From the top

Katahdin, Part III

After hours of lingering and reminiscing, the forces of nature finally decided to evict us from the mountain top. Katahdin is often closed to hiking due to its notoriously violent weather, and because it is close to a death trap to be caught 2.5 miles above treeline in storms. I experienced the source of the fear yesterday, as thunderstorms enclosed the mountain. We scrambled as quickly down slick rocks as we could, but sharp hail and lightning descended on the peaks. I was sure that nothing was closer to a vision of the apocalypse than the summit then. Practically falling down the same rocks I crawled up, I knew that the ending to this journey would not be pretty. As I passed people crouched in chasms and huddled behind rocks, I thought that my life would end in a lightning bolt on Katahdin. At least I would have finished the trail in time to leave it. However, Trill and I made it back safely, enduring probably the worst weather and greatest rush of adrenaline on this entire journey.

Katahdin, Part II

Today I awoke with the normal spur to routine which has controlled me for the last five months. I pick up my feet and walk. I was unintimidated by the fear that surrounds my last climb, overwhelmed instead with the feelings of invincibility and pride. After several hours, however, I realized that even my stamina was being chipped away by the legendary ascent. The mountain is known as a Monadnock- a steep upthrust of granite, rising sharply from all the earth below. For the 2.5 miles above treeline, I followed an utterly rugged and relentless path up boulders, scrambling up rocks mightier than any creation of mankind. The climb taxed my mind and body, but I could feel the gravity of the summit pulling me higher, and I only began to accelerate up the steep rocks. I felt butterflies in my stomach at the first glimpse of the sign atop the peak- a moment I had imagined every day and night for almost five months.
The mountain is controlling- it is the dominant thought of many steps and many minutes, through joy and sorrow it carried me through this trail. I had no premeditated ideas of how I would react, I could only feel the smile on my face coming up the side of the mountain. But when I reached the top, I touched the sign and cried instantly. In the midst of a crowd of day hikers and baffled tourists, I sat down on the rocks and cried. It was perhaps the most glorious moment of the last five months. I lingered on the summit with the only other thru-hiker within days around, my friend Trill, as we absorbed every view and soaked up the elation. As Trill says, "This trail will change your fucking life. Every step north you take, you are a different person. The farther north you are, the harder it is to explain to people who you are."

Katahdin, the prelude

A mountain only fit for a 2,000 mile climax and well-tempered minds and legs, Katahdin is the Northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. It is the whitest whale of the seas, a 5,268 foot peak looming above all around it. Hikers eager to finish their months of torment and joy are confronted with a 4,000 foot climb over 5.2 miles, easily the most difficult single ascent on the entire path. It is bizarre and possessive- dominating the horizon in a mass of granite that shadows all around it. There is no mountain which rivals it in peril or glory, it is the mightiest peak.

photos from the White Mountains

Crossing the Kennebec River

Pierce Pond Lean-To

2000 mile mark

Before and During the Wilderness

7/16 5.3 whole miles to Horn Pond Lean-to

The journey is nearing an end, which means so is my opportunity to enjoy this lifestyle. I purposefully suppressed my urge to trudge on, and chose instead to savor this pretty day on a pond, with Southbounders "Nocar," "Stretch," and Tommy.

7/17 17.5 miles to West Carry Pond Lean-to

The day is not yet over, but I am confident at this point that there can only be a peaceful resolution. The lessening intensity of the terrain as well as my ecstasy for the finish have subdued my frantic pace. The weather is ideal, and I am camped in the midst of natural beauty that most Americans spend their lives trying to capture and civilize. The spirit of the wilderness is still very alive in Maine, and it lives in me as well as anyone else who treads its ground. I am reading The Places in Between, and I am walking through a parallel universe to Rory, except without the threat of gun-toting Afghans, and with the beauty of peaks and ponds.

7/18 19.5 miles to Pleasant Pond Lean-to

Things aren't as pleasant as advertised here at Pleasant Pond. Dodger, Longstep and I are here representing the Northbound crowd, and we have met Abby, the Southbounder, and three weathered geezers, all packed into this minute rustic Maine shelter. The highlights of today's excursion include tramping through deathly bogs, and crossing the Kennebec River- the most formidable water body on the trail. The ferryman was confident that if I would of attempted fording the river I surely would have drowned. I'm glad I'm still alive.

7/19 14 miles to Moxie Bald Lean-to

I used today for convincing myself of the necessity of liesure: spending many hours reading, eating, swimming in ponds, lounging on summits, or engaging in activity commonly dismissed by puritans. Afterall, the journey is almost over- tomorrow I reach the last town, Monson. All southbounders should fear my power.

7/23 20.6 miles to Carl Newhall Lean-to

Yesterday was an intense day. So was today. And so will be the next four days. It is an unfortunate way to end this glorious journey, but how else can I cope with 100 oppressive miles, and enough food weight to break my back.
Perhaps this is the crucible of hiking- teasing myself with food that I must frugally ration, battling the savage trail in Maine, rushing over peaks to beat section hikers and infidel Southbounders to the cramped shelters.
But all the toil is not without humor. I am elated to be so close to Katahdin, and to have Trill's company and ecclectic stories in these last miles. He at 30 blueberries at once- "the chronic," he claims.

7/24 18.9 miles to Cooper Falls Lean-to

It's been a cold, windy and rainy day, but I wouldn't call it miserable. I'm too close to the end to be miserable.
The barren landscape of worn rocks, frail brush and sheets of mist and fog atop White Cap Mountain looked like what I imagine the apocalypse to be. However, the rest of the day involved rolling woodlands and glittering ponds. Trill is still by my side, telling the goofiest stories that split my sides with laughters. Dinner is ready- one of the last suppers, one of the last opportunities to savor dehydrated food.

7/25 21.5 miles to Wadleigh Stream Lean-to

Without exaggeration, today truthfully featured the worst insect infestation I have experienced yet. Luckily, my insect suit kept me invulnerable and safe in my strides. I hope I will never hate a human with as much passion and vengeance with which I hate mosquitoes. Even when I am completely covered they find the patches of skin from which they can extract blood. Ironically, I just paused to pull one's legs off. You can't have my blood, greedy vessels of destruction.
Otherwise it's been another sentimental, glorious day in Maine. Plenty of scenic lakes added new color to the wilderness, and I met a yo-yo, Brian, who has the typical stony stoicism of someone who has hiked his soul out.

7/25 19.5 miles to Hurd Brook Lean-to

No matter how I sing my thoughts,
or how I twist my tongue,
I can't rephrase these steps of mine
to tunes that can be sung. 

And every hour that passes by
beyond the reach of time,
can't be portrayed again
by any thrust of rhyme.

Waking to a pressing urge
to lift my feet and walk,
and fighting day until the dark,
are not for common talk.

And many times I've cried and fought
and fiercely tried to quit,
but many more I've yelled aloud
and boldly stuck with it.

This life of mine is more than words 

but only simple things,
more than only frigid nights

and demons borne with wings. 

I leave more than one place or friend,

but a true entire life,
and miles of sun and happenstance
and days of storm and strife.

Well all those times come crashing down 

this one last lofty peak
but have I or have I not
found the truth I seek?

The Wilderness

Here's the truth of the matter: the journey is almost over. The feelings I have I cannot easily describe to others, who are usually so eager to extract some sort of revelation or truth out of my 2,176 mile hike. The best I can do is tell them that this feels like the last week of high school; all my sentiments and experiences seemed warped by time, and what was so recent seems like a lifetime ago- but still, that is not an accurate comparison. A journey like this can only be known like a work of art- something that we can describe passionately to others, but can really only be understood by experiencing it for ourselves. So I can only describe for you what it feels like, being here in Maine, 114 miles away from the finish. It feels like many frigid nights, days with snow underfoot, warm hostels, copious quantities of hot food, scarce rations of cold food, American towns too small for maps, friendships through triumph and sadness, physical taxation, the glory of peaks, the misery of every type of thunderstorm, the oppressive summer heat, paranoia of insects, and the great simplicity of only living with less than 30 lbs. of possessions.
Still, things aren't over yet. A friend of mine from high school, Will Davis, picked me up from Monson and has let me stay and recover at his house before heading into the 100-mile Wilderness- the last crucible. In many ways it is the culmination of a Northbound hike- 100 miles of untamed Maine backcountry- untouched by roads, and still in the hands of the forest's will. The last fourteen miles include the climb of Katahdin, the highest peak in Maine and the magical Mountain Deity. Maybe I will have some revelation for you then.