Crossing the Kennebec River
Pierce Pond Lean-To
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
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.
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.
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
more than only frigid nights
and demons borne with wings.
I leave more than one place or friend,
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
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?
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.
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.
7/9-7/14/08 to Stratton, Maine
Today, 7/22/08, Michael is near Monson, Maine with only 114 miles to go, planning to finish around 7/28 or so. Below are the journal entries he recently mailed home...always a little out of sync, about a week or so behind.
7/14/08 18 miles to Spaulding Mountain Lean-To
Bob O’Brien treated me really well in Rangeley, Maine. Unfortunately his kind image does not represent the trail in Maine. Sometime today I realized I had left the Appalachian Trail and accidentally wondered onto the National Scenic Mud Pit, and it ironically follows the same course. However, I saw my first moose today, which redeemed some of my bitterness.
7/12/08 13 miles to Bemis Mountain Lean-To
The prospect of Katahdin at this point is tantalizing: so near, yet still hidden by the horizon, still only a rumor. Many times a day other hikers assure me that I am almost done, which is hard to accept when trudging over this steep, sawtooth terrain. All I can do in the mean time is rest, eat and savor the miles.
7/11/08 21 miles to Hall Mountain Shelter
Maine is deceptive with its array of terrain. Yesterday’s hike had me throwing bitter curses at the wind. Today however, was ideal for 21 miles. I still feel smashed as a black fly, but triumphant in my Northbound campaign for today. I happened to encounter a band of insecure tweenage girls at camp and their counselors, exploring the great outdoors. Ironically, one counselor thru-hiked in 1999 and was sympathetic and kind enough to offer me their extra food before I could even attempt my Yogi technique. The girls all giggled! Tonight I am staying with a geezer named Poz who is intent on telling me intricate stories even as I am writing. I’m trying just to nod and say “yeah.”
7/10/08 15 miles to Speek Pond Shelter
Perhaps “Mahoosic” is the Indian greeting for “a brutal ass-kicking terrain.” Today’s hike included the Mahoosic Notch, the Mahoosic Arm and countless other knee crippling climbs, comprising easily the hardest 15 miles on the trail which I‘ve yet done. Gale force winds, stronger than anything I’ve experienced on any peak or through any storm, did not help either. However, I am in Maine, which is ample cause for joyous celeration. I see Southbounders regularly at this point, all of whom are delighted to hear my veteran tales and seasoned advice.
7/9/08 12 miles to Gentian Pond Shelter
After a soothing stay amongst the company of campground residents and visitor in Gorham, New Hampshire, I felt the gravity of Maine towing me to the border. Unfortunately my 1:00pm start and afternoon thunderstorms hampered my victory march. So I have settled for this shelter, only 4 miles from Maine, with the company of eager Southbounders. It is practically a flashback to my early days on the trail. Hot Springs, NC is as far from Springer as we are from Katahdin now. What a time for reflection. I started my college reading assignment this evening. Ironically the narrator is undertaking the same feat I am, except in the desolate warring country of Afghanistan.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
The last week of school
Kurt Vonnegut said, "So it goes." Tupac said, "That's just the way it is." Only 114 miles left.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Back on Squam Lake!
Captains Paul, Michael and Ryan
Squam Lake
Kayaking on Squam Lake
Working on the Swap Walk
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