it was a beauty. Click here to read about the new shelter. I inflated my Thermarest and stuck it in the far corner, under the loft. I laid out my sleeping bag, and changed into a dry shirt. A few people were drifting in, but there was plenty of room, as it was still pretty early. I threw a few essentials into my pack (water, extra layer, first aid kit, map, whistle, etc.) and traced my steps back up the trail to go to the summit of Garfield.

I'd gone up Garfield last summer but it was socked in, and I heard the views were great, so even thought I had already "bagged" the peak, I couldn't be this close and not go up on what was a clear, beautiful day with only a few clouds in the sky. It was a quick but steep climb, and I came out onto the vista.

Like so many of these gorgeous summits, about all you can manage to utter is "Oh, wow...", as your breathing catches up and your mind reels at the vast, wild beauty. I sat near the foundation of an old fire tower with a couple of other people, the sun and the summit breeze felt great, and began to dry the sweat I'd accumulated on the quick climb up. Three young NOBO (north-bound) thruhikers and their dog soon joined, and we chatted about their adventures, gear, and other things hikers chat about. They said their daily mileage had plummeted since hitting the White Mountains, a common occurrence. But they couldn't complain, after all; it's some of the toughest going on the whole AT, but also some of the most scenic. Everyone who comes through these mountains seems to understand what a special place it really is.

summit of Garfield

You never really can stay at these places as long as you want; at some point you have to go back down. So I did, wishing happy trails to the epic hikers, and returned to the shelter. I cooked dinner and had some great conversation with the ever-increasing number of visitors, most going the opposite way than me. We shared stories of the trail, and our plans for the rest of the long weekend. The caretaker showed up, and when he saw my form that listed Somerville as my home, we quickly discovered a connection: his sister worked at my neighborhood bar, and I know her pretty well. Small world! He was a very funny and informative guy, who seemed to be an endless font of knowledge concerning all things mountain-related, especially skiing and other winter sports, of which I know almost nothing. A few of us spent the hours of waning light and into the darkness at a little outcropping near the entrance of the site, with a beautiful view of the ridge extending out to Galehead and the Twin Range. A Blue Moon hung in the clear sky, and a shooting star streaked across it, and the caretaker pointed out a tiny glint of light on the side on the ridge in the far distance. "That's Galehead hut. They usually turn the light out right at 9." and explained that oftentimes he'd sit and for some time for it to go off. It's funny, it seems incredibly boring or pointless to sit and stare at a tiny light on a mountain miles away, waiting for the crew to extinguish it after feeding and putting all their guest to bed, but we all knew we'd do the same. Things like that make sense in the mountains.

My mom sent me a card recently with a quote from Thoreau on it. "The moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow." I felt like that much of the next day, after sleeping quite soundly and waking to a light, cold drizzle. I got my stuff together, got my food out of the steel bear box, and munched on a bagel and cream cheese I got on the way up. Everyone was milling about, waiting for the rain to stop, but it didn't seem to be letting up. It also wasn't very heavy, so I decided to get going. I stopped at the spring nearby, filled up my water bladder (I treated with tablets), and hit the AT, hiking east. It was only a couple of miles to Galehead hut, where I could get more water, so I didn't take any more than I needed. Water is heavy, after all. The hike down from the site was arduous and steep, and slick from the rain. I moved slowly, taking great care. It eventually evened out, and my thoughts were definitely flowing.

I think a lot about nature on the trail, naturally, and why it is people seem so keen on being out here in these mountains. I'm not a religious person at all, but at the top of a mountain, I have overwhelming emotional responses that some might consider spiritual; I'd agree in the sense that it's the way, as a child, I always thought I should feel in church, about god; but those feelings never came. But it's not worship for me - for it to be worship would entail believing in a diety or force that can be, and know it's being, worshipped. This is clearly not what nature is, at least I have no reason to believe that's so. With nature it's more about communing, a word I like very much in this context. We are all made of the same stuff that nature is, we are literally, atomically, the same, constructed from billions-year-old stardust. To worship nature would be to worship ourselves, which seems pretty ridiculous; to commune with nature is to commune with ourselves, our own minds and consciousnesses, which seems like a very good thing to do. With every mile, every sore foot, every sunburn, we grow to know ourselves more and more. Nature doesn't care if we're there or not, but that doesn't make the experiences we have within ourselves to be any less powerful. I think just the genders we use to think about these concepts - Mother nature, Father god - is telling about their roles in our lives. In some broad cultural sense, mothers nurture and teach compassion and communication; fathers control and impose discipline and punishment.

thruhikers on South Twin

I arrived at the Galehead hut chilly and wet, my rain jacket seemingly making me even more so due to it's ability to trap sweat in and yet somehow fail to repel water - Marmot, I love my Sawtooth sleeping bag but I'm not impressed with your Precip jacket. Time to go to REI and I fear shell out some big bucks for rain gear that actually delivers. I ditched my pack on the porch and headed inside to try to dry off and warm up. I read a book for a while about the history of the AMC huts, had some hot cocoa and a chocolate chip bar baked by the hut "croo", avoiding going back out in the cold drizzle. But, you gotta keep moving; so after a while I make the quick trip up to Galehead Mountain - finally, bagging a peak on this trip I needed - which was a bit disappointing; no views but a big pile of rocks on the summit. It's like Owl's Head all over again! I came back down to the hut, and ran into the thruhikers again. They hadn't stayed at the site, but opted to camp in the woods a few miles down the trail, probably to avoid the $8 a night site fee. Thruhikers are cheap, but you have to be, if you're taking months off to walk 2200 miles with no income. They were carrying on, loudly joking with each other in faux Jamaican accents. The thruhikers I meet in the Whites always seem a little crazy - I think you have to be to undertake such a journey anyway, but by the time they get here, they've been on the trail a loooong time.

scattered clouds on S. Twin

After filling up my water - all of it, my 2L bladder and 1L bottle since there wouldn't be another chance till I was up and over both South and North Twin - I headed up the .8 miles to the summit of South Twin. I'd done this trail before, and remembered that it was quite steep. I was trying to limit my sweating, since most all my clothes were now wet, and it was rainy and in the 50's. Hypothermia is a concern in those conditions, and mind you, it's still technically summer. This is why you don't take hiking in these mountains lightly, and always have your essentials. In my effort to control my perspiration, I found myself hiking in a way that actually made the mountain quite a bit easier to tackle. I tried to control my movements, hike steady and slow and strong, one foot in front of another. All day I'd felt like my stride was little more that a controlled stagger, I'd been lurchy and stumbly, and it was taking it's toll on my mood. Now, having made small adjustments to my pace and rhythm, I was feeling much better about things, and this steadiness followed me through to the end of the day. I will keep this in mind from now on.

I was glad to read the summit of South Twin, though it was pretty foggy. Quite beautiful, though, anyway; the clouds were blowing by and trying to burn off; the sun would peer out and patches of blue sky presented themselves here and there. It was actually really cool to see views open up, like looking outside through a drifting window, and I was hoping the sun would soon come out at last.

Happy trails leading to N. Twin

I bid a final farewell to the gang of thruhikers, as they would continue on the Appalachian Trail and I was hiking out to the north, out the North Twin trail, back to Rt. 3. I never caught their trail names, but I bet they'll make it to Mt. Katahdin no problem. Finally, travelling down in the col between the Twins, the sun finally came out! It felt really great to finally have dry, sunny weather after being chilly and damp all day. I started to dry out a bit. This might have been my favorite part of the actual hike - other than the summits. It was easy going, the forest was diverse and interesting, song birds were singing, and I was warm. After a short climb back up, I saw the sign pointing me down the North Twin trail, and one pointing to the overlook. I dropped my pack and headed out to the vista.

Garfield was great; North Twin is spectacular. Words can't do it justice, pictures are laughably inadequate. For the first time since sunrise on Mt. Bond, I was actually brought to tears by the sight. The Pemigewasset Wilderness was laid out in all its massive splendor, peak after peak, rolling mountains carpeted with countless trees of late-summer, sun-baked green. The clouds were rolling away. What I think was the warbling of a spruce grouse drifted in from the brush. I was alone, on top of the world. It was marvelous.

overlook on N. Twin

The North Twin trail was long and a steep climb down; I was very glad I wasn't walking up it. About 2 1/2 hours later, I finally made it to the trailhead where I'd spotted my bike. A few exhausted hikers laid around in the sun, and I considered joining them but I wanted to keep the momentum going: I still had to ride my bike a few miles down the road, with a full pack.I drank the remainder of my water and started riding. It was tough, especially going down the gravel roads that connect to Rt. 3. By the end, when I was nearing my car, I had to get off and walk it - I had nothing left.

As I ambled over the last couple of miles through the forest, I had thoughts that I only have when my feet beat a path across this well-worn ground. Revelations and insights come and go like a remote AM signal, insights that many have likely had on this very same trail. Sometimes the signal fades, as if in a tunnel, and sometimes you lose it altogether. But when it does come in loud and clear - and music fills your ears - you remember.

What I should have brought that I didn't have: another layer, preferably a long sleeve Smartwool job. When I wasn't sweating I was getting rained on, and a dry layer would have been welcome. • A rain jacket that actually works...

Luxury item: Thermarest Pillow. A birthday gift, and wow, it's comfy. Usually cram clothes into a stuff sack for a pillow but it doesn't work well. I strapped this to the outside of my pack and credit it (along with my Thermarest Prolite and Sawtooth bag) for getting a better-than-average night's sleep. Might not carry it for a long trip, due to its weight, but for an overnight backpack or car camping, I'll deal with it for a night's sleep almost as comfortable as at home.

Glad I had: Extra socks, as usual. • Light Warm hat; small synthetic bike hat with fleece liner. • Down Jacket; wore at camp when it got dark and cooler, in the morning under my rain jacket before I started hiking. • MSR Pocket Rocket stove: While others were futzing around with iso stoves that have to be assembled like a puzzle or boiling water slightly faster with a Jet Boil the size of a rocket engine, my trusty, lightweight Pocket Rocket boiled water for dinner almost as quick, even on my cookpot without a lid (note: get a cookpot with a lid). • Patagonia Capilene long top & bottom. Haven't used them til now, since it's cooling off; they're warm, dry quickly, light and comfy.

Forgot: Coffee. D'oh!