Date: 2011-08-27
From: Cooper Brook Falls Lean-to

To: Hurd Brook Lean-to
Miles today: 41.1
Weather: broken clouds

(In which I hike my longest day and see someone I hadn't expected to see again)The only two people in the shelter are me and Kayak, a fast hiker who had to take some time off to battle strep throat. Kayak and I both want to make as many miles as we can before the storm hits, so I tell Kayak to feel free to make plenty of noise when he gets up in the morning.It's still dark when I hear him stirring quietly, and I ask groggily, "What time is it?" "4:45." This is good enough for me, so I sit up too. We pack up leisurely, neither one of us wanting to start hiking by headlamp. Kayak, whose medication prevents him from eating for the first hour, leaves at 5:30. I stick around eating breakfast, use the privy and then hit the trail a couple minutes before 6am.The sun is just rising and the sky is already light. The trail is gorgeously flat and smooth, and when I check my pace at the first two landmarks I realize that I'm doing 3.6 miles an hour, one of my fastest sustained hiking speeds. In a couple of hours I pass Kayak, whose going at a good clip himself, gunning for a 30, and then GipCGirl, whom I haven't seen in in hundreds of miles. I'd like to hang around and chat, but with the storming supposed to be arriving overnight I also want to make miles, and only slow down long enough to trade the essential info.The trail, so gloriously easy at first, flirts with rocks and mud for sections, but I don't slow down below 3 mph until I hit the one actual mountain for the day, the last one before Katahdin. With only a thousand feet of elevation gain I don't slow down too much, but I am panting at the top. I catch my breath by walking down a side trail to a viewpoint, my only luxury side trail of the day. From the viewpoint I see the base of Katahdin for the first time -- most of it is shrouded in clouds -- and meet two section hikers eating lunch. The ask me where I started this morning and shake their heads incredulously when they hear that I've done 24 miles by 2pm. It's at this point that the 41 mile shelter begins to look possible, and I set it as my new target.It's a pleasure to hike a big mile day again after so many months on the slow train, and it's satisfying to channel the sense of urgency and let it pull me forward. I find a rhythm and stick with it, eating and drinking as I hike. Like the fast-ol'-days, the shelter registers give me a chronological list of the hikers I will pass, and again and again I see and briefly say hi to hikers I haven't seen in months. This is the terrible trade off, that going slow means never catching up to most people, and going fast means never having the time to hang around.I've just crossed 30 miles when I see a hiker the sight of whom makes me grin wider than I have in ages. It's UHaul, walking south, actually doing his flip-flop. I had heard rumors that he left the trail three months ago with plans on getting Katahdin and the northern states out of the way before winter, but when none of the sobos had heard of him everybody (myself included, I'm ashamed to say) assumed that he wasn't going to go through with it.He's down to an 80 lb pack, and has recently acquired a guide book. "It's wonderful knowing where everything is now!" he says, beaming. He ended up taking three months off working as an assistant chef in New York City, and is back to the trail as relaxed and confident as ever. He thinks it will take him until at least February (his one year anniversary) before he makes it back to Uncle Johnny's, where he got off, but like always he's in no rush. He plans to spend three days at the next shelter waiting out the storm and has enough food to last him for weeks. I shake his hand for a second time, reminded how you really never know who you'll meet again.I leave the encounter more energized than I've been all day, surprised by happy it makes me to know that someone like UHaul is out on the trail doing things his way and loving it.I eat at least twice as much as I normally do and my energy levels stay high, but after mile 30 my mental capacity slowly starts diminishing. This seems to actually help the hiking, since the lack of any sense of time makes it easier to keep going, but when I stop for brief conversations words and my train of thought are more slippery than normal.I arrive at the shelter 41 miles in at 7pm. I have just enough daylight to push on to Abol Bridge if I want to, where there is camping and a possible ride into Millinocket. I decide to call it quits for the night when I learn that Matt and Jack, a father / son team sectioning part of the wilderness have a car at Abol Bridge and are planning on hiking the 3+ miles through the rain in the morning and could give me a ride to Millinocket then.Hakuna Matata and Rem show up, and I meet a flipflopper named Dan. When we find out that Dan is carrying a candle in a glass jar we dub him Dandle, and the candle turns out to be quite a nice homey touch with its orange scent and warm flickering glow inside the shelter. Rem ties his 8x10 tarp over the entrance to the shelter in case the winds and rain of the hurricane start overnight, and it's comforting to be protected on all sides from the elements.Relaxing in the shelter after a long day I feel good, content. Tomorrow I might be sore and soaked, but that will be its own adventure.