Undercover Dirtbags

May 14, 2016 (Lost, or found, in poetry)

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Following the random tips and advice I was able to unearth about locating poets table, we knew we were at least in the area. It wasn’t easy at first, and in hindsight it really shouldn’t have been as hard to find as it was.

“Take a left at the big rock on the right side of the trail”
“Look for the broken birch that points up the hill”

“It’s a very defined trail”

“The trail isn’t very well defined”

“Go over a rock bridge, but it doesn’t look like a bridge”

We found a ladder that I had seen and read about in articles about poets. We get to the top, and the trail goes cold! This is getting frustrating. As we’re climbing to the tops of rock and following random game trails, we suddenly hear voices in the distance and see a couple walking down a steep hillside on a barely visible trail. That must be it!


Quickly we climb out of the area we were in, and start up the hill. It’s pretty steep and slippery. Like stop every 100′ to catch a breath steep. We get to the top, follow a small trail to a cliff side, and there it is! What a feeling of relief!

What we find is spectacular. A green table, some chairs and a bookcase full of trail registers going back years. Lots of trinkets people have left litter the area. Some are pretty cool, some are just plain trash.


We take a seat at the table, warm up some drinks and have a snack while we watch more fog roll into the area. The view that was supposed to amaze was completely obstructed by fog and a light rain. But we didn’t care, this is just a different kind of view.


We did some filming/interviews for a mini-documentary a friend is putting together, and then headed back down the hill.

What’s in store for our wiped out legs tomorrow? Who knows. Who cares? Not us, but we’re doing something…

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