Oct 7

Katahdin

Everyone was up with the sun this morning.  I got my tent and the rest of my gear packed up, and waited.  The rest of the guys were all ready to start hiking around 7:30am.  My family wasn't here yet, but they should be on their way.  The guys went on ahead and started up the mountain, but I decided that I wanted to wait for my family to show up.  My dad and my little brother were going to try the climb with me, and I was excited to show them what it was like to be above tree line.  They've never done any hiking quite like this before.  This is going to be so cool for them to see.  Dad said to go ahead and summit if I thought I needed to, but I really wanted to go with them.  I'm not sure if they would have tried on their own if I had started out ahead.

Tripping Yeti, ready to summit in full costume.

A little after 8am the car pulled up.  I haven't seen my family in almost 4 months.  After hugs and pictures, I showed them around the campground a bit.  The weather forecast at the ranger station called for afternoon showers.  Time to get a move on.

Mom, Dad, and my brother with me at Katahdin Stream Campground.

We followed the white blazes away from the campground and into the woods.  The initial section of the trail was really nice, following the course of Katahdin Stream, gently climbing uphill.  After about a mile or so, the grade started to get steeper.  Often the trail had water running down it.  It took a lot of time to dodge the puddles and step up and over huge rocks along the way.  As the trees began to get shorter and shorter, the trail got steeper and steeper.  We stopped often to turn around and look at the incredible views behind us.  We've gained a couple thousand feet now, and broke out above tree line.  The trail was nothing but rocks and boulders, requiring some hand over hand climbing.  We stopped to rest on a rock ledge, and looked out into the valley below.  The land below was on fire with orange foliage.  The sister mountains around Katahdin, which had looked so big from the bottom this morning, were shrinking from this vantage point.  We kept climbing and crawling over the rocks.  Then we came to a really tough obstacle.  A huge rock ledge, with one ladder rung about 7 feet overhead.  I grabbed on to the rung, stuck one foot onto a small crack in the rock, and used my arms to pull myself up and over the ledge.  Dad was uneasy about trying to get up and over the ledge, and rightly so.  We could have helped him up for sure, but this is probably going to the first of many tough spots.  We're still over 2 miles from the summit, and even if he got up, we still have to come back down.  It was a difficult decision to make, because he really wanted to get to the summit with me, but we wisely decided that he shouldn't try to go any further.  Fortunately, right at that moment, another thru-hiker was coming down the mountain.  I had met Smiley several times before, and he offered to take Dad back down the trail to the campground.  I was really proud that he made it this far, and so happy that he got to see those amazing views above tree line.  It was really tough to have to keep going without him, but I tried to keep a strong face.  Not only do I have to make it to the summit, but I need to keep an eye on my brother and make sure he's okay on the climb.

Resting at tree line.

As suspected, the trail got even more difficult.  I tried to maintain 3 points of contact at all times as I pulled myself up and over more boulders and rocky slabs.  I've certainly done climbing like this before in New Hampshire and Maine, but this was probably the toughest climb of them all.  As we neared the top of the steepest part of the climb, Slims, Rainbow, and Apache were on their way down.  I could see it had been physically and emotionally tough for them, but at the same time, they said it was awesome at the top.  My brother and I carefully made our way up to "The Gateway" - the end of the steep boulder field, and the beginning of a plateau at the top of the mountain.  We climbed over the last boulder and stepped out onto "The Tablelands".

Looking up at "The Gateway".

Looking behind us, we could see the thin ribbon of rocks and white blazes on the arm of the mountain we had just come up.  The slopes dropped off incredibly steep on either side.  The look on my brother's face was priceless.  Without words, he seemed to say, "what did you just get me into!?".  Welcome to Maine bro.

Near the top.

The Tablelands were more or less in a cloud.  The trail was soaking wet.  As we moved up and on, the cloud got thicker until visibility was maybe a hundred feet or so.  Rocks and signposts were covered in a layer of ice that stuck out sideways in the direction of the blowing wind.  We passed Thoreau Spring, where crystal clear water was pouring out from under a rock, way up at 4600 feet.  A plaque noted that Henry David Thoreau had hiked up Katahdin in 1846, a climb that helped in his writing of "The Maine Woods".  Even here at the end, the lesson in American history experienced while hiking the AT is ever present.

In "The Tablelands".  Yep, that's ice.

In the distance, at the top of a short climb, I saw the silhouette of a sign.  The sign.  The end of the trail.  I told by brother to go on ahead of me.  I stopped to try to compose myself and think about what was about to happen.  In an instant, a slideshow flashed in my head.  I saw white blazes, rhododendrons in bloom, fir trees, dark forests, sunny hillsides, and dozens of smiling faces.  As I neared the sign, my hands were trembling and my lip quivered.  My eyes welled up.  I reached out an touched that sign.  It did exist.  With my arm draped across it, I rested my head on the sign.  After a few moments, I lifted my head, pumped my fist, and managed to choke out a few words - "I did it!".

I am - a thru-hiker!

A man was at the top the same time as us and offered to take our picture at the sign.  I can only imagine what he was thinking seeing me up there with emotion bubbling over.  My brother explained to him that I had just finished hiking from Georgia.  The man's jaw dropped.  After some picture taking, we wrapped things up, and started to make our way back down the mountain.  It was getting cold up here, and it could start raining, or worse, at any minute.  The climb back down was much easier with gravity on our side now.  Even with 2184 miles under my feet, I was tired and sore from climbing Katahdin.  That was such a perfect end to the trail.  I felt like each section prepared you in some way for the next as you headed north.  Then to end it all with Katahdin.  What an amazing mountain.  Words can't describe it adequately.  How sublimely beautiful it was.  The AT saves its best for last.

Me and my brother at the northern terminus of the AT.  
Baxter Peak, Mt. Katahdin - elev. 5268 ft. 

Over the past few weeks, I had plenty of time to think about the end.  Of course I wasn't sure about how it would unfold exactly, but I wasn't at all prepared once it actually happened.  There was no grand epiphany.  No flash of meaning or purpose.  It was just over.  No more hiking left.  No more pasta sides for dinner, no more resupply.  No more spring water.  No more sleeping in the woods.  No more campfires.  The drive out of the park, on the way to Millinocket was a blur.  I kept looking back again and again, trying to get a glimpse of Katahdin.  It's amazing how you can feel so excited and happy, but empty and sad, all at the same time.  After all of this, I was glad I was done with this thru-hike, but I didn't want to leave the trail.  I'm sure going to miss this.  Going home is going to be hard.

Oct 6

Perfect timing

Up at first light this morning, looking to get an early start.  Old Tomato's parents drove into the park early, and brought us all McDonalds for breakfast.  We headed over to the ranger station to check in before heading up the mountain.  The weather reports in the park change daily.  Bad news from the ranger.  What was a chance of showers yesterday is now a nasty storm is blowing in.  100% chance of rain.  Wind gusts on the summit are expected to be in the 50-60mph range.  It's going to be chilly down here at the base, but up at elevation, colder temperatures means a high probability for sleet and ice.  Not the news I wanted to hear for hiking up the mountain today.  I've been in wind like that back on Mt. Moosilauke, and I got snowed on in the spring back in the highlands of Tennessee.  I've been hiking in 30 degree weather for the past 3 weeks or so in Maine, and I've certainly seen some good rain storms.  But this felt different.  I was tentative about  heading up Katahdin in these conditions.  The route is strenuous, rocky, and above tree line for over 2 miles. Certainly a physical challenge in good conditions, but with the combination of the wind and ice, I didn't feel good about going.  I talked with Slims about it, and he agreed to wait it out one more day too.  Atom Bomb, Old Tomato, Yogi, and BooBoo were going to make an attempt on the summit anyway.  A couple of other thru-hikers were also going up.  Slims and I stayed at the campground watching them head down the trail, as their parents looked on.  Once they were out of sight, I began trying to come up with some sort of plan for today.  I needed to get a cell signal, and the best option would be leaving the park and heading to Millinocket, over 20 miles away.  Slims and I walked down the road, away from Katahdin Stream Campground, trying to hitch a ride out of the park.  There's a good number of people camping in the park, so we expected there to be a lot of traffic leaving this morning.  There was, but no one was picking us up.  We walked about 3 miles to Abol Campground, where we sat on the side of the road and waited, thumbs out.  After about half an hour, an off duty park ranger said he was headed to town and could give us a lift.  He's planning on doing some hiking on his days off, and after grabbing some lunch, he was heading back into the park.  There's our return trip too.  Sweet.  We got to Millinocket and ate lunch at the deli.  I called my brother, and my parents, and found out that they are on their way right now.  They'll be in town tonight, and will meet me in the park in the morning.  When I was in Monson, over a week ago, I had told them that I was hoping to be able to summit on the 7th, and they are right on schedule to be there with me that morning.    If there's one thing I've been on this hike, it's inconsistent.  Despite my constant planning, and pouring over my guidebook each night, I've never been exactly where I thought I would be after two or three days.  To plan eight days out - preposterous.  2100 miles of hiking, over 190 days, and I never got that right.  Not to mention, upon leaving Monson, I had to make it through the Wilderness, with its cold, rain, low milage days, river fords, big milage days, and literally running out of food.  It's a miracle I was here when I told my family I would be, and a day early at that.  Slims and I hopped back in the car and went back to the campground.  The Birches is for one-night use only, which we already used.  Fortunately, we were able to crash at one of the car-camping sites with Tripping Yeti.  His mom had come up for the weekend too, and since Yeti had also decided not to summit today, they were staying at their campsite for another night.  I got my tent set up, just as a cold rain started to fall.  In the middle of the afternoon, Atom Bomb, Old Tomato, Yogi, and BooBoo made it back to the campground.  They were thru-hikers now.  Their eyes were wild with excitement.  They talked about how windy and icy it was at the summit, but it was an epic climb.  It was a beautiful mountain.  They talked about it with reverence and awe.  They felt like conquerors.  Not only was this Katahdin - the great mountain, not only was this the end of the hike, but to do it in such wrathful weather, was spectacularly memorable.  Other thru-hikers were coming down the mountain too, with more harrowing stories.  Everyone was saying how all the day-hikers were turning back at tree line.  They thought the thru-hikers were crazy to keep going up.  Well, that's an accurate assessment, but after this long, and this far, all that's left is 5 miles up and 5 miles down.  Crazy, sure.  But determined, absolutely.  Determined doesn't even begin to describe it.  It was weird seeing them come back down.  They had done it.  And I was just sitting there, offering congratulations.  Shortly after, they hopped in their family's cars.  Just like that, they were gone.  That was a lonely feeling.  As the rain continued to fall, I sat under a picnic pavilion, trying to process everything.  Slims was taking cover in his tent.  Just before dark, I saw a hiker walking toward the ranger station.  I recognized the rain jacket and pack cover.  I ran over to the bridge that crosses the stream and stopped him.  Another hiker came up right behind him.  It was Apache and Rainbow Eyes!  Man, it was great to see them.  They had their own incredible story to tell about making it through the Wilderness.  They had taken a zero day back at Cloud Pond lean-to, to wait out the weather, and reevaluate the situation.  Over the next several days, when the weather improved, they were able to churn out big miles, and catch up.  I ran back to get Slims, and the four of us walked over the the Birches.  Like clockwork, the ridge runners showed up tonight too, and Apache and Rainbow got to have their own candle lighting ceremony.  Shorty after dark, Slims and I headed back to our campsite for the night.  Big day tomorrow.  Early to bed, early to rise.  It's the best of both worlds for me.  The guys are here, and we will be able to end this trip together.  My family will be here in the morning too, and they'll be able to see me finish, just like they saw me start.  I couldn't get to sleep.  I'm too excited and there's too much to think about.  The rain was stopping and starting, off and on all night.  I saw the moon come out.  Occasionally, instead of just merely rolling over, I would get out of my tent and walk around, looking up at it.  Sometimes it was hidden behind blowing clouds.  Over several hours, I watched it as it moved across the sky.

Katahdin Stream Campground.  Mile 2179.1.

Oct 5

Baxter

Up at 5:30am.  I ate my last meal, the couscous and Spam.  I was on trail by 6:30am, after packing up a wet tent.  It was still cloudy, but not raining.  The trail was wet.  The air is not as cold today though.  There was only about 500 feet of elevation gain this morning, over 8 or 9 miles, as I made my way to Rainbow Ledges. I stopped there for about 5 minutes, just to take in another view of Katahdin.  The hiking has been easy so far, and I'm definitely in 'go' mode.  Head down, plowing down the trail.  I stopped at Hurd Brook lean-to for a water break.  Slims gave me a couple packs of peanuts to tide me over.  In a few more miles I finally saw the sign that marked the northern end of the 100-mile Wilderness.  I stepped out of the woods, onto the road, and headed across Abol Bridge.  From the bridge, you get a perfect view of Katahdin, unfortunately for me, it was locked in clouds at the moment.  This isn't a town here or anything.  Just a campground, and a store.  But it was a much needed oasis.  I walked around the isles of the convenience store, trying to decide what I wanted to eat first.  Then I got the good idea to go into the small restaurant on-site, and eat a real meal before doing any shopping.  Yes, I'll have the 1 pound hamburger please.  Kokopelli was there too.  He's out of the hospital and wearing a huge brace on his leg now.  His girlfriend had picked him up and driven him out here.  He wanted to see Katahdin up close.  It was so good to see him and know that he's okay now.  I could see how much it hurt, not to be able to finish.  But with a smile, he said he'll be back next year to climb Katahdin.

View from Abol Bridge.

After lunch, and resupplying, our group headed out into the woods.  We entered into Baxter State Park.  At the information board at the trail head was ATC ridge runner, Johnathan.  The last time I saw him was on Day 1, March 24, on Springer Mountain, where he had handed me a book of matches.  He said if any of us still had the matches, bring them to the ceremony tonight at the Birches in Katahdin Stream Campground.  No idea what this meant.  I thought the matches would get me a souvenir at the camp store or something.  We signed in with Jonathan, planning to stay at the Birches lean-to tonight.  The hiking in Baxter this afternoon was amazing.  More ponds, flat terrain, waterfalls, and beautiful colors.  There were even 2 streams we had to ford.  The lower fork of the Nesowadnehunk was waist deep, and fast moving.  We spent a bit of time trying to find an easier way, but eventually I just went all in.  Wet shoes, wet socks, wet shorts.  Who cares, I only have one more day right?  The upper fork of the stream was a mile further down the trail.  It was a much more dangerous crossing, but fortunately we were able to rock-hop across to the other side.  I kept thinking, it was crazy and hilarious that these 2 fords in Baxter were just as bad or worse than anything we just saw in the Wilderness.

Seriously?  No more fords, please!

We made it to Katahdin Stream Campground, and checked in at the ranger station there.  I signed in, and was the 627th northbound hiker to do so this year.  Atom Bomb met his parents there, and they drove him out of the park to stay with them in town for the night.  Slims, Old Tomato, Yogi, BooBoo and I, checked in at the Birches for the night.  Around 6:30pm, ridge runner Jonathan, and ridge runner Regina showed up at the campsite.  They called us over to the picnic table for the match lighting ceremony.  Now I'm not going to give away the secret of what actually happened to that book of matches I had from Springer Mountain.  All I'll say is that they did come in handy for the ceremony.  Jonathan and Regina gave us an amazing and warm final gift of trail magic.  A fitting end to an epic journey.  21.2 miles today.  I managed to get out of the Wilderness and into Baxter after some incredible hiking.  Now I'm happy, and well fed, and getting ready to spend my last night on the trail.  I'm having mixed emotions about tomorrow though.  I haven't spoken to my family since I left Monson over a week ago.  I know they're planning to come up to meet me, but I have no idea if they are on their way or not.  Rainbow and Apache are still somewhere behind too.  I've hiked all the way from Georgia with these guys.  They've got to be here too.  It wouldn't be the same without them.  I'm sitting here in camp at the base of Katahdin, and I'm not sure if I should hike it tomorrow or not.  I know I should.  I'm here now, and if the weather is good, I shouldn't wait.  It could snow at any time, and they could close the trail for safety concerns.  I can't wait around, or I risk not being able to finish at all.  Regardless of what happened, I knew I needed to push really hard and get out of the Wilderness as soon as possible.  I did that.  Now, I'm not sure what I should do about summitting.  I guess all I can do is sleep on it, and see what the morning brings.  As for now, it looks like tomorrow, I'll be a thru-hiker.

Katahdin.

  

Oct 4

Hunger Games

Even after a big couple of days, we haven't caught up with Slims.  Apache and Rainbow should be a half day  or so behind.  The rest of the League and I got up at 5am, and we were out on the trail by 6:30am.  I feel conflicted with our group split up a bit, but the overwhelming drive to get through the Wilderness trumps all other thoughts right now.  Thankfully, the last 2 days have been great.  Easy terrain, nice weather.  Early in the morning, I had a decision to make.  I came to a dirt road that led to the White House Landing Wilderness Camps.  They have showers, food, bunks, and resupply available - the only such place on trail in the Wilderness.  Running low on food, the smart thing would have been to head to the camps.  After waffling back and forth, ultimately I decided it would take too much time.  If I went there I would probably end up staying, based on what usually happens during this hike.  I'll just go light on meals and snacks for the next 2 days and push to Abol Bridge at all costs.  The hiking this morning has been incredibly flat.  I walked by, and  crossed over, one stream after another.  Earlier this morning, I walked past the shore of Pemadumcook Lake, where I had another view of Katahdin.  The mountain is looming even larger as I draw nearer, fueling my desire to keep hiking.  It's been early mornings and long days lately, but the need to get out of the Wilderness and to the base of that mountain has been overriding any urges or trends that I had formally been used to.  My stomach had been grumbling for many miles now as I arrived at Wadleigh Stream lean-to.  Instead of my usual tuna and tortilla lunch, I decided to bulk up and eat a heavy dinner meal.  I figured that would do better in providing me fuel to hike on for the rest of the afternoon.  This turned out to be a great idea.  After lunch there was a short climb up Nesuntabunt Mountain.  This was the last climb of any significance before Katahdin.  I was surprised how steep it was.  For the entire afternoon, I was continuously hiking around streams and ponds.  The terrain was easy, and I managed a 3mph pace all the way to the next shelter, at Rainbow Stream.  After a short rest there, I pushed on for several more miles in the late afternoon, all the way to the Rainbow Lake campsite.  It was just before 5pm, when I rolled into camp, finishing a 22 mile day.  I managed to catch up with Slims here too.  The rest of the group came into camp over the next hour or so.  For dinner I ate half of a pita and two pouches of tuna.  The only things left in my food bag are some coffee, some drink mixes, a single pouch of Spam, and a serving of couscous.  I wanted to eat that couscous and Spam so bad, but I knew I needed to save it for breakfast.  Right at dusk, it began to rain.  There was the last little bit of daylight left when, with a grumbling stomach, I crawled into my tent to get out of the weather.  No matter how bad it seems right now, I know all I have to do is hike 11 miles in the morning and I'll be able to stuff my face.

View of Katahdin from Nesuntabunt Mountain.
16 miles line-of-sight distance, but still  36 miles away by trail.

Oct 3

The push

Slept in a little bit later today, but still managed to get on trail before 8am.  Just past the shelter, the crossing of the East Branch of the Pleasant River was not nearly as formidable as yesterday's crossing of the West Branch.  A simple rock-hop got me to the other bank.  Hiking this morning was again a joy.  The trail was like a tunnel through the trees.  Rays of early morning light shone through the branches.  My pack finally felt lighter, due to the huge dent I had put in my food supply over these past few days.  Not only was the hiking physically less demanding, but my mind was also aiding me in a fast pace.  I thought about all my hiker friends that were ahead of me.  They've already seen this.  Some of them are already done.  I pictured so many smiling faces, and like a magnet, they were pulling me down the trail toward that final mountain.  I felt weightless.  The Wilderness has been as unforgiving as it is beautiful.  Although I am relishing all the sights, smells, and sounds that it has to offer, I'm ready to be done.  That's a hard concept to wrap my head around.  On one hand, I don't want this experience to be over, but at the same time, I'm tired, and I'm ready to climb Katahdin.  I passed more ponds and streams.  The forest was a wall of green at my sides, with an orange and red canopy overhead, and bits of blue sky poking through.  On a short, but steep climb up Little Boardman Mountain, the forest started changing back to predominantly fir and birch again.  After a few more miles of pond-side hiking, I crossed a stream, walking over yet another beaver dam.  I've been loving the hike this morning, with all the incredible colors and light.  It's been like looking through a kaleidoscope,   with leaves constantly shifting colors as I walked from one bend of the trail to the next.  The trail itself is littered with fallen leaves - red ones, yellow ones, orange ones, and brown ones - in all sorts of shades in between.  I thought it looked like confetti.  Like the woods had a party, welcoming in the fall, and I was walking through the morning after.  Near Cooper Brook, I stopped for water at a spring.  The water was so clear it almost had a blueish tint.  I stopped for a lunch break, just a bit farther, at the Cooper Brook Falls lean-to.  This was an amazing shelter area.  The brook itself runs a few yards in front of the shelter, and the water was up, and it was flowing strong.  I thought this would be an outstanding place to stay in the summer when it's warmer. You could walk right out in front of the shelter and jump into deep pools and slide down rushing rapids.  After lunch, I had 8 miles of flat, easy hiking.  The trail was covered with pine needles.  There wasn't even much mud.  I stopped at the Antlers Campsite for a break.  There's an awesome two-seat privy there too that I had to check out.  This is another campsite I would love to revisit.  It sits right at the edge of Jo-Mary Lake.  It is immaculately maintained, with several tenting sites, and stone-lined paths.  It's early in the afternoon, and I've made it 16 miles to this point.  I felt great, so I kept on hiking.  After a 19.5 mile day, I arrived at Potaywadjo Spring lean-to at 3:45pm.  Awesome pace.  Awesome hike today.  The shelter here was really nice, and the spring was amazing.  It was a 15 feet around, and crystal clear, with water seeping up through sand.

Crossing by Crawford Pond early in the morning.

Oct 2

The end is within sight

So this is day three in the Wilderness, and I've only covered 25 miles.  Not good.  No matter what the terrain, what the obstacles, and what the weather, I have to start churning out some big miles to make it out of here.  We had alarms set, and were up at 5am.  I was on trail at 6:30am, walking along the ridge line of Chairback Mountain to beautiful views.  The sun has just started to rise over the mountain tops.  This is a magical time of day to be hiking.  The trail dropped sharply down from Chairback, several hundred feet, over a jumble of rocks and boulders.  It was slow going, as the rocks were still slick.  I made it to the West Branch of the Pleasant River, and I was now at the exact 2100 mile mark.  A staggering thought.  Only 84 miles left.  It looked like today was going to be beautiful and sunny.  I took a break beside the river and washed out my muddy socks.  

BooBoo crossing the West Branch of the Pleasant River.

The ford across was knee deep at most, but the river was really wide, and had a strong current.  We all made it across with no trouble.  For several miles, the trail gradually gained elevation, winding along beside multiple streams, full of pools and cascades.  We made it to the Carl A. Newhall lean-to for lunch.  Ten miles by lunch.  Awesome!  We talked to some other hikers who were out doing a section here.  They filled us in on some really bad news.  Apparently, a couple of days ago, our fellow thru-hiker friend, Kokopelli, had fallen on the trail near here.  He hit a rock, shattering his knee cap.  Some other hikers helped him hobble down a side trial for several miles to get out of the Wilderness, where he was able to get picked up by a rescue crew, and taken to a hospital.  Not only is there the intense physical pain that he went through during that ordeal, but I can't even imagine what it must have been like, being this close to the end.  It's all over.  Just like that.  Heartbreaking.  I'm so thankful for the safety I've been granted so far.  After lunch, we began climbing Gulf Hagas Mountain.  It was a joy, thanks in part to some beautiful stone steps along the way.  It was the first real climb of the day, but more would follow.  

Fall colors around Gulf Hagas Mountain.

Next up was West Peak, with more great steps, topping out a little higher than the previous summit.  More stairs led up to the top of Hay Mountain, where the summit was a little higher still.  More stairs along the way up White Cap Mountain.  Bear wasn't kidding, this section that they had helped maintain years ago was amazing, and so well kept.  Around 4pm, I walked to the summit of White Cap Mountain, where the elevation was just over 3600 feet.  I felt victorious.  I've hiked over 15 miles today, and left four mountains in my dust.  I was with Old Tomato at the summit, and we stopped for a break.  We took a small side trail to the left and I saw the most beautiful mountain I've ever seen.  As we stepped out of the small fir trees, onto the edge of a rocky slope, there it was in the distance.  Katahdin!  He was able to get a signal on his phone, and made a few calls home to let everyone know what was going on.  Meanwhile, I was running and jumping around on the rocks, pointing at the mountain, giggling hysterically.  I heard Yogi talking, coming up the trail, so I yelled out for him and BooBoo to hurry up and come see this view.  Below us, looking toward Katahdin, the landscape was dotted with ponds and lakes.  The forest was ablaze in a cloak of orange.  Katahdin majestically rises up from the flat landscape.  Lingering clouds kept us, and most of the surrounding terrain, in the shade.  But like a beacon, the top of Katahdin was perfectly illuminated in sunlight.  A breathtaking sight.  I hiked on, cackling like a madman, following the trail as it wrapped around the north side of Whitecap.  The trail was totally open and rocky path which provided a continuation of the views of Katahdin.  I passed by the next shelter, in no mood to stop.  After crossing a brook, I entered a beautiful pine forest.  The trail was mostly flat, and littered with soft pine needles.  Lush mosses covered grey boulders, and spread along the trail as well.  Yellow leaves of birch trees provided a wonderful contrast to all the green.  After 20.7 miles, right at dusk, I made it to East Branch lean-to, where we all stopped for the night.  Today was incredible.  Full of both literal and metaphoric, ups and downs.

View of Katahdin, from the trail on Whitecap Mountain.

Oct 1

Here comes the sun

It's incredibly cold this morning.  No snow fell last night, but it must be just above freezing.  A light rain is coming down intermittently, and the ground in front of the shelter is full of cold puddles and mud.  I have to keep moving, but the motivation to do so is hard to come by.  That requires getting out of my warm sleeping bag, changing out of my dry long underwear and putting on my cold wet hiking clothes from yesterday.  Everyone in the shelter is up and moving around, so I guess it's about that time again.  Apache is up for breakfast, but Rainbow hasn't gotten out of his tent yet.  The rest of the group headed out from the shelter, I was soon to follow, and Apache is staying back for a while to make sure Rainbow is holding up okay.  Back on the trail, I headed down from the ridge, into a boggy area at the base of Fourth Mountain.  The split wood bridges through the bog were slick.  A cold fog blew through.  The entire area felt really creepy.  The climb up Fourth Mountain was short, but steep.  Rain was now falling steadily, making for a miserable hike.  I came down from Fourth, then headed right back up Third Mountain.  I came to a flat rock, where I sat down to eat a snack.  The sisyphean task of hiking up and down these mountains, along the waterlogged trail, in the cold, rain, and fog, has been totally demoralizing these past few days.  For a brief moment, a strange dull yellow disc of light broke through the clouds.  Instantly, a smile came across my face, as I begged the sun to stay.  I sat on the rock enjoying the marginal bit of warmth it provided.  A few birds flitted around in the trees, making all kinds of racket.  One of them must have really done something wrong, because it was being assaulted by this other bird, in a high speed aerial chase.  Between the amusement of the fighting birds and the warmth of the sun, my mood started to improve.  But it would only be a short-lived moment of contentment.  The sun disappeared behind the clouds again, so I zipped my rain jacket back up and kept on hiking.  It was astounding how much difference just a little bit of sunlight can make.  The terrain so far in the Wilderness hasn't been awful at all, but the cold and wet has made it seem so much worse.  Just after Third Mountain, the trail crossed a stream.  Usually this would have been no problem, but with all this rain, the stream was nothing but raging whitewater.  I could see the white blazes of the trail just on the other side of the water.  This was definitely a "you've got to be kidding me" kind of moment.  There was no way to just rock hop across.  My shoes and socks were soaked anyway, so I said screw it, and plodded through the rapids.  It was actually kind of fun.  The rain trailed off to a few drops here and there, and by early in the afternoon, I made it to the Chairback Gap lean-to.  I sat my pack down, and began to have lunch.  The rest of the group was waiting there too.  There's another river ford coming up in a few miles.  Slims had moved on, trying to make it there by the end of the day.  The rest of us weren't looking forward to the idea of another ford in our current condition.  On top of that, we hadn't seen Apache and Rainbow yet.  The area around the shelter here was really nice, with lots of evergreens and birch trees.  We decided to call it a day.  Red squirrels were running around in the trees near the shelter.  They are funny, but incredibly annoying little critters.  I've been seeing them throughout New England, and I've dubbed them the 'security alarm' of the forest.  Before you ever see them, they know you're walking under their trees, and call out in a high pitched chatter, alerting everything in the vicinity to your presence.  Sometimes it can be quite startling when they go off as you are walking along in the still and quiet forest.  Walking out behind the shelter to gather firewood, they started back up at me.  "Yeah, yeah.  I hear you."  It was the same for the rest of the group as they were gathering wood too.  At least the rain had stopped.  All of the wood we gathered was wet, but we managed to get a roaring fire going.  I was on fan duty, furiously waving a plastic disc at the coals, until the largest logs were hot enough to burn through on their own.  Big campfire equals instant morale boost.  Nightfall came, but no sign of Apache and Rainbow.  We had only hiked 7 miles from Cloud Pond today.  I guess they stayed there to wait out the weather.  Not a bad idea considering what a slog today was.  I hope they're doing okay.

The trail over Third Mountain in the Hundred-Mile Wilderness.

Sept 30

The going gets tough

We were up exceptionally early this morning.  Shoveled in a quick breakfast, then packed up my gear, and walked down to the edge of Big Wilson Stream.  The water had settled down a bit overnight, as the rains had stopped.  At 6:30am, walking through the frigid stream was quite the wake up call.  After a few small bumps we made it to the lean-to at Wilson Valley, where we had originally planned on staying last night. Just after the shelter, it started to rain again...hard.  For the next 5 miles it was one stream after another, after another.  The crossing over Vaughn Stream was the only one that required a ford.  Not that it really mattered.  Everything was wet.  My shoes were dry-ish, so I took them off and changed into my crocs to preserve them as long as possible.  The trail began to climb slightly, and followed the stream through a narrow gorge.  There were some really great tent sites here.  We stopped for lunch, after yet another stream, at Long Pond Stream lean-to.  Wet and cold, I ate a lot of my food just to warm my body up.  The trail got steeper as we made our way up to Barren Ledges.  No views from here today.  I just trudged on down the wet and muddy trail, and got ahead of the group.  Walking alone in the rain, I was actually enjoying myself.  Maybe it was another onset of trail madness, but I was talking to myself, laughing, and even singing as I splashed through the puddles.  Keeping my feet dry at this point was a lost cause anyway.  I might as well have fun.  The trail pitched upward even more as I made my way up Barren Mountain.  There was a dilapidated fire tower at the top, and again, no views.  I was now above 2600 feet, and at this elevation, it was freezing cold.  The rain wasn't letting up, and a cold breeze chilled me to the bone.  No time to stop.  Gotta' keep moving.  The trail along the top of Barren Mountain was dotted with deep puddles of water, most of which had no way of getting around them.  The only option was to walk right through.  It's incredible how a little bit of elevation change can turn a childlike afternoon splashing in puddles to a miserable slog.  Those stream crossings earlier today were around 2000 feet below, out of the wind, and much warmer.  From Barren Mountain, it was only a mile to a side trail that led to the next shelter, but the entire way I had one thing running through my head.  Way back in Georgia, Earthling (who had thru-hiked in 2010), mentioned that in situations much like this, where you are cold, wet, and in real danger of catching hypothermia, you cannot stop.  "Hike or die".  I made it to the side trail, and unfortunately, it was 0.4 miles to the lean-to at Cloud Pond.  Even though it was just mid-afternoon, I knew that I was ready to stop hiking.  I wondered if everyone else shared that feeling too.  I started to build a small pile of rocks and sticks, hoping that the group would see it and know that I went up to the shelter.  Atom Bomb and Tomato caught up, just as I was putting the final touches on my marker, with confused looks on their faces as to what the heck I was doing playing in the rain.  They were done too.  Yogi and BooBoo were just behind them.  It was a long 0.4 miles to the shelter.  On a nicer day, it would have been a really nice trail though, as it traveled down from the ridge a bit, and wrapped around Cloud Pond.  There were many nice, newly constructed bog bridges, keeping my feet out of the water.  I wondered why there couldn't have been any of those back on the AT.  One other hiker was already in the shelter.  He didn't say much, and from the looks of it, had been there for days.  He wasn't hurt or anything, but it was a little weird.  Slims showed up a bit later, and set up in the last tiny bit of floor space.  Apache came in just after, followed by Rainbow.  They had to set up outside behind the shelter.  I felt bad for them, and although hikers are masters of cramming into spaces, there was literally no room left.  Crawling into my sleeping bag, I ate my dinner, and an additional large bag of Chex Mix.  Being this wet and cold, I can't seem to eat enough or drink enough coffee to get my body warmed up.  This has probably been the most miserable I've been on the trail so far.  Knowing that tomorrow is supposed to be more of the same doesn't help matters.  Nothing left to do but stay warm and go to sleep.

Crossing Big Wilson Stream in the 100-mile Wilderness.

 

Sept 29

Into the Wild

Woke up several times last night.  Between the off an on again rain, and all the animals, it was pretty noisy.  We got off to an early start on this grey and misty morning.  We're close to town, and there's no sense in sitting here in the woods in the rain.  Down the trail, I came to a new sign that had been posted by the MATC.  The next section of trail was under a reroute due to beaver activity.  Those things had dammed up a stream and flooded a large area, placing part of the trail under as much as 3 feet of water.  I shook my head, chuckled, and headed down the reroute.  We all met back up after hitching rides into Monson.  I had some awesome BBQ at a shop in town.  Slims was in town too, waiting for us to catch up.  Good to see him again, finally.  Tink was here too, with another group of hikers.  There's a couple of great hostels in town, where they had been staying.  I stopped by the Post Office to pick up some packages that my parents had mailed to me, full of hiker food.  I also stopped by the general store, but only to buy a few snacks.  My food bag was overflowing, and I had to put some of the items in some of the outside pockets of my pack.  We went back to Shaw's hostel so Slims could grab his gear.  We could have stayed in town to take a break, but hearing the weather report, we decided to head back out to the trail.  Rain, rain, and more rain.  Well, if we're already wet, and it's not going to let up for several days, we might as well just keep hiking.  It's not like the temperature is going to get any warmer either, so we need to try to close in on Katahdin before it snows up here.  The hostel owner was making runs back up to the trail head, so we hopped in for one of the trips.  At the parking lot, the trail headed north into the woods.  Shortly we came to a sign, marking the entrance to the 100-mile Wilderness.  It gave hikers a warning, not to proceed unless they were adequately prepared.  I had six, maybe seven, days worth of food, and just over 100 miles left of the trail to hike.  How bad could it possibly be?  I hiked on, as a cool drizzle fell.  I made use of another beaver dam to cross a stream at Spectacle Pond.  More misty rain, and a couple more ponds, over the next three miles to Leeman Brook lean-to, the first shelter in the Wilderness.  We waited for a bit with The League, but Apache and Rainbow didn't catch up.  It was only about 8 more miles to the next shelter.  It doesn't look like there's any notable climbing today.  The trail has just been wet, rocky, and muddy.  We should be able to make it to the shelter in a few hours.  The trail meandered around a few more ponds.  I stopped for a snack break at Bear Pond Ledge.  I continued on, to more streams, cascades, and ponds.  It's amazing how much water is in this section.  The road crossing was just a handful of miles back, but already the Wilderness felt, well...wild.  At Little Wilson Stream, the guidebook listed a ford, but I managed to rock-hop across to the other side.  After the stream, it was a couple hundred feet of elevation gained up to a small ridge line.  A-Bomb was out in front, and I was hiking with Tomato, Yogi, and BooBoo at this point.  We stopped for a break when we got to the top of the ridge.  From this outcrop I had nice views of the pond below.  The tree colors were a stark contrast from the grey clouds hanging low just overhead.  The view was changing quickly though, as more clouds blew in.  We were just on the other side of the ridge when it got dark.  Seems we didn't have enough time to make to the shelter by nightfall.  We had a couple more fords before then as well. Under the light of my headlamp, I managed to rock-hop over the crossing at Thompson Brook.  A half-mile farther on, I came to Big Wilson Stream.  What I saw stopped me in my tracks.  Atom Bomb had arrived here just at dark, and decided to set up for the night.  Great decision.  The rest of us all set up next to the 'stream', in a cramped campsite.  I seems Big Wilson, lives up to its name.  Our headlamps barely illuminated the opposite shoreline, and the water was raging.  This was the first time I was legitimately worried about a river crossing.  There's no way we're doing this in the dark, it will have to wait to morning.

Entering the 100-mile Wilderness - the final stretch.

Sept 28

With Moxie

That fearless mouse from last night managed to chew a hole in the side of my food bag.  Fortunately, it didn't ruin much of my food.  I broke of a piece of my nibbled on Snickers bar, and ate the rest of it with breakfast.  The League were all up early, and we left camp around 8:30am, to cooler temperatures and some clouds.  We immediately started climbing up Moxie Bald Mountain, gaining about 1300 feet.  Near the summit, the trees began to grow much shorter.  At the top, we had totally unobstructed views.  Our group paused here for a bit to take pictures and shoot video clips.  Lakes were all around us in the valleys below.  We watched the morning fog slowly lifting in the low lands, burning off in the morning sun.  We headed down from the mountain and arrived at the Moxie Bald lean-to for a snack.  Moose called in the woods around us.  The next 10 miles were absolutely flat, and a joy to hike.  Along the way, I walked on top of a beaver dam to cross Bald Mountain Stream.  We came to a stop at the West Branch of the Piscataquis River at 1:30pm.  Up to this point it hadn't occurred to me that I haven't eaten lunch yet; the enjoyable hiking this morning had kept my mind distracted, lost in thought, walking through the woods.  We sat on the shore and ate lunch in the sun.  I cooked up a couple packets of ramen noodles that have been in the bottom of my food bag for some time.  The ford across the river was particularly wide, and about knee deep.  A rope stretched across the water, tied off to trees on each bank, to aid you as you went across.  Rainbow didn't want to stop yet, grabbed the line, and headed across to the other bank.  We learned a valuable lesson here, for midway across the ford, he leaned a little to hard on the rope, and the slack in the line caused him, and his pack, to dip into the cold water.  I guess if the water was higher, and flowing more swiftly, the rope could help you from being swept downstream.  But unless that's the case, don't use the rope.  He sat on the opposite shore, drying his gear and shoes in the sun.  The rest of us made our way across, and headed down the trail, parallel to the river for several miles.  There was more beautiful hiking along the way, the colors of fall all around.  The river became more and more narrow as we walked upstream.  We stopped for a break at Horseshoe Canyon lean-to.  At the bottom of the steep ravine below, the stream formed into rapids, pools, and cascades.  Rainbow showed up just behind us, having given up on drying out his stuff.  The sun had given way to clouds.  It would have been easy to call it a day here, but I think he just wanted to push on to get closer to town.  We came to another crossing of the Piscataquis, this time the East Branch.  The ford here was much easier.  Trying to pronounce this river has provided a bit of comic relief today.  Just up the embankment on the other side, a local man had set up a campsite, and was handing out sodas to hikers passing through.  That was one great tasting Mt Dew, that's for sure.  Over the next few miles, the trail criss-crossed several roads in the woods, as darkness began to fall.  The trail was very well blazed on this section, so I didn't have any trouble despite the web of dirt roads and the deteriorating viability.  I managed a 3mph pace all the way to an intersection where a sign marked a side trail that led into Monson, Maine.  Being dark now, we didn't like the idea of heading down the trail, getting a ride into town, and finding a place to stay.  We all set up for the night in a flat, grassy area nearby.  The temperature was falling quickly.  We stayed up until about 9pm, cooking dinner and talking around a small campfire, after a big 19 mile day.  We were interrupted frequently by noises in the forest - moose, loons, and another call we thought might have been a coyote.  Rain began to fall, and we scurried into our tents.  Today had been such a great snapshot of what the trail is like in Maine.  Rocky and exposed mountain summits; streams, ponds, and lakes; beaver dams and river fords; brilliant colors of fall.  With all this beauty, it's easy to forget that with one misstep, your mindset out here on the trail can change on you in an instant.  Rainbow's experience today can attest to that.  At least we'll be in town tomorrow, so we can take a break and get warm and dry.

Old Tomato reminds us to practice safe river fording.

Sept 27

Not a creature was stirring....well, maybe a mouse

The resort offers a free shuttle back to the trail for hikers.  We were up early, ate breakfast, and were on the van.  Impressively, we didn't get sucked in to staying there another day, in spite of the wonderful amenities.  The trail heading north from town was a slight, gradual incline.  Barely noticeable.  The weather was perfect, bright and sunny with cool, crisp air.  In 2 hours I had made it 5.5 miles to the Pleasant Pond lean-to.  After a break for lunch, I headed up toward the top of Pleasant Pond Mountain.  It was a gain of about 900 feet, but an easy climb, with nice views and more brilliant fall colors.  The trail after the mountain was a gradual descent for the next 5 miles, bottoming out at Moxie Pond.  The trail briefly followed a dirt road around the far end of the pond, then dipped back into the woods again.  There was a stream crossing here, and I was determined not to stop to take my shoes off.  I managed to rock-hop to the other side with little trouble.  I hiked on for several more easy miles, to the Bald Mountain Brook lean-to.  Apache and I set up just before the shelter, at a campsite right alongside the brook.  The others headed up to the shelter.  We knocked out about 15 miles today.  Excellent, considering we had left the comforts of civilization just this morning.  Hiking in at dark, Yogi and BooBoo caught up to us, so that was good to see them again.  We got a fire going and started cooking dinner.  A mouse was running around the campsite the entire time.  I decided to hang my food in a tree, not from a bear, but from a mouse.  My stomach was upset most of the night.  Town food, and too much of it yesterday.  During the night, I woke up several times.  So did Apache.  That little mouse is getting ballsy.  At one point, it actually crawled down the line of Apache's hammock and was running around between his legs, inside his quilt.  I heard him yelling in complaint, and his headlamp came on, as he got up and shook out his hammock. A pretty amusing event, but at this point we just wanted the thing to leave us alone so we could get to sleep.

Fall on the trail approaching Pleasant Pond.

Sept 26

On a boat

It's dull and dreary this morning.  Just beyond the shelter area, the trail crossed over a wooden dam where the pond drained into an outlet stream.  It was a long way to the other side, and a treacherous route.  Hopping from wooden planks, over to rocks, all slick from the water rushing through the cracks and spaces between, and made even worse by the sprinkle of rain that was now falling on us.  In another mile, we passed the waterfalls on Pierce Pond Stream.  The falls were fairly large, with water flowing strongly, and made even more scenic by the red and orange trees along the banks.  This entire section this morning has been full of streams and cascades.  Nice, despite the rain.  We arrived at the Kennebec River and flagged down the porter on the other side.  The official route of the the trail is using the ferry service here, provided by the ATC.  There's even a white blaze painted on the canoe, just to keep the purists happy.  Crossing the river on foot, or swimming it rather, is not the official route.  The Kennebec is too dangerous.  It's extremely wide, swift, and over head deep in places.  The water level is effected by a hydro-electric dam upstream, which releases water without notice, causing the waters to rise several more feet, unexpectedly.  One by one, "Hillbilly Dave" picked us up, and got us safely to the other side.  That's a pretty sweet gig he's got there, just paddling across to pick up hikers all season long.  Also awesome is that the ATC provides the service for free.  Just after the river crossing, the trail came out of the woods and dumped us onto a road, at Caratunk, Maine.  This 'town' consisted of a post office, and a few homes, only a couple square blocks in size.  We stopped in at the post office, then called a hostel for a ride.  We went to the hostel at the Sterling Inn.  We desperately needed to resupply, and this place had a really good selection in the hiker room.  Not cheap, but considering the nearest grocery store was about half and hour away, it was well worth it.  We ended up getting a ride to Northern Outdoors, which was a sort of outdoor adventure resort, similar to the NOC.  Rafting, fishing, kayaking, and so forth.  We figured it'd be better to get an actual room in the hotel there and split it between the five of us.  Plus, there was a restaurant on site.    

The Kennebec River.  Hillbilly Dave on the opposite shore.

Sept 25

Let's do the time warp again

Woke up this morning to the sounds of loons, and a thick fog lifting from the lake.  The woods around us were clear, the cloud hovered above the water only.  The sun had hardly risen above the trees by 9am.  I waited around camp as long as possible, drying the dew on my tent fly in the sun.  More accurately, I just didn't want to leave this campsite.  No one else really did either.  I was the last one out though, on the trail around 10am.  Also of note, last night marked the 6 month anniversary of my first night on the trail, way back on Springer Mountain.  Six months ago today, I headed off from Springer, starting on this trek.  The hiking this morning was easy.  There were several intersecting trails looping around in this area.  Staying on the AT wasn't difficult  but it did require paying a bit of extra attention to the blazes.  After a pair of easy climbs, I made it to the lean-to at West Carry Pond for lunch, right at noon.  Just over 5 miles in 2 hours.  That feels great.  Finally.  Our group all ate lunch there, but oddly, everyone didn't arrive in front of me.  Apparently, some of my friends got onto that loop trail back there near camp, and ended up hiking a couple of bonus miles.  Whoops.  Tomato was explaining the confusion, thinking to himself - I know we've been walking for a while, but this all looks familiar.  Like stepping into a time warp or something.  At first we all thought it was just another case of trail madness setting in, but we realized that they probably just got on the Hemlock Trail and looped back to the campsite.  After lunch, we all headed out, walking along beside West Carry Pond.  Truly beautiful hiking.  A slight breeze was making small waves lap onto the shoreline just beside us.  At the end of the pond, a side trail led to Arnold's Point - a thin peninsula that jetted out into the middle of the pond.  I took the side trail for a bit just for curiosity's sake, but as the trail became more overgrown, and the peninsula became narrower, I turned around and headed back down the AT to try to catch up with everyone.  A couple miles later, the trail crossed Sandy Stream.  The bog bridges there were scary; off balanced and half-sinking into the water.  The enjoyable hiking continued as I walked beside another pond - East Carry.  Still clear, mild, and breezy.  I crossed a gravel road, where a nice, well built bridge led over a marshy section of the trail.  The entire afternoon has been so enjoyable.  Hiking on truly flat terrain, for the first time in I don't know how long.  The trail is a bit muddy, but I'm not complaining.  I'll take this any day.  It feels so good to be hiking at a good pace again.  Walking alone, behind the group, I had a lot of time to think today.  I thought about the trail.  I reflected on how far I've gone, leading me up to this point.  I thought about it all being over in the very near future.  I knew that just ahead, I would be entering the most remote section of the trail.  I wondered what that would be like.  What was strange about all of this was I was starting to feel the same emotions that I had felt when I had just started my hike.  Nervous excitement.  It was like everything had come around full-circle.  Reminiscent of stepping out onto the trail for the first time,  I had a great sense of exploration again.  I was simultaneously apprehensive and excited, about the prospect of what lies ahead.  Once again, I felt like I was so far away from home.  It was a strange cocktail of seemingly opposing ideas.  Happiness and sadness, strength and weakness, confidence and uncertainty, contentment and wanting.  I knew where I was, where I had been, and where I needed to go, but somehow I felt lost in these wild woods.  Despite the heaviness of these emotions, I was light on my feet, and totally relishing the beauty of the forest.  Late in the afternoon, I stopped at a cold, clear spring.  Previously lost in thought, I now realized that I was thirsty.  I was sitting there drinking some water, when Apache pulled up behind me.  I was immensely confused.  I thought I was behind him.  Neither of us could figure out what happened.  A few minutes later, Atom Bomb pulled up.  How was he behind me too?  We all rehashed the hike this afternoon, from leaving the shelter where we all stopped for lunch, to this point.  We were all wrong about who we thought we were in front of and who was ahead of us.  We gave up trying to figure it out, and headed to the lean-to at Pierce Pond.  When we got there, Rainbow Eyes was sitting in the shelter, unpacking his gear.  Now we were really confused.  How was he the first one into camp?  When did he pass us?  So we went through trying to figure it all out all over again.  But now we thought - where's Old Tomato?  Everyone agreed that he was still behind.  I agreed, but I still couldn't explain at what point I got ahead of him.  Sure enough, he pulled into the shelter a few minutes later.  He had the same problem, not knowing who was in front or behind him.  Time warp.  It's not like any of this mattered.  I'm sure there's a simple explanation.  It was just odd that none of us could make any sense of it all, and we each had a different idea of who was first, second, and so on.  Anyway, the shelter area here was fantastic, and just a few yards away from the pond.  I picked a tent site on a small rock ledge right next to the pond.  There was just enough dirt and moss on top of this flat rock for my tent to fit.  Around me on the shore were pine and cedar trees.  Although this was a beautiful site, while we were setting up, we also found out that this shelter has some tragic history.  A few weeks ago, a fellow thru-hiker named Parkside, drowned in the pond.  He was only about 10 days from finishing his hike.  Other hikers have since made a rock cairn next to the pond, along with a log that was carved with the epitaph of 'RIP Parkside'.  There was a photo of him hanging on the wall of the shelter, which included notes from his family, and the park service, about the dangers of swimming.  What they think happened is that he got into some deeper water, hit a cold spot, cramped up, and sank before anyone on the shore could get to him.  Terrible.  I can't even begin to wrap my head around that.  I didn't put my tent fly on tonight.  I could see the stars, and light reflecting off of the pond.  An indeterminable animal's call echoes across the water.  A picture perfect setting to end a great, but exceptionally strange, day.  Rest in peace Parkside.  

Late afternoon on Pierce Pond.

Sept 24

Letting the trail decide

Today would end up being a lesson in the importance of stopping to smell the roses, so to speak.  I was totally amped to start hiking this morning.  Yesterday had been so incredible, and I wanted more.  I walked an along an easy ridge line, stopping for a snack break after a couple of miles.  I could see back behind me to Avery Peak, and off to my right, was Sugarloaf Mountain.  I continued on, arriving at Little Bigelow Mountain, with more views.  I descended from the mountain, making it to the Little Bigelow lean-to.  If it had been warmer, I would have loved to take advantage of the deep swimming holes at this site.  We all ended up stopping there to have lunch.  We haven't seen Yogi and BooBoo in a couple days though.  They were starting to feel a sickness coming on, and were taking it slow to rest up.  Leaving the shelter, the trail was mostly flat, and really enjoyable.  Red maple leaves were scattered along the path.  Along the edge of Flagstaff Lake, I came to a footbridge.  Really it was just a makeshift pile of sicks and logs, sinking into the water.  Despite badly needing to be replaced, I managed to carefully cross over it with out getting my feet wet, using my trekking poles to maintain my balance.  A mile further up the trail, we arrived at a campsite on the edge of East Flagstaff Lake.  There was a privy, several tenting areas, and a beach on the edge of the lake.  We had hiked 7 miles today.  It was only about 2 o'clock in the afternoon.  This site was too good to pass up though.  There was a fire ring down on the beach with a few driftwood logs to sit on.  Atom Bomb, Apache, and Old Tomato strung their hammocks up in the tree line where the forest met the beach.  Rainbow Eyes grabbed a tent pad just under the tree cover.  I put my tent up right on the beach.  The shore wasn't sandy, covered rather with small pebbles.  No matter, with my sleeping pad, I didn't notice any difference in comfort.  We had plenty of time this afternoon to gather firewood, do some campsite improvements, and just relax.  Apache constructed a four foot tall 'AT' symbol using driftwood and some of his bear bag cordage.  It was another sunny and clear day, and noticeably warmer down at this elevation.  This would end up being my favorite campsite on the entire trail.  I'm glad we all ended up calling the day short to stay there.  When the trail presents an opportunity like this, you don't pass it up.  So many incredible, rugged mountain views today.  Brilliant colors of fall.  And then this campsite.  Heaven.

Tenting on  East Flagstaff Lake.

 

Sept 23

2K, eh?

I got some breakfast across the street at the diner.  Pricey for diner food, but it was prepared by a skilled chef, with fresh ingredients.  I had some really good coffee, pancakes, and a veggie omelette.  After checking out, the motel owner gave us a ride back up to the trail.  Pretty sweet.  The first couple of miles were flat.  I walked by several ponds, and crossed footbridges over multiple streams.  I stopped for a privy break at the Cranberry Spring campsite.  That's been another nice thing about Maine.  In some of the camp areas, there might not be a shelter, but there is a privy.  The following section of the trail immediately started back to an uphill assault, as we entered the famed Bigelow range.  We came to the top of the ridge, where a small side trail led to a rocky outcropping.  We stopped for a break and took in the views to the north, spying what the upcoming terrain would look like.  What we saw were several pyramid shaped mountains.  Yep, I bet that's where we're headed, hehe.  There were some day hikers up there too, speaking French.  Up here, we are really close to the French speaking region of Canada.  I opened my book, to try to put some names to the peaks that we could see ahead of us.  Then I realized something.  We were at mile 2000.3!  That's exciting.  The French-Canadians must have thought these Americans were mentally disturbed, as we whooped and hollered, high-fiving and dancing around.  The ridge line looped around, still increasing in elevation, as we made our way to the lean-tos at Horns Pond.  This was a beautifully maintained shelter area, but we kept on moving.  The trail pitched up sharply, climbing to the tip-top of South Horn.  We were now up on top of a long exposed ridge line that traveled along the peaks of the Bigelow Range.  Looking to the west, the massive Flagstaff Lake was below in the valley.  To the south we could make out the White Mountains in New Hampshire, and could clearly see Mount Washington.  Mountains stretched as far as we could see to the north as well.  We had no way to tell, but we imagined one of those peaks in the distance must be Katahdin.  To the east, the mountains dissipated into the flat lands along the coast of the Atlantic Ocean.  After two more miles walking along the ridge, we climbed up the west peak of Bigelow Mountain, at 4145 feet.  A short slope down, followed by another pitch up, put us on top of Avery Peak.  The mountains were soaked in the soft glow of afternoon light.  Cool, breezy, and clear.  Long shadows were starting to creep up the slopes.  It's hard to pick a favorite section of trail, but this was definitely at the top.  Much like Franconia Ridge in the Whites, but so much more remote and isolated.  From this perch, there were absolutely no signs of civilization.  No roads in the distance, no power lines, no shimmer of windows on buildings.  Actually, this entire middle portion of Maine has been incredible.  I could have stayed up here in the Bigelows forever.  Daylight was fading quickly, and it was certainly chilly, so I begrudgingly hiked down from Avery.  The trail was ridiculously steep in places.  We lost about 1800 feet of elevation over the next two miles, on the way down to Safford Brook.  It was just about dark, and there was no way were were going to make it to the shelter at Little Bigelow, 5 miles away.  There was a campsite at Safford Brook, but it was 0.3 miles off trail.  Usually, this would have been right on the threshold of being too far to hike just to get to a campsite, but we were tired, hungry, and needed to fill up on water, so down to the campsite we went.  I set up on one of the tent pads, just before dark, and filled up my water bladder at the spring, using my head lamp to guide the way.  As I cooked my dinner, a mouse scurried around my tent site.  I scared him away.  I think he ran off down to the next tent pad to pester Rainbow Eyes.  Leaving town today, we only managed a 10 mile day, but it was one of the best days on trail so far.

A contemplative view from West Peak of Bigelow Mountain.

    

Sept 22

Crockers

Woke up this morning in a cloudy mist.  Everything was wet.  After breakfast in my tent, I started to quickly pack up all my gear trying to beat the rain.  All the items that needed to stay dry got shoved down in the bottom of my trash bag lined pack, then I rolled the liner closed.  I packed up my tent, and stuffed the soaking wet fly down inside the tent bag.  The water laden tent bag went inside my pack, resting on top of the securely lined gear.  I headed out down the foggy trail as a light rain started.  It was nothing but climbing early on, up to the summit of South Crocker Mountain.  Any potential views along the way were shrouded in grey.  On the final mile to the top, I was sweating hard, despite the cold temperature.  I knew I should keep my rain jacket on, if only for warmth.  Unzipping the front fully, and opening the pit zippers, helped marginally.  I passed up and over North Crocker, climbing to over 4000 feet.  It would be 6 more miles from here to get to another road crossing that would lead into Stratton, Maine.  We needed to head into town for another resupply.  The down hill hike to the road seemed to take forever.  I wasn't going to make it to town in time for lunch, so I just stopped on the side of the trail along the way.  While I was taking my break, the sun finally decided to come out and burn through the mist.  We all met up in the parking area at the road crossing.  I laid out my tent, ground sheet, and fly in to sun to dry out.  We were able to get a hitch into town before too long.  Stratton was another one-street town.  The general store had great resupply, and an amazing deli counter with moderately priced gourmet sandwiches.  I polished off a sandwich, a side of potato salad, a pint of ice cream and several snacks.  There was a motel across the street, and rather than hitch back to the trail, we decided to check in for the night.

Summit sign on North Crocker.

  

Sept 21

Getting our feet wet

After about 3 miles of mostly downhill hiking, we arrived at a stream.  Crossing Orbeton Stream would be our first true fording of a body of water on this hike.  Looking ahead in the book, and based on what I've heard, the rest of Maine is going to be like this quite frequently.  Shoes and socks off.  Crocs on, with the adjustable strap around the back of my heel, just in case they try to come loose.  I unbuckled all of the straps  and the hip belt on my pack, so it was loosely hanging on my shoulders.  This is a wise thing to do for safety reasons, in that if you happen to fall, you can get out of your pack quickly enough.  Better to get your pack wet, or lose it entirely, than to have the weight of it pull you under the water where you could drown.  The ford turned out to be really easy, just about knee deep the entire way across.  Dry shoes and socks went back on, tightened up the pack, buckled all the straps, and I kept on hiking.  The climbing started again.  I passed several small streams along the way.  I stopped for a lunch break at the top of Lone Mountain, just on the side of the trail, sitting on a log among the trees.  Part of the sky was clear and blue, with puffy white clouds.  But rolling in from my left, the clouds were dense and dark.  The air was moist and cold.  It was like you could almost smell snow coming.  Mixed with the scent of the firs all around, it seemed like Christmas.  After Lone Mountain was a really nice ridge walk to the Spaulding Mountain lean-to.  Along the way, I was struck by all of the colors I was seeing.  The blue sky.  The white clouds.  The grey clouds.  The dark green of the firs, and their light grey trunks.  Yellow leaves on the birch trees, and their white trunks.  Even the ferns were changing colors, from greens, to yellows, to burgundy and dark purple.  I didn't stop at the shelter, heading rather right up the 900 foot climb to the top of Spaulding Mountain.  It looked a lot tougher than it actually was.  Coming down the other side, I came to a plaque on a rock.  It marked the location where the last section of the AT was finished being built by the CCC in August of 1937.  At the time of its completion, the AT was a mere 2054 mile long.  It has always ended at Katahdin, north of here, but over the years, the trail has lengthened along the way, by 130 miles, through additions and reroutes, as new parcels of land along the trail corridor have been acquired.  The ominous skies this morning, gave way to a crisp, clear afternoon.  I followed another ridge for several miles.  Tall firs and spruce lined the trail.  There was little understory, only a few baby fir trees and ferns, allowing long views into the forest.  I saw a moose track, right on the trail, in the mud.  It was almost as big as my foot.  I realized that I was actually enjoying just walking in the woods.  Usually, you just keep plowing ahead to get to the next view.  But today, there was no mountain top views.  Just forest.  And it was beautiful.  Realizing this made me even happier.  Rainbow Eyes and I were walking along together as the trail continued sharply down from the ridge.  The mountain curved around in a horse shoe shaped canyon, with a roaring river that we could hear below.  We knew this one was a ford.  As we got closer and closer, the water got louder and louder.  I was actually nervous about this one.  The steep and rocky trail down to the river reminded me of the way down from Dragon's Tooth back in Virginia for some reason.  We came to the bank of the South Branch Carrabasset River.  The crossing went through the raging white water that rushed over rocks and boulders, splashing down into deep pools.  A white blaze on a large rock, right in the middle of the river, taunts - this way.  A few of our friends had already made it across.  It wasn't a particularly wide river crossing, but the strength of the current was disconcerting.  It took a few minutes to figure out the best course.  I repeated the processes I had done earlier today with my shoes and my pack.  After mustering up some courage, I stepped into the frigid water and made my way through the rapids with trepidation.  As the icy water went up to my thighs in the 'shallows', I thought about two things.  How bad it would be to step off one of these slick river bottom rocks and get the boys wet, or worse, to get in up to my chest and swept over a rapid.  Everyone made it across in one piece, but after that exhilarating experience, was content to stay put.  Just on the north bank, there were several fabulous tenting areas.  We got set up, before dark no less, had dinner and turned in for the night after an incredibly diverse 13 mile day.

Crossing the Carrabassett.