Cruising along winding mountain roads, I noticed the trees were green with new growth. All day I had blue skies overhead, but now they were showing rain was on the way. The springtime weather in north Georgia could be like this. Warm and clear one minute, cold and wet the next. I should know, I was here before. Since returning from my hike, the world of cars, concrete, and deadlines had clawed it’s way back into everyday life. I wanted to go back.
So, on a new day, in a different April, I took the trip back to Springer Mountain. Not to hike for 5 months, that wasn’t happening. But to go back to where it all started. To pop into the AT offices, pay my respects to Earl Shaffer, and cross under the arch. To walk up Amicalola Falls and visit the hiker lodge. And to stand on top of Springer again, where my journey began.
The second time up wasn’t nearly as strenuous, or fueled by adrenaline. It certainly didn’t take as long, a much lighter day pack helps with that. Perhaps some familiarity was a comfort. Either way, the joy of adventure I had standing on the summit was the same. Retracing my first steps up to the top. Standing there at the beginning, now with the knowledge of where this path would climb, wander, and ultimately end. Where it had lead me, with each memory along the way.
I felt proud of what I had accomplished, walking to the other end of the northward path that laid before my hardened feet. Happy that I decided to start, that I didn’t give up on myself during, and even with how it had to come to it’s eventual end. Bittersweet, remembering the wonderful people I met along the way, and all of the amazing places we discovered. I was maybe even a bit sad that we weren’t ‘out there’.
I missed it. Even with the bruises, the heat, the bugs, and the nasty laundry attendants. I still missed it. But at least for the moment, staring down that path of people, places, and adventures, I was High 5 again. But High 5 knew that even though he had experienced the length of the Appalachian Trail, he wasn’t quite finished yet. I needed to finish my story.
So.
Here we go…the final installment of a long overdue and mostly remembered adventure through the great state of Maine.
Maine was tough. I remember that’s how I left this. Tough and beautiful and untamed. I have said many times since: I thought I knew what wilderness was, then I got to Maine.
The first day in the last state, we were introduced to Mahoosuc notch. This deep gap appropriately named the “toughest mile”, amounts to a tedious stretch of … boulders. That’s right. Some sadistic trail planner, somewhere, decided to send the trail directly over a pile of giant boulders. For one mile. Over, under, around, and through we climbed our way across this jungle gym of rocks. Ultimately, we had fun with it and made our way out safely. A shout out to Johnny B for sharing in the absurdity of it all. Always go high.
The second day in the last state, I walked up on what was, and still is, the most majestic animal I have ever encountered in the wilderness. The North American Moose. A cow, standing on the trail about 40 yards away. When she spotted us, this massive figure turned and sulked away into the forest. With no need to go around small trees, she simply pushed them down with her size. Broadside, she was at least 6 feet tall to her shoulders. Incredible.
The third day in the last state was the first day of fall, and my 150th day on trail. I had walked for five months and through three seasons. In a couple more days, I would hit the 2,000mi mark. For the first time, the thought of actually finishing this journey started to become a reality. Katadhin was so close, and I could actually start to plan out the last few days. I also started thinking about how I was getting back home. I knew I was ready to be finished.
Not that I wasn’t enjoying the journey, and not that I was looking forward to the concrete and cars again. But, it was here that I knew I had done it. I was going to make it through to the end. It was an odd place, missing home while knowing I would miss being out on trail.
Through the towns of Rangely and Stratton, the 14th state of my hike showed its rugged beauty. Some of the largest mountains, coldest nights, and soggiest days were here. The wind up on Saddleback nearly blew me off the side of the mountain. To stay warm at night, I was now sleeping in layers I didn’t even know I had. We were fording wild rivers daily. I loved every bit of it.
The first leaves of autumn began to show themselves. From green tunnels to pathways filled with gold, red, and orange. The sea of color from above treeline was remarkable. The rose tinted shade visible when the light came through the trees. It was like nothing I had ever seen during any southern fall.
Over Spalding and Sugarloaf Mountains, the Bigelow range, and Avery Peak. Setting up camp each night along the mountain lakes. Cooking on beach side fires. Listening to the loons sing me to sleep. Waking up in the clouds to watch the morning sun burn away the fog over the water. Observing the north star so high in the sky. A reminder of how far north I had come.
To get into the town of Caratunk, hikers have to cross the Kenebec River, the only river crossing on the AT that cannot be completed on foot. Instead, there is a ferry service that will canoe hikers across.
After a quick stop, I’d push a couple of long days into the last town on trail, Monson. Here is where I would take my last day off to gear up for starting the longest stretch of the trail without any resupply, the Hundred Mile Wilderness. Monson is also where I’d register for my stay in Baxter State Park, where the final ascent would be. It was so close.
So close, that two days into the Hundred Mile Wilderness, I got to see her in all her glory. The final mountain, our last trail marking, crowned in clouds, Katahdin. My last stop.
This was a bittersweet time on trail for all of us. Collectively, we were still all moving in the same direction, but we knew that we would soon be taking paths that did not converge any longer. Every time we caught up, it was implicit that contact info should be exchanged. No more catching each other in a few days. In a few days we would be catching rides, busses or flights. We even had to learn everyone’s ‘real’ names.
Each day we walked closer, and this dominating prominence grew in size. Until we were finally at her doorstep. The Abol Bridge marks the end of the hundred miles, and gave us a front row seat to our goal. Surreal.
The temperature outside was also dropping quickly. Ice had become a common part of the morning, and there was some concern that the mountain would be iced over. Luckily for the hikers summiting Katahdin on Tuesday October 11, the ice left behind from the previous day’s storm would burn off early in the morning. The skies would clear out, the wind would be manageable, and the ‘all clear’ would be given from the forest ranger.
Nothing can compare to the experience. A truly sacred mountain. Such reverence is given to it by the people of Maine. It is multiplied by months of veneration from all northward hikers.
Jitters had me up at 5:00a, coffee and breakfast by 6:00a. The weather report (and good news regarding the ice) got to me soon after. It was going to be cold, but no sense in waiting, it was go time. I started the ascent. The views and colors in the morning light were stunning.
Four miles of technical climbing, and all of it amazing. Fueled by adrenaline and coffee, I got up onto the flat expanse named the Tableland. The gateway to the peak, it is a unique landscape of exposed grasses, streams, and rocks. Bleak and beautiful.
One final time, the weather had provided a perfect day. The wind had calmed, and the sun was shining. The ice was gone. I had a clear sightline to the top. One mile away, Baxter Peak. The sign on the northern terminus, I could see it. My last steps brought me up one more climb, and I was there.
What a moment. I embraced a wooden sign and five months of walking. I cried. I screamed. I laughed maniacally. Every confused day-hiker on the summit that morning got a strong high five from this wild, bearded creature. It was fun to watch them figure it all out.
I had walked from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Katahdin, Maine.
For the next 4 hours, I stayed on the highest peak in Maine. Reflecting, visiting, relaxing. It was a joy to watch my friends have their own first moments as they each made thier way up. An awesome and proud moment for each of us.
The funny part was that we had focused, understandably, on getting up Katahdin and finishing our last miles, But we still had to hike back down, and get into town. There was this moment of, “Oh yeah, there are a couple more miles left because, you know, we aren’t getting a ride from the top of Katahdin”.
We enjoyed our last few miles of walking back down, and we found rides into Millinocket. Cleaned up, we continued our celebration over dinner. I was sitting at the bar at a restaurant in town when Woops walked in. My trail angel had visited, hiked, and resupplied me through the last five and a half months on trail (and long before that). Her support had been central to this journey. She had certainly experienced her own journey parallel to mine. It was deserving for her and heartwarming for me that she could join the commencement.
It was done. I was tired and satisfied. That day with Katahdin will forever be imprinted in my memory, as well as each day leading there.
Much of this blog was taken from a journal I kept throughout my hike. Each evening I would finish up my day writing about my adventures, observations, and thoughts from the last 24 hours. I though it would be fitting to end this story with my last entry on October 11th:
“The hike is over. I’ve walked 2200 miles in 5 months and 15 days. Right now, I’m happy to have accomplished my goal, proud that I stuck to it, a bit relieved that I’m done hiking, and curious how life will be going forward. It’ll be a great adventure.”
Thank you for coming along with me. Thank you for cheering us on. Thank you for your attention span.
Happy Trails,
-High 5
The B-Log 