No Pain, No Maine

Everyone warned us that southern Maine was worse than the Whites so I don't know why I didn't believe them. I should've heeded their warnings about the jagged, exposed ascents and the knee-grinding, slippery descents. Maybe then I could have prepared, at least mentally, for the terrain that we have been tackling the past two days. But probably not. I think in this instance perhaps ignorance truly was bliss. 

Yesterday we set out early from Gorham, packs laden and oppressive with our bulky resupplies, with one goal in mind: Maine. The first climb up was a gradual 2,000 feet up relatively tame trail that felt substantially more difficult with our full packs, especially considering our slack pack the day before. 

Everything seemed slower for the entire day and, thankfully, my hunger was insatiable so I was able to knock some ounces out of my pack early on. About halfway through our day as we stopped to grab water and down the hill came a petite girl with multiple ear piercings, a mohawk and a day-hiker sized pack. I immediately took her for a section hiker but gave the courtesy of asking if she was hiking the whole trail. She introduced herself as Green Bean and finally I put a face to the name of Cliffnote's prior hiking buddy. Shortly behind her was our buddy Danno who stopped to grab some tea-colored water at the stream with us as well.

We hiked the remainder of the day as a foursome, scrambling hand-over-hand up giant rock slabs and sliding down the other side, gripping desperately to trees and roots to keep from plunging to our deaths and/or breaking our shins. When we finally arrived at Carlo Col Shelter just after the New Hampshire/Maine border I was convinced I couldn't walk another step - and of course the shelter was three tenths of a mile off trail. Damn you, AMC. 

After a blissful night of sleep we awoke early to tackle what promised to be the most challenging day of hiking: crossing over the jumbled mile of boulders that is Mahoosic Notch followed immediately by Mahoosic Arm, a near vertical 1,000+ foot climb up a sheer granite rock face. 

It was more aggressive than we had predicted. The Notch was enormous boulders, appearing to have been dropped from the sky from the arms of god and left without further thought. Between rocks there was no ground only either more boulder or a gaping hole in the absence of one, occasionally with the haunting sound of running water emanating up from the deep crevasses. More often than not climbing over these rocks was not an option so we hugged, straddled, balanced, slid and crawled our way, twice UNDER precarious boulder caverns for the entire mile. If I had any doubt that I would need some semblance of upper body strength for the trail, this squelched that doubt. My arms and shoulders burned by the time we clambered over our last rocks from the exertion of hoisting my body and pack up so many times. 

The Arm may have been worse. The slabs of rock seemed to never end and only become more slick with each step. My calves were on fire by the time we finally reached the summit but the promise of a shelter less than a mile away had me in high spirits. 

The same, perhaps, could not be said for Red Knees. Something has been off with us - perhaps just overexposure - but it seems as though nearly everything I do irks him beyond belief. One day I feel like he is angry that I am going too slow, the next I am forcing him to do too many miles. I am tempted to bring it up but as soon as I do things seem to go back to normal and it seems pointless to bring up. My hopes are high that this will pass and the remainder of our hike - just a few short days - will end on a high note. 

Today I gave some stunningly awful advice. Slow and Steady, an older woman who I met for the first time in the Notch, commented in the shelter that she was running low on Aqua Mira and was concerned that she would need to borrow from other hikers by the end of the trail. While others offered rational suggestions I piped in telling her to just roll the dice with water sources and sprint to Katahdin - giardia takes 3 weeks to show symptoms, right? 

I am becoming apprehensive about the conclusion of this journey. Part of me cannot wait to the point of wanting to drive up to Katahdin just to be finished to return home to get back to the life I have put on hold back in California. Another part of me wants to slow down drastically to both enjoy my time here and because, quite frankly, I am just so damn tired of hiking. By the end of each day my knees are stiff and sore, my ankles and shins aching. But, thanks to our acclimatization to life on the trail, our bodies can nearly heal themselves overnight giving us no viable excuse not to hike on the next day: it's just what we do. 

Either way, I'm making it these remaining 270 miles, if I have to crawl up that final mountain.