From Hidden Lake on my interest in photography waned as my back muscles began to spasm, bending me at the waist into the classic Quasimodo stance. Vin, from Maine, came to my aid carrying my pack the last mile and lending me a walking stick replacing the one I left behind at Glade House, it helped. We were each met at Pompolona Lodge with sliced fruit and orange juice.

Story has it the lodge is named for the mutton fat candle scones that were Quintin MacKinnon's specialty. We did have scones, mercifully not authentic Pompolonas.