The End

There is a difficulty in accepting the conclusion of something that has existed for so long. Three days after summiting I sit here writing this and already the trip seems ghostly, unreal and distant. It's amazing how quickly this world begins to overpower the light memories of walking in the woods and yet part of me denies the fact that it's over, like a widower clinging to his lost wife. I am not sure how long it will take to realize in full that it's over, that my northbound drive is unneeded, that my new family has been removed and replaced by old faces. I have found that talking helps, describing days and conversations on trail, telling others of my trip ties the two together and brings permanence to it in this world. In an effort to solidify it even more let me tell you, about the end. 

Small droplets accumulated in my hair and beard as I walked, a product of the intimate clouds around me. I was headed north, the path was faint and the gusts of wind were doing their best to delay me. My body was tingling, filled with a humming energy, expectant and anxious. Out of the clouds the monochromatic silhouettes appeared, like specters guarding the gates of some forbidden place, they stood in front of something, but I could not see it. As I moved closer the bodies moved, rearranged themselves and between them appeared the sign. My footsteps quickened and in a few moments I was before it, breathless and taking in every detail with my eyes. The white lettering was chipped and the wood grain showed through the seemingly soft paint in places, the rocks supporting the base looked as if they were rising up in an attempt to engulf the sign. Small etched names had been carved all over the aged wood, fingerprints of the hikers of years past. I couldn't breathe, in the silence I noticed the once ghostly bodies to be a group of day hikers who continued to stare at me as I focused on the sign. The first tears slid down my face, I couldn't bring myself to touch the sign. Was it real? Was I dreaming? Would I wake up and find myself in my bed at home or in Georgia somewhere lying in my tent? Something pulled me forward, the others stepped away, as if to give me time with a long lost relative, and slowly I extended my hand as chase did the same. The wood was smooth, worn soft by the many hands and lips that have lightly brushed it. I exhaled deeply, relieved at its substance, at the reality of it being there. I turned and saw the relief in Chase's eyes, and I hugged him in a moment of victory, in a celebration of a completed adventure and the largest accomplishment of my life. I knew at that moment that I had done something that few had ever finished, that I had completed my journey, that I had summited Katahdin and that the sun was setting on this adventure. Moments later I look to my right and see three new ghosts appear out of the gloom. The first picks up it's pace and as they get closer I realize that Moose is running to the summit, as he approaches we all sink back into the clouds, so that he may also have his time. The wind whips around and pulls at his hair as he continues to have a silent conversation with the sign. I look to chase who is beaming at all of us, content in the moment. Between excited breaths wideload asks moose how he feels, he shrugs, unable to tear his gaze from the white lettering. Guiseppi comes last, tears are streaming down his face, he looks at the sign like he'd found someone he thought he would never meet. He placed his hand on "Katahdin" and slid it across, stopped , and prayed. In the middle of a cloud we found our resolution, in our hearts we found our hidden joy and in each other, we found a family in an unexpectedly magnificent adventure along the Appalachian Trail.  

Moose as he approaches the sign.