Date: 2004-10-03
From: Hurd Brook Lean-to, Maine

To: Home Stretch 
Miles today: 13.4

Early this morning, Shawn sat upon a boulder near the lean-to, draped a sleeping bag over himself, closed his eyes and began to meditate. Inside the lean-to, his sister Gayia sat on the floor and meditated. At precisely the same time, off to the side of the lean-to, I was bending over and shoving a white powder up my buttocks.I began today's hike with a sense of wonder. At last, I would be entering Baxter State Park, the location of Mount Katahdin. I would be hitting the home stretch.The 100 Mile Wilderness ended at a road crossing near the west branch of the Penobscot River. Someone had left a cooler beside the trail. It contained snacks. There was a message on the lid which read: "You have now hiked 2,159 miles from Georgia. ONLY 15.1 to complete your quest!"I walked over to the Abol Bridge which spanned the river. From that location, I enjoyed a postcard perfect view of Mount Katahdin. It was bathed in sunshine and surrounded by a deep blue sky. I unshouldered my backpack, snapped a photo, and reveled in the beauty of this mountain."Get over here, you motherf'er!" shouted a male voice behind me.I turned around and looked across the road where two sport utility vehicles were parked. Some men, a woman, and two dogs on a leash were preparing to go for a hike. A third dog¢a husky without a leash¢was loping around the gravel parking lot. A man in his late twenties with black pants and short hair was shouting at the husky. The dog ignored his summons and wandered into the trees near the spot where I was standing. The man became enraged and pursued the dog into the brush. I could not see what happened next but I could hear it. The man caught the husky and screamed obscenities at it. He beat the animal. I could hear the blows striking the dog. I could hear the squeals of pain coming from the dog. The man emerged from the trees, pulling the dog along by its collar. I turned away and looked again at Mount Katahdin. The scenery had lost its appeal, at least for a while.I crossed the bridge and visited a rural store located beside a campground. There I purchased some foodstuffs to hold me over on these last two days of my journey.I walked briefly along the road and turned down a wide path. A man wearing a uniform and a backpack approached me. He identified himself as a ridge runner employed by Baxter State Park. He asked me a few questions about where I was coming from and where I intended to stay inside the park. I sensed that he was determining whether or not I was a bona fide thru hiker. I told him that I wanted to spend the night at The Birches, a campsite reserved for long distance hikers. There are only twelve hikers per night permitted to camp at that place; it is the traditional site where thru hikers camp on the eves of their ascents up Mount Katahdin. He led me to a footbridge spanning Abol Stream. We crossed the bridge and officially entered Baxter State Park. I was thrilled. We continued hiking together. He told me that he thru hiked The Appalachian Trail on a previous year. His trail name is Pop Tart. When I heard this, I regarded him as a kindred soul rather than a park employee. We reached a kiosk and he signed me in for a stay at The Birches.The hiking in Baxter State Park, like my morale, was great. The trail was flat and easy. My feet stepped upon soft pine needles. The air was cool and dry. On the trees, colorful foliage contrasted with an azure blue sky. The Penobscot River flowed at my left. My rash was in remission. There was a spring in my steps. I ate lunch beside a cusp of trees on a small peninsula that protruded into the Penobscot River. It dawned on me that I was taking my final lunch break on The Appalachian Trail. I felt a touch of melancholy.Gayia and Shawn passed me during my break. Later, I caught up to them at a small waterfall. We consulted my guidebook to determine our location, but it was apparently not identified in the book. I realized that it was no longer important to determine my locations on the trail. The Birches and Mount Katahdin awaited me only a few miles away.After lunch, the flat terrain ended and the hiking became moderately difficult. But the beautiful scenery continued. I enjoyed views of gushing streams, waterfalls, ponds, and mountains.Eventually, the trail turned on to a dirt road; it led me to Katahdin Stream Campground. There, I met up with Regular Brian. He led me to a ranger's office where I checked in.I replenished my water supply in Katahdin Stream. The water was so cold that I could barely keep my hand under the surface as the bottle filled up.I walked half a mile to "The Birches." At the campsite were two lean-tos, an outhouse, and a grate for campfires. Some planks for sitting were positioned around the grate.I met up with several hikers that I was friendly with; they included Chris and Elle, Pop Up, and T-Bott. I met a young man named Rooney Tunes who I had been hiking behind for the entire journey. It turns out that he lives only a few miles away from me.Some of us hopped into a car for a ride to a campsite elsewhere; there, the parents of Rooney Tunes fed us a hot meal. At this campsite, an exhausted day hiker showed up. We offered him something to eat and drink. I think he was dehydrated. We told him that we had been thru hiking The Appalachian Trail and planned to climb Mount Katahdin on the following day. He replied to us with a warning that we should not descend the mountain via the Abol Trail because it was steep. He added that it should only be used by hikers who were accustomed to steep grades. We all thought his remark was hilarious. All of us had spent the last half of a year ascending and descending steep mountains. We returned to The Birches and relaxed around the campfire. Hans showed up, although he would be climbing the mountain in two days when his wife arrived. Everybody's spirit seemed to be soaring. I felt happy to be sharing this last night with hikers that I was friendly with. All of us were enjoying a camaraderie forged from the knowledge that we had just walked over two thousand miles over the same terrain, and endured the same trials and tribulations, and were 5.2 miles away from achieving a dream.The gathering of hikers thinned out as people entered the lean-tos or their tents. Soon, the coals of the fire were casting a reddish hue upon empty planks.