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.