(The following story ran in the Daily Item on Aug. 31, 1998)

DALTON, MASS. — One of the most common questions I’ve fielded this summer is, “So what is a typical day like?”

On any given day, the trail differs from one person to the next; the fawn I saw by a stream may not be there when the next hiker walks by 10 minutes later.

So instead of trying to describe a typical day, I thought I’d bring you along for a day.

Morning arrives gracefully on the trail. Out here, morning is ushered in by the subtle shades of dawn and the opening notes of the songbirds.

That is what awakens me at about 6:15 a.m., a beautiful gap cut by a stream in the mountains on the Connecticut-Massachusetts border. Last night, I had pitched my tent here, not far from where rushing rapids cascaded into deep pools of icy water.

I crawl out of my tent at about 6:40 and am greeted by the coldest morning I’ve faced in more than two months. I estimate the temperature to be about 45 degrees, thought it is supposed to rise into the 70s later today.

My first order of business is to put away my sleeping bag. Then I spend another 10 or 15 minutes breaking down camp — putting away my tent and repacking my backpack.

Once that’s done, I sit down on a nearby log for breakfast. Today, that includes the usual — cereal mixed with powdered milk and water — along with a bagel and cream cheese I picked up in town yesterday. I can’t refrigerate the cream cheese, but with evening temperatures in the 40s, Mother Nature takes care of that for me.

As I eat, I study the upcoming terrain in my guidebook. My plan today is to hike 19 miles — a little above my average — and spend the night at one of the three-sided shelters that are located intermittently along the trail.

By 7:30 a.m., my pack is fully packed, I’ve changed from my sleeping clothes into my hiking clothes — that pretty much sums up my wardrobe — and I’m on my way.

As I hike out of Sage’s Ravine, I cross the Massachusetts border and begin a mile-long climb up Mount Everett. Along the way, a small garter snake slithers across the trail and several chipmunks scurry about.

The climb up Everett is strenuous but I’m rewarded with a spectacular 360-degree view. With the clean, crisp air, visibility is outstanding, and I can make out the distant peaks of the Adirondacks to the west.

After a short water break on top of Everett, I’m on the move again. Today, the gorgeous weather has brought out more hikers than I’m used to seeing. At one point, I pass a couple in their 40s out for a day hike. The woman takes one look at me — my stuffed pack, my dirty shirt and two-week-old beard — and says, “You’ve been out here awhile, huh?”

Lucky guess.

We talk for a few minutes, and then I continue north. The trail here hugs the ridgeline, and I have a gorgeous view down into the nearby valley. After about 10 miles, I stop for lunch at one particularly scenic overlook. Today, lunch includes a true trail luxury — fresh fruit. I picked up an orange yesterday during my resupply stop in town, so I have an orange, a bagel and a candy bar for lunch.

While I’m resting, I also take off my shoes and socks and let my feet dry out and breathe. I learned early on that this helps prevent blisters.

After about an hour-long break, I move on. Soon I cross paths with two “south-bounders,” thru-hikers who started in Maine and are headed to Georgia. We swap tales and tips.

Watch for porcupines in Massachusetts, they tell me, and be sure to stay on top of Stratton Mountain in Vermont. Thru-hikers can stay for free in the ski patrol warming hut, they explain, and ride the gondola down to the village.

I tell them to watch for rattlesnakes in Pennsylvania — I saw four — and be sure to stay at the Blueberry Patch in Hiawasee, Ga.

A little while later, I meet a mother and daughter out for a weeklong trip. The mother proudly points out that she is 72 and her daughter is 50. They are a delightful duo, and the mother, with a fully-loaded pack extending several inches above her white hair, is a picture of vitality.

By 5 p.m., I’m starting to tire. I know I have about four miles to go.

The terrain grows rocky, with several steep, short ascents. I am exhausted and sore when I finally reach the shelter at about 6:45 p.m.

I rest for 15 minutes or so, but dusk is already creeping in, so I quickly make my dinner — tonight that is instant soup combined with instant mashed potatoes and water heated over my one-burner backpacking stove. As trail food goes, it’s quick, relatively tasty and filling. I have oatmeal and a candy bar for dessert.

The shelter is crowded, with 10 people sleeping in it. Most are headed to Maine, a few are headed to Georgia, and two are just out for the weekend. (They are the clean ones.)

A few build a fire and sit around telling stories, but I’m too tired to join them. I’m in my sleeping bag by 9 p.m.

As I doze off, I watch the firelight reflected off the walls of the shelter, and I think about that gondola ride down Stratton Mountain.