Date: 2013-08-01
From: stealth camp near Rainbow Lake, mi 2,163.0

To: Mt. Katahdin- The Northern Terminus
Miles today: 22.4
Weather: light rain

For over three months, I never knew what day it was, with exception to my arrival in Hanover, New Hampshire, which the AT passes directly through. I had decided some time prior to arriving in Hanover, that this would be the town which I would plan my exit strategy from the AT. Naturally, this required some careful thought over a calendar and some speculation on hiking pace through the upcoming Whites and the final state of Maine. I had figured that Hanover was far enough out, with my average 20 mile/day pace, to schedule a flight without the steep penalties incurred from last minute scheduling. South of Hanover, I had used the calendar on my phone like an abacus, counting days as equivalent miles on the trail to estimate my arrivals into towns where myself or my friend had sent food caches. Oddly, with the days perched directly above the numbers on the screen, it was as if they were invisible. I had no reason to know the day, nor did I care. On the trail, time was essentially meaningless, particularly when you had no particular deadlines to meet, no reports to write, no appointments to make. When I had left Springer Mt. 110 days earlier on the dreary Sunday afternoon of April 14, Katahdin was so distant that it was only a notion, a dream, and with it the concept of time was lost. Now, Katahdin was a little more than 22 miles from were I camped, on the edge of Rainbow Lake, only a day away. My awareness of time was no longer remote. The benchmark of all benchmarks on the AT was actually in sight. For over three months, this lone peak was mysterious, mythical, sublime, and so distant that the view of it from Rainbow ledges in the early morning seemed surreal. Springer was so far to the south, that I could not even begin to unfold the events that occurred over the past 110 days, with out the aid of my photos and journals. Four days and some change earlier, I had left a group of hiking friends behind at Monson (the southern entrance to the 100-mile Wilderness), which included Half and Half (formerly Stinky Foot), Gummy Bear, Berenstein Bear, Luggie, BB, and Sandman, with plans to wait for them in Millinocket and summit Katahdin on August 3. The AT crossed a monolithic dome of granite at Rainbow Ledges, surrounded by Hemlocks. Katahdin appeared at the crest of the ridge through a narrow opening of trees. I sat on one of the large rounded boulders atop the granitic slab, and gazed for a moment through the mist at the profile of the lofty summit ahead. By about 9:30 am, I had hiked the last 7 miles out of the 100-mile Wilderness to the dusty unpaved road leading across the Abol Bridge over the Penobscot River. A string of loaded buses crossed the bridge, headed for a drop off point for rafting. I held my breath as long as I could as I hiked through a dense cloud of dust, heading for Abol Bridge Campground and Store. I was hungry, even after polishing off two diners and a dessert the previous night. I entered the small store around 10am looking for something nutritious to satiate my appetite. The cafe attached to the market was closed for another hour. I could not wait. I grabbed a few sweet rolls off the shelf, along with a juice and chocolate milk, and sat on the large rock in the blazing sun in front of the store. I purchased a couple scoops of ice-cream, as a large group of kids congregated in the artificial shade on the side of the store, where the ice-cream was served. My plan was to hike a short, easy 10 miles to the Katahdin Stream Campground (KSC) where I'd hitch a ride into Millinocket and wait for the remainder of the group I was hiking with to catch up. The weather turned out to be the determining factor for such spontaneity to summit Katahdin in the afternoon. It was the geographic marker for the entrance to Baxter State Park, and the final approach to Katahdin Stream Campground, where many through hikers reserved a camp site to be poised for the 5 mile ascent to the summit of Katahdin, just under a vertical mile in elevation and about 4,000 vertical feet of climbing over 4 miles (if you exclude the final mile of relatively flat table lands near the top. I had taken off from Monson, at the south entrance of the 100-mile Wilderness on Sunday afternoon, July 28, and would be officially out of the wilderness by mid morning of August 1 (about 4 days). Perhaps 25 miles of the 100, were relatively easy, with smooth trail and easy gradient. Even the flattest sections leading towards Rainbow Lake, however, presented challenging terrain that reduced my pace to about 2 mph. The second day in presented the topographic hurdles of Barren Mountain, followed by Fourth and Third Mountains, and Chairback Mountain. All of these hurdles were made in the rain. None of the hurdles were significant in elevation, just steep, near vertical in places with lots of slippery, wet, glacially polished black slate. These features were technical, requiring, slower, more precise footing, particularly on the descents. On the third day, July 30, I hiked over the final significant hurdle, White Cap Mountain, thinking it would be a cruise along flat topography, with exception to a few minor hick ups. I did have the good fortune of fair weather that day. Anyone who has finally acclimated to the scale of AWOL's watermarked topographic-profile has figured out hopefully well before the end of the trail, that what appears perfectly flat (like the top of Little Bigelow, aint! The stretch between Nesuntabunt Mountain (mile 2,149.6) to Abol Bridge (mile 2,170.8) is another example! It had taken me essentially 4 days and a bit of change to cross through. My greatest curiosity is what designated the 100-mile wilderness, "wilderness" when compared to the 2,100 miles of trail the the south. Maybe it was the 100 mile part that made it so intimidating, yet this was a common distance to hike between significant towns. The 100 mile wilderness was also traversed by a rail road, and numerous gravel roads which criss-crossed it, making it suitable "slack packing" territory, not that I once considered such an endeavor. I hiked to the top of Rainbow Ledges by 7:30am. The ledges exposed glacially polished granite, with what appeared to by glacial erratics about 3-ft in diameter, a suitable observation perch for observing Katahdin in the early morning sun. From Rainbow Ledges, Katahdin seemed like a 2-dimensional wall, a silhouette pasted on the orange, dimensionless horizon. By 9:00 am, I made it to Abol Bridge, stopping by the Hurd Brook Lean-to to make my final mark "Follow the Foliation in the Appalachian" in the shelter log. Hurd Brook was the last Lean-to of the 100 mile wilderness, approximately 4 miles from the northern boundary and Abol Bridge. A few large recreation busses loaded with kids were passing over the Abol Bridge about when I was crossing. After hiking through a lush, saturated forest for over three months, the clouds of dust were a welcome sight. For a moment, I felt that I was in my drought-stricken state of California. A large group of youngsters under the direction of a couple of leaders, whom I passed near the exit of the wilderness, had arrived at the store shortly after me. The congregated mostly in a covered area adjacent to the market, and a few around the side window where ice cream was served. The selection in the store was limited to mostly fat and sugar. I wanted to order a more nutritious breakfast at the attached cafe, but it turned out to be closed until 11 am. I purchased a few pastries, beverages, and then two scoops of ice cream and sat outside in the blazing sun on a large rock. After finishing, I continued down the gravel road towards a gravel pit, with the AT continued north and officially entered the Katahdin State Park, marked by a large sign. A short ways in, I approached a kiosk and ranger, who asked me if I was planning to camp at the Katahdin Streams Campground. I said that I was planning to hitch out of the park to Millinocket and summit Katahdin the next day or day after. It was at this point, that he informed me that forecasters predicted 100% showers on August 2, tapering to 50% the next day. It was about 10:30 am. I was a good 10 miles from the campground then 5 more miles of straight up. I had hiked 7 already. The day was beautiful and perfect for summiting Katahdin! I made the spur of the moment decision to hoof it to the campground, where I'd trade my pack for a light day pack at the ranger station and climb the summit. As backup, I signed my name on the reservation sheet at the kiosk for a night at the campground. From the kiosk, the first third of the AT was virtually flat and smooth, following the banks of the Nesowadnehunk Stream. which flowed southward, draining numerous glacial "ponds" to the north: Draper, Kidney, Daicey, Lily Pad, and Windy Pitch ponds, all draining into the Penobscot River draining east-southeast, connecting several more large lakes en route to Millinocket. My attempt to ford the second tributary almost went without a hitch, until my final hop to a conspicuous black slimy rock a few feet from the northern bank. I slipped, plunging sideways into a riffle, scraping and bruising my knee on the way in. I figured this would be a good way to handicap myself in the event that Katahdin turned out to be a cakewalk. I continued my rapid pace now half soaked and stiff from the fall. I hobbled a ways, before my bruised muscles succumbed. After crossing the Upper fork of the Nesowadnehunk Stream, the terrain had progressively become more equivalent to that of the 100 mile Wilderness. Within 4 miles from the KSC, the AT was joined by several other trails. I had to ask one of the day hikers in the park if I was on the AT at one point. The trail signs were as obscure as those in the Whites of New Hampshire. By 1pm, I arrived at an open patch of grass and gazebo with picnic tables. A couple of hikers were laying in their bags in the afternoon sun resting. I asked for directions to the ranger station after walking a few circles around the area with the look of confusion on my face. I was directed across a small stream. The front, enclosed porch with spring loaded front door was loaded with through and section hiker packs. There were ample day packs in a bin to the right. I grabbed a designer LL Bean day pack. I was going in style! I grabbed my head lamp, a shell layer, including my rain jacket, two liters of water and my water filter. At 1:30 pm, I was hiking past the gazebo on the other side of the stream and heading out of camp up a gravel road. I passed several lean-to shelters along the way. The first mile of approach to the steep flanks of Katahdin was wide and gently sloped. After reaching the foot bridge before Katahdin Stream Falls at mile 2,182, the trail begins an abrupt ascent up long slabs of rock, rock steps, and 6-8-ft diameter blocks requiring scrambling maneuvers to pass over. In many cases, trails leading around these obstacles in dense vegetation and roots circumnavigated these obstacles. Climbing this ridge felt like home. I scrambled up the spine of the prominent Cathedral Ridge to Arlington Pk from where I once lived, at the end of Tunnel Rd, hundreds of times, many times with a head lamp. 85% of the ridge required smearing up large slabs of the Coldwater sandstone, or bouldering moves from one block to another. Climbing Katahdin, particularly on a perfect day, was some of the most fun I had on the entire trip. I stopped at many spots along the way, to look back at the distant ridges and large lakes. I could see for miles into the 100 mile Wilderness. At one point, the trail is enhanced by a steel dowel "hook" that served as an artificial foot hold, while stemming the other foot into a dihedral. It was epic, but no different than the doweled steel ladder in the Mahoosucs, or the rungs doweled into the sandstone at Dragon's Tooth in Virginia. The AT was an obstacle course, which often required the dodging of lightning bolts. A group of hikers congregated at a sign that marked the "Gateway" to the Tablelands. It was a false summit to the hiker making the long vertical ascent of nearly 3,000 ft from the falls below. I was greeted and informed as well that I still had about 1.5 miles before completing my journey. The Tablelands were vast, a sea of randomly oriented boulders. The trail was fenced through this area to protect the fragile alpine flora, with stakes and twine. It was a bit awkward passing hikers heading down on the uneven narrow corridor. The final ascent climbed a moderately graded boulder field over 500-vertical feet. I arrived at the end of my hike at about 3pm. Oddly, I was not emotional, as I had been many times along the hike. I was largely relieved to had made it this distance without serious injury or illness. I did it! I hung myself over the famous sign that thousands of hikers have molested over the decades. I had first seen an earlier, more weathered version of this sign in the Appalachian Trail Museum at Pine Grove Furnace State Park, PA near the midway point of the AT. This sign did not seem much fresher, the letters and numbers faded and scarred. A European family offered to take my photo in exchange for taking theirs. Dark clouds began to blow over the summit. Although it was still partially cloudy, it was getting late, and the risk of getting caught in sudden down pour increasing. I absorbed as much scenery as I could. I gazed down the precipitous headwalls of the cirque behind the summit sign to the tarn called Chimney lake behind the summit sign, then past the summit cairn to the Knifes Edge, which many through hikers hiked for more panoramic views. This terrain and exposure was nothing new to me, and given the late time of the day, I declined the temptation. Before descending, I spoke to a couple of southbound hikers who were just beginning their through hike. I think it was safe to say that they were taking up the back of this year's group. I wished them the best on their journey and told them it would be an epic one. It would've been fun to follow them if they had a blog. They were planning to complete the AT in about 4 months. I made it back down to the KSC by about 6:30pm, with plenty of light to spare. My last challenge would be arranging a ride out of the park to Millinocket. It proved indeed to be challenging, since the majority of folks were camping in the park for the night. At the cusp of total darkness, I found an older man accompanied by his granddaughter, who was just learning to drive. This was apparent as I watched her remove some paint from a vehicle parked next to her. Her grandfather stood outside the car yelling instructions to her to correct her faulty steering. I approached them after they successfully got the car out and pleaded them for a ride to Millinocket. It was my lucky day! They were planning a late night of driving well beyond Millinocket and could drop me off along the way. The last ones out of the park and my last chance to skate out too. The drive from Katahdin was a solid 30 minutes to the town of Millinocket, where I had planned to stay for the night. I had hitched a ride from a young woman and her grandpa shortly after watching her scrape the side of another vehicle as she haphazardly pulled out of a tight parking spot, turning prematurely. This ride offer came at the very last minute of daylight, after begging folks walking back to the parking area for a ride. This included the park ranger herself whom I spotted walking towards the state truck. She had me sign her official register book as the 80th NoBo to complete the AT this year soon after I returned to camp. I was clearly desperate to get out of the park! I did not have more than a few pieces of candy left for food, and this would not suffice after hiking over 22 miles today. After much patience and a bit of anxiety, I spotted the last couple heading out of the park. They were my last hope for getting out of the park, since everyone had settled into camp for the evening and the day users were long gone. I literally escaped from the road entrance to Baxter State Park a minute before closing time. The young lady driving I believe had just obtained her drivers license, and after scraping the side of another vehicle while backing out of a parking spot in the campground, was driving extra cautiously with both hands clinched to the steering wheel. We travelled south on Park Tote Rd at a steady 20 mph (the speed limit in the park). It seemed to take a good 20 minutes to reach the kiosk, in now blackness. Without the handy maps of Google or a compass in hand, I was completely disoriented. After returning home, with the luxury of Google once again, I figured we had traveled approximately south southeast for 25 miles to Millinocket through a net work of narrow roads, one branching off to another, changing names along the way. In blackness, I had no idea of my proximity to the many ponds I skated around or in between. I think it was just a minute before 8pm when we made it to the southern gate of Baxter Park, between the enormous glacial Upper and Lower Togue Ponds. I handed the ranger my yellow receipt that had been filled out by the young ranger at the Katahdin Stream Campgrounds. It was proof that I had entered the park as a through hiker, which made my stay in the state park (although less than a day) free. We had driven by Round and Rocky ponds, Cranberry pond, the Togue ponds (mentioned above), then the enormous Millinocket and Ambajejus Lakes before arriving in Millinocket, ME. I still have not figured out the difference between a pond and a lake in Maine, for size, when comparing the Togue ponds to the lakes just mentioned, for instance, seems to have no relevance. We arrived in Millinocket around 8:30 pm. The small logging town had seemed to have gone to bed. I kept my eyes pealed for any place that looked good for eating and that was opened. After driving the main strip (Central St, also 157) its entire length, I asked if they could hook a U-ee and head back into town. I discovered the tiny lit corner of a large parking area on our return drive through, which turned out to be the House of Pizza. It was open. The couple dropped me off in front of the restaurant. I offered them my hammered Leki walking poles, which they gladly accepted. I thanked them immensely for the ride and they drove off. I inhaled a less than average Hawaiian style large pizza (the last I would consume until embarking on another through hike), along with a large salad and soda. I was thankful to have anything but trail food in my stomach. After dinner, I did not wander far from where I ate to the Katahdin Inn and Suites, in a two story windowless cube behind the pizza place and connected by parking lots. I could see light through the plane glass door entrance. It looked promising. The doors led to a large, covered two story high court with pool, with video games and pool tables off to the side. It was not what I expected from the bland, prison like exterior. I checked in, then walked across the road to Circle K to purchase a few more snacks around mid night. Rain was expected to arrive sometime in the early morning. I prepared for bed and crashed before 1am.