Date: 2003-09-18
From: Katahdin Stream Campground

To: The End
Miles today: 5.2

So this was it. The Day. Bring it on.I arose early, packed my pack for the last time. I ate a hearty mountain-climbing meal at The Appalachian Trail Cafe in Millinocket, which opened at 5 am. At 5:25, the friendly Minuteman taxi driver arrived. My chariot to Katahdin was here.It was dark in town, but the sky soon began to perk up. My chauffeur kindly stopped to let me photograph the rising sun over the misty pond, and pointed out particularly moose-y spots, generally relishing the role of tour guide as well as taxi man.On the dirt road ahead, a spruce hen wandered into our path. The taxi braked. The hen was quickly followed by a burst of energy and bluster - a spruce grouse male tore into the road after her. "All strutted out," declared the cab driver, proudly. The male grouse was displaying like a turkey, neck ruff up, wings pointed stiffly down, tail erect. Puffed up, he looked like a different species from the hen, who was looking very hennish.Near to my exit point, we caught a glimpse of Katahdin, with the early sun painting her very top. My stomach did a flip-flop of excitement. I was ready for this climb, which I had heard was hairy but also spectacular.As requested, I dropped off some GatorAde for section hikers Catch and Release, who had stayed at the campground last night. Then I checked the weather at the ranger station - Class I, the best possible conditions for climbing! I set out, signing in at the kiosk at the base of the Trail. I was the first one up the mountain this morning. The rangers offered daypacks, but I carried my own pack with it's convenient pockets. I left a trash bag of gear behind, took just my hiking poles, two liters of water, a lunch, warm clothes and a hat, my camera, sunglasses, a knee brace, a few mementos to be left on top. And ibuprofen. Always that.The icy Katahdin Stream kept me company on the first half mile. This lively brook was a joy to behold, as clear as glass, so clean the water looked pale aqua in the deeper pools and each stone on the bottom stood out. The clearest stream yet in a wilderness state full of clean water.It reminded me of western wilderness rivers.What luck! There is a privy within the first half mile of the ascent, near the roaring Katahdin Stream Falls. I thought it fortuitous that the rangers put a privy right where my bladder acted up. Yes, I was a little excited. Also, pretty well coffeed up, thank you AT Cafe - I'm just not a morning person by nature, you see...I was well into the second mile of this 5.2 mile day when I heard hiking pole clicks behind me. Here came sectioner John, the ranger from King's Mt., NC. It was Big Day for him too. He was finishing his 20-year-long odyssey on the AT today. Soon young Jason came up behind John. Their energy fueled mine, and I decided to be the first on the summit today, though I am normally a slow climber. I led up past the "cave," two boulders leaning against each other, and up above treeline. But at one rocky juncture, I took a wrong turn and started down. Jason followed. Down? The peak is behind me! Ooops...Well, no longer in the lead, it took all the pressure off, and I just relaxed. Good thing because, from treeline to Tableland, maybe a mile and a half, the climbing got pretty, um, interesting. It required full concentration.As the intrepid Chief would write to me later that night, "that section from treeline to Tableland scared the sh** out of me!"Three of the steepest rock faces offered a slick iron rung for a little grip; otherwise, a hiker had to rely on tiny edges and finger catches, or worse, the pure traction of skin against mountain to haul oneself up. Talk about exfoliating sun damage! So much for a "footpath" in the wilderness. Sometimes I was hanging onto the rock face by teeth, earlobes, toenails, shoelaces... or so it seemed. If I thought too much about it, it was mind-boggling. So, I didn't permit thinking.By this point, poles were useless. I'd already put one stick up and shortened the other after the first mile. It had helped with the boulder scrambling to have a short stick. But soon, when I was throwing the spare up up with every boulder, I tied it to my pack as well. Hands and arms and bottoms, sometimes even knees were required to navigate the steep and massive rocks. Lots of pulling oneself upward with the arms. The rocks began to be speckled black and lime green with lichen, large, mythic dragons to be negotiated before the summit's prize.One of the sketchiest moments was when I had to climb up one downward tilted slab. If you slid, you would slide into the abyss, and that was gonna hurt. To say the least. I had to trust the traction in my Trail runners - that was all that stood between me and A Really Big Slide. After I'd risked it and made it up the slick, tilted rock I turned back to Jason and said "I can't believe I just did that!" I had no idea how I as going to get down it. But like Scarlet O'Hara, I resolved to worry about that later.And so it went. This mountain was like nothing we had climbed yet on the AT, except maybe a spot here and there. And it was relentless, one sphincter-clenching challenge after another. A simple trip and spill here would have dire consequences. "It's a crazy trail," Honey of The Cabin hostel had said.I found myself wondering how 80-year-old Earl Schaffer had climbed this final mountain, or the blind hiker Bill Irwin. It was a head shaker. I was so impressed that my friend Ben (Just Do It) had made it up here on a just-healing hand. Katahdin was our toughest climb of the trip.Which is not to say I wasn't also having the time of my life. With the sun streaming down and every fiber of my body, mind and spirit being tested, I reveled in the sheer kick of it.There is a painted sign on a rock: "2 mi" it says, with an arrow pointing to the summit. Every single person I saw pass that sign exclaimed out loud: "TWO more MILES!" They couldn't believe after all that effort, the summit was still so far away. They couldn't imagine expending that same amount of sweat and strain and focus for so much longer. Luckily, the worst was almost over. Another ten to fifteen minutes more and the lucky climber had paid their entrance fees to The Gateway and ascended to the relatively flat walking of The Tableland.Far from walking hastily onward, I found this mile-long stretch fascinating . A vast, upland plain, it was laced with huge speckled rocks, like the backs of dinosaurs. The brown highland sedge and the red of bilberries lit up a strange, arid landscape. With a mile left to go, I came upon the seep known as Thoreau Spring. Here, several trails intersected.But the Trail I was interested in continued on up the mountain. The white, decomposing granite began to give way to a reddish-pink granite as I reached the final ascension. Crude rock stairs guided eager pilgrims upward. I could see The Sign up there! The end of the Trail!No doubt fueled by that orange GatorAde, sectioning firemen Catch and Release fell in behind me. I quickened my pace, and Catch fell a bit behind. But Release dogged my every step. And he was conversing too! I couldn't believe it! Here I'd just hiked 2,172 miles, just .6 miles left to go, and a section hiker was pacing me. I could tell he'd be able to fly right by, so finally offered to step aside. But no, all along he'd been planning to allow me to reach the summit first. This fire company lieutenant had a code, and he had decided to let me finish my walk in style. This kindness and consideration - in a way, a kind of salute to The Big Walk - was very touching. I felt honored by the gesture.As for his cardiovascular competence, turned out Release ran in an annual Illinois fireman's foot race, up the 92 floors of the John Hancock building, in full gear AND a fifty pound pack! "Eighteen lung- and leg-burning minutes," he said. Well, no wonder! We crested the final climb, and saw a gentler uphill. I could see John and Jason ahead. And The Sign.So I did what I came to do. I walked up to it.As I did, I choked up for the first time. It was unexpected. I thought I would whoop. I was glad Release was behind me as my face contorted. It just hit me like a logging truck. My god! I have just walked the entire 2,172.6 mile Appalachian Trail. Or, it has walked me...And then I whooped. Exultantly! It is done! One step at a time, my poor battered feet took me from Springer Mt., Georgia to Katahdin, Maine. Of course, I did The Dance of the Real Woman, just as my AT buddy Anna taught me. I shook out the Hospice flag, flying it in the rarefied air of the mountaintop breezes.I also felt great relief. I thought: Hospice will have all their pledges. Hammer saw his thruhiker to The Top. And I won't have to pick up a heavy, food-laden pack tomorrow! Ha!Release had taken my camera and snapped a few shots for me. Reaching The Sign. Touching The Sign. Arms outspread behind The Sign. Collapsing in mock exhaustion upon The Sign. Taking my shoes off and propping my feet, brave feet, against The Sign. And finally, climbing atop The Sign and raising an arm. A mile high in the sky.(This traditional move caused a little alarm among the sectioners: "And it was going so well..." sighed Release.)Oh yes, a picture of my blaze orange spoon with The Sign. Of course. I love that spoon, and against all odds, it walked from Springer Mt. Georgia with me. It's a great spoon.I had the Katahdin guys chuckling with all my exultant silliness. For awhile, the top of "the greatest mountain" was united in community and kinship. Release walked around, shaking hands and congratulating John and Jason, as well as Fez who had also come up. Catch spread out his Thermorest and took a nap in the abundant sunshine. The rest of us just stared at the incredible scenery.Other day hikers came up via slightly easier trails. So far, I was the only thruhiker up here. Eventually, three other thruhikers hiked up the Hunt Trail to finish their long AT walk - Sidetrack, Odyssey and Dirt.I clapped and congratulated them, then settled down to eat my lunch in this splendid sunshine. Blue skies everywhere. I was soaking up the mountaintop on this rare, fine day.Some came and went. Fez picked up his daypack and announced "Well, I have to go home now," then set off down the mountain.I'd decided to stay up here at least an hour or more, then descend to hitch back into town. I'd heard rides were reasonably easy to score, but I had to get to town this eve to meet Trooper and his son Joe, who was also climbing with us tomorrow if the hurricane permitted.Eventually, the firemen set out for the very hairy blue-blazed trail, the infamous Knife Edge, and I had eaten every crumb in my pack. It was time to go. I was reluctant to leave. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to get down. Plus, this was a mountain like none other I'd been on. In every direction the views were jaw-dropping. A sheer drop here. Twin peaks over there. Over 40 lakes down there. The sharp, mile-long blade of The Knife Edge. The Tableland out that way. Hard to tear the eyes away. It was indeed a fitting mountain upon which to conclude an epic journey.I had one more task. It is a tradition to bring a pebble from Springer Mountain and carry it all the way to Katahdin, where it was tucked into a rock cairn taller than me. I'd actually brought a small, polished yellow citirine from home, and had intended the little gem to be my ceremonial offering at Katahdin. But I'd lost the durn thing along the way! I'd also picked up a pebble in memory of my late friend Ted "Soleman" Anderson. So his pebble would would have to suffice for the both of us.In addition, I carried a strip of birch bark from last year's journey on the Long Trail. That had been my long-distance test hike, and it just seemed fitting to leave a memento from that trip here. On the white bark, I'd written "Soleman '03"; Ted had been so supportive of that crucial, fact-finding venture. I wandered down The Knife Edge about 15 minutes, exploring far enough to know I wouldn't be doing this sharp, high ridge alone. And then I started back down Katahdin the way I had come.It took awhile, and I was alone, but I came down faster than I went up. The sun was washing over everything now, and I felt very peaceful. My depleted muscles, however, felt anything but. I was tiring fast.At Katahdin Falls, I pulled off my shoes and soaked my burning feet in the ice water. The stream was so painfully cold - cold as March water, and this was September - that I couldn't keep my feet in for a full minute. They felt like stumps when I reshod myself.With relief, I signed out at the bottom. This mountain was harder than I thought it would be, but not impossible. A mountain like none other.So this was the journey's end, but of course, all endings are also beginnings, yes? Next chapter: reentry!I found myself wishing I had done this AT hike in my early 20s. I didn't have the resources then I had now. How differently my life might have turned out! That is not regret you are hearing, that is worn cartilage talking.I also wished I could have debriefed this hike with Ted. We would have enjoyed comparing notes. "Soleman" was searching for universal truth, something enduring and unequivocal. I couldn't help wonder if he had all his answers now. If so, I would REALLy enjoy comparing notes!At the bottom, I heard my name called. My delightful friend Old Gazelle came up and gave me a hug of congratulation! Tomorrow was his summit day. I shared with Gazelle my impressions of Katahdin, and wished him well. As I was going up again, if the weather permitted, perhaps I would see him up there tomorrow. I hoped so. I loved his positive, gentle spirit. Though we had known each other only a short time, there was a recognition of fellowship and kindred nature.John came down shortly after, and he and his friend offered me a ride into town. I was grateful. By now, I was exhausted and didn't want to move.We were all staying at the same motel. I needed to get to a phone; I still hadn't gotten in direct contact with Trooper, who was traveling to summit with me tomorrow, though I'd left messages. I'd tried to discuss the options with him, but he was still traveling back from a Grand Canyon hike. At 8 pm the night before, I'd had to make a judgment call about summitting in good weather or waiting. I'd decided to take the Class I day, and go up again when he came. I'd left a message telling him my decision. I wasn't worried. Trooper had summitted in bad weather on his '97 thruhike, after passing up a clear day waiting on folks, and had always expressed regret. I figured if anyone would "get" it, he would.Which is why, when the phone rang, I was shocked to hear a flat voice. It was Trooper. "I'm not coming," he said. "You're not coming?" I repeated stupidly.What?! My heart sank. He had feelings about this?"I was a little disgruntled you went up without me," he said flatly."You were disgruntled?" I repeated. I was stuck in first gear. I wasn't believing this. After all, he was a thruhiker. He understood. Right?"I have to go right now," he said, without sunshine in his voice. "I'll call you back later." And then he was gone.My high mood crashed. My mind was whirling. Besides being my ride out of Maine, my friend Trooper was now offended, an outcome I hadn't thought possible. I hate that! You make your best call, and it still goes awry. I didn't feel as though I'd done anything wrong, but I hated disappointing or hurting anyone's feelings.While mulling on this, Room Service knocked at the door, and I told them to go away. My room had smelled badly of smoke, and they'd promised to send up a spray. But I wanted time to digest this startling news, and I was waiting for the call back.Room service knocked again, and I thought, "oh hell, just give me the spray." I opened the door.There stood a grinning Trooper. He'd just called me from his room! I'd been tricked!The utter turkey!Delighted at his cleverness, he presented me with a celebratory bottle of red wine, still grinning ear to ear. My jaw was still hanging open. I had bought the ruse completely. Totally suckered in. There must be revenge. But if I have learned one thing on the AT, it is patience...So, the Grand Adventure ended with a practical joke, just as it had begun with one - the huge joke life played on me when, back in January of 2001, it decided I needed to thruhike the Appalachian Trail.Quite a good joke it was. My jaw, as it were, is still hanging open.