Date: 2008-09-30
From: Eastport, ME

To: the Summit of Katahdin
Miles today: 10.0
Weather: overcast clouds

Up before sunrise, Slayer had gotten up before us to cook us pancakes. Ate hurriedly, then Burrass, Oats and I piled into the car with Jim for the three hour drive back to Baxter Park. It was a clear morning, stars were still visible. I slep tmost of the way, not having slept well at all the night before. When I awoke, it was daylight, and the sky had grown overcast. Spent the rest of the drive worrying, even though I had borrowed Slayer¢s rain gear. We finally reached the park¢s gravel road, and the ranger at the gate told us that it was only a class two day. Which wasn¢t comforting, because the 27th was also a class two day. We had decided to climb the Abol Slide Trail this time, and Jim dropped us off at the trailhead. We were in high spirits,our packs light, the trail starting out easily, running through an aspen forest, the ground yellow with leaves. The colour is stark, everything else green. The sun shoved through the clouds now and again, the air was very pleasant. It makes me sad to think I won¢t be living out amongst such beauty any longer. I tried to keep up with Oats, but she soon pulled ahead, leaving me to hike on in a melancholy state of mind, grateful to finally be approaching the end of the journey, but sad at the immanent end of this lifestyle I¢ve grown to love. The trail began getting steeper, finally reaching a place where the rockslide had ended, a scree field cutting between the pines. After a little ways, there was a sign for water, and I went off to fill up, eat a snack cake. Returning to the trail, I looked back down to see the valley blanketed in a field of cloud, the sun breaking through above me. There was such exhilaration, I cannot even express. The rest of the climb was tricky, the scree field turning in to a maze of boulders, although it seemed easier than the Hunt Trail, less technical Behind us, mountain peaks were appearing, deep blue, pushing up above the clouds. The trail below us, all littered with boulders, a scar through the forest. The sun began to burn through the fog, patches of colour appearing here and there, brightly coloured trees, a lake here and there, everything far below the lofty height on which we were¢¦no wonder the Indians thought this mountain was holy. We climbed up beyond the rounded pinkish boulders up into greyish, sharper-edged rocks with the usual green lichen found above treeline. One final scramble, and the Tableland opened up around us, a nearly flat plateau leading gently upwards to Baxter Peak, the ultimate terminus. We let out giddy war-whoops at finding ourselves so close, the clouds beginning to close in over our heads, the ridges to the west appearing indistinctly in between their low-hanging bottoms. It was a place seperated wholly from the world below, all russet and faded yellow, dead grasses and rock, nothing else. The other two got ahead of me, and, tears in my eyes, I made my way onward, hearing a chorus of whoops from the summit every time someone new reached it. Soon, I was able to make out a crowd of figures in the distance through the fog. And, with a surge of triumph, I crested the final ridge to see the legendary sign and to actually stand on the summit of Mt, Katahdin. I was met by yells from the other hikers, some twenty thrus, including Orion, Blaze, Johnny Thunder, Hoot and Sundance, Just Mike and Gonzo, Chaco Taco, Brahma Bull and Sweet Potato. The air was charged with excitement, everyone taking pictures, indulging in their own celebratory rituals: one group had party hats, some had brought beer or wine, Johnny Thunder had a Ninja costume. I myself had packed up a whoopie pie and a little Scotch. We took our pictures and stayed, talking amongst ourselves, not wanting to leave, until, finally, it became too cold to linger any longer. With sadness, but a great sense of accomplishment, we turned and headed down the mountain. A chant of ¢08¢ was taken up, echoing down the mountain as we gleefully skipped from rock to rock. We met with Bogey and Bacall as they were nearing the summit, and said our goodbyes. It feels strange to part with all these people that we¢ve been so close to for so long, and who we may never see again. Took the Hunt Trail down, jumping between the wild boulders, a lot of difficult climbing back to the spot where I¢d turned around on Saturday, which made me glad that I¢d made the choice I had. Heart-rending as it was at the time, this was a much better summit day, this is how the trip should end. Under a cloudy sky, but still warm, we clambered down through the giant boulders, which was much easier to do than it was when they were wet. The descent took much longer than remembered, and became tedious after we were below treeline with nothing to do but go down, down, down. The knees ached, and I was grateful to only have to walk a few more miles. Met Jim a little ways before the falls¢¦.he¢d hiked up to meet us. The last few miles flew by, and before long, we were back in the car, leaving the trail behind us for the last time. A feeling of sadness, but completion. Carly was disappointed that she hadn¢t seen one moose¢¦then, at the juncture of two park roads, a young moose jogged past us. We stopped the car to watch him slowly lope away, tall, gangly legs, a ridiculous head. Burrass yelled at it to stop, so we could get a photo. Obligingly, it paused and turned to look at us before heading off into the forest. And so, goodbye, AT.