Day 1: Monson Trailhead to Little Wilson Stream
Saturday, July 1, 2017
6.8 miles
This morning, I am raring to go. The Shaw’s breakfast is delicious and famous. Tell them how you want your eggs. You get those, a bunch of home fried potatoes and bacon. Then, all the blueberry pancakes you can eat. You’re then fueled up to go hike. I get in the car and drive to the trailhead.
I put the buff on my head as a sweatband and the ball cap over the buff with the bill facing backward. I probably look like a cool hiker guy. As I’ve practiced, I grab the backpack by the loop and hoist it to my knee. 45 pounds is heavy, but when I sling it onto my back it’s going to feel much lighter, and it does. I hike the pack up and cinch the waist strap first, as you’re supposed to do. I pull down the tabs to tighten the shoulder straps, which you do next. Next, the chest strap. Finally, I reach back and grasp the lifter straps and pull so the top of the pack comes toward my shoulders to ensure the load is properly directed to my hips. I feel good. The pack feels good. It feels comfortable. I grasp my best-of-the-best 130cm Black Diamond Carbon Z trekking poles. I check which is left and which is right and put my hands up through the straps and onto the grips. I find that sweet spot that helps me use the straps, not the grips, to use arm force as assistance while hiking. Pushing down on the straps when I’m climbing up hills allows me to use my arms to augment my legs muscles. I disappear into the hole in the now damp dark green at 8:23 am. It will drizzle lightly all morning. It will be dark, damp and primordial all day.
I come to the sign through the short, familiar, if darker, territory I had passed the day before. I stop and take a picture of me and the sign. I try to text the family with this picture to say, “I’m going in,” but there is no reception. It is dark. It is slippery. Dank, decomposition smells. Everything is wet. I immediately start a climb. There are roots everywhere and I can’t take a straight step. Brackish water, mud, leaves, slippery roots. Logs over bogs. Bog is a word for standing cola colored water with lots of vegetation that can be, I don’t know and didn’t find out, maybe 8″ deep with 6″ of mud? I think I remember a story about someone falling off a bog bridge and sinking in to their waist. I step carefully, relying on my poles for balance and in case I slip. The trail dips steeply down. It seems almost vertical, but there are roots everywhere, and I can use them as steps down, and up, and down. Rocks are strewn across the trail randomly. All sizes, from peas to three foot boulders. There are countless mud troughs where I learn to look for rocks peeking up from the mud so I can skip across the muck. Sometimes they aren’t rocks and my boot sinks to the ankle in sucking mud. I’m thinking mid boots were the right choice. Ventilator definitely the right choice because you’re going to get them wet and Gortex will never dry out (the ventilators hardly do either, anyway. I think they probably drain better). You can see into the woods all around and it is murky. It is fantastic. It smells alive and decomposing at the same time. Up and down hills, steep and shallow. I come to a wet solid rock face sloping across the trail and I slip, going to my knees. A close one. A little later, my foot slips off a wet root and only the right trekking pole saves me. It bows three inches in the center, but doesn’t break. I will slip on wet roots, rocks and mud, risking injury throughout. After three miles, I come to a small stream called Leeman Brook, and I stop to fish. It’s really too small for a spinner, and I try both holes with no luck. I sit to eat a snack and two guys I met at the hostel show up. They were not able to start as early as me since they waited for Shaw’s shuttle. I notice one has no trekking poles, and I can’t believe anyone could traverse what I have come through without poles without breaking their neck or leg, but he has. We pass pleasantries, and they are on their way.
I put the pack back on and start off again. Immediately, I start up a steep bank on the side of a stream and pass a place where a wrong step could send me 20′ down to a broken leg. I’m careful. And, there is the first lean-to. I go off trail to it and it looks just like I expected. It seems really damp and dark and dreary, though. I stick my head in and it smells horrible, so I back out and wonder how anyone could sleep in one. I then laugh, as I realize it smells exactly like I already do. I’m guessing that soon I won’t be able to smell anything funny about lean-tos.
I continue on, looking for what I heard was a good trout stream about 6.1 miles in. On a moderately steep downhill, I say hi to an old guy trudging slowly up. He mumbles something pleasant, but is clearly intently focused on taking each upward step. He is at least 80 years old, and takes small slow steps, maybe half a boot length. I laugh internally about how slow he is and also smile when I think about his dogged determination. There is a lesson here, but I totally don’t get it, yet. At one point, the trail traverses a beaver dam made of squishy pine stuff through a murky, close in, pine forest. Hard to believe all the hiker traffic hasn’t done this thing in.
What seems many hours later, I reach a place where some people are working on the trail next to a beautiful waterfall. Seems they are maybe buttressing the trail edge against a precipitous drop to the below rushing waterfall cascade. A couple friendly middle age guys and then a couple college age trail worker girls say hi as I pass. Maybe the girls are on a summer trail internship? I wonder if they hike the trail too? What do they think when they see hikers go through? I feel special that I am an AT hiker. I come to a beautiful stone staircase that takes the trail down to the stream bed. This feels about twice the distance as to the first lean-to at three miles, so this must be the first stream I’m looking for.
Little Wilson stream is a small tea colored stream with a good current. There are three tarps set up (a tarp is a hammock covered by a tarp, tied between two trees) and I say hi to Tennessee and his two teenage daughters, Bug and Stumble. I tell then I don’t have a trail name yet. I ask Tennessee about etiquette of my tent placement relationship to his, and he points out the dry spots from tents the night before. I set mine up fairly close, secretly wanting to be close to other people. I wanted to do fairly low mileage the first day to break in my legs and I guess this fits that bill. The untried tent goes up without a hitch. The untested filter works also without a hitch. I’m right on track and lucky to find people exactly where it is nice to camp next to a fishing stream.
I talk to Tennessee about hiking and bear bags. He smokes and I immediately give up my plan to only smoke at night. I do have some trepidation now. The hike so far was harder than I expected, but it’s only my first day. He tells me his one daughter is having trouble, even though she is in good shape and plays soccer. They have taken two days to get to Little Wilson stream. Apparently, whenever she puts on the 40 pound pack, her hiking resolve crumbles. Tennessee has a satellite texting device and has asked Shaw’s to come extract them the next day since his one daughter is done. He’s obviously disappointed, but loves his kids no matter what, like all dads. He knows what he is doing with a bear bag. I help him look for a good branch 25 feet up and he finds one (days later I will see some pretty sorry bear bagging).
I figure out I am actually 6.8 miles in. Hooray! I went even farther than I had thought.
I tell the three of them I am going fishing! And, I do. No bites. Then I get a strike, but miss setting the hook. Finally, I catch a small 6-7″ Brook trout and my spirits are way up! I take the fish back to camp and say, “Look, I caught a brook trout.” Stumble says she thinks my trail name is Brook Trout, and it is. They all start calling me that. Spirits soar. Brook Trout is here.
A couple other tent groups come in later in the day and set up. It’s a cozy small group of friendly people who don’t really know each other, but we are all backpackers. It’s a special club.
I cook Ramen for dinner with some olive oil added, and it is good. I make a cup of coffee and it goes well with cigarettes. My spirits are warmed even more. But, I’m still a little uneasy in the background. Have I bitten off more than I can chew this time?
It’s still light at 8:00, and Tennessee, Bug and Stumble say they are going to bed and wish me luck should they not see me again. I do the same. I try to read, but keep finding myself staring off into nowhere. What will tomorrow bring? It turns dark at about 9:00, and since I arrived around 1:15, I’ve been doing a lot of smoking and staring off into nowhere. I get into the tent ready for weariness to kiss me goodnight. It doesn’t. (Throughout this night and the rest of the time, I am to find that I sleep poorly and generally only between midnight and when it becomes light again. I don’t sleep that well back in the world, either.) Tonight, it rains heavily. It affords me the opportunity to use my rain jacket when I get out of the tent at 11:00 to go pee and to filter some more water. This will be the only time I will use the rain jacket for the duration. I will usually be happily wet anyway, and it will be unneeded. I smoke two packs of cigarettes starting at my arrival at camp until departure the next morning. (I had budgeted one half a pack per day originally, but decided to be safe and carry twice, at 10 packs.)
Day 2: Little Wilson Stream to Vaughn Stream
Sunday, July 2, 2017
6.8 miles
I get up early because it is light at 4:30. I cook oatmeal, and discover I have the same affliction as a hiker I read about who hiked Indiana’s mini-AT. I have a hard time gagging down the sticky muck oatmeal. It had taken this mini-AT hiker three days to say, “no more,” and, here I find it takes one day for me. Trouble, since I have planned mostly for oatmeal for breakfast. I also discover that putting oatmeal in the 700 ml cook pot and then pouring water over it before heating is a bad thing. I burn a crust into the bottom of the cook pot on only the second meal of the trip. No way I can scrape that out. I get everything packed up, still happy I can get all that stuff actually into my 51L Osprey Exos pack. Food alone takes two full Opsaks (big smell proof plastic super ziplocks) which occupy about 2/3 of the pack space. OK, on to my first ford of a stream. At the bank, I discover that yesterday’s tame stream has taken on the look of a raging torrent. Not very far across, maybe 20 feet. I am concerned, and I ponder. Two guys come to the stream on the opposite side and I anxiously watch them ford. They have some difficulty, but they make it.
So can I! I’m in business.
I enter the water. My backpack is unbuckled as everyone knows to do who researches well. In case you fall in, you can shed the water filled anchor and not die. The current is relatively slow on both sides, but the center has a 4 to 5 foot section of heavy current. I plant my poles carefully, one upstream and one down, and move toward the deluge. My left leg into the main current is whipped back out at me. I forcefully align my toe upstream and plant the foot again, getting a good purchase. I slowly start across the worst of the current. I’m tall, I keep my strength into it. The water is up to my hips. I can feel the upstream pole thrumming heavily with the force of the current. Two more steps to get to calmer water and my right foot slips. I start to go over. With fear and adrenaline and a hard push from the poles and my left leg, I surge out of the heavy current into the calmer waters. Whew! I almost lost it. That was close! Anyway, let’s go hiking. I want to make the shelter 8 miles away.
Bogs, mud, roots, rocks. The climbs are painful, and I sweat a lot. When I lower my head, a stream of sweat pours out of my buff. Back down and I ford a brook and then Big Wilson stream. Big Wilson looks like an awesome trout stream, but I don’t stop. I need to see if I can make 8 miles and see if I have what it takes. All the creek/brook/stream crossings today after Little Wilson stream will be much easier than Little Wilson.
I hit some serious uphill. It’s dark, damp, dreary. The pack is heavy. I am slow. Can I do this? I am somewhat demoralized. Partway up the mountain, I pop out onto a railroad track. The sun comes out. I am in a sunny happy space. I take off my boots, sit down and smoke and eat, and my spirits are raised.
Back into the woods, it’s a long way up. I’m dreaming of something I heard about earlier, a yellow blaze. A yellow blaze means to traverse (skip) some of the trail in a car or taxi. Near the top I am on slate ridges of stone. I come to a fat shark fin about 6 feet up and maybe 7 feet wide, and I’m looking for which side to go around for the trail. I see a white blaze at the top in the middle. What? They want me to go over that? I climb up the fin and find it is pretty interesting to walk along it’s 20 foot length and then back down. I am sure the view would be spectacular if it wasn’t complete white-out conditions. I chat with a SOBO guy who tells me about Chairback mountain. He says it was really hard, “like mountain climbing without a rope.” I am afraid of heights/falling. I imagine an almost sheer wall with finger and toeholds. I am not sure I can do that. I don’t think I can do that going down, for sure. Maybe going up. I meet a heart breakingly beautiful SOBO woman from Texas on the down side of the mountain. It’s pretty steep, about half a mile from the top. She’s nice and we both enjoy the break from hiking that chatting brings. She says “God, you’d think this would get easier after all the miles I’ve come.” Rock climbing without ropes and the climbs never get easier. My confidence is getting shattered. It doesn’t help that this hiking is grueling.
I ford a stream, which turns out to be Vaughn stream. I initially thought it was Wilbur brook, but I guess I qualified Wilbur brook as too small to be the one on the map. There is a nice tent site right at the crossing. It is only 1:30 pm, but, I’m tired and a little demoralized again. I’m fearing Chairback and endless climbing pain. The map says I’ve come exactly another 6.8 miles, and I decide to stop early. I fish this little stream a little with no luck, but, mostly, I chat with people going by. I make some coffee, smoke, and start to contemplate having to hike back through what I’ve already done to get back to my car and go home. I start to think what if I have some problem like my breathing capability stops, I suddenly contract asthma or some other crazy stuff. Can I get out before I die? I’m about 14 miles in. Can I hike that in a day? I don’t think so. I try to reign in the terror I know is ridiculous. I’m looking at the MATC (Maine Appalachian Trail Club) map, and I notice I’m close to a point where there is a side trail, down a gravel road, to Bodfish Farm Site. That means I’m probably two miles from some type of civilization. I think tomorrow I’ll check it out. I’m no longer uneasy about being far away because I’m not. Would I still be OK if I were? I think this is just a passing fear of contemplating the reality of it for the first time. Guess I can’t know, so no purpose in thinking about it. Talking with people when they come by to ford is fun. I tell everyone where others have been crossing, and I continue to laze away the day. Lots of talk about how dicey the Little Wilson crossing is, all of which I confirm with the conviction of experience. I feel part of this special AT hiking club. No, not a club. A set of people all doing the same thing that 99.99% of all other people have no clue about. It is a special and very unique set of people all here for many varied reasons. All of them had to take a big step to decide to do this, which makes them all very extraordinary people. And they are, and they are also representative of a wide range of people types. Adventurers, hippies, vegans, work doldrum escapees, people proving things to themselves, people losing weight, dog people, old people, between high school and college people, young people, middle aged people and kids. No hobos, it’s not cheap to hike the AT.
I hear stories about the next ford at Long Pond stream. Most say it is OK because it has a rope. I hear a group of Girl Scouts (not Girl Scouts, but some type of Maine equivalent) had trouble and lost equipment on the crossing including trekking poles. I hear a rumor of a guy at some other place breaking his arm at a crossing and being helicoptered out. I’m pretty sure the next crossing won’t be as scary as Little Wilson, so I’m not very concerned.
A party of three NOBOs show up and two of them are guys I had met at the hostel. The other is a woman wearing shorts, a leg tattoo and toned thighs and calves that look like they can take her long distances with ease. We’re all always excited to see people we’ve seen before. We greet each other like long lost buddies, totally thrilled to run into each other again. Even if you met only once before, you feel like good friends with a mutual history. Most people you only see once. These three started only this morning and are already at the 13.6 mile mark. I took two days to get here. They are headed all the way to Cloud Pond lean-to today, which is at 19 miles, just past the big climb up Barren mountain ahead. I hope I can put in miles like that some day. One of the guys is totally pumped because this is his 17th straight year of section hiking. It’s not just the 17th year, it is the final section for his completion of the entire trail. He’s 42. The other two say his enthusiasm has been hard to restrain. I wish them happy hiking and offer congratulations to the one soon becoming a whole AT completer.
A couple comes by with a big cream Labrador. I’ve enjoyed watching many people cross Vaughn stream today, but this is a new one. The man crosses easily and then the woman too. She leaves her pack on the far bank and returns for the dog, which she hoists over her shoulders, legs draped over her front on each side of her neck. The man gets back in the water without his pack and hovers as woman and dog start a wobbly route across. Halfway, and she slips, going down with water halfway up her chest. The man quickly grabs her before it gets any worse, and they safely finish getting across. Amazingly, the dog shows complete trust throughout.
I get to do my one and only business in the woods with a trowel dug hole. The rest will be in a luxurious privy.
I am concerned if I will fear the night alone since it doesn’t look like anyone else will camp here. I’m smoking a lot, but, actually I’m feeling OK. I decide that I’m just going to find the next stream and fish it tomorrow, and maybe find the next lean-to. My main concern now? I calculate I have a total of five days in the woods in terms of cigarette quantity for the extreme amount I’m smoking. I can have tomorrow to do whatever I want. I’m thinking cigarettes alone justify me hiking back out. I see no shame in not wanting to be 50 miles in without cigarettes. Anyway, I’m going to enjoy tomorrow, regardless.
I get in the tent when the light leaves at 9:00 pm. I am feeling claustrophobic. In fact, a bit of a terrifying level, like I can’t get out. With relief, I realize the shirt I am wearing has very tight sleeves. After I rip it off, the fear subsides. Two terror attacks in a day? What’s wrong with me? I don’t have terror attacks, and now two. I take off my too tight shorts and put on my hiking underwear. This is how I sleep at home. I feel un-terrorized again. Is this all related to me thinking I’m going to wimp out? Probably not. The tents will actually cause me some claustrophobia throughout. But, I find a solution for that: leave the rain fly open a little so I can see out. That’s all it takes.
I’m happy to find myself completely content in the woods in the dark by myself. Check that off my list of things to find out about myself.
Day 3: Vaughn Stream to Long Pond Stream Lean-to & Side Trip to Bodfish Farm Site
Monday, July 3, 2017
5.4 miles
This second morning, I spice up the oatmeal with vanilla protein powder and raisins. I can only just barely gag it down. I’m done with oatmeal, forever. I pack up (getting good at this) and start the short hike to the next stream, Long Pond stream. Just before the stream, I find a nicely packed gravel road, and … a car! WTF. I am not in any wilderness.
Long Pond stream looks perfect for trout. Not long, and I have a 6-7″ brook trout. If I’m hiking back out for lack of cigarettes (and fear of rock climbing and fear of my legs being able to do another 86 miles of mountains and arduous hiking), I am going to fry this sucker up in the frying pan I’ve been toting up and down these hills. I do two nice little fillets, and they are maybe 3×1 inches, not much of a meal. The fish is small enough, I fail on both sides to stop the blade in time to flip the fillet and remove the skin. It’s ok, I’m cooking skin and all. Ghee and the stove, it all works perfectly and the trout tastes excellent. I eat some skin and it is ok. I hear later from a hiker that brook trout don’t have traditional scales and the skin can be eaten with no descaling. Who needs Google? It seems you can find out anything you need to know from other hikers.
After eating, I take off down the side trail to find the Bodfish Farm Site. I meet a man and his two boys, and the boys say they want to hike the trail one day. They are maybe 8 and 10, and they look at me like I am some kind of hiking god. But, even though I’d love to be that god, I’m getting ready to quit. Man and sons with a truck, again, not feeling very “wilderness.” I hike on straight to ford the stream in front of me. The man shouts over to me, “if you turn right on the road, there’s a bridge.” I shout back, “Thanks, but my feet are always wet anyway,” and I plow right through the water. I hike through extensive stretches of muddy water filled rutty dirt impassable road. I come to a large gravel road and see a house up the hill. I hike up, and realize it is a private residence. No sign of said Bodfish Farm Site. It’s probably right in front of me and I just don’t know what to look for. Looking back down the gravel road, I see Barren mountain. My first thought is it looks like a long way up and I’m a little glad I won’t have to suffer the climb. I take some pictures. I guess I’ll be hiking back out after all, the way I came in, which I’m OK with. I’m going to enjoy the day, and I’ll still have two days of cigarettes to get back out. Have I ever failed at anything significant before? Hey! I never told anyone I was hiking all the way for sure. I always said I would hike in and primarily do some fishing. Then, I’d probably hike back out, that’s why my car is at the trail head. That is the truth, but, I really always expected to decide to do the whole 100. So, it’s actually not even close to true in my head. Nobody else will know, but I will. I know nobody else would even fault me if they did know, but that is irrelevant. It’s what we learn and know and have to accept about ourselves that matters.
After the Bodfish Farm Site debacle, I fish a little halfheartedly, catching nothing. The Long Pond stream crossing is easy, and I head up the trail toward the Long Pond stream lean-to. I catch up to a young woman who doesn’t have a trail name yet. She is going much more slowly than me. From the stream to the lean-to is one mile of moderately steep, sometimes more steep climbing, sometimes flat or down a little. She offers to let me pass, and I tell her, “No, I’d like to try going a little slower” and will stay behind her. We get to a steeper section and she starts going very slowly and deliberately. She says, “I’m sorry I’m so slow.” I say, “No, I like the speed you’re going.” She steps one foot up, deliberately sets her pole, steps the next foot and then deliberately sets her other pole. She apologizes again. It is so slow. It is so wonderful. It is a light bulb turn-on. I have been racing myself everywhere, trying to be fast. I don’t need to be fast, I just need to make progress. I’ll use this new knowledge on the trek back. She stops and says, “Here’s your lean to!” She is extra nice, as is basically everyone I meet. She’ll never know how my brief encounter with her will be such a majorly important event in my life.
I walk to the lean-to and look around. Two thru hiker guys arrive to take a break. One is a NOBO around my age who started in Georgia, and the other is a late 20’s Flip-Flop who started NOBO in the middle at Harper’s Ferry. They met somewhere north of Harper’s Ferry and have been hiking together ever since. I notice something very peculiar. The older guy has no facial hair. I mention he’s the first clean shaven guy I’ve seen on the trail. He says he grew a beard, but it was all white and his wife said it made him look 90. He’s been clean shaven since. Neither carries a water filter. The younger points to his Aqua Mira and the older claims “I just drink it straight from the source now.” I wish them well.
I’m smoking like a banshee, so no thought of actually using a shelter. Plus, my Neoair xlite sleeping pad is incredibly noisy and I move a lot in my sleep. Darn mat is too narrow and slides around a lot. I don’t really like it. I’m using my quilt sleeping bag like a regular blanket and my arms hit the cold tent floor when I’m on my back because it’s too narrow. I find a campsite above the lean-to that is nice, a bit of a slope, with my head at the high side. I make coffee and smoke. For fun, I turn on the cell phone to see if there is any signal. There hasn’t been any at all so far.
There are two dots! I’m amazed. I call my wife, she doesn’t answer. I slowly realize something. I can call Shaw’s to pick me up down that Bodfish side road, and I won’t have to hike back out. I do it. I call Shaw’s, and Poet laughs when I say, “I’m running out of cigarettes!” They are ready and able to get me. I arrange for them to get me at 3:00 two days hence, since I at least want to maximize my time in the woods, and that is when I calculate my cigarettes will be gone. I’m amazed to discover that my road 2.6 miles away isn’t needed. They usually extract people from Otter Pond in this area, which is about 0.4 miles up at the clearly marked blue ribbons and rock cairn, and 0.5 miles to the right. Only 0.9 miles from where I am. Life is sweet. Life is good. I have a happy end in sight.
I manage to get my wife on the phone and let her know I’ll be extracted in two days. She sounds relieved. I chat with people who stay at the lean-to area and take some time to decide what to do with the next day. I’m starting to get a new plan, which I’ll confirm tomorrow.
I confirm the Neoair xlite has to go. I wake up several times balled at the base of the tent. Thing is too slippery.
Day 4: Barren Mountain Slack Pack YoYo and Fishing Long Pond Stream
Tues, July 4, 2017
7.8 miles
I decide to climb Barren mountain using the technique of the girl I followed yesterday. I’ll leave my tent pitched with most of my gear, and slack pack it (slack pack means no major equipment, just a light pack or just a day bag). Two other guys at the lean-to are also climbing it, and they will start later than me. I start up. I go the pace to keep my breathing at a slightly elevated rate at which I can still talk if I want. It is a rate I know I can keep up for a long time. I get to Barren Ledges, take some awesome pictures, and text some back home. Maneuvering for a view, I gash my arm deeply on a dead pine tree branch. I wear the blood as a badge. I continue up to the windy summit just below the base of the clouds, climb the tower, take pictures, and then start back down. I have a passing concern I should have brought a coat. I meet the two guys partway down and am pleased they hadn’t overtaken me on the way up. I get back down to the lean-to and realize, with a light pack, I have done one of the worst climbs of the 100 miles, 3 miles up and 3 down, in 3.5 hours? Wow! My planning is now mostly consolidated for what I will do, after an afternoon of fishing and a refit back at Shaw’s.
I’m hanging out for lunch at the lean-to and Dalmation arrives to take a break. He’s SOBO thru to Georgia. I enjoy talking to him. He says he started at Katahdin at 300 pounds, and I tell him he doesn’t look anywhere like that to me, and he doesn’t. His legs and arms are bitten to hell by mosquitoes. He’s the first of many people to tell me the bugs get bad on the north side of White Cap. After he learns that I’ll be extracted the next day, he asks if they would take him too. I say, “Yes, I am sure they will. I’m not judging whatever you do, but, aren’t you kind of close to the end of finishing the 100?” I leave him to go fishing and tell him I’ll see him back at the lean-to, or, if he decides to go on, he can say bye when he passes me.
The trail hits the stream at many points and I try most of them. I catch fish left and right. A couple times, two from the same pool. Crazy fun, and I almost get bored … never. I lose count of how many fish I catch in 2.5 hours, but am guessing 30. All 6-7″ long, beautiful “Brookies.” They are so lively, I get all but one off the hook by simply holding the line and letting them spazz wiggle their way off. The other had gotten the hooks too far in and after I get the forceps on one of the hooks of the treble, he also manages to get himself loose. This is good because some other hiker told me you need to wet your hand and be careful with brook trout or the contact with your hand may cause them to get a skin fungus and die. I fish all the way to the crossing and find a man eating pizza! How is there pizza here? He explains he started this morning from Monson, and the two slices are leftover from last night’s dinner. I wish him well and hike my way back to the lean-to.
No Dalmation! Good for him, no judging if he had been there. I was going to quit too, before I wasn’t.
Later in the day, a guy, two women and a group of two women and two kids arrive at the lean-to. Always fun talking to other people on the trail. Lots of talk of food, trail conditions, river crossings, feet hurting and miles to go. All of them are SOBO and most of them are almost out of food. Since I am getting extracted the next day and have the remainder of 10 days of food, I take out my meals for the night and next day and offer up the balance to this group of seven people. I am given my second trail name “Santa Claus.” It is awesome to help, and they are exceptionally grateful, but I also feel a little uncomfortable with so much praise. I know I would be extremely grateful if it was the other way around. I offer they can leave their trash at the lean-to and I’ll ruck that out for them. I go back to my campsite and enjoy more coffee and cigarettes.
Day 5: Extraction from Otter Pond and Refitting
Wednesday, July 5, 2017
1.5-2.0 miles
I get up, make coffee, and run out of cigarettes. I talk with the four person group and they allay my fears a little more about Chairback (I’d been asking others also). They say the 13 year old girl had no trouble. I say in a friendly fun way, “Are you trying to shame me into it?” Definitely, my plan is getting ever more baked. I call Shaw’s, and they say they can get me earlier than we had arranged, so I hike the easy 0.9 to Otter Pond. The trail opens into a circle end of a packed stone road, obviously the pick-up point (I don’t see any Otter pond). I hike further until I get to an intersection with a bigger packed stone road. I set out my gear in the sun to dry and make the mistake of forgetting I have a 72% cacao bar in my Zpacks 4in1. It melts and I will have some fun cleaning that up later. A couple cars pass and I practice hitting the occasional fly buzzing around my head with my ball cap. I conclude that if I can manage to whap them once with any part of the hat, they’ll leave and I’ll have maybe another 5 minutes until the next shows up. My tent and rainfly look mostly dry, so I pack them up. AJ rolls up at 10:30 and makes some comment about what are you doing all the way out at the intersection? I say something about stretching my legs. The reality is that once I got to the intersection, I also hiked a hundred feet up and down a small slope a bunch of times. I need to exercise my legs on this NERO (Near zero day). Good to see AJ every time I see him!
Back at the hostel, how does Hippie Chick always remember my name? I see Poet and tell him I want to buy stuff including a lighter tent. Mine is a larger two person tent to comfortably accommodate my wife, and it is three pounds. I had heard Poet has some at two pounds. Poet takes the time to do a gear shakedown for me. He’s notoriously good at it, but I have already thought it all through and tell him I want to hit 25 pounds fully loaded with water and 6 days of food. I start tossing everything except the absolute essentials into a pile next to him, not giving him time to say much, “Get rid of the rain pants, fishing stuff, USB charger, cooking stuff, long underwear, filter.” “Hey, Poet, I need Aqua Mira” (I already made a list of what I need to get and this is one of those things). Extra pair of socks, gone, etc. I think I may be the first reverse shakedown for him. His main contribution is to put the extra pair of socks and some blister pads in the “essential to carry” pile. He seems a little startled and pleased by my quick strip away of weight. “Hey, let me get rid of the pen shell. I only need the ink tube.” Poet puts the empty pen shell on the scale, “A few grams, everything counts” he says. $390 for the new tent to shave a pound. I don’t blink, I’m going to need this in the future anyway whenever my wife doesn’t hike with me. I would pay another $390 to shave another pound if that was an option. Makes me think of a guy I met on the trail who talked longingly about hiring a Sherpa to pack his gear for him. I ditch the Neolite for a closed cell foam pad.
I scan through Poet’s extensive stores of hiker-centric food and collect 6 days worth. Clif bars breakfast and morning snack, tuna in olive oil lunch (olive oil kicks these up to a reasonable caloric density), Clif protein builder bar afternoon, salami and Slim Jim sticks and tortillas for dinner and six Snickers (one for random use each day). I have about 1.5 pounds of mixed nuts already and Poet suggests some dried hummus, which I add. I add an extra tuna pack and three extra beef sticks. (I still don’t really know how much food I need for hiking the Wilderness, but I have luckily chosen the perfect amount per day)
My flip flops are an irritating problem. They have worn blisters between my toes, an especially bad one on the left foot. Poet is out of my size Crocs so I solve the problem by putting KT tape on the left foot blister and declaring “Problem solved!” (A couple days later, I will be barefoot in camp). The restrictive sleeve base camp shirt is remedied with my fillet knife: no more sleeves. I’ve lost my headlamp, so I buy a new one. Since I’m ditching the fillet knife and am asking him if I should ditch the tweezers, Poet suggests I add a small Swiss Army knife. I take this excellent suggestion (it will be very important for popping blisters, cutting KT tape and cutting open salami packages).
New weight with partial water and 6 days/8.4 pounds of food is 23-24 lbs. I’m in business!
I’m excited to get reinserted and do this thing.
Back at the picnic tables, I meet one of the ladies from the Santa Claus fest, and she says, “Hi Santa Claus.” Others hear and start calling me Santa Claus, but I insist on staying Brook Trout. (Who wants an altruistic trail name? I’m thinking it would make you seem like a horse’s ass.)
Dalmation is at the hostel, and we have a happy reunion. He has lost 40 pounds since he started. He says he looked for me on the trail when he went by the stream and was disappointed he hadn’t seen me to say bye. He’s a good kid and has a romantic penchant for music from musicals. He sings the Chicago “I fired two warning shots, into his head” song for me. He’s amazingly good.
There are various musical instruments at the hostel and people occasionally play them. Doesn’t matter if they are good or not, it all sounds good.
Day 6: Reinsertion: 1.4 miles from AT base of Third Mountain to Carl A. Newhall Lean-to
Thursday, July 6, 2017
14.3 miles
At breakfast, I accidentally think to ask someone how to use Aqua Mira. Add 7 drops of each solution together in the little mixing cup, swirl it until yellow, pour it into 1 liter of water and wait 20 minutes. I try to imagine what would happen if I had not by happenstance found this out. Pretty sure my 53 year old eyes can’t read the tiny printed instructions on the bottles. I would probably have gotten the info from someone on the trail. Yes, I’ve been a little haphazard. I still jump in feet first.
I can be reinserted back at Otter pond and re-climb Barren mountain, or at Third mountain. I go for Third mountain, reasoning, if I hike back to the top of Fourth mountain and return, that will cover the missing five miles. After a long drive on interesting roads, we come to a booth in the wild where I chat with the attendant and pay a $14 non-resident access to the private road. I cannot remember the driver’s name, but he also tells me I have already been over much worse stuff than Chairback. He’s a very likable person. He drops me off at the insertion point at about 10:30 am, and I hike 1.4 miles up to get to the AT base of Third mountain. I decide my three miles back down Barren, two miles fishing, the Bodfish hike, and the just completed 1.4 are plenty to compensate for the missing five miles. I turn north away from Fourth mountain and hike with earnest, but reasoned, determination. I’m using the climbing technique the girl with no trail name gave me. (She never knew she gave me that, I mentioned that before. I wish I could thank her.)
I’m making good progress (with dry boots and socks for the first time). I am going toward Chairback mountain and my greatest fear. Will I have to turn back and admit defeat? Third mountain is doable and so is Columbus mountain. I come to the top of the north backside of Chairback and start down. Beautiful rock steps and I have a feeling the terror is just around the corner. I come around a small turn and see it. It is a big steep jumble of huge boulders maybe 5 to 10 feet in size. I laugh out loud with glee! THIS LOOKS FUN! There is no fear and I scramble happily down the steep boulder field that is maybe 100 feet long, jumping from one to the other. Passing a panting woman going up, I happily shout at her, “you’re almost there! It ends just above where you can see, and just up there is a beautiful staircase.” The relief and elation are incredible. There is no problem doing the Wilderness for a fear of heights person. I’m in a happy daze and arrive at the West Branch of Pleasant river by about 4:30 or 5:00 pm. I ford the wide, but less than knee high river, in my bare feet, keeping my boots and socks dry. I sit on a nice bench and let my feet air out. A man and his nine year old son arrive. They mostly drove in and the boy proudly proclaims he caught a 10″ brook trout and a 12″ rainbow trout. I’d be really happy to do that myself. I tell him I didn’t think brook trout came that big. He says, “They sure do!” In the future, I’m going to need to come back to this beautiful place and catch a big trout too. And, I’m going to try some trout worms, which is what he says he used to catch the big ones. Reminds me when I was a child of putting a worm or piece of cheese or a salmon egg on a hook and placing it in a stream so the current carried the morsel into a small pool right into the mouth of a waiting trout. I want to do that again.
This river marks the transition from map 3 to map 2, a big mental milestone, especially seeing that I previously expected to only ever be on map 3. A little fantasy occurs thinking about when I might pass from map 2 to map 1, the final map of three for the 100 Mile Wilderness. Too early to start thinking about that! I shut it down, White Cap is ahead.
I am at the base of the big mountain climb and 5.5 miles remain to the Newhall lean-to up a long “gentle” grade. I want to get to the lean-to today so I won’t have to do the long slow climb up the first part of the mountain just before hitting the big four peaks at White Cap. If I can do White Cap, I can do the whole thing. It is the hardest part. Can I make it before dark? I need to make it. I need to be set up for the big challenge tomorrow. A sign at 3.5 miles to go, and it seems to be taking forever. What seems 5 hours later, I sit down for a break, wondering if I will ever reach the lean-to. Two NOBO thru hikers, man and woman, arrive with Guthooks (hiker guide/map app) on a cell phone saying, “6 minutes to the shelter!” Big pick up. I jump up and start following them. I’m going faster than ever and watching how they put their feet. This is exactly when and where I learn to hike faster over rocks and roots. It requires focus. It requires shortening or extending the step to hit a good spot and it requires a fluid pushing forward, often pushing a little on the pole to hit an extended foot plant. I am staying up with fully conditioned thru hikers! I can’t help myself, I say, “How am I staying up with you?” He says, “We’re not as fast as some.” I feel bad for implying they are slow, and can’t come up with the words to apologize. I have just discovered some of my potential. I’m guessing I can keep up with them for 10 minutes, so, good thing it is only 6! We arrive at the lean-to at 8:15 and I hastily set up my new and untried tent before it gets dark. I have reached my first goal. Only 14.3 miles, but this is good enough and I hadn’t started until mid-morning. This is my first time in double digits! My pee is too dark, so I keep hydrating, getting good at using Aqua Mira.
I realize since I don’t have a cook pot or cup, I’m not sure how to make hummus from the powder. Maybe just make it in the mouth? I scoop some powder into my mouth with my fingers and add water. The stuff sticks to the roof of my mouth and makes me think of a dog trying to eat peanut butter. Nope, this is not going to work.
Tomorrow, we will see if I can do this thing.
Day 7: Carl A. Newhall Lean-to to East Branch Lean-to
Friday, July 7, 2017
10.8 miles
I wake up at first light and eat my no cook Clif bar breakfast. I know this will be the day that tells me if I have the right stuff. If I can do the four mountains in a row including the highest, White Cap, I will know if I can do the whole thing. I pack up and depart with determination before most other people are up. I say hi and bye to Speaker, who’s rousing from the lean-to. He is NOBO too, and I tell him I’ll probably see him later since I’m going to go slow and steady. Gulf Hagas mountain is the first, and it is very steep. There are many root and rock scree climbs, as steep uneven steps. I take things one step at a time, and slowly, often going the full girl with no trail name deliberation.
At the top of West Peak, I have the two worst climbs over. I meet a girl at the summit who’s going SOBO, and I ask, “Is this the summit?” There have been several false summits, but I am in a mood to handle any number of false summits. Someone else told me never to look to try see ahead where the summit is, and today I follow this philosophy. The ground levels out and you think you must be at the summit. Sometimes it even dips down for a while, but you’re still not close. This has happened today several times and I am not to be fooled. She says, “Yes, I never assume I’m at the summit until I see the summit sign” and she points to the little wooden sign. Hah! I didn’t know they all had signs. I bet I’ve missed some along the way. We chat as we both sit and take off our boots and socks to rest a bit. I tell her I’m smoking 2.5 times what I do back in the world and she says that everything is accentuated in the woods, it’s one of the things she likes about backpacking. I look at her and gauge if what I’m about to say is proper, or if it might be misinterpreted as a come on. It’s a different perspective on the AT. A not civilized world politically correct unreality. It’s real. It’s caveman-ish, like we recently were. It’s simple and pure. There is no Diet Coke. There are iPods for music, but there is no incessant Facebook checking. I say what’s on my mind, “Yes, many things are elevated, but not the libido.” She chuckles and says, “Yes, that’s one thing that’s not. I have hiked with couples, and I think they are always too tired to have sex in their tents at night.” A couple SOBO guys she knows pull up, and we all enjoy chatting about hiker things. The girl notes that the bunches of big buzzing flies that are around aren’t bad since they don’t bite. She says, “Maybe they are just looking for salt,” as she looks at her socks laying on her boots with 10 flies on them, and her legs which have another 20. She looks over at a pile of moose scat three feet away and says, “Perhaps I should be disturbed that all the flies are on me, and none are on the moose poop.” We all appreciate this comment since we all know we smell horribly, but, we can’t smell that anymore.
I say bye and continue on. Two, not as steep, climbs remain of my biggest hiking test to date.
30 feet past a side trail intersection, I come to a small stream and find a guy eating a big pan of mashed potatoes. After chatting with him, I ford the stream with boots on and look around for the trail continuation. Calling back to the guy, he says, “I’m so sorry, I thought you knew the AT turned right back there.” Dang. The boots and socks are wet again. Anyway, they never dry out from here, and it turns out I still like wet footwear and my blisters are still under control. Blister pads will fall off quickly when wet, but pieces of KT tape will make it one third to one half a day.
I make it to the top. The elation of seeing the White Cap summit sign is palpable. A group of French Canadian teenage boys is there too. Some of them passed me along the way and the rest arrive after me. I mess with them about the proper way to say “bon weekend” (French Canadians are notoriously particular about French language purity). No cell reception. I take off boots and socks and air my feet.
I test out a concept I came up with for lunch. I eat the single serve Mediterranean tuna in olive oil and then hydrate dried hummus in the tuna sleeve. It works well! Spreading a healthy portion on a tortilla and rolling it up, I declare a hummus burrito to be excellent.
I had planned on a short day with the main purpose of doing White Cap, and I stick with this plan. I don’t want to push over two more peaks at the end of the day.
I arrive at the East Branch lean-to at around 3:00, for a day of 10.8 miles. Looks like I have what it takes, but, let’s not get complacent. There is a lot more hiking and mountains, and the legs could still decide to stop working.
I’m done with KT tape on blisters. They aren’t getting worse, and I decide from here on just to put Body Glide on all the potential blister points. This will work to the end and blisters will never stop me, except from using my camp flip-flops. The between the toes KT tape on the left foot has fallen off and the flip flops have further developed the between the toe blisters such that I can no longer wear them. Bare feet at this camp works well. Pine needles and dirt that don’t stick to the feet.
The boys arrive soon and set up tents a distance from the lean-to. We chat, and I find out the next day is a resupply day for them. They are a group that has gradually increased the difficulty level of their hiking every couple years. It is some type of formal group like the boy scouts, but I never really understand what it is. They talk about an equivalent group of 17 girls who are not so many miles away. But, whoever controls their whole thing doesn’t let the girls and boys hike the same schedule. The boys fantasize about hiking a few miles to talk to the girls. It appears teenage libidos are not thwarted by the Wilderness.
Nephew arrives at the lean-to and he is a thru hiker. He says he has some kind of issue because he’s lately only been able to do 15 miles a day. Only 15. Thru hikers are some kind of mystical gods! Nephew is a smoker, and this is an immediate bond. Speaker arrives, and I’m sitting on the lean-to bench smoking and talking to him when his companion, Grumpy, arrives. She’s actually trail named Snookie, and I’ve heard about her from other hikers. I can’t remember what they said, but, I think it was all good. She Grinches into the area and mumbles something about “I’ll just camp over here since there is smoking at the lean-to.” Oh no! She has thrown her stuff down right in between my tent and Nephew’s! Smoking is my complete security blanket for this trip. I am Mr. Chainsmoker. It is keeping me sane. I shout over to her, perhaps a little over the etiquette edge in talking for Nephew too, “Hey, Snookie, come over to the lean-to with Speaker. We’ll stop smoking at the lean-to. I love that we’re all accommodating of everyone else on the trail, and we’ll be happy to accommodate you! And, you’re going to set up your tent right between two smokers tents!” After some grumbling and a trip to the privy, Snookie starts moving her gear to the lean-to and Speaker helps her. I’m thinking that she is a bit whiny, but, I think she just came with Speaker over the nastiest of nasties of the 100 Mile Wilderness, White Cap. I’ll give her that. I hear her whining to Speaker in the lean-to most of the evening as I sit at my tent smoking and drinking water to rehydrate again. She complains about something he says. He firmly and nicely tells her in a loving voice “You’re looking for something that isn’t there.” This guy must love her a lot. I would have told her to “man-up.” But, wasn’t I a quitter just a few days ago? The only quote I know from the bible is: “judge not, lest ye be judged.” Anyway, a side note is Speaker had arranged a food drop close by, and he takes two cans of beer to the stream to let them chill. I’m sure that was an awesome thing for both of them. I’ll need to try a food drop sometime.
Day 8: East Branch Lean-To to Potaywadjo Spring Lean-to
Saturday, July 8, 2017
19.5 miles
Today should be relatively easy. Two fairly big climbs and then a long gentle downward slope for miles. I pack up and head out, ready for climbing, with the first climb as steep as the worst I’ve seen. It’s difficult again, but I go slow on the steep parts and keep my breathing to my target rate. Very slow at times, but always forward/upward. At the top of Little Boardman mountain, the second peak, I am cautiously applying a little DEET. The mosquitoes aren’t as bad this side of White Cap as I’d been told, yet (and they never will be). So, I don’t want to run out of DEET. There might be a view a couple hundred yards to the left, but it doesn’t look worth the trouble. Happy Gazelle shows up going SOBO. His real trail name is Rebel, and for no obvious reason, we like each other greatly right from the first word. He is wearing shorts and has no trekking poles. Long powerful legs remind me of a gazelle, and I imagine him hiking the trail in 20 foot leaps. He’s an ultralight, 15 pound pack. I think he could do 25-30 a day here, easily. I can’t imagine not using trekking poles, so I ask him about it. He says he used to use them, but when he slipped or tripped, he was always distracted trying to decide where his poles were and should go. When he ditched the poles, he found that if one toe hit a root, the other leg was already poised and ready for the weight transfer. He could go faster. He asks to take my picture. Why? Don’t know. But, I like him and am pleased he wants one of Brook Trout. He mentions finding some trail magic down the trail and offers me a sample of a small cube of sweet and salty nut yumminess. I bid him good wishes, and we both continue our opposite ways.
I come across an intersection of the trail with a blue blaze trail (side trail, not AT) leading to the left to “Sand Beach.” I don’t see any other trail for the NOBO AT, it’s all vegetation with no obvious trail. I walk the short distance to a quaint little sandy beach. Of course, I take off my boots and socks and luxuriate on the beach eating a snack. Socks and boots back on, and I head back to the intersection. I see the SOBO AT I came from, and I see the Sand Beach blue blaze I came from. There are no other trails. I look all around. Perhaps the NOBO AT takes off partway down the blue blaze trail? Doesn’t make sense, but I check it. Nope. I come back to the intersection and look carefully everywhere for any indication of another trail. There is something faint to the right, but it sure isn’t worn enough to be the AT. I tentatively start that way, and a little way in I know it isn’t the NOBO AT. I turn to the left and realize the big bushes there are actually the top of a big deadfall tree. I continue around that to the left and, voila! A white blaze for the NOBO AT. The tree has completely obscured the trail. I wonder briefly if others have had the same amount of trouble with this spot as me. I happily trudge on.
The slope down from here is some of the easiest hiking so far. There are many sections of pine needle only with no or few roots or rocks. I’m cooking with gas today. A couple NOBO thru hikers tell me the road I had seen the car on the other day had trail magic in the form of hamburgers when they passed it. You could leave a donation if you had anything, but the burgers were free. I’d like to do that for hikers sometime. In the gloomy and tough terrain, little bits of magic are truly magical and have a huge effect on mental spirit. These SOBOs further tell me the guy took their packs up the trail for them so they had been able to slack pack a whole 16 miles. Awesome. I think about asking them if they were worried their packs would be stolen. But, in this hiking world, that wouldn’t have been a concern.
I come up on a gravel road crossing and see a Maine Ranger, three civilians, a ranger truck and a civilian truck. They are all talking amiably, and they all look at me as I come tromping out of the hole in the woods. I look back at them and say the first thing that comes to mind, “Anyone got a cheeseburger?” They all laugh, and I laugh/cackle back. I disappear into the hole in the woods on the other side. Immediately, I happily find some water in a small stream. I have been out of water and looking. About a half mile later, I find the magic that Rebel had mentioned and get a handful for myself. It is simply two big retail bulk bags of snacks sitting on a rock at the side of the trail. At first, I had thought some inconsiderate boof had left trash, but then the realization warmed my spirits. This is so different from my other world.
Potaywadjo lean-to! I consider going 0.5 miles further to hit 20, but I need a water source, and it’s time to be happy with a big mileage day. (Big mileage for a non-thru hiker, that is. For me, that is.)
I come up to the lean-to and am greeted by the complete total and direct focus of 17 teenage girls all asking simultaneous questions. I focus on the loudest and ignore the others. I give answers to a bunch of questions. (Are you NOBO? Are you a thru hiker? How far did you hike today? How old are you? Where did you come from? Did you see a group of boys?) I mention I stayed at the same site with the boys last night, and they all get louder with even more questions. I smile and answer more questions and then ask if there are any more good camp spots. One girl directs me down the trail toward the water hole, “turn right, right there” she points. I make camp.
I’m doing bare feet as camp shoes again. Cleaning gunk off the feet to get in and out of the tent makes me decide to mostly stay in the tent this evening. I walk twice to the close by small stream for water in my bare feet. Still trying to keep my pee light yellow. The ground is leafy with small bits that cling to the feet. It had rained earlier and everything is still wet.
Day 9: Potaywadjo Spring Lean-to to Rainbow Stream Lean-to
Sunday, July 9, 2017
18.2 miles
Today will be more difficult than yesterday. A long hike to get to my target, the Rainbow stream lean-to. Unlike previous days, I’ll be hitting the hardest climb partway through the day, not at the beginning. I want to go steady and make sure I have energy for the climb. I’m pretty sure I can handle anything, just slow down and take “grandpa shuffling the mountain” or “girl without a trail name” deliberateness. Somewhere in the first miles I hit what I christen the “mile of despair.” I’m slowed to a crawl. It’s relatively flat terrain, but the trail winds though 2-3 foot tall rocks and major roots over muddy boggy water. I find I am breathing heavily trying to go too fast. I slow down and deliberately pick my way through the supersize maze of rocks and roots, turning 90 degrees for two feet and back the other way for three feet. I hope it doesn’t last long or I’ll have a five mile day. Thankfully, after what seems like hours, it opens up. The rest of the day will be varying difficulties of deadfalls, bogs, bog bridges, roots, rocks and mud smears, but nothing as severe. This is still the primordial!
I come upon a rock table at the edge of Nahmakanta lake and the sun is out. It’s fairly early, but you need to stop and enjoy along the way. I strip down to my underwear and wash my shirt and pants in the water, pulling an almost full, and now fully wet, pack of cigarettes out of a pants pocket. I’m good, I didn’t make the mistake of underpacking cigarettes this time. The bottom is sharpish rocks, but I carefully wade out and sit down in the semi cold water and splash water all over. Feels good in my hair. This is even better than the railroad track. I sun on the rock for a half hour, maybe. Partway through, a Gothish tattooed couple steps out of the woods 15 feet away, and I apologize for my swim attire. They say they don’t mind, and they duck back in the woods. I hear them say, “Isn’t there some other path?” as they reach the path pond behind where I’m sitting. Nobody’s going to have dry boots through that one.
About halfway through the day, I slowly and successfully summit Nesuntabunt mountain. There are a couple guys there and I say, “Is this the summit of Neshamdeboot?” We laugh, and I ask them to try to pronounce it. This, of course, leads to more laughing. Nobody can pronounce this. They leave and a SOBO guy arrives. More fun with the name. I confirm the direction with him. The trail from the south comes in and the trail north leaves at a mere 30 degree angle from that. I always check very carefully. I think it would be highly demoralizing to accidentally go back from whence one came and not realize you were backtracking for some miles. Who wants to repeat the same miles?
Water is out, so I wade into the first pond I reach and try to keep the 1L collection ahead of the dirt and silt I’m stirring up in clouds around my feet. Mostly successful, and I don’t care. I have 20 minutes until I can drink water and I’m getting pretty thirsty. Aqua Mira means I have to pass up some water sources that the filter would handle with no problem. Continuing, I come to a nice rock shelf that extends into the water enabling a nice clean fill of my 700ml bottle with more water. 7 drops for 1L. I use 6 for the 700ml to be safe. Some people say Aqua Mira has a bad taste, but I don’t notice anything. Beautiful glades of pines, but there are often lots of trail roots. Spirits are up seeing shafts of sunlight filter to the forest floor.
Thunder and wind harken an upcoming thunderstorm. I’ve been rained on before, and I rush to finish my hummus burrito before the rain comes. Boots back on and I start hiking again. Getting rumbly and I’m expecting a complete downpour, but the storm passes with only light rain.
I come to a place that ends with sheer rock cliffs on three sides. I’m horrified. I was going to be able to do the Wilderness, but there is no way I am going down these steep cliffs. Not as terrified as when a youngster, I can get within 5 feet of the edges. My heart sinks and I say aloud and with firm conviction “I’m not doing this.” I guess I’m done. After so much I’ve done to get here, and they have an impossible cliff I know I will never climb. I’ve rappelled off a 120 foot tower, so maybe with support people and a rope, but no way this way. I turn back trying to figure out how I can get Shaw’s to come get me so I can fail. There is no way. I’m heartbroken. I go back up the trail and follow it back down. Same three sided cliff outcrop. I’m devastated. I’m finally defeated. But, there is no way I am doing that. I can’t even see where others have gone. I meander back up the trail and look left. I shout out in happiness and relief when I see the white blaze! I was off the trail, it turned right. The trail to the right is just as unterrifying as the rest of the trail. I can finish after all. Continuing to laugh in relief, I bound off down the trail to the right. A little while later I startle one of the many toads such that he clumsily falls off his rock, and this makes me laugh heartily. I pass a solo monolithic stone 20x20x50 feet, just sitting in the pine forest. How did it get here?
I continue on towards Rainbow Stream lean-to. I pass a sign that says 2.5 miles to the lean-to and I start up a gentle, no, not gentle, a fairly steady climb that dips up and down repeatedly. It’s dark but beautiful with a loud torrent of a river and waterfalls as a backdrop (and sometimes a potential long tumble down) to the right. The map looks like the lean-to will be right after I ford a small stream and will be on the same river that is to my right. After going what seems five miles, I’m still climbing next to the river. I finally give in and sit on a rock, take off my boots and socks, and have a couple cigarettes. Keeping pushing when you’re tired, maybe you’ve slowed down. Maybe better to assume it’s a long way and do the normal occasional foot rest. Spirits back up a bit, boots back on and I take off. The trail leaves the river and heads what I imagine as inland. I’m entering a less wet and less murky area and light glows through the stands of pines. I realize I must have missed the lean-to. This, interestingly, further boosts my spirits. I’ll have more than the planned 18.2 miles and therefore less than 15 miles to finish tomorrow. I am strong and I feel good. I march on with a stronger step and then I see a tent in a beautiful bunch of campsite spots in towering pine trees with lots of sunshine filtering down and a bed of soft needles everywhere. This must be what heaven looks like. I walk up to a woman and say hi, asking if there is a lean-to close by? She points down to the right, and there is Rainbow Stream lean-to. Not more than 18.2 miles, but this is so beautiful, and I am happy to be on top of the world. I pitch the tent and chat with a guy who pitches close to me who has a dog. It’s his first or second day in, going SOBO. The dog is carrying much of his food in his own saddle bags, and he looks tired. A beagle? The guy asks for a cigarette since he can’t recall what happened to his a day ago, and I give him a pack since that still leaves me plenty. He thinks it’s too kind, but I mention he would do it for me if he had extra, and he would. The people upslope who I first talked to actually hiked in only a short distance. They are canoe people making water trips in the area. Big tarp to sit under, big pans of heavy food. A canoe guy offers me some excess of a rice dish which looks excellent, but I have no cook pot to put it in since I went stoveless. I decline politely and say I have already eaten, which I have. I thank him for the kindness twice, and we chat a little before he departs down to the lean-to to give the excess to others.
I realize I can wear the flip flops by putting the thong between the second and third toes. Not great, but works well enough if I don’t go far. I put the boots on twice to get water from the stream. Trying to maintain a weak yellow pee level means drinking a couple liters, and I always like to be full up on water when I go to sleep. Perhaps it will be raining in the morning, better to be ready.
I’m on map 1!
Day 10: Rainbow Stream Lean-to to Abol Bridge
Monday, July 10, 2017
15 miles
15 miles to go. I am not complacent. My legs could still give out, and I’ll be hobbled and unable to finish. I start out with a purpose, being extra careful with steps. I would be totally disappointed to sprain an ankle and not finish when I’m so close to the finish line.
I’m making steady progress walking seven miles along Rainbow lake. Planes occasionally land on the water, giving a sense that civilization is close. The main climb today is Rainbow Ledges, at the end of the lake, but it is not that steep. I am hiking up a moderately steep rock scree, “pseudo steps” area and meet a guy who looks about 60. We pass each other by maybe 10 feet and turn around to talk. As we talk, he gets himself into a slow, awkward fall onto the rocks at his feet and then over the edge down to the next set, maybe 8 inches down. I am too far above him to do anything, and watch the spectacle helplessly. I ask him if he is alright, and he says, “Yes. I’m fine.” He slowly gets up and brushes himself off. I have a hard time believing he is OK, so I ask again if he is unhurt. He says, “Yes, I’m OK. It has happened before.”
At the top, there are vast areas of exposed rock plateaus to hike on. Down the other side, and I reach the last lean-to of the Wilderness. Only 3.5 miles to go. I easily manage three small peaks, and am on the final slow descent. I come out on a small dirt road and look left. A young buck is 300 feet off, startled to see me. We stare at each other for a few moments and then I say bye and continue on.
At mid-day, roots, rocks and mud give way to a level 100 yard bog bridge section made of newly pristine logs. Uncharacteristically, all logs are firmly in place with no sway or sag. This leads to a long wide pine needle trail and, voila! The sign for entering the 100 Mile Wilderness from the north! I made it! I’m thinking, if you started SOBO, you’d be lulled into a false sense of easy by that first mile or two!
I walk a little farther and emerge onto the road of Abol bridge. I’ve done 15 miles by 1:00pm!
I walk up the road, cross the bridge and go into a restaurant for that cheeseburger. The nice girl says she gets stinky hikers all the time, not to worry. I guzzle two diet Pepsis (almost as good as Coke) and take my stink outside to scarf down the burger. I’ve already noticed no service on my cell. The store connected to the restaurant has a very nice guy who lets me use his landline phone to call Shaw’s for a ride back to Monson. He doesn’t mind the stink either, though I try to keep as much distance as possible. I’m lucky, a Shaw’s driver is already halfway here to pick up two other guys. I go wait at the bridge parking lot and talk to several people. Everyone is friendly around here.
And, along comes AJ, who I must say is my favorite person to see. Well, I really like him for sure as a person, but he also represents getting to have a shower at the hostel. The other two guys are clean and in street clothes. One had done some 30 mile hike thing, and the other is leaving his car at the Abol side so he can hike to it from Monson. Since I’m the only stinky one, I apologize to everyone about the smell. I ask AJ what stink scale I am. He considers for a second and says, “a seven.” I’m not sure if that is good or bad. Would I rather be a 10 or a 5? I tell them I guess it is a good thing I had a bath at the lake the day before.
Two hours later I’m back at the hostel. I’m in a happy daze. I run into Poet and he asks, “What are you doing back here already?” I reply with a little pride, “It appears I have some trail legs.” I ask him for some Crocs. He’s still out of my size, but is headed out to get stuff and he’ll add my need to the list. In the meantime, bare feet work well. Hippie Chick remembers my name again. I head off and take a shower.
I’m excited to see Rebel. He’s at the hostel.
I’m excited to see Nephew, too. He came in and was given antibiotics for a case of Giardia. He’s not sure how he got it and says he’d been careful with water. His spirits are high again. Unfortunately, he finds out later in the day that a close relative has died, and he will leave the trail to go to the funeral.
I talk to many people. A red headed girl, who looks pretty beat up, but in good spirits, chats with me. I don’t remember her name but she calls herself a ginger, and she’s going to be ready tomorrow to go on with her SOBO thru hike. She pursued STEM, she says, just like was expected of her. Graduated with a biology degree and secured a perfect big time job. A couple months into working, she realized she was not at the place where she wanted to be, but instead, where her family expected her to be. She quit and is now thru hiking the AT. She’s going to worry about what to do next after the AT. She is one of my special favorites. She’s not a Barbie doll from the world. She is a lovely person all the way through.
A little later, Poet returns with my Crocs, “They were the only ones in your size.” I see bright orange peering out of the plastic sack. They seem hilariously appropriate and get some good comments from the other hikers. I tell them they will go well with my red silky shorts I obtained at my refit to replace the too tight Nike ones. It gets a little cold, so I put on my best-of-the-best Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer down jacket. It’s yellow gold. Wow, if I were to put on my shorts too, it would be a cacophony of color that no one could miss. I’m actually wearing loaner clothes the hostel maintains for hikers to wear while they are washing their backpacking clothes. A tie dye shirt and some random gray shorts.
Throughout the afternoon and evening, Poet and AJ keep saying “Cloud 9” when they see me. It seems I have been given a third trail name. It takes a while to understand what they are getting at since I’m in a happy daze about what I’ve accomplished.
I’m sharing a 4 bed room with another hiker. He is 68 years old and he just finished his final section of the AT.
It’s very interesting that since the hiker crowd is small and you can go two hours in the woods without seeing anyone, everyone says hi to everyone. Unless someone says, “Hi, can’t talk, I’m trying to do 20 today,” you generally have a one to five minute conversation with them. Everyone is someone. Unlike back in the world where there are so many people, you can’t say hi to them all or you’d never move from your spot at the grocery store parking lot. There is something better connected to a different reality about AT hiking in the Wilderness.
Later I enjoy talking to a beer slurred Rebel. He’s finally going to bed, but I’m still sitting in a plastic chair in the dark smoking, in a happy daze. I promise him I won’t leave in the morning without saying goodbye.
Return to Indianapolis
It is the morning after I exited the Wilderness. Nephew asks if I can give him a ride to the Bangor airport so he can pick up a rental car and head to the funeral. Not a second thought, “When do you want to leave?” Right after Shaw’s breakfast. I really like Nephew and feel sorry for his loss. I’m guessing he’ll get back on the trail later, which will be good mental healing. He’s going to have to shave his beard off and says that will feel weird since he’s had it now for so long. I think he tells me he started the trail at 245 pounds, but now he looks lean and powerful.
After breakfast, Rebel is still sleeping off his beer, and I break my promise not to leave without saying goodbye. I think he’ll understand since Nephew needs to get to the funeral. I wish I knew who he was in the world so we could be friends outside this AT world too.
Early afternoon in the car back to Indiana, I find myself crying silently, tears rolling down my face, for an entire hour. Simultaneous angst, elation, relief, pride and sadness, all rolled up into a mélange of emotion. A strong sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. A result of several months of planning and 10 days of profound experience.
It feels a bit strange to be back in the regular world. I can’t wait to go back and catch that big “brookie.”
A few other notes
I have attempted to convey everything in this short book exactly as it happened, to the best of my memory. I wrote the bulk of it during the first two days after I got back to Indiana. The only fiction is: I made up Speaker and Snookie’s names to hide their true identities.
I’m guessing the “Maine version of Girl Scouts” who had trouble at the Long Pond stream crossing are actually the 17 French Canadian girls.
I think I met the guy who “broke his arm and was helicoptered out.” He is a NOBO Flip-Flop vlogger named “Greeter” who hurt his arm (not broken) at a crossing and was evacuated out in an EMT truck. He was back on the trail a couple days later.
I stopped at least three times a day, often more, and removed boots and socks and let the feet air out for 5-10 minutes.
3-4 times during the Wilderness trek, the ball of my right foot hurt too much. I stopped for 5 -10 minutes and it was good again. The weird thing about this is that I have to stop half way through, every time I hike the 3.7 mile Lawrence Creek trail, because the ball of my right foot hurts too much. Perhaps the variety of roots, rocks, mud and elevation changes in the Wilderness works to massage my foot?
A lot of people complained about knee trouble on downhills, I was lucky and never had any knee issues.
Feet swell in size when backpacking long distances. My foot size is normally an 11.5, and my boots are a 12. The next size was a 13, which seemed too big. I watched closely to see if foot swelling would exceed the 12. It didn’t. Two days after hiking, my feet were back to normal size.
I cut big blisters open with a knife and drained them. The blister skin is separated, so there is no pain. Big blisters for me means I had a couple perhaps 1/2″ long that needed to be drained. Got some small hard blisters and did nothing to them except cover with KT tape or coat with Body Glide.
I drank one electrolyte drink each day, either Nunn tabs, Propel or a tasty green tea version I got from Poet. I didn’t care for the taste of Nunn tabs.
Spam classic on white bread was my favorite food, too bad I only had one. Found one other person who loved Spam on the trail also. I’ll have to test if I like it back in the world, guessing not so much.
Dipping white bread in chicken Ramen broth can be divine.
I weighed the same at the end as I did when I started.
I experienced lethargy about ten minutes after eating snacks (Clif bar, Snickers) on the trail, but slowing down a little and pushing on for five minutes allowed the phenomenon to pass. I imagine the body was trying to tell me to take a nap so it could better digest the food.
Usually felt a little sluggish at the start in the morning, but that passed soon.
Washing the face with soap in the morning rejuvenates the spirit, but I still only did this every other day. I had little sheets of soap from REI which worked well. You’re supposed to not wash directly in the stream, but I did anyway. You are supposed to take water from the stream at least 100 feet away. I’ll be a better environmental steward in the future. One day, I felt a lump in my beard and picked it out. It was a balled up part of one of the soap sheets.
Both times AJ picked me up, I had to restrain my chattiness. I am not normally that chatty, but there is some kind of endorphin release when you hike that makes you feel really alive.
Unscientifically, I guess 75% of the hikers/groups I met were solo. Close to half of these were solo women.
I talk about damp, dark and dreary. Much of the time it was damp, light and uplifting. Even the damp, dark and dreary was beautiful.
All the lean-tos after the first one smelled fine to me.
I caught most trout on a size 2 or 4 classic Panther Martin with a brass spoon and a black body with yellow spots. I used 6 pound test. At the streams I fished, there were often multiple smaller pools across the stream. I generally targeted each one individually. It did not usually work to cast all the way across and expect to retrieve all the way back.
Some additional things I remember:
Perhaps the funniest trail name I heard was a NOBO thru hiker I met at the hostel the first night. His name was “Wind Chime.” He came up to the first lean-to in Georgia and asked the people there if they had wind chimes in all the Georgia lean-tos. Most lean-tos have ropes hanging at the front to hang your backpack from. Each rope has an upside down empty can to keep the shelter mice from getting to the pack. These cans were making the noise.
On the first day hiking I met a SOBO guy who had a mini fly fishing rod. He told me he had caught some trout along the way. Dry flies on calmer surface pools and a streamer in the riffle areas. He used what he called a “roll cast.”
A NOBO thru-hiker I met at the refit at Shaw’s was going fishing without a pole and I lent him mine. He caught a couple sunfish with a Panther Martin. He passed me in the woods later on a steep climb and we talked. He kept getting too far ahead and stopping to wait for me to catch up so we could talk more. I finally told him not to wait for me, I was slowing him up too much. Yet another very likable person.
Had dinner at the Lakeshore house during the refit, outside table with Dalmation and two other guys. One of the guys had a dog. It was strange to be cleaned up and at a restaurant where “regular people” were eating. I had escargot as an appetizer, which I was surprised one could find in the small remote town of Monson. I had two main meals, pot roast and a crab sandwich. Both excellent. The pot roast had a nice chunk of meat that had to be close to a pound. I couldn’t finish it, so we cut it up and fed it to the dog. As a last note: Yes, I always wet my hand before touching a brook t
Backpacking and Life 