More than once I have sat down with the intention of "completing" this blog - wrapping up my adventure with a pretty bow and putting it away, checking this particular box off of my list. But for so many reasons, this adventure is not over and in many ways will never be over. How foolish of me, to think that I could simply walk away from this and go on with life as it was before I became a badass trail-hiking, moose-fighting, tick-destroying, mountain-crushing, excessively tough (and maybe even a little obnoxious at times) bitch.
But the most pressing matter at hand is the fact that, though in my mind I am so thrilled with what I have achieved over the past 6 months, I cannot shake the fact that I am unfinished. There is still untouched ground for me to cover on the Appalachian Trail that, until I have traversed those last 200 miles and walked, not drove, into Damascus, VA I will not be able to, in good conscious, send in my application for my 2,000-miler certificate. I have yet to see the beauty of the Grayson Highlands, have yet to complete the Shenandoahs. Have yet to truly hit the 2,000 mile marker.
So I'm going back, friends, next May to complete my hike and end with one glorious stroll into Damascus, VA for one final time, this time on foot, and just in time for Trail Days. I can't wait to see you all there - beers and karaoke at The Blue Blaze anyone? My treat.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
That Was A Great Game
We walked the last 9 miles to the base of Katahdin the morning after our night at Abol Bridge with the whole crew - Chaos, Timex, Whistler, Danno, Steady State, Pumpkin Head and Spacey. At one point we stopped at Little Niagara Falls and my phone almost slid into the river. We had a campfire that night at Katahdin Stream Campground. Red Knees was more excited and chattier than I had ever seen him.
But that's not what this entry is about. This entry is about Katahdin, the Greatest Mountain.
Katahdin was named by the Penobscot Indians with a term meaning "The Greatest Mountain". And as a towering beauty at 5,268 feet tall, formed by underground magma with nearly 360 degree views of nothing but vast wild, it deserves every second of the name. You would think that after so many mountains - so many climbs - that this would be just another mountain. Honestly, so did I. And yet why is it, that Katahdin and not the other mountains that we have summitted, has inspired Henry David Thoreau, Theodore Winthrop and dozens of others? Why is it that we have heard from so many hikers before us that you don't truly understand the Appalachian Trail until you have climbed that final mountain?
I wish I had answers for this but all I can attest to is the fact that Katahdin did in fact change my view of almost everything. The climb up was as challenging as any mountain we have climbed to date with steep hand-over-hand climbing and exposed rocks that lead to death in all directions should you take even one misstep. The views were stunning, though not necessarily more prolific than what we have seen before. All I can presume is that there is something that happens on Katahdin - that perhaps it is able to channel the love and passion of those around you who have pressed for so many months towards this common goal. Or, even better, that the mountain gives you what you have been looking for this entire time. Maybe we all found what we were looking for at the top of Katahdin: adventure, friendship, challenge, beauty, the unknown.
I will never be able to accurately convey just how the Appalachian Trail changed my life. I gained courage, strength and confidence. And though there are still parts of the trail that I have left to complete back in Virginia, I could not be more proud of my strength, perseverance and all that I have learned. I couldn't so much as set up my tent on my first night on the trail but the mountains and people have taught me not only how to backpack but how to survive in the face of the elements, pain and the emotional distress of being alone in the wilderness.
I think they said it best in Hook: "That was a great game."
But that's not what this entry is about. This entry is about Katahdin, the Greatest Mountain.
Katahdin was named by the Penobscot Indians with a term meaning "The Greatest Mountain". And as a towering beauty at 5,268 feet tall, formed by underground magma with nearly 360 degree views of nothing but vast wild, it deserves every second of the name. You would think that after so many mountains - so many climbs - that this would be just another mountain. Honestly, so did I. And yet why is it, that Katahdin and not the other mountains that we have summitted, has inspired Henry David Thoreau, Theodore Winthrop and dozens of others? Why is it that we have heard from so many hikers before us that you don't truly understand the Appalachian Trail until you have climbed that final mountain?
I wish I had answers for this but all I can attest to is the fact that Katahdin did in fact change my view of almost everything. The climb up was as challenging as any mountain we have climbed to date with steep hand-over-hand climbing and exposed rocks that lead to death in all directions should you take even one misstep. The views were stunning, though not necessarily more prolific than what we have seen before. All I can presume is that there is something that happens on Katahdin - that perhaps it is able to channel the love and passion of those around you who have pressed for so many months towards this common goal. Or, even better, that the mountain gives you what you have been looking for this entire time. Maybe we all found what we were looking for at the top of Katahdin: adventure, friendship, challenge, beauty, the unknown.
I will never be able to accurately convey just how the Appalachian Trail changed my life. I gained courage, strength and confidence. And though there are still parts of the trail that I have left to complete back in Virginia, I could not be more proud of my strength, perseverance and all that I have learned. I couldn't so much as set up my tent on my first night on the trail but the mountains and people have taught me not only how to backpack but how to survive in the face of the elements, pain and the emotional distress of being alone in the wilderness.
I think they said it best in Hook: "That was a great game."
One Hundred Miles Wild
I have tried to sit down to write these last few entries several times, each to no avail. I was too tired, or uninspired, or too busy savoring every last drop of time with my family on the trail. Once I returned home I found that I couldn't remember specifics: what was the name of the shelter? What lake did we stop at? And I was remiss to write anything short of excruciatingly thorough for my last entries into what has become the most effective outlet and means to share my adventures I could possibly imagine. Thankfully, yesterday I happened across something that my dad must have purchased while I was away: a brand new AT Guide - in pristine condition, without any wear from the weather and with every page still intact. Flipping through the pages I realized that looking at the topography map was as almost as good as a flashback to the trail. I remembered those hills, descents, ponds and shelters and finally - finally - am able to sit down to finish this adventure.
Day 1
After a restful evening at the Lakeshore House, Red Knees and I awoke early, eager to return to the trail and begin our slow trudge into the Hundred Mile Wilderness, our packs laden with more food than we should have realistically been carrying and our stomachs still uneasy with the aggressive amounts of town food ingested the previous day (I now know how much Ben & Jerry's truly is too much). Thankfully we were able to obtain a ride to the trail head from one of the owners of the hostel and we were ready to start walking at 8:00am.
The terrain for the day was bumpy to say the least, full of 100 to 200 foot ascents and descents, creating a mini roller coaster which we were fully prepared to be exhausted by. Thankfully, the terrain was amenable and we were able to make quick time over the hills. After a quick snack at Leeman Brook Lean-To where we ran into, what I assume were, a bunch of day or section hikers, we pushed on, fording streams and stumbling over roots. When we came to our first stream that required "fording" (I put this in quotes because it really just required a half-assed hop) I stopped to grab something from my pack. When I looked up, Red Knees has his arms submerged elbow deep in the water with a frantic look on his face. For some reason, when he pulled something out of the stream I assumed that he had caught a fish with his bare hands and I was in awe until, of course, I realized that it was his iPhone that he held dripping in his hand. Oh boy, R.K. We looked at each other terrified for a moment until he was able to remove it from the "Life Proof" case and determine that it was, in fact, life proof.
This would not be Red Knees' only traumatic water encounter for the day. About 7 miles later we arrived at Wilber Brook, just down the hill from the shelter and our final destination for the evening, a short 15 miles from Monson. I was able, with the aid of my trekking poles, to very handily rock-hop across the quickly flowing river but after a few minutes of surveying the possibilities Red Knees decided to shed his shoes and stomp across, just to be sure he wouldn't get his shoes wet. He also decided, however, that it would be easier to cross without holding his shoes so that he would be able to use his hands. Sitting on a rock on the far bank of the river I cautioned: "Don't throw them R.K., that's a really bad idea..." He threw the first shoe across.
Of course, instead of landing safely on the bank, the shoe arched up and caught in the branches of a tree overhanging the river and dropped straight down into the water. The fact that they were wet at this point was completely overshadowed by the fact that the shoe was caught in the current, floating dangerously quickly out of sight. I dropped my things and ran to the waters edge to try and keep the shoe in sight. Panicking, Red Knees picks up his other shoe and ALSO throws it across the river and, predictably, that one falls straight into the water as well but thankfully catches on a rock. Red Knees then proceeds to sprint through the river, up to his waist, and once he was within 5 feet of the escaped footwear, dives in a particularly ungraceful belly-flop to successfully grab the shoe. So much for not getting wet in fording the river.
That evening we reconvened with Chaos, Timex, Whistler, Pumpkin Head, Spacey, Fabio, Steady State, Danno, OB, Fancy Pants and the rest of the crew at Long Pond Stream Lean-To, the last shelter before we would head up into some of our final mountains the next day. Amazingly, not one but two people decided to pack out the fixings for s'mores so we feasted on burnt mallow goodness around a roaring fire until well into the night.
Day 2
The next morning we set out on a 20.8 mile adventure over the first set of mountains in the wilderness though we expected them to be the tamer of the two ridges based solely on idiocy and the topography map. The first climbs to the top of Barren Mountain were fine - steep but manageable - and we arrived at the side trail to Cloud Pond Lean-To relatively quickly. Then the trail became a nightmare. There were steep ascents and steeper descents that did not appear on the map and the roots and rocks dug into our feet and threatened to throw us off balance as we descended off of Fourth Mountain (yes, so awful that they couldn't even think of a name for it. Mind you, there is a third mountain, but no first or second). At one point, the mountain succeeded and my foot slipped completely out from under me and I fell not backwards, but forwards, somersaulting feet over head down the mountain, landing painfully on my butt. I let Red Knees lead the charge for the rest of the day.
The miles seemed to drag endlessly as we continued to struggle over the difficult terrain, finally arriving at Chairback Gap Lean-To for lunch before descending down out of the hills. Red Knees, Danno and myself were briefly joined by Timex who opted to stay and wait for Chaos when we continued walking. Finally, after a remarkably rocky descent off of Chairback we came to Pleasant River, an easy ford just before the very well-trafficked area surrounding Gulf Hagas (the Grand Canyon of Maine!) After our ford we stopped briefly to speak with a Ridge Runner who informed us that the mountains the next day would not be anywhere near as brutal as what we had traversed today. Thank God.
The final five and a half miles were a gradual climb over beautifully maintained trail to take us up to the Carl A. Newhall Lean-To where Raider, a fellow hiker and ex-Marine, had saved us space in the shelter by, essentially, evicting several section hikers. No complaints here. We set up and waited for everyone to arrive but many of our crew did not show up, having decided to sleep a mile or so back after the challenging day. We slept like babies, yet again.
Day 3
Finally, we had arrived at the final mountains of the trail - the range leading up to White Cap Mountain from the top of which (allegedly) you are able to get your first real views of Katahdin. Of course, when we set out the fog was hanging low, obstructing our views to at most 50 feet in front of our faces. We were prepared for grueling climbs up the four peaks but, thanks to some truly spectacular trail maintenance (thank you, stone stairs!) we were able to fly up and over the mountains in great time. When we finally arrived at the summit of White Cap it was locked in fog and freezing, the rocky terrain around us looking distressingly like the bottom of the ocean with the hazy skies hanging low. Needless to say we did not stick around to see if, perhaps, the fog would lift to reveal views of that glorious final mountain (it didn't).
We basically ran the rest of the day, eager to put in the miles and get to the flat land that awaited us for the final 60 miles of our adventure (save, of course, Katahdin) and we arrived at Cooper Brook Falls Lean-To at around 3:30pm. When we arrived, two thoroughly tattooed section hikers were there with a fire blazing, preparing to cook fresh caught fish from the roaring stream just in front of the shelter. As they were questionably cleaned I decided to avoid the fish but we spent a good part of the evening waiting for our hiking buddies to show up and tending to the fire. Again, we feasted on s'mores with the leftovers remaining in our friends' packs. Not too shabby.
Day 4
Flat. So flat. The trail was covered pretty extensively with roots that threatened to snap your ankles in half but we had only one climb that was over 100 feet and it was over, more or less, before it started. Halfway through the day we arrived at Potaywadjo Spring Lean-To and stopped for an extensive lunch break - we had completed 10 miles in 3.5 hours and had the rest of the day ahead of us. The spring at the shelter was perhaps the most beautiful water any of us had seen on the trail - the spring bubbled up straight from the ground with ice cold, clear, untouched water. We filled our bottles and guzzled the water straight without bothering to purify.
Arguably the greatest part of the day happened just after we passed Antlers Campsite about 8 miles into our day. As we walked along the edge of Jo-Mary Lake we saw a small wooden sign nailed to a tree that pointed to the east. Approaching it my pace quickened as I realized what it said: "View of Katahdin". I unbuckled my hip-belt while running and threw my pack to the ground, almost falling as I tripped over partially submerged rocks in the lake. When I turned to the left and saw that behemoth of a mountain, rising gloriously like a god, arching his back under the skin of the earth, I was speechless. All I could do was raise my arms in the air in victory as a single tear found its way down my cheek. I brushed it away quickly.
Finally - FINALLY - after all of this time, there she was, rising in the distance. For so long we had all kept our thoughts of Katahdin at bay, knowing full well that you cannot think about the end too soon for fear that it will become overwhelming and now, seeing our final destination in the distance, we allowed every thought that we had previously pushed from our minds behind the dam of cognizance to come rushing forward into the forefront of our minds. It now makes sense to me why people quite literally begin to run on the trail once they have the greatest mountain in their sights.
The remainder of the day was uneventful and full of roots. Thankfully towards the end of the day the trail took us straight across some sandy beaches on the shores of Nahmakanta Lake - a big, beautiful lake that stretches for miles with several incredible views of Katahdin. After dropping our packs at the shelter a half a mile further, Red Knees and I ventured back to sit by the lake and soak in the beauty of the wilderness for one of the last times on this trip, burying our feet in the sand and almost enjoying watching the bugs dance over the glassy surface of the lake.
Day 5
Our final day in the hundred mile wilderness started early, with Danno, Red Knees and myself setting out just before 8:00am. We began with a steep climb up Nesuntabunt Mountain for an incredible payoff of stunning views of Katahdin, only 16 miles as the crow flies from where we were. The weather was temporarily nice but we knew that a storm was rolling in quickly so we avoided long breaks at all costs. This, however, meant that I was essentially sprinting to keep up with Danno as he tore down the path to Rainbow Stream Lean-To. When we arrived at the Lean-To I made the decision to push on that day all the way to Abol Bridge Campgrounds because I did not have enough food to happily complete the hundred mile wilderness. Red Knees agreed and we took off death-sprinting, as we are prone to do.
Thankfully the trail was largely flat and we moved at almost a 4 mile an hour pace along the shores of rainbow lake until we arrived at the base of Rainbow Ledges where there promised to be a magnificent view of Katahdin, though we feared that it would be covered with some ominous clouds rolling in. About halfway up the climb I had to stop to relieve myself and I told Red Knees to press on - I would meet him at the top. Relieved, I continued up the mountain for about 20 steps when I heard a noise in front of me that seemed out of sorts. I looked up.
MOOSE. Not just your run of the mill cow or a small bull. This was the granddaddy of all moose coming in at least 8 feet tall and probably weighing well over a ton with a rack of antlers that spanned at least 4 feet standing perpendicular to the trail, mindlessly munching on some twigs. I froze. There was absolutely no way around this moose as he was covering the entirety of the trail and the last thing that I wanted to do was startle him into a charge. Just in case, I raised my trekking poles so that the pointed tips were facing the moose. It wouldn't do much but I figured having my poles in attack position would at the very least make me feel better.
What felt like an hour later (real time: probably a minute and a half) the moose still had not moved so I decided to make my presence known by gently tapping my poles together. Immediately, he swung his head around and stared at me dead on. I closed my eyes, naturally, to avoid making eye contact and spurring him on to charge. Once deciding that I was a bore, he went back to eating and I, now petrified, with poles still in attack position, moved slowly off to the side of the trail behind the safety of a boulder. Unfortunately, this move was ill-advised as it meant that I was walking across the lichen which was crunchier that walking on dozens of bags of potato chips. Again, the moose swung his head around and looked at me, taking several menacing steps in my direction. I cowered.
Eventually, the moose either tired of his snack or, more likely, ate it all, and began to move across the path and into the forest (of course, not straight across, but slightly towards me, to add to my building terror). Once he had cleared the path by at least 10 feet I emerged from behind the boulder and began to tip-toe up the path until I was just past him at which point I broke out in a dead sprint up the last climb of the trail. When I arrived at the ledges, panting, Red Knees was checking his phone and looked up at me with a look of: "it took you THAT long to go pee?" Of course, I instantly relayed my near-death experience to him and successfully made him super jealous that he had not also seen this glorious moose.
If only I knew what was coming next. On the way down the ledges, the skies darkened and began to crackle as thunder and lightning ripped across the sky. It began to pour, washing the sweat from my brow into my eyes causing the salinity to burn my eyes to the point at which I could hardly keep them open. I removed the bandana from my hair and used it to dry my eyes but I still spent almost half of the descent with one eye closed. As we walked the storm got closer and the cracks of thunder became louder until it was so close that one clap actually sent a shock through Red Knees' trekking pole and seemed to encompass us from all sides. When we finally arrived at the shelter, soaked through, petrified and chaffed to all high heaven, we decided it was time to eat the rest of our food and push on quickly through to Abol Bridge which we did in record time.
That evening we feasted in the restaurant, purchased a few scant items for resupply to help us make it through the next 14 miles and enjoyed the stunning views of the mountain just a few miles off. Last push: here we go.
Day 1
After a restful evening at the Lakeshore House, Red Knees and I awoke early, eager to return to the trail and begin our slow trudge into the Hundred Mile Wilderness, our packs laden with more food than we should have realistically been carrying and our stomachs still uneasy with the aggressive amounts of town food ingested the previous day (I now know how much Ben & Jerry's truly is too much). Thankfully we were able to obtain a ride to the trail head from one of the owners of the hostel and we were ready to start walking at 8:00am.
The terrain for the day was bumpy to say the least, full of 100 to 200 foot ascents and descents, creating a mini roller coaster which we were fully prepared to be exhausted by. Thankfully, the terrain was amenable and we were able to make quick time over the hills. After a quick snack at Leeman Brook Lean-To where we ran into, what I assume were, a bunch of day or section hikers, we pushed on, fording streams and stumbling over roots. When we came to our first stream that required "fording" (I put this in quotes because it really just required a half-assed hop) I stopped to grab something from my pack. When I looked up, Red Knees has his arms submerged elbow deep in the water with a frantic look on his face. For some reason, when he pulled something out of the stream I assumed that he had caught a fish with his bare hands and I was in awe until, of course, I realized that it was his iPhone that he held dripping in his hand. Oh boy, R.K. We looked at each other terrified for a moment until he was able to remove it from the "Life Proof" case and determine that it was, in fact, life proof.
This would not be Red Knees' only traumatic water encounter for the day. About 7 miles later we arrived at Wilber Brook, just down the hill from the shelter and our final destination for the evening, a short 15 miles from Monson. I was able, with the aid of my trekking poles, to very handily rock-hop across the quickly flowing river but after a few minutes of surveying the possibilities Red Knees decided to shed his shoes and stomp across, just to be sure he wouldn't get his shoes wet. He also decided, however, that it would be easier to cross without holding his shoes so that he would be able to use his hands. Sitting on a rock on the far bank of the river I cautioned: "Don't throw them R.K., that's a really bad idea..." He threw the first shoe across.
Of course, instead of landing safely on the bank, the shoe arched up and caught in the branches of a tree overhanging the river and dropped straight down into the water. The fact that they were wet at this point was completely overshadowed by the fact that the shoe was caught in the current, floating dangerously quickly out of sight. I dropped my things and ran to the waters edge to try and keep the shoe in sight. Panicking, Red Knees picks up his other shoe and ALSO throws it across the river and, predictably, that one falls straight into the water as well but thankfully catches on a rock. Red Knees then proceeds to sprint through the river, up to his waist, and once he was within 5 feet of the escaped footwear, dives in a particularly ungraceful belly-flop to successfully grab the shoe. So much for not getting wet in fording the river.
That evening we reconvened with Chaos, Timex, Whistler, Pumpkin Head, Spacey, Fabio, Steady State, Danno, OB, Fancy Pants and the rest of the crew at Long Pond Stream Lean-To, the last shelter before we would head up into some of our final mountains the next day. Amazingly, not one but two people decided to pack out the fixings for s'mores so we feasted on burnt mallow goodness around a roaring fire until well into the night.
Day 2
The next morning we set out on a 20.8 mile adventure over the first set of mountains in the wilderness though we expected them to be the tamer of the two ridges based solely on idiocy and the topography map. The first climbs to the top of Barren Mountain were fine - steep but manageable - and we arrived at the side trail to Cloud Pond Lean-To relatively quickly. Then the trail became a nightmare. There were steep ascents and steeper descents that did not appear on the map and the roots and rocks dug into our feet and threatened to throw us off balance as we descended off of Fourth Mountain (yes, so awful that they couldn't even think of a name for it. Mind you, there is a third mountain, but no first or second). At one point, the mountain succeeded and my foot slipped completely out from under me and I fell not backwards, but forwards, somersaulting feet over head down the mountain, landing painfully on my butt. I let Red Knees lead the charge for the rest of the day.
The miles seemed to drag endlessly as we continued to struggle over the difficult terrain, finally arriving at Chairback Gap Lean-To for lunch before descending down out of the hills. Red Knees, Danno and myself were briefly joined by Timex who opted to stay and wait for Chaos when we continued walking. Finally, after a remarkably rocky descent off of Chairback we came to Pleasant River, an easy ford just before the very well-trafficked area surrounding Gulf Hagas (the Grand Canyon of Maine!) After our ford we stopped briefly to speak with a Ridge Runner who informed us that the mountains the next day would not be anywhere near as brutal as what we had traversed today. Thank God.
The final five and a half miles were a gradual climb over beautifully maintained trail to take us up to the Carl A. Newhall Lean-To where Raider, a fellow hiker and ex-Marine, had saved us space in the shelter by, essentially, evicting several section hikers. No complaints here. We set up and waited for everyone to arrive but many of our crew did not show up, having decided to sleep a mile or so back after the challenging day. We slept like babies, yet again.
Day 3
Finally, we had arrived at the final mountains of the trail - the range leading up to White Cap Mountain from the top of which (allegedly) you are able to get your first real views of Katahdin. Of course, when we set out the fog was hanging low, obstructing our views to at most 50 feet in front of our faces. We were prepared for grueling climbs up the four peaks but, thanks to some truly spectacular trail maintenance (thank you, stone stairs!) we were able to fly up and over the mountains in great time. When we finally arrived at the summit of White Cap it was locked in fog and freezing, the rocky terrain around us looking distressingly like the bottom of the ocean with the hazy skies hanging low. Needless to say we did not stick around to see if, perhaps, the fog would lift to reveal views of that glorious final mountain (it didn't).
We basically ran the rest of the day, eager to put in the miles and get to the flat land that awaited us for the final 60 miles of our adventure (save, of course, Katahdin) and we arrived at Cooper Brook Falls Lean-To at around 3:30pm. When we arrived, two thoroughly tattooed section hikers were there with a fire blazing, preparing to cook fresh caught fish from the roaring stream just in front of the shelter. As they were questionably cleaned I decided to avoid the fish but we spent a good part of the evening waiting for our hiking buddies to show up and tending to the fire. Again, we feasted on s'mores with the leftovers remaining in our friends' packs. Not too shabby.
Day 4
Flat. So flat. The trail was covered pretty extensively with roots that threatened to snap your ankles in half but we had only one climb that was over 100 feet and it was over, more or less, before it started. Halfway through the day we arrived at Potaywadjo Spring Lean-To and stopped for an extensive lunch break - we had completed 10 miles in 3.5 hours and had the rest of the day ahead of us. The spring at the shelter was perhaps the most beautiful water any of us had seen on the trail - the spring bubbled up straight from the ground with ice cold, clear, untouched water. We filled our bottles and guzzled the water straight without bothering to purify.
Arguably the greatest part of the day happened just after we passed Antlers Campsite about 8 miles into our day. As we walked along the edge of Jo-Mary Lake we saw a small wooden sign nailed to a tree that pointed to the east. Approaching it my pace quickened as I realized what it said: "View of Katahdin". I unbuckled my hip-belt while running and threw my pack to the ground, almost falling as I tripped over partially submerged rocks in the lake. When I turned to the left and saw that behemoth of a mountain, rising gloriously like a god, arching his back under the skin of the earth, I was speechless. All I could do was raise my arms in the air in victory as a single tear found its way down my cheek. I brushed it away quickly.
Finally - FINALLY - after all of this time, there she was, rising in the distance. For so long we had all kept our thoughts of Katahdin at bay, knowing full well that you cannot think about the end too soon for fear that it will become overwhelming and now, seeing our final destination in the distance, we allowed every thought that we had previously pushed from our minds behind the dam of cognizance to come rushing forward into the forefront of our minds. It now makes sense to me why people quite literally begin to run on the trail once they have the greatest mountain in their sights.
The remainder of the day was uneventful and full of roots. Thankfully towards the end of the day the trail took us straight across some sandy beaches on the shores of Nahmakanta Lake - a big, beautiful lake that stretches for miles with several incredible views of Katahdin. After dropping our packs at the shelter a half a mile further, Red Knees and I ventured back to sit by the lake and soak in the beauty of the wilderness for one of the last times on this trip, burying our feet in the sand and almost enjoying watching the bugs dance over the glassy surface of the lake.
Day 5
Our final day in the hundred mile wilderness started early, with Danno, Red Knees and myself setting out just before 8:00am. We began with a steep climb up Nesuntabunt Mountain for an incredible payoff of stunning views of Katahdin, only 16 miles as the crow flies from where we were. The weather was temporarily nice but we knew that a storm was rolling in quickly so we avoided long breaks at all costs. This, however, meant that I was essentially sprinting to keep up with Danno as he tore down the path to Rainbow Stream Lean-To. When we arrived at the Lean-To I made the decision to push on that day all the way to Abol Bridge Campgrounds because I did not have enough food to happily complete the hundred mile wilderness. Red Knees agreed and we took off death-sprinting, as we are prone to do.
Thankfully the trail was largely flat and we moved at almost a 4 mile an hour pace along the shores of rainbow lake until we arrived at the base of Rainbow Ledges where there promised to be a magnificent view of Katahdin, though we feared that it would be covered with some ominous clouds rolling in. About halfway up the climb I had to stop to relieve myself and I told Red Knees to press on - I would meet him at the top. Relieved, I continued up the mountain for about 20 steps when I heard a noise in front of me that seemed out of sorts. I looked up.
MOOSE. Not just your run of the mill cow or a small bull. This was the granddaddy of all moose coming in at least 8 feet tall and probably weighing well over a ton with a rack of antlers that spanned at least 4 feet standing perpendicular to the trail, mindlessly munching on some twigs. I froze. There was absolutely no way around this moose as he was covering the entirety of the trail and the last thing that I wanted to do was startle him into a charge. Just in case, I raised my trekking poles so that the pointed tips were facing the moose. It wouldn't do much but I figured having my poles in attack position would at the very least make me feel better.
What felt like an hour later (real time: probably a minute and a half) the moose still had not moved so I decided to make my presence known by gently tapping my poles together. Immediately, he swung his head around and stared at me dead on. I closed my eyes, naturally, to avoid making eye contact and spurring him on to charge. Once deciding that I was a bore, he went back to eating and I, now petrified, with poles still in attack position, moved slowly off to the side of the trail behind the safety of a boulder. Unfortunately, this move was ill-advised as it meant that I was walking across the lichen which was crunchier that walking on dozens of bags of potato chips. Again, the moose swung his head around and looked at me, taking several menacing steps in my direction. I cowered.
Eventually, the moose either tired of his snack or, more likely, ate it all, and began to move across the path and into the forest (of course, not straight across, but slightly towards me, to add to my building terror). Once he had cleared the path by at least 10 feet I emerged from behind the boulder and began to tip-toe up the path until I was just past him at which point I broke out in a dead sprint up the last climb of the trail. When I arrived at the ledges, panting, Red Knees was checking his phone and looked up at me with a look of: "it took you THAT long to go pee?" Of course, I instantly relayed my near-death experience to him and successfully made him super jealous that he had not also seen this glorious moose.
If only I knew what was coming next. On the way down the ledges, the skies darkened and began to crackle as thunder and lightning ripped across the sky. It began to pour, washing the sweat from my brow into my eyes causing the salinity to burn my eyes to the point at which I could hardly keep them open. I removed the bandana from my hair and used it to dry my eyes but I still spent almost half of the descent with one eye closed. As we walked the storm got closer and the cracks of thunder became louder until it was so close that one clap actually sent a shock through Red Knees' trekking pole and seemed to encompass us from all sides. When we finally arrived at the shelter, soaked through, petrified and chaffed to all high heaven, we decided it was time to eat the rest of our food and push on quickly through to Abol Bridge which we did in record time.
That evening we feasted in the restaurant, purchased a few scant items for resupply to help us make it through the next 14 miles and enjoyed the stunning views of the mountain just a few miles off. Last push: here we go.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Into the Wilderness
I know I have been painfully absent from writing for the past few days - I have tried a couple of times but to be honest I haven't known quite where to start. We have under 120 miles until Katahdin and our time out here is very quickly coming to an end. I feel a million and one things: joy, relief, sadness, anxiety, you name it. My mind races day in and day out - what will I do when there are no more white blazes to follow? When my planning for the week won't involve "where will I sleep" or "what town should I have my mail drop sent to" or "how many miles today"? I just desperately try not to think about it.
The past few days have been wonderfully relaxing, full of easy miles, loads of swimming opportunities and a great group of friends. Coming out of Rangeley we had our last difficult day ahead of us - heading over the Bigelow mountains. The initial climb out of Rangeley was much less intense than we had envisioned and we were able to have a good long break before heading up to the peak of South Horn from which we had a beautiful, unobstructed view of the Bigelow Range. Approximately halfway through the peaks we ran into Chupacabra who was slackpacking south back to Rangeley for another night in the hostel. He let us know that the night before, OB (Old & Busted) had lost his father and had to take an unexpected trip back home for the funeral. He would be returning to Monson to complete the trail in a few days. It seems as though so many hikers have been met with tragedy at home which has hampered their attempts at completing the trail. As we continued to walk I said a silent prayer of thanks that my friends and family back home were all safe and healthy.
Once we descended out of the mountains and came to the road we contemplated going back into town to the hostel that Chupacabra would be staying at. Fortuitously, I received a text from Chupacabra letting us know that the hostel was at capacity so we decided to hike on another mile or so to a campsite along Flagstaff Lake and it was well worth it. The tentsites weren't ideal but, with the sun setting over the lake we decided to set up along the beach. We spent the evening cooking, jumping in the water and sitting by the fire.
At around 4:00am I was violently awakened by the sounds of Chaos and Whistler hurrying to put their rain flies on their tents for what I can only imagine was the rain that was not falling from the sky. In a sleepy haze I joined the club and affixed mine as well, falling back asleep almost instantly. Of course, it didn't rain that evening.
Once we descended out of the mountains and came to the road we contemplated going back into town to the hostel that Chupacabra would be staying at. Fortuitously, I received a text from Chupacabra letting us know that the hostel was at capacity so we decided to hike on another mile or so to a campsite along Flagstaff Lake and it was well worth it. The tentsites weren't ideal but, with the sun setting over the lake we decided to set up along the beach. We spent the evening cooking, jumping in the water and sitting by the fire.
At around 4:00am I was violently awakened by the sounds of Chaos and Whistler hurrying to put their rain flies on their tents for what I can only imagine was the rain that was not falling from the sky. In a sleepy haze I joined the club and affixed mine as well, falling back asleep almost instantly. Of course, it didn't rain that evening.
The next day we finally were greeted with the prospect of no more substantial mountains and we relished the simple terrain. We planned only to go 15 miles and after every 5 we stopped for at least an hour to relax by a lake or river and spend time with our hiking companions. The beach we stopped at 9 miles into the day had clear water and fine sand so we all took the opportunity to strip down and enjoy the cool water. Chaos and Timex got out a frisbee while Red Knees and myself enjoyed the sunshine and read our books. Of course, relaxing can't go on forever, so after a strange altercation between Timex and Chaos we decided to continue walking the final 6 miles to the Lean-To. After setting up our tents (there was a dead mouse smack in the center of the shelter floor and, as we learned later, a very alive one scampering over our food bags), Chaos, Red Knees and myself walked a little ways up the trail to Harrison's Pierce Pond Cabins to reserve a spot for ourselves at his "Red White and Blue" pancake breakfast.
The shelter we were staying at that night, Pierce Pond Lean-To, was the sight of the drowning of a thru-hiker from 2012, Parkside. Like all of us, he was lured by the temptation of the beautiful water after a warm day but was stricken with cramps when he got out into the water and panicked. Not wanting to tempt fate, I stayed far from the leech-infested waters. Instead, we built a roaring fire and all 15 of us sat around telling stories and wondering aloud what it would be like when this adventure came to an end.
The next morning we walked just up the trail to Harrison's Pierce Pond Campsites for the pancake breakfast (the pancakes have strawberries, apples and blueberries in them to earn them the name). Everything tasted divine and a hot breakfast gave us the energy that we needed to take on the rest of our day.
Too bad we didn't use that energy. As soon as we had forded the Kennebeck River (there is a canoe\ferry that shuttles hikers across) we came to a road and on that road was a van, offering to drive us the 2 miles into town to spend the day at the brewery and outdoor center. Microbrews, pool volleyball, hot tub, corn hole, free showers and laundry? No question, we were going.
We spent 5 hours relaxing, eating, drinking and playing games to our hearts content. But we really needed to walk more than 3.7 miles for the day so at 3pm we headed back to the trail where we all but sprinted the first 6 miles and decided - at 5:30pm - to push on another 5. Maybe not our wisest option. We had to don our headlamps by 7:45pm as we stumbled our way down the trail looking for a good stealth campsite. Thankfully we found one and were able to squeeze all 6 of us in.
Yesterday was all about the miles and avoiding the rain. We got in the miles but definitely did not miss the rain. Ah well. Red Knees and I completed 16 miles by 3:30pm but decided to wait at the shelter for the rain to pass. It stopped briefly, so at just before 6:00pm we decided to push on, far too fast, to put in some more miles before nightfall. We were moving so quickly that we sped through the river ford, not realizing it was our only water source until, of course, we had made it up our one "climb" of the day. Neither one of us were thinking straight and got into a spat, me not wanting to hike backwards, sure that there would be an unmarked stream ahead and Red Knees wanting to go back. We both knew that we were being foolish but with dark approaching quickly and the rain beginning to come down harder emotions escalated quickly. There were a few moments of tense hiking but we got over it and were thankfully able to find a decent stealth spot about 5 miles out of the road to Monson.
We were so stealthy, in fact, that there were moose stomping around, shaking the ground beneath our tents. Terrified that I would meet an untimely end by moose trampling, I laid completely still and looked up information on moose on Wikipedia (really, what else was I supposed to do?) only to learn that if a moose was charging I was a goner. I remained paralyzed with terror until I finally drifted to sleep by the sound of moose hooves.
This morning we made our final push into Monson where we are relaxing, cleaning up and resupplying before we enter the Hundred Mile Wilderness. Once we enter we have 100 miles until we arrive in Baxter State Park. From there we have 9 miles to the base of Katahdin and a 5 mile climb to the end. How is it that we have come this far? Have we truly walked this far? Is this actually my final resupply? I need a beer.
Tomorrow we set out and I will not post again - due to lack of ability and need to detach - until I have summitted that glorious final mountain. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your unwavering support and love as I have pushed along on this crazy adventure. I might have made it this far but it sure wouldn't have been quite this much fun. Here we go.
We were so stealthy, in fact, that there were moose stomping around, shaking the ground beneath our tents. Terrified that I would meet an untimely end by moose trampling, I laid completely still and looked up information on moose on Wikipedia (really, what else was I supposed to do?) only to learn that if a moose was charging I was a goner. I remained paralyzed with terror until I finally drifted to sleep by the sound of moose hooves.
This morning we made our final push into Monson where we are relaxing, cleaning up and resupplying before we enter the Hundred Mile Wilderness. Once we enter we have 100 miles until we arrive in Baxter State Park. From there we have 9 miles to the base of Katahdin and a 5 mile climb to the end. How is it that we have come this far? Have we truly walked this far? Is this actually my final resupply? I need a beer.
Tomorrow we set out and I will not post again - due to lack of ability and need to detach - until I have summitted that glorious final mountain. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your unwavering support and love as I have pushed along on this crazy adventure. I might have made it this far but it sure wouldn't have been quite this much fun. Here we go.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
New Outlooks
Lately, I haven't been able to sleep. I've tried beds, shelters, my tent. I've tried to over-indulge to induce the itis, I've desperately tried a beer or two (or four, who are we kidding) to lull myself to sleep but for some reason I continually lay (or, as it were, sit) here, awake, despite my sagging eyelids. Once I finally drift off, succumbing to my exhaustion, I find myself dreaming of the trail but not in the way that I used to. The dreams have turned, somewhat distressingly, to nightmares, but all seem to revolve around a common theme: extending my time in the wilderness. I will dream about trail kidnappings, for some reason always spearheaded by Ms. Janet, becoming lost in the woods for days on end, surviving off of wild mushrooms and the excesses of food in my pack, or injuring myself during a hike, forcing me to slow my pace.
I can only surmise that this means that, despite all of my "readiness" for the trail to come to an end that I am, in fact, going to miss this jumbled pile of boulders, this alleged "footpath" through the forest. Against all odds, and perhaps my better judgement, I have fallen deeply in love with this experience, this trail and these people. Perhaps it is this affection, in spite of my protestations, that has caused all of the growing pains that have afflicted me as of recent. Or it might just been the mud, who knows.
Finally, out here on the trail I feel as though I have truly found myself and fallen into a rhythm with myself and who I am that I am able to sustain. For the first time, I understand my body and the relationship that it has with both exercise and food in the most profound way that, in years of attempting to "eat healthy" and exercise, I have never quite grasped. I am finally confident in myself, my beliefs and what I do or do not know to fully engage myself in the relationships that I form with people. As trusting as I was before coming out, I only now feel able to understand people well enough to trust as appropriately as I should.
I suppose you could say that something happened to me in the past two days - clearly. Honest to goodness, I have no idea what it could be. The trail is largely the same, with its near vertical ascents and rocky, meniscus-tearing descents. I am surrounded by the same group of hikers (Red Knees, Timex, Whistler, Chaos, Wolf Man, etc.) In fact it is likely that my dad will actually NOT be able to join me at the summit of Katahdin. And yet I somehow feel reconnected with my experience out here in a way that I haven't yet in my almost 5 months on the trail.
Yesterday we woke up painfully early so that I could sprint up our first climb - Saddleback Mountain - to call my dad to figure out exactly what would be happening with the conclusion of this adventure. Thankfully I only had to climb 200 feet (instead of the full 2,000) to get signal so I was able to take care of the conversation all before 7:00am. The ensuing climb was seemingly endless. Once we rose above treeline and walked into the brutal winds and clouds that engulfed the summit, the mountain would present a peak and then, just as you crested, would grow before you, laying out a new path of granite to be followed. Despite the breeze and the false peaks that plagued us for a solid half an hour, the views (once the clouds had cleared) were phenomenal. It was almost as if we were back on Franconia Ridge, with the mountains ahead and behind us stretching out for miles with views of the path cutting along the ridgeline.
Two small mountains followed Saddleback - The Horn and Saddleback Junior, both of which paled in comparison to our first climb of the day. Short and steep. After coming off of Saddleback Junior, almost 9 miles into our day, we arrived at the first shelter where Red Knees and I stopped for a long lunch. Slowly, the rest of the crew began to arrive and we all lazed about, gathering crisp, clear water from the spring just outside of the shelter and further speculating about the disappearance of Gerry Largay. Poplar Ridge Shelter, where we were currently relaxing, was - after all - the last place anyone had seen her, well over three weeks ago.
I can't quite explain the fear that comes from knowing that in some way this trail that we put all of our trust in is unsafe. Some things you prepare for and appropriately avoid (sampling questionable mushrooms, poking timber rattlesnakes, trying crystal meth) but the uncertainty that comes from knowing that you could disappear is unsettling in the worst way. It causes you to pause for an extra second at an unfamiliar sound in the woods or take an extra breath after slipping on loose rocks. For me it encouraged me to call known shuttles instead of waiting by the road with my thumb out, desperately hoping for a hitch.
Eventually we realized that we needed to press on so, after a lazy and stiffness-inducing hour and a half, Red Knees and I grabbed our packs and trudged forth. The next 8 miles flew by at a pace which astounded even us and we arrived at the next shelter by 4:30pm. Luckily, it was largely empty so we were able to snag some of the few available campsites and avoid a night in the shelter with the (I would imagine) porcupines and raccoons (I have clearly still not fully recovered from the traumatic experience of losing my food bag while sleeping on Bill Ackerly's porch). We ate geriatrically early and got a bonfire started to enjoy throughout the evening. Yet again I am one of the painfully few women out here so I am often subject to the lewdness of my male thru-hiking companions but part of me has both accepted it and adopted it (more than I would like to admit).
This morning we slept in a bit later, not hitting the trail until nearly 8:00am with a short day planned - only 13.5 miles into Stratton, ME where I would have to spend the night to wait for a mail-drop in the morning. The walking was quick and easy, with only one substantial climb of note up South Crocker Mountain which we managed to tackle handily. We arrived at the road just before 3:00pm and began to hitch. I must be looking pretty ragged or people in this area are tragically afraid of thru-hikers because after an hour of attempting to hitchhike, we eventually threw in the towel and called for a shuttle.
Once in Stratton we settled in at one of the hostels in town and went across the street to grab dinner and beers. The evening has been relaxing and rejuvenating - aided in large part by a long, hot shower and clean laundry.
Tomorrow we will tackle the Bigelow Mountains - really the last substantial mountains in Southern Maine before we move on to some almost boringly flat terrain. Tomorrow we officially cross the 2,000 mile mark. I am excited for tomorrow.
I can only surmise that this means that, despite all of my "readiness" for the trail to come to an end that I am, in fact, going to miss this jumbled pile of boulders, this alleged "footpath" through the forest. Against all odds, and perhaps my better judgement, I have fallen deeply in love with this experience, this trail and these people. Perhaps it is this affection, in spite of my protestations, that has caused all of the growing pains that have afflicted me as of recent. Or it might just been the mud, who knows.
Finally, out here on the trail I feel as though I have truly found myself and fallen into a rhythm with myself and who I am that I am able to sustain. For the first time, I understand my body and the relationship that it has with both exercise and food in the most profound way that, in years of attempting to "eat healthy" and exercise, I have never quite grasped. I am finally confident in myself, my beliefs and what I do or do not know to fully engage myself in the relationships that I form with people. As trusting as I was before coming out, I only now feel able to understand people well enough to trust as appropriately as I should.
I suppose you could say that something happened to me in the past two days - clearly. Honest to goodness, I have no idea what it could be. The trail is largely the same, with its near vertical ascents and rocky, meniscus-tearing descents. I am surrounded by the same group of hikers (Red Knees, Timex, Whistler, Chaos, Wolf Man, etc.) In fact it is likely that my dad will actually NOT be able to join me at the summit of Katahdin. And yet I somehow feel reconnected with my experience out here in a way that I haven't yet in my almost 5 months on the trail.
Yesterday we woke up painfully early so that I could sprint up our first climb - Saddleback Mountain - to call my dad to figure out exactly what would be happening with the conclusion of this adventure. Thankfully I only had to climb 200 feet (instead of the full 2,000) to get signal so I was able to take care of the conversation all before 7:00am. The ensuing climb was seemingly endless. Once we rose above treeline and walked into the brutal winds and clouds that engulfed the summit, the mountain would present a peak and then, just as you crested, would grow before you, laying out a new path of granite to be followed. Despite the breeze and the false peaks that plagued us for a solid half an hour, the views (once the clouds had cleared) were phenomenal. It was almost as if we were back on Franconia Ridge, with the mountains ahead and behind us stretching out for miles with views of the path cutting along the ridgeline.
Two small mountains followed Saddleback - The Horn and Saddleback Junior, both of which paled in comparison to our first climb of the day. Short and steep. After coming off of Saddleback Junior, almost 9 miles into our day, we arrived at the first shelter where Red Knees and I stopped for a long lunch. Slowly, the rest of the crew began to arrive and we all lazed about, gathering crisp, clear water from the spring just outside of the shelter and further speculating about the disappearance of Gerry Largay. Poplar Ridge Shelter, where we were currently relaxing, was - after all - the last place anyone had seen her, well over three weeks ago.
I can't quite explain the fear that comes from knowing that in some way this trail that we put all of our trust in is unsafe. Some things you prepare for and appropriately avoid (sampling questionable mushrooms, poking timber rattlesnakes, trying crystal meth) but the uncertainty that comes from knowing that you could disappear is unsettling in the worst way. It causes you to pause for an extra second at an unfamiliar sound in the woods or take an extra breath after slipping on loose rocks. For me it encouraged me to call known shuttles instead of waiting by the road with my thumb out, desperately hoping for a hitch.
Eventually we realized that we needed to press on so, after a lazy and stiffness-inducing hour and a half, Red Knees and I grabbed our packs and trudged forth. The next 8 miles flew by at a pace which astounded even us and we arrived at the next shelter by 4:30pm. Luckily, it was largely empty so we were able to snag some of the few available campsites and avoid a night in the shelter with the (I would imagine) porcupines and raccoons (I have clearly still not fully recovered from the traumatic experience of losing my food bag while sleeping on Bill Ackerly's porch). We ate geriatrically early and got a bonfire started to enjoy throughout the evening. Yet again I am one of the painfully few women out here so I am often subject to the lewdness of my male thru-hiking companions but part of me has both accepted it and adopted it (more than I would like to admit).
This morning we slept in a bit later, not hitting the trail until nearly 8:00am with a short day planned - only 13.5 miles into Stratton, ME where I would have to spend the night to wait for a mail-drop in the morning. The walking was quick and easy, with only one substantial climb of note up South Crocker Mountain which we managed to tackle handily. We arrived at the road just before 3:00pm and began to hitch. I must be looking pretty ragged or people in this area are tragically afraid of thru-hikers because after an hour of attempting to hitchhike, we eventually threw in the towel and called for a shuttle.
Once in Stratton we settled in at one of the hostels in town and went across the street to grab dinner and beers. The evening has been relaxing and rejuvenating - aided in large part by a long, hot shower and clean laundry.
Tomorrow we will tackle the Bigelow Mountains - really the last substantial mountains in Southern Maine before we move on to some almost boringly flat terrain. Tomorrow we officially cross the 2,000 mile mark. I am excited for tomorrow.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Frustrations and Quick-Mud
The mud in Maine isn't just deep and squishy, it isn't the kind that oozes over the top of your shoes and moistens your socks and seeps through to linger uncomfortably between your toes. Well, it is these things on occasion, but more often than not it is something so much more vicious. Suddenly the mud becomes a solid-"looking" mass with perhaps just an inch of water on top but that will quite literally swallow you whole. In one false step you sink - quite literally - up to your knees or, if you are particularly unlucky, your waste. You spend your time walking across degraded bog bridges absolutely petrified that your foot will slip on the damp wood and your body will dissolve into the mucky oblivion. I have not yet sunk more than up to my knees but I continue to live my days in abject terror. If I disappear out here, check the bogs first.
After our night at the base of Mount Moody we awoke early to begin our ascent up Old Blue - a solid 2,200 foot climb but thankfully our only long climb of the day. The mountain was steep and seemingly never ending but we were able to maintain just over a 2mph pace. Finally we were able to make miles again.
When we reached Bemis Lean-To halfway into our day I was checked out. I was tired, dirty and covered in scrapes. My body ached and my eyelids were heavy with the culmination of miles over the past few days. I wish I could say this was the first time as of recent that I had felt that way but it has become increasingly more and more frequent.
I am over the Appalachian Trail. For so long we have focused on "making it to Maine" and by now we have. All of these seemingly erroneous miles feel tedious, boring, pointless and distressingly long. I am impatient as I trudge along each day, literally aching for the consistency of a warm bed, my loved ones and my puppy. I am equally eager, surprising even myself, to return to the rigors of everyday life with the normalcy of employment that does not consist o the words "vagrant" or "drifter". I find myself getting angry at the trail for twisting and turning, forcing us up and down hills at aggressive angles when a path through the valley would have been equidistant.
I aired these concerns to Danno as we made our way slowly to the next road crossing where his ride was waiting for him to take him into town to see a doctor in regards to his weak and painful knees. Danno - since I have not spoken about him much previously - is a 50 year old Hawaiian retiree who has so far crushed the entirety of the trail. After 1900 miles he has lost 70lbs - what a doctor had previously recommended for him to lost - and intends, much to his doctors chagrin, I would imagine, to gain it all back upon returning home. He is the kind of man that asks the simple questions but that you feel comfortable and almost obliged to give the long answers to.
When we arrived at the road less than 4 miles from the shelter we again ran into Red Knees, Timex and Chaos who had hiked a bit ahead. Danno found his ride and we parted ways there, him driving due west and the four of us pressing on up the mountain.
A relatively short and quick 4 miles later we arrived at Sabbath Day Pond and Shelter and set up tents. The night was brisk but, with an inner tube hanging from the roof of the shelter, Chaos and Timex decided to go for a dip in the warm water. I visited the beach but quickly returned to the shelter and warmth of my tent and sleeping bag.
This morning we awoke early and did - essentially - a death sprint for the 10 miles into Rangeley, ME. The terrain was mindless and at the very end of our descent we found a cooler full of ice cold sodas. The day was off to a great start.
I wish it stayed there. We struggled significantly getting a hitch and eventually gave up and walked down to a hostel just off the trail and requested a shuttle into the town. On the drive in, the woman spoke with us about Geraldine Largay, the woman who had disappeared off the trail just a few weeks ago in the immediate area and who still has yet to have been found. She speculated that it might have been foul play (it's always the husband if I've learned anything from Law & Order) and relayed her theories to us. As if I wasn't already nervous enough about the abduction threats in this area.
In town we quickly resupplied at the worlds most expensive grocery store before walking down to the pub to grab burgers and beers for lunch. The restaurant was overburdened with what appeared to be a Harley Davidson convention leaving the one waitress tragically overworked and delayed the caloric gratification for these hungry hikers. I tried to explain to my companions that her tip should not suffer - she was hustling very impressively - but all of my grouchy male hiking companions did not agree so I ended up grossly over-tipping to compensate.
Finally full, Red Knees and I headed to the library to use computers larger than the iPhone screen that I am currently squinting into so that I could look into the details of my dad's trip out to Maine to rescue me when this adventure us finally over. I composed a massive email and sent it off to him.
Moments later I received a text from him alluding to the fact that he may not be coming out after all and I broke. My heart dropped into my tragically battered feet and sat there. His visit was, in large part, my motivation to continue walking and though it isn't officially gone, it felt gone. I walked the 2 miles out of town slowly and listlessly with tears silently running down my cheeks, praying that Red Knees wouldn't turn around and see. I knew I was acting like a child but at a point you become so fragile, degrading to a house of cards that takes the slightest breeze to crumble, exhausted from the physical, mental and emotional toll of the trail.
Though I have toyed with the idea of yellow blazing fairly heavily I am still committed to the walking. I hope that my mind is able to catch up to my feet soon to make the remainder of this journey as enjoyable as possible.
Less than 220 miles to Katahdin.
*note: as of this morning my dad WILL be able to come out. Woohoo!
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Picking Up The Pace
I hate the tail. I love the trail. The trail provides and the trail taketh away. The trail is serene and honest, the trail is aggressive and unpredictable. But, for all it's schizophrenia, the trail brings together some of the most fantastic and wonderful people that are, ultimately, what keeps you going 99% of the time.
After our short day in the boulder pit of Mahoosuc Notch we decided to do a solid 15 miles to get us into Andover. Descending the first mountain, however, I began to have the familiar twinge in my right shin and my mind began to race, repeating an internal mantra of "no, no, no, PLEASE no". When we arrived at the parking lot at the bottom of the mountain 5 miles into our day I immediately sat down and began to rub the afflicted area, hoping it was just a fluke.
When Danno finally arrived at the bottom of the mountain and mentioned severe knee pain and we heard word of rapidly approaching thunderstorms we decided to call it a Nero and head into Andover from the parking lot. Thankfully, Pippin's dad and brother were there and were able to take us about halfway before dropping us off at an intersection. Before we could even throw out a thumb a woman in a red truck pulled over and asked if we needed a ride to town. That was easy.
We went straight in to the center of the sleepy town of Andover, passed the "we can do it all" General Store (also functions as a restaurant, movie rental store and a gas station) and arrived at the Pine Ellis Inn - an old home that has been converted to a hostel for hikers.
After removing our shoes on the porch we took the grand tour of the house and we nearly skipped with bliss and excitement when we saw our room: these weren't bunks, these were proper beds with actual linens. LINENS. We didn't have to sleep in our sleeping bags?! This was an AT miracle.
We spent the day lounging around, doing laundry, getting clean and watching the rain fall outside while we let our tired and bruised bodies rest. As the day went on more and more hikers arrived including Whistler, Timex and Chaos who I was sure were ages ahead of me.
The next day we set out early with the intention of covering about 16 miles. The Baldplate Mountains were exposed and windy on top and we were instantly thankful that we hadn't attempted to summit them in the rain. The descent off them was, despite the lack of rain presently, still slick and treacherous so it was yet another slow climb down for Red Knees and myself (Whistler, Chaos and Timex had sped ahead - little monkeys).
When we reached the first shelter we rejoined with the speed demons and had a snack. After an hour went by and Danno hadn't joined us we began to worry so we headed on down to the road. There, Dave - the older Native American man who works for Pine Ellis - was waiting for Danno who would be calling it another short day (and he had in tow my headphones which I had carelessly left behind).
I think it was me that proposed that we slack pack from there to the next road, adding 4 miles but taking away 30lbs each from our day. It didn't take much convincing, especially after negotiating the slack pack down to $4 per person with Dave. We threw our packs in the van, grabbed a snack and a water bottle each and headed out.
The first 6 of the 10 miles were a cinch. Gradual ups and downs (but mostly ups) on a dirt path leading to the next shelter. We stopped briefly to enjoy the shelter and eat our snacks before heading down to tackle Moody Mountain - a near vertical mile-long ascent. I've been looking at the topography map of this one nervously for at least a month now.
Without packs it was tough but manageable and we finished the four miles by 6:00pm sharp as planned to meet Dave with our packs. The day had come from me hating the trail on the way up Baldplate - telling RK how much I was looking forward to being home and maybe we should yellow blaze? - to laughing and joking as we forded rivers at the end of a very successful 20 mile day. Plus we (well, I) found a beautiful patch of black trumpet mushrooms on the trail that would have done The French Laundry proud. This called for some beers.
Thankfully Dave was obliging and offered to drive me into town to pick up some beers for our group. The air was cold so we promptly made a fire and enjoyed beers while we all made dinner and discussed/argued the difference between graffiti artists and street artists. Eventually we ran out of daylight, beer and firewood so we called it a night.
I am truly ready for the adventure to come to an end, it becomes more and more clear every day, but I still can find ways to enjoy it and that makes all the difference. As I said before - thank goodness for these people.
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