Date: 2020-10-01
From: US 201 (Caratunk)

To: Moxie Bald Mountain Lean-To
Miles today: 18.8

In the Sterling Inn bunkroom I was last to bed and first up this morning. Hard to sleep once daylight hits. I puttered around the inn attending to correspondence, organizing cub scout events for back home, updating my journal, posting pictures, and enjoying a leisurely breakfast of yogurt, fruit, and juice thanks to Eric of the Sterling Inn.Yesterday I had what will probably be my last zoom call with the family before I summit Katahdin. I was excited to show them the videos of my moose encounter. They all seem well, but I know they miss me. I certainly miss them. Not much longer til I see them again.I also got to talk with my parents. My dad and brother surprised me by offering to drive up from Pennsylvania to bring me home. It's a very long way and it's certainly not necessary to put them out - I've gotten home from Katahdin before. But it reminds me of the trip the three of us took to Maine when I was just nine. We camped and hiked along the coast and Acadia. The memory of standing atop a mountain, seeing the world laid out as if painted on a canvas, is seared in my mind. While I didn't appreciate it enough at the time, that trip likely contributed much to my love of hiking and the outdoors. And I never did properly thank my dad for taking us. So in a way this brings us full circle. Eventually I got my act together, packed up, and said goodbye to Red Beard and Dutchman. They were glorying in their deliberative pace, taking a zero today and likely another tomorrow due to a forecast of rain. Too many hikers are in a hurry they argued, don't even stop at the viewpoints. Very true, I agreed. I'm certainly guilty of skipping overlooks or blue blazes when I'm on a mission or feeling tired. Then again I sometimes go miles out of my way to climb 4000 footers or see a waterfall, or stop to take a swim, gaze at the horizon, identify wildflowers, or observe wildlife. I think I've been pretty good about smelling the roses on this hike. I just spend more hours on trail and hike faster between stops. Red Beard is also a bit proud of the prodigious weight of his pack. He knows he could easily save 5 pounds by casting off unnecessary items, but says he wouldn't notice the difference. Though he's made some concessions to weight: he showed me a full-size wooden hairbrush he carries to keep his long hair and beard from becoming dreadlocks - a brush he cut the handle off to save a few ounces. Eric's son dropped me back at the trailhead at 11:30, though he wasn't much for conversation on the way. This 37 mile section to Monson is supposed to be easy, with only two mountains and mostly level terrain. But it reminds me of why I came up with the term "Maine easy". Level doesn't mean smooth. It means roots, rocks, frequents small climbs and descents and, at this time of year, a deep covering of leaves to make you guess what you're stepping on. There are also a large number of fallen branches and trees - more than I've seen since New York. My pace was constrained by this difficult and sometimes slippery footing. The climb up Pleasant Pond Mountain was satisfying. If I'm going to work hard for each step let me at least get a view. And a gorgeous view it was, with mountains in the distance in every direction. In the middle ground were endless forests speckled by ponds and lakes with occasional hilltops. And all richly colored with pinkish hues.Two women were summiting with me. They'd been shuttled to Caratunk and were hiking several days back to Monson. One then asked what I was up to - dayhiking? Heh, if I had a nickel for every time I've been mistaken for a dayhiker! But when they learned I'd come from Georgia they had lots of questions. I was happy to oblige, I like talking about my hike and helping others envision what it's like. In any case I saw no other hikers today and this was my social time.She asked me what had been my worst day on trail. I paused, then said I tried to see the positive side each day. On the spot to come up with an answer I noted walking through Hurricane Isaiah back in Pennsylvania was rough. But afterwards, on further reflection, I realized my worst moments were when I felt truly alone. When my son flew home from Georgia, and I was driving back to Helen from the airport realizing that for the rest of the long hike ahead I was on my own. And when Sara picked up our daughter at Bake Oven Knob and I watched them drive off from the gravel lot, the miles ahead again seemed vast and cold. And the evening in Vermont when I hiked past happy groups camping by a lake only to reach a shelter that was way off trail, out of water, and empty. Just being alone doesn't make you lonely, but a long solo journey will have its lonely moments.On the way down the trail passed under a huge cantilevered boulder. A narrow passage led through a crack in the supporting boulder. The trail went around, but I was tempted and tried the passage. It put New York's famous Lemon Squeezer and Virginia's Fat Man Squeeze to shame. It required shimmying up a fourteen inch gap at an angle to a higher plane, then scurrying sideways to the end. But it got my blood pumping.The rest of the afternoon was undemanding. An occasional pond - which are always beautiful - some bogs, streams, lots of fall color, a climb over Moxie Bald with a lot of bedrock, a golden-red sky near sunset with row upon row of blue-tinted mountains. A scramble down the mountain in the gathering dusk by the light of my cell phone. At the shelter by Moxie Bald Mountain Pond I dropped my pack, walked to the shore, and stared agog at the full moon, ablaze in orange, rising above the pond. A loon wailed off in the distance, the call echoing over the lake. A moose (most likely) grunted from some dark unseen shore. I was truly in the wilderness here. Not a hint of traffic or neighbors or city lights or even another human being. Between the loon calls it was near silence, just the occasional splash of a trout or frog.In the shelter I had company - two adorable little mice. I have a soft spot in my heart for mice, having raised a horde of them in college (long story). But they were highly active critters and very bold. Exploring my pack and scurrying around the sleeping platform checking out my food bag while I was preparing dinner. I grabbed a trekking pole and swatted at one to scare him off, but accidentally hit and seriously injured him. He was down and twitching horribly. I had to finish him off. It was the only humane thing to do. I felt terrible. I had come out to live at peace with nature and here I was taking a little life. I know many hikers would cheer me ridding the shelter of a mouse, but I'd rather just deny them food and encourage them to return to natural habits. Perhaps that is just naive. The surviving mouse continued to boldly explore but, after finding nothing in my pack pockets and after hanging my food out of his reach, he seems to have retired for now. Thwacking the floor with my pole may have had something to do with it too.Tomorrow it's a supposedly easy 18 more miles to Monson, the last town before Katahdin. I'm expecting rain, but hoping it's intermittent. I'm looking forward to the hike nonetheless.