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.