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.

Sept 20

The Saddlebacks

Well, we kind of need to get back to that whole hiking thing.  Frost covered the ground this morning, as well as the car.  The calendar says we're still in the last couple days of summer.  It's not even autumn yet.  Wow.  That's Maine for ya'.  We need to hurry.  The white stuff could come down any day.  On the way out of town, we stopped at the grocery store for resupply, then headed back to the trail.  At the trail head, just north into the woods, there was a sign showing the mileages to various locations up the trail.  The MATC had posted an additional notice on a tree, warning hikers not to underestimate the terrain and weather traveling northward from here, toward the summit of Saddleback Mountain.  Apparently, this section is particularly rugged, and due to its elevation and latitude, freezing temperatures have been observed in every month of the year.  Sounds like fun.  After a couple of miles, we arrived at Piazza Rock lean-to.  This shelter has an interesting privy.  It's a large structure, with side by side toilet seats, and a cribbage board.  If two hikers were comfortable enough with each other, and were so inclined, they could take care of business and play a game at the same time.  We just got some laughs from it all.  We slowly made our way, up and up, passing several streams and ponds.  The next two miles became noticeably steeper, until we reached the exposed summit of Saddleback.  It was cold and clear at the top, with views all around of mountains and lakes, fall colors in the lower elevations, and the dark greens of conifers closer to the summits.  For miles and miles we walked along the exposed ridge of the Saddleback range, hovering around 4000 feet.  Over The Horn and down the other side.  Then a crazy steep bump up to the top of Saddleback Junior.  On the way down from Junior, the trail crossed a stream, but mostly, the water was trickling right down the trail, making the hike slippery and muddy, down the steep terrain.  We had taken several breaks along the way today, since the views were so amazing, and we got into camp at the Poplar Ridge lean-to right at dusk.  Tink was staying there to.  She had passed us while we took a zero yesterday, so it was good to see her again.  This was an older shelter, and a fairly wet, and muddy tenting area.  I was able to find a small, flat, dry spot nestled in some trees next to the shelter, where I set up my tent and cooked dinner in the dark.  Not an ideal location, but with it being dark now, and really cold, and with a stream crossing coming up, it would have to do.  Covered 11 miles today.  Not great, but it had been a nice hike, and at least we're back doing double-digits consistently again.

Climbing up to the summit of Saddleback Mountain.

Sept 19

Lazy day

We didn't go anywhere today.  None of us were up early.  The tolerance isn't what it used to be, and we all stayed up way, way to late.  All we did today was just hang out and watch several movies back to back.  A few of us briefly went down to the lake, but it was chilly and cloudy outside, so we retreated to the house.  We know that there won't be many opportunities left like this to just relax in civilized comfort, so we were fine with just hanging out for the day.  Only 220 miles left.  Looking back, in the first 220 miles of the hike, I would have been at the northern end of the Smoky Mountains.  Only a couple more weeks left.

Yogi made a new friend at Lake Kennebago.

Sept 18

Magic in Rangeley

We woke up this morning to chilly temperatures and misty fog.  After about 2 miles of hiking, we came to another road crossing.  Needing to resupply, we hitched a ride into Rangeley, 9 miles away.  First we grabbed a bite to eat at a diner.  Then we went to a small gear shop in the middle of this small resort community.  The sky turned cloudy and grey, the wind started to pick up, and a cool rain began to fall.  One of the workers at the shop said he had some ice cream to give away if we wanted it.  Over the past weekend, Rangeley had hosted its first annual hiker party, celebrating its official designation as a 'trail town'.  We were a couple days too late, but we at least scored some free pints of locally made 'muddy boots' ice cream.  We had hardly seen any other hikers along the trail in the past few days.  Many of the hikers that were in Andover the same days as us had yellow blazed to Rangeley to make it to the festival.  Our new, large crew that I've been hiking with through Maine thus far, has started calling itself "the league of extraordinary hikers', since we haven't been skipping any sections.  While we were sitting outside, eating our ice cream, a van pulled up.  Driving was Miss Janet.  She'd been bouncing around hiker towns all summer, following the bubbles of hikers northward, offering rides and assistance along the way.  We were just milling around, about to head to the grocery store to resupply, when Old Tomato came running back to us from the gift shop across the street.  He had run into an old friend from high school, and her mom, who were in town on vacation.  Mary Ann had a property on another lake, about half an hour outside of town, and invited all of us to come stay with them for the night.  How we all fit into her Volvo station wagon was a Tetris-like feat of puzzle piece engineering.  Mary Ann was driving, daughter Sarah in the front seat.  Behind was their dog, Atom Bomb, Old Tomato, Rainbow Eyes, Apache, Yogi, BooBoo, and myself.  Five hikers in the back seat, and two of us in the cargo area riding along with several bags of groceries, jugs of water, and a few of our backpacks.  We had the other five backpacks up on the roof, strapped on using one of our bear bag ropes.  Turning off the highway, we headed down a dirt road, passing by a gate house.  We were now just a hop, skip, and a jump from the Canadian border.  We had seen a large SUV in town earlier, marked with 'Border Patrol'.  Come to think of it, that's the only law enforcement we've seen so far in Maine.  After about 10 miles of bouncing around down the dirt road, we arrived at their cabin, on Kennebago Lake.    It was a beautiful log home, decorated and furnished picture perfectly, like right out of an LL Bean catalog.  A huge moose head hung on the wall, over looking the living room, and was flanked by two deer heads.  Our hostess made up a tray of fresh vegetables, sliced up some fresh kalamata olive bread, and filled a dish with a mixture of olive oil and balsamic vinegar for dipping.  Magnums of red wine were opened, and we snacked on these delicious hors'd'oeuvres while we waited for dinner.  I sat back in one of the plush chairs, sipping from my balloon glass of wine.  It was like being back home at one of the university's hob-knobby receptions.  We had an awesome meal of grilled steak, grilled chicken, sauteed vegetables, and mashed potatoes.  After dinner, we watched a movie or two, and played card games outside on the porch.

Closing in on Santa's domain.  

   

Sept 17

Wild Kingdom

After a short climb this morning we all arrived at a road crossing on ME 17.  There was a nice bench beside the road, and amazing views to the west, overlooking Mooslookmeguntic Lake.  That name comes from the native Abnaki Indian language meaning "where moose feed".  The next section of the trail was easy, passing by several large ponds.  We stopped for a lunch break on a sandy beach at Long Pond.  We took off our shoes and waded in the water.  I was able to walk out into the water, about 50 feet off shore, and it was still only up to my knees.  The water was crystal clear.  On the far side of the pond, we could hear loons calling. All of a sudden, the tone of the loons changed to a tremolo.  Overhead, we saw a large bird circling the pond.  Atom Bomb had a golf scope.  We looked in the view finder, and saw that this large bird had a distinctly white head.  Probably a bald eagle!  This would account for the loons' alarm.  (Listen to the calls of loons at:   http://www.loon.org/voice-loon.php)  The eagle left, and everything went back to normal in loon world.  While we packed up after lunch, we noticed something swimming in the shallow water near shore.  We fished it out of the water with a stick.  It was all black, and resembled a slug in size.  A leech!  Immediately, we began searching our bodies for leeches, pulling the legs of our shorts up.  A sigh of relief.  No leeches.  We put the creature back into the water.  It immediately grew long and slender, like a ribbon, and pulsated its body back and forth, swimming away.  Just after that pond, we arrived at the lean-to at Sabbath Day Pond.  In the distance, we heard moose calling out, but when we went to the edge of the pond to try to see one, our investigation was unfruitful.  The hiking in the remainder of the afternoon was pleasant.  Another clear, beautiful day.  I passed by a privy, that was right beside the trail.  It even had a white blaze painted on the side of it.  A hundred yards past it was a campsite at Little Swift River Pond.  There was a muddy spring feeding the pond, where I filled up on water.  There were also a few canoes moored on the side of the pond.  Apache and I thought about taking one out onto the water, but they were in rough shape and didn't look very seaworthy.  The following section of the trail, leading to another pond, at Chandler Mill Stream, popped with the colors of fall.  Maple trees gave a leafy show of brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows.    In some instances, a single tree displayed leaves that were still green, along with the other three colors.  Absolutely beautiful.  We were walking right through the changing of the season.  Near dark, we arrived at South Pond, and our crew set up camp for the night.  We covered 13 miles today.  For Maine, I'd say that is a success.  I went to sleep, but woke up several times during the night, hearing the mystical sounds of the animals of the Maine woods.

Mooslookmeguntic Lake, Maine.

Sept 16

Bullwinkle

We said our goodbyes this morning, and Don dropped us off at the trail head.  Our first obstacle was Old Blue Mountain.  Bear had warned us about the climb.  There were a couple of nice views early on.  The climb actually wasn't terrible.  Sections had nice stone steps again.  The climb was less steep after the first mile, but pitched up again as we neared the summit.  The forest began to change from leafy trees, back to more evergreens.  At the summit, a small sign read 'Old Blue elevation 3600ft'.  Only stunted firs and small shrubs grew up here.  I continued on for about 2 miles before stopping for lunch at no place in particular.  In the afternoon, I hiked over Bemis Mountain.  The trail through this section was very interesting.  It was a series of quick ups and downs, meandering through groves of short fir trees.  The scent from the firs is invigorating. The book listed a lean-to after Bemis.  I'm not sure it's accurate though.  By the time I reached the shelter, based on how long it took, and what the terrain was like along the way, I think it was listed a couple miles too early.  The terrain the rest of the afternoon was really nice.  Easy hiking, gradually losing elevation for several miles.  I came to a dirt road.  Just after the road there was a really nice campsite area, with a stream just beyond.  Some of my other hiking buddies were already there.  By the time everyone rolled into camp we had Atom Bomb, Old Tomato, Yogi, BooBoo, Apache, Rainbow Eyes, and myself.  We all sat around a  simple campfire, and started cooking our dinners, as the sun went down.  Just after dark, we heard a loud noise just behind us.  Branches breaking, a few dozen yards away.  Great.  Now we have to deal with scaring off some bear.  I shone my headlamp over toward the stream and the light picked up a large, dark silhouette.  That's a moose! I yelled.  I jumped up and cautiously walked closer to the stream.  This was no bear.  The outline I could see was as big as a cow, or bigger.  I thought I could make out antlers, but with all the tree cover it's hard to say for sure.  It turned its head for a second and its eyes reflected the light from my lamp back to me.  The animal just continued on, heading upstream along the bank, paying us no attention.

A view on Bemis Mountain.

Sept 15

Zero

Woke up early to head upstairs for another pancake breakfast this morning.  Just like yesterday, we packed up the leftovers, then went downstairs to start getting ready to leave.  Except we didn't go anywhere.  It looked like rain.  Stay here another night?  Okay.  Pretty easy decision.  We just relaxed all day long.  Rainbow Eyes and Apache put on sort of a movie marathon, watching dvds all day.  I sat down for a couple of them, but I spent most of the afternoon on the computer trying to catch up on some of my journals.  I've been way behind on that.  New Hampshire wasn't conducive to getting that task done.  After leaving Hanover, the few small towns we stopped in did have libraries, but charged for internet use.  I spent a while looking at the upcoming pages in my guide book.  There's not too many of them left.  We have just under 247 miles of trail to hike.  I flipped to the front of the book, and found where the first 247 miles of this hike put us.  Just about 10 miles north of the Smokies.  That's insane.  It's strange to look back with that perspective.  Hiking through the Smoky Mountains seems like an eternity ago, but at the same time it feels like we just did it yesterday.  I've been on this trek for over 5 1/2 months.  The passage of time has become a warped blur.  It's amazing how much I can remember.  A slideshow in my head of people and places.  You experience so much out here in just one day, so 5 months worth is an enormous amount of information to process.   I've been making notes along the margins of my guide book to keep track of the date each day.  If not for that it'd be tough to determine.  My phone rarely has a signal, so I keep it turned off.  Other hikers have had better service with their phones, so that's one way to check.  Also, when stopping in towns.  But over this time I've spent out here, I've gotten used to not needing to know such things.  It doesn't really matter, when I am.  Sometimes, I'm not even to sure, where I am.  Nor do I really care.  It's easy to gain all the information you need just by waking up and opening your eyes in the morning.  Sunny outside?  A little chilly?  Well, I'll just put on my jacket, hike north for a bit, stop to take it off when I get too hot, eat when I'm hungry, drink when I'm thirsty, and stop when I'm tired.  I'll attempt to make plans each day as to how far to hike, to the next shelter or campsite, to a particular water source, to the next town, or whatever.  But that never happens.  Churchill once said, "Plans are of little importance, but planning is essential."  That couldn't be more true of my experience out here.  The only real plan is to keep going north.  As for the 'planning', some came before the hike, but some came during the hike as well.  Each step along the way has prepared me for next one.  One obstacle at a time.  One step closer to Katahdin.  And I've got exactly one month left to do it.  As a very general rule, the mountain closes on October 15th.  The weather can move that date up, or push it back, however.  We've all been doing mileage calculations for a while now.  We don't have a deadline to finish, so we keep throwing out numbers just for arguments sake.  If we want to finish by 'x', then we'd have to average 'y' per day.  Leaving tomorrow, we'd have to do 8.2 miles per day to make it to Katahdin in time.  Yep, I'd say that's doable.  Even though I don't have a real deadline to finish my hike, I've never truly been able to shut my left-brain down out here.  Numbers and averages all always running through my head, but are usually secondary to the experience.  I wonder if I hiked the AT again, could I leave the book behind, and just totally live in the moment.  I wonder if I would be able to get by just remembering water sources and shelters along the way.  With a smartphone, that had a good signal, it should be easy enough to come up with a general estimate of how far it would be between resupply points.  And really, that wouldn't even be an issue until the far north.  Along the way so far, if I absolutely had to get into a town, I've never been more than a day or two's hike away from a decent road.  On this day off, these are the things I think about.  I think about them on the trail too, but it's definitely nice to be able to sort through things with the comforts and amenities of civilization.

At 'The Cabin', East Andover, ME.

     

Sept 14

Home for dinner

We had an amazing breakfast this morning.  Blueberry pancakes, eggs, sausage; the works.  The plate of pancakes kept replenishing itself like magic.  Honey made sure we were setting out on the trail with a full belly.  She gave us ziplock bags for us to pack out the left over cakes and sausages to have for lunch or a snack too.  Awesome.  Don dropped us off at the trail head.  We had made arrangements to have him come pick us up this afternoon, 10 miles down the trail, at another road crossing.  We definitely wanted to stay at The Cabin again.  With this option, I could have left my gear at the house, and slack-packed this section.  But true to my original plans, I shouldered my full pack.  I carried all this crap the whole way so far.  No reason to break that streak now.  We had about 5 miles of nothing but climbing.  We only gained 1600 feet over that distance, making for an easy, gradual, uphill hike.  Just over a mile past the summit of Wyman Mountain, we stopped for a lunch break at Hall Mountain lean-to.  More signs of moose.  Piles of droppings are everywhere along the trail.  Next up, we had a steep descent into Sawyer Notch.  1600 feet, over 1.4 miles.  The climb out of the notch, up to Moody Mountain, was even steeper. 1300 over the next 0.8.  It was tough going, and one of the steepest sections we've come across, but it was very well maintained.  There were even portions that were covered with nice stone stairs.  Gotta give those volunteers with the MATC a lot of credit for their work through this section.  With out their efforts, this could have been a miserable climb.  The trail descended from Moody, winding through deciduous forest.  No evergreens, but the fall colors were creating a beautiful display.  Blue skies above the tree tops.  Really nice hiking.  We made it to the road crossing ahead of schedule.  It was so nice to break out of this 1mph rut I've been in lately.  We actually did better than 2mph today.  Don was already walking down the trail toward us, enjoying the beautiful day to hike.  We hopped in the truck and headed back to The Cabin.  This time, we were in time for dinner.  Oh, man, that was a great decision.  Apache, Rainbow Eyes, and I were the only ones there tonight.  We feasted on a home-cooked meal of roasted pork loin, corn on the cob, sauteed squash, yams, and home-made bread.  Meals were a small additional cost to the stay, but more than worth it.  Honey, like your archetypal grandmother, kept our plates full, offering more scrumptious food, with a equally warm smile.  Bear told us stories, and gave us advice and information about the upcoming sections of the trail.  Brownies and ice cream for dessert.

 I really liked this register entry at Hall Mountain Lean-to.

Sept 13

Honey and Bear

As I was eating breakfast and having coffee this morning, the animal that I saw scurrying around last night made another apperance.  Except this time, there were two of them, and in the daylight I could make out what they were.  Martens!  They chased each other around my campsite, ran off to the shelter, putting on a show for everyone up there, and then bolted off into the woods.  Leaving camp, I started climbing the west peak of Baldplate Mountain.  Nicely crafted stone steps led the way.  Thanks MATC!  I came out of the trees and onto the exposed rock that gave this mountain its name.  The trail was marked with rock cairns as it climbed up this massive, grey dome to the summit.  This was different than a lot of the mountains I had hiked on before.  It wasn't a climb over a jumble of rocks and boulders.  Just a steep, smooth slope, up a massive cap of rock.  It was another cool, clear day, and the views were spectacular at the top.  The trail continued on, downhill for a bit, then up again, to the east peak.  More amazing views.  I feel much better today, and the trail so far has been beautiful.  I went on, down to the Frye Notch lean-to, where I stopped for a lunch break.  The next section of trail was really nice.  The terrain rolled on for several miles, but with a downhill trend overall.  I came to a huge ravine at Dunn Notch, stopping for a minute to look at the huge waterfall there.  The trail continued along flat terrain for the next mile, ending at road crossing that led into Andover, Maine.  Old Tomato, Atom Bomb, and Tamir were there, trying in vain to get a hitch.  It'd been two hours already for them.  Apache, Rainbow Eyes, and I joined in on the wait.  After about 30 minutes, we finally had a pickup truck stop and we all climbed in the back.  After 8 miles, down a narrow, winding mountain road we were in Andover.  It was a one-stop light kind of town.  There was a general store, a restaurant, post office, and a church.  That's about it.  The hiker hostel was a couple of blocks away, in a small residential neighborhood.  I ordered some food at the counter inside the general store, and sat down to a hot open faced roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy.  I intentionally ate first, before shopping for my resupply groceries.  The store had a good supply of hiker food staples, and an amazing assortment of snacks and treats.  The down side was it was all really expensive.  That's the price you pay for being in the middle of nowhere.  We all lingered around outside, bellies full, wondering what to do next.  We figured it was too late to try to get back to the trail, especially considering how long it took to get a hitch earlier.  There were at least a dozen other hikers in town, and most of them were planning on staying at the hostel.  In the book, there was a listing for another hostel, 3 miles away in East Andover.  We called the number, and they said they'd come pick us up at the store for free.  Apache, Rainbow Eyes, and I agreed on that option.  Kokopelli had just arrived in town, and came along with us to The Cabin.  The property is a beautiful log home.  The downstairs area is the hostel.  A clean, spacious bunk room.  Bathroom.  Living room, with TV, movies, and a guitar.  A full kitchen, and a laundry room.  We were too late for dinner, but we signed up for breakfast in the morning.  Instead, we had bought hamburger meat and all the fixings at the general store.  I seasoned the meat, made up some patties and fired up the outside grill.  Washed down with some Angry Orchard Ginger-Apple Cider, it was a tasty meal.  Our hosts, Honey and Bear, and their son Don, were great.  They were an elderly couple, with strong ties to the AT.  We didn't realize how much amazing trail history this hostel had, but I was really happy that we stumbled into this place.  They used to be trail maintainers themselves, in a section further to the north.  They told us to make sure to pay attention to the rock stairs south of Whitecap.  That was their section for 30 years.  We also learned that Earl Shaffer stayed at this hostel, several times, on his thru-hikes.  A picture of Schaffer, framed with one of his poems, hung on the dining room wall.  The house is full of AT memorabilia.  Post cards and hand crafted gifts are all over the place, given to Honey and Bear from dozens of previous hikers that had stayed there over the years.  This place is right up there with the Blueberry Patch as my favorite two hostels on the trail.  The accommodations were great, but the hosts were what made this place so special.

Climbing the east peak of Baldplate.
For scale, look for Apache, wearing a maroon shirt,
just up and to the left of the center of the picture.

Sept 12

The MATC

The climb up Mahoosuc Arm this morning was easier than I expected.  That's not to say it was easy.  It was still really steep and challenging, but that's just becoming the norm now.  I've found it's always better to tell yourself that something is going to be really hard.  Get amped up for the challenge.  I know it's cliche, but 'plan for the worst, and hope for the best', works.  After a 1600 foot climb, I came down off the arm, descending to the shelter area at Speck Pond, where I had mid-morning snack.  I hiked on for just over a mile, toward the summit of Old Speck Mountain.  The last bit near the top was particularly steep.  A side trail continued all the way up to the summit, where a fire tower was located.  I stopped at this junction and sat down for lunch.  Slims was who knows where, half a day or more, ahead.  Apache had made it past me early on this morning.  He was planning on going into a small town to resupply when he reached the next road crossing.  Rainbow pulled up behind me to take a lunch break just as I was finishing up mine.  I enjoyed the nice views I had from my lunch spot, but I had to keep moving.  Today, I'm still hiking at a one mile per hour pace.  At least the temperature has been warmer today.  The skies have been clear all day too.  So despite the slow pace, the hiking has been enjoyable.  From my lunch spot, it was 3 miles, downhill, to the road at Grafton Notch.  Somewhere about halfway down, I took a good spill.  There was nothing notably difficult about this section.  Just a scary reminder of how quickly a good day can turn on you out here.  I brushed myself off and kept walking.  No harm done.  I came to a stream that had beautiful cascades.  I stopped for a minute to rest.  The trail has been taking a toll on me lately.  The ruggedness of the terrain is physically demanding.  The slowness of my pace is starting to wear on me mentally.  The fall I took, had my heart racing, and my mind filled with nervous thoughts.  I looked at that waterfall and stream running down the mountain, leaves starting to change all around, and in that moment, it was all worth it.  The trail itself can provide you with its own kind of 'magic' if you open yourself up to it.  With lifted spirits, I walked along the stream, following it all the way to the road.  No sign of any of my friends.  Hmmm.  A box at the trail head had a register in it.  Slims had been here at 10am.  I was six miles back at the same time this morning.  At this pace, that means he's more than half a day ahead now.  After crossing the road, the trail was nice and flat, following a stream.  I was now in the Maine Appalachian Trail Club's jurisdiction.  These remaining northernmost 267 miles of the AT are maintained by this final club.  As the trail continued into the Baldplate region, it began to pitch upward.  I felt miserable.  I had no energy.  The happiness that I felt moments ago, was replaced with frustration.  I'm getting sick.  It was a struggle to make it the next two miles to the Baldplate Lean-to.  There was still hours of daylight left, but I was done.  Another hiker, named Tripping Yeti, was at the shelter when I arrived.  I'd met him in passing a few times before, many, many states ago.  It's funny to measure the passage of time, not in days, weeks or months, but in states.  The shelter area was really pretty, with a mix of hardwoods and evergreen trees.  Once I got my tent set up, I went to the spring, gathering about 3 liters of water.  I cooked a hot bowl of ramen soup, then another.  I drank about a liter of water on top of that.  Instantly I noticed an improvement.  I was probably a bit dehydrated earlier.  That, coupled with coming down with some sort of illness, must explain how miserable I felt this afternoon.  Rainbow Eyes pulled into camp.  So did Yogi and BooBoo.  The sun was starting to set.  Feeling a little better now, I headed up to the shelter area to be more social.  Just as I was leaving my tent site, I caught a glimpse of some small animal scurrying about, just behind my tent.  The other hikers were around the campfire, starting to cook their dinners.  Just before dark, Apache rolled into camp.  I was surprised to see him.  I thought he was ahead of me now.  Apparently, he had a pretty interesting time getting in and out of town.  Something like two hitches in, and three hitches back out, basically taking up the entire afternoon to make the trip.  Tripping Yeti had packed out a package of hotdogs, and shared with everyone.  Roasted on the fire, and wrapped in a tortilla shell, it was delicious.  It occurred to me, this was the first time I'd cooked a hotdog on the trail.  Kind of strange, for such a quintessential camp food.

A display at Grafton Notch, showing what lies ahead.

Sept 11

Ma-hoo-suck

It's 34 degrees this morning, according to BooBoo's backpacking thermometer.  I didn't need that thing to confirm how cold it was.  I think I woke up sometime around 7, but I just stayed there in my sleeping bag for about an hour and a half.  I cooked up some hot coffee to have with my breakfast.  Slims was out of camp first.  He was starting to feel something coming on now too, and couldn't stand sitting still in the cold air.  Got to hike.  Apache and I headed out about the same time, a late 10:30am start.  Rainbow Eyes had barely started moving yet.  He's talking about staying put, and not in a good mood.  First up for the day was a short climb up to the top of Mt. Carlo, then down the other side.  The next climb sent us up to the top of Goose Eye Mountain.  Along the way however, we hit our first real challenge in Maine.  Near the top of the climb, the trail ended at a rock wall.  Steel rungs hammered into the rock made a ladder up to another ledge.  Another small bit of climbing more metal rungs followed.  Then a wooden ladder made of some nicely cut logs.  Welcome to Maine.  Well at least we had the ladders.  We took a short side trail to the actual summit of Goose Eye.  Cold, crisp air.  We sat for a few minutes on top of a rock, up above the short, stunted evergreen trees, taking in the views all around us in every direction.  This perspective also gave us a look at what was ahead.  A thin ribbon of trail over more rugged mountains.  On the mountain slopes, the dark greens of the foliage were dense and thick, but thinned out as they neared each summit, giving way to greyish-white, exposed rock.  This is going to be tough, but it looks like a lot of fun.  Well, parts of it were fun.  Namely, the summits.  In the saddles in between these rolling peaks was nothing but muddy trail.  Bog bridges were placed in some particularly bad areas, but they were often rotten, or sinking in the water and mud.  I tested the depth of one of the mud holes, and my trekking pole sank two-thirds of the way in.  Great.  One misstep, and I'd be in almost up to my waist in dense, sticky, cold mud.  I wonder if anyone's shoe is down in one of those things.  We stopped at Full Goose shelter for lunch.  My tent fly was damp from the moisture in the air yesterday, so I took this time to dry it out in the sun.  Now I'm starting to come down with some sort of head and chest cold too.  It felt good to get hydrated, and have a bite to eat.  Rainbow Eyes caught up to us.  Apparently he had packed up and got moving after a weird guy in the shelter kind of creeped him out this morning.  We had a small climb after lunch, and then came down into the south end of Mahoosuc Notch.  The next mile, through the notch, is often called the hardest, or most fun, mile of the AT.  There are plenty of blazes painted on the rocks along the way, but it's more like a 'choose your own adventure', as you scramble down this section of trail.  Over car, and even house-sized, boulders.  In some places, the route went into small caves, created by the jumble of massive rocks, and we had to climb up and out the other side.  It was a blast.  About half way through the maze, I started hearing water beneath my feet.  I couldn't see it yet, but it was exciting to hear it, rushing down in the dark cracks and crevasses of my rocky path.  We were all enjoying this "hike" through the notch.  I know I'd think differently if it would have been raining though.  We had averaged only about 1 mile per hour so far today, but our pace through the notch slowed down even more.  We traversed that mile in about an hour and a half.  Yikes.  I'd totally like to go back and do that section without a full pack.  So much fun.  When we came to the end of the boulder field at the north end of the notch, it was already 6:30pm.  7.2 miles in 8 hours.  It was starting to get dark, and we didn't have enough daylight to make it to the next shelter over 2 miles away.  There's also no telling how bad the terrain ahead would be, climbing up Mahoosuc Arm.  There was a backcountry campsite listed in the guidebook, which we found quickly, so we set up there for the night.  Yogi and BooBoo pulled in just after us.  It wasn't the best campsite, but there was water just down the hill, and a few good flat spots.  We ate dinner in the dark again, around the campfire, ending an awesome, and challenging day.

Rainbow Eyes enjoying a few small pebbles on the trail through Mahoosuc Notch.

Sept 10

The Maine event

No shortage of water this morning, that's for sure.  The trail climbed slowly, passing several streams, ponds, and a lake.  Low, grey clouds kept any views hidden.  Just a chilly, dull morning.  The forest and the waters were still beautiful, in their muted tones and tranquility.  After about 5 miles, I took a long lunch break at the Gentian Pond shelter.  We headed out, over several more ups and down, as we hiked closer and closer to Mt. Success.  This mountain is the last one we will have to climb in the state of New Hampshire.  On the way up, we surpassed the 1900 mile point on this trip.  Less than 300 to go!  On Mt. Success, the wind was blowing, and the grey skies were releasing a cold mist.  Apache and I stopped here to investigate an unmarked side trail off to the right.  We had heard there's an airplane wreckage somewhere on this mountain, and thought this path might lead to its location.  After about 15 minutes, and an unsuccessful search, we continued on.  We knew we were getting close to Maine.  The anticipation was building.  We came to a halt on the edge of a massive, slick, slab of granite.  New Hampshire's swan song.  She was giving us everything she had left to try to break us down.  One more ridiculous obstacle as a parting gift.  Lowering my center of gravity I sat my butt on the rock, knees bent, feet out in front of me.  Off I went, scoot-sliding down the rock.  Having bested New Hampshire, we rounded a bend and saw a sign.  A border sign, in the middle of a sloppy mud puddle, no less.  Thanks Maine.  A couple of other hikers were there as well, and we all helped one another with picture taking at the sign.  Man, did it feel great to finally be in Maine.  I was cold, wet, and muddy, but I couldn't care less about my physical state.  I was in Maine.  I had hiked roughly 1900 miles, and over 5 months, to get here.  Through scorching heat, driving rain, freezing snow, stinging hail, and even tornado warnings.  Through high mountains, low valleys, rolling pastures, beautiful parks, and historic towns.  But as I looked at that sign, I couldn't help but think to myself, "now comes the hard part".  We hiked on, a half mile further, arriving at the first shelter in Maine.  Carlo Col.  Rainbow Eyes was tired, and freezing, so he set up in the shelter itself to get out of the wind.  Slims had set up on one of the tent platforms.  Apache strung up his hammock nearby.  I set up on a tent platform of my own.  The temperature was really dropping as night approached.  The air was crisp.  The wind blew strong and gusty all night.  Before going to sleep, the last thing I remember seeing as I looked up through the tree tops, were the bright pin points of starlight, flickering as dark silhouettes of clouds whisked by.  Maine.

Thirteen down.  One to go.

Sept 9

The Plague

Late start getting out of town.  Surprise, surprise.  It was around 1:30pm by the time we got back on the trail.  There was a small bit of road walking initially.  Paved at first, then turning off onto a dirt road, before veering off into the forest again.  Town, as usual, was at a low elevation, so there was only one way to go.  Up.  The trail wasn't particularly hard or steep, not by New Hampshire standards at least.  Just more of the same.  Regardless, I needed to take a breather after only a couple of miles.  No where in particular, just a heavily forested, sunny piece of trail, that climbed over some large flat rock.  Members of our group stopped here too for varying lengths of time, as did other hikers we had seen in town yesterday.  I got moving again and hiked up to the top of Mt. Hayes, where it was time for another break.  The miles aren't coming easy, even though it's a beautiful, warm, sunny day.  At the top of the mountain, I could look back down the trail and see Washington and the rest of the Presidentials off in the distance.  As spectacular as they were, it feels good to have them at my back now.  The trail dipped down for a while, and the forest began showing many more brilliant pops of all shades of yellow.  On the next climb, up Cascade Mountain, I paused for a moment to catch my breath, and take in more amazing views behind me.  Rainbow Eyes caught up at that point, and said Tink was right behind him.  The section we had just come up was pretty steep and rocky.  There was one point in particular, where you had to really pay attention to where you were going.  A game trail, or possibly just an old, worn footpath, banked to the left, just before the steep climb up the rocks.  We called down into the forest below, and heard Tink reply.  We waited for a while, but no sign of her.  We called out again, but this time our call went unanswered.  The good thing to do would be to go back and look for her.  Simultaneously, we unbuckled our packs.  Rainbow thought there was no sense in both of us going back, so we rochambeaud for it.  One, two, three, shoot.  Rainbow headed back down the trail.  While I was waiting, I noticed an unusually large amount of moose poop.  Not in one spot, but scattered, all around.  Apparently we stopped in some sort of moose privy.  I hope I see one.  Tink and Rainbow came up the trail.  She hadn't gotten lost after all, just taking her time, but she appreciated us waiting.  At the top of Cascade Mountain, Spam and Screagle had set up camp at an awesome overlook, and already had a fire going.  Screagle was already in his tent, feeling ill.  Spam said he thought it might be the flu.  Tink stayed there to cook up some tea, hoping that would make Screagle feel better.  When Rainbow and I came down off of Cascade, we reached the Trident Col campsite.  It was getting dark, and chilly.  It seemed everyone else was already set up for the night.  The four of us guys got set up in the last available site.  Three tents and one hammock, a tight squeeze.  Old Tomato was up at the first campsite, celebrating a trail birthday, along with Yogi, BooBoo, and Thai Dye.  Several other hikers from town last night were here as well.  Many of them were complaining about not feeling good either.  It seems there is a bug going around.  I'm pretty sure the close proximity to others, and the shared beverages during last night's revelry at the motel have a lot to do with that.  As night fell, I took a walk down to the spring to fill my Platypus, cooked dinner, then went to bed.  Fairly tired, after only 7 miles.

Leafless paper birches, among the firs.