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. 

Katahdin

At 6:40 am we left the Birches campsite and headed to Katahdin stream campground. From there we began our climb, roughly 4000 feet in five miles, it was the most difficult ascent of the whole trip. The wind was gusting over 50 mph, re bar pegs assisted us in the hand over hand climbs and the clouds swirled around us, obscuring our view. We summited mid morning, soaked it all in for over an hour, rejoiced in our victory and then descended. We snatched a few views when the clouds broke on our way down, and chase's parents were waiting for us at the foot of the mountain. This is it, the end of journey. 

The 100 Mile Wilderness

After leaving Monson we traversed the "100 mile wilderness" which should roughly translate to 100 miles without a resupply. The "wilderness" is a secluded region with few roads but we crossed paths with many day hikers near Gulf Hagas and even an aluminum staircase! The trail was full of roots in this section and Mosquitos plagued us from dawn 'til dusk but we managed to swim on several occasions and cliff jumped in the gulf. 

Monson: The Last Trail Town

So right now I'm sitting outside Shaw's. This hostel has been legendary on the trail for many years. We spent the night at a shelter nine miles out, got up at five in the morning, and we made it to town around 9:30. We got to the road shortly after Moose and Wideload, and soon after a nice guy in a truck told us he'd give us a ride to town. We have been pretty lucky hitting up special events recently when we come into towns. Monson is having a summer festival and now that we are showered up and in clean clothes, we are gonna see what this tiny town has to offer. It's pretty amazing to me when I think back to February when we started. We were wide eyed and full of anticipation for what the trail had in store for us. Sitting here now I can't believe that we have hiked through 14 states and are about to spend our last week on the AT. All we have left to do is stock up on enough food to make it six days. Re-supply in town is pretty minimal but at this point we are gonna make due and truck on. I'm very happy and thankful to be here, and eagerly awaiting the last stretch of trail. Life is good if you decide to live it.

Harrison's

After camping at Pierce Pond most hikers on the AT make a stop in at Harrison's Camp. Basically this guy owns a really remote lodge close to the trail and serves amazing food to his guests. He is known for his breakfast which consists of 12 patriotic pancakes, which are filled with raspberries, blueberries, and apples. It also includes eggs, sausage, juice, and coffee. We walked the blue blazed trail over to his place the night before and signed up for breakfast. After arriving at 7AM sharp we were presented with a feast. We ate and talked with our friends before leaving to catch the ferry across Kinnebec River.

A Little Time In The Water

It seems as if over the span of five months we have encountered "the worst _________ weather in history". From snow and ice to below freezing temps, monsoons and Maine heat waves we have experienced it all. In this last state the rain and "cloud walking" took a drastic turn and Mother Nature decided to turn up the heat. Due to Maine's typically mild temperatures only a few buildings have a/c but luckily for us every day holds multiple opportunities to swim. The trail winds through the lakes region of Maine and the water seems to always feel like the perfect temperature. Moose, Wideload, Sharpshin and I took an early morning swim at Flagstaff lake and our echoing laughter bounced off the surrounding ridges. A smooth pebble beach met the water and you could walk out and still see your feet when you're chest deep. That afternoon we swam in another pond and tried to avoid the slow but stealthy leeches that inhabited the shallows. The rivers in Maine lack bridges to "retain the rugged nature of the state" and therefore the ford requires walking through the water while navigating the slick rock with 30 pounds on your back. Most of these fords involve a swimming break to wash away the days frustrations. All of the fords are unassisted except for the Kinnebec, which requires a ferryman to canoe hikers across the 75 yard wide river, that can change in depth when the dam opens by up to four feet! Last night, at the horse shoe canyon lean to, Chase (Sharpshin) and I descended into the canyon to swim at the base of a spectacular cascade. Refreshed and revitalized we climbed up the rock face, returned to camp and dreamt of the last trail town, Monson. 

(Hillbilly Dave, the ferryman) 

The Bigelows

Standing on Katahdin you can see the world below you. Stretched out like a canvas of blues, swirled greens and white lines of roads it is clear to see why Benton Mckaye wanted the trail to end here. Well that's what I've heard at least, but I myself can't testify to that until next Saturday when I summit the final mountain. Although the famed "100 mile wilderness" stands between me and Katahdin, by most people's standards the last section of trail is mountain-less. Whitecap mountain and the Barren mountain are on the horizon but these two climbs pack a small punch compared to the finale. This hasn't been the case recently though, leaving Stratton we tackled the Bigelows, Maine's "second mountain range" and they were spectacular. After sumiting the horn we could look back below us and see the Horn Pond camps scattered around the now seemingly small pond. In front of us the west and east peaks of the Bigelow range shot into the sky like twin fangs barred against the atmosphere. The rocky summits and outcrops provided ample views and the 360 degree panorama provided points of interest including Stratton, flagstaff lake, the crockers, and sugarloaf ski resort; on a clear day you can also see Canada 40 miles to the west and the Atlantic on the eastern horizon. A large engraved boulder explains the renamed peak and how Myron Avery's dedication to the trail earned him such a great honor. Hiking Little Bigelow was an arduous task but the wild blueberries made the miles more manageable. That night at the shelter we met a guy from Greensboro and had a fire, it was nice to have some southern comforts so far from home.