Date: 2004-09-30
From: Speck Pond Shelter

To: Frye Notch Lean-to
Miles today: 10.4
Weather: few clouds

We¢re stepping up the mileage, finally. Ten miles a day might be doable for the next several days, until we finally get through the tough Maine terrain. It feels great to finally be able to get some miles in. More than five, at least. We climbed Old Speck this morning, our last 4000-foot mountain until Saddleback, where, allegedly, we¢ll have views of Katahdin. County told me a story of a friend of his who climbed all the New England 4000-footers and had to crawl to the top of Old Speck because the ice was so thick. It was an easy climb for us, though, especially compared to yesterday. We didn¢t even bother to hike the .3-mile side trail to the summit. It was a beautiful mountain, though. The alpine pine forest has a completely different smell than anything I¢ve ever encountered. It reminds me a little of garlic, although County thinks it smells like something sweet. I¢m not sure what it is we¢re actually smelling, maybe the layers of pine needles decomposing, but it¢s a delicious and indescribable smell. It¢s something I¢ll crave when I get back. Down the mountain to Grafton Notch was the easiest section of the Mahoosucs yet, and the notch represented the end of the range. A very thrilling milestone. County fairly flew down the mountain, getting to the bottom probably an hour before me.I was walking more quickly than I have been, but still relishing just being able to walk rather than climb. It was a beautiful sunny day and he was taking a nap in the sun when I got down, past all the lovely waterfalls pouring down past the trail. We knew that the Garland Five were getting a ride to Andover that day, so we had yet another option for a real bed that night, but decided to press on and actually walk to Andover. A southbounder was at the road, trying to hitch somewhere, very unsuccessfully. I guess it takes a couple of states before one¢s hitching skills are honed to a razor-sharp edge.We stopped for water at the stream just past the road, took off our shoes, and basked in the sun and the fall leaves, eating gorp. Two German tourist couples with a young kid, maybe three, passed us on the bridge. The kid was using a trekking pole, dialed down to its shortest length and the proud parents were snapping innumerable photographs. They looked at us like we were crazy as we drank out of the stream. Don¢t they know the road is right back there? I could hear them thinking.The next climb, up to the Baldpate ridge, was a doozy, a 2200-foot climb in 3.1 miles. I managed to do the first two miles of it in an hour, my consistent pace goal, not realizing that the first two miles were about a third of the elevation gain. The next mile was crazy. I could definitely tell that we had left AMC territory. The trail was dug out of the side of the mountain and looked like a war zone, like it had been blasted out of the side of the mountain with grenades. We were hanging onto roots half the time, hauling ourselves up, avoiding the loose rocks in the trail. I liked it, though. I like the wildness of the trail. It doesn¢t need to be perfectly manicured. And the climb was fun, for a while, until it devolved into an endless struggle for me again, against the mountain, against the trail, against my own weakness, against time. The struggle never is endless, though. I got to the top of the mountain. And it was beautiful¢the Baldpates are so called because the tops are sheer rock and from far away they look like bald heads.The first, the west peak of Baldpate Mountain, wasn¢t as bald as the second, and as is typical in Maine, we had to dip down about 500 feet to the valley between the two mountains, and then climb back up about 700 feet to the top of the east peak. The east peak was the spectacular one¢the last 300 feet of climbing were all on sheer rock face. The rock was slick with moisture, so you had to climb slowly, but the rock was rough, so it wasn¢t too difficult. The views from the top were stunning. We could see 360 degrees, see the shape of the weather in the sky. The day had been beautiful, but at the top of the mountain we could see the clouds gathering, being shaped by the mountain ranges that hemmed them in. We began to hurry, pressed by the cold, the coming dusk, and our fear of weather. A couple of drops fell, but as we passed the crest of the mountain and began to descend, still on sheer rock, we could see the sun ahead and watch the clouds pass us from behind, and a rainbow appeared, the second I¢ve seen on the trail. It was incandescent. It made everything worthwhile. Everything.The first time a rainbow appeared, according to the Bible, it¢s a promise from God after Noah¢s great flood that He will never destroy the earth again. And this rainbow felt that way to me, like a promise from God. A promise for what, I don¢t know. But a promise that everything was somehow going to be okay. Dame Julian of Norwich, the famous Christian mystic, said, ¢It shall be well, and it shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.¢The last two miles to the shelter were exquisite. The trees seemed to have carpeted the trail for me as we lost elevation, and a perfect lone, young maple stood framing the trail, with perfect red leaves. The colors all of a sudden seemed to hit me, for the first time. I love the trail. I love it, passionately, as I would love a person. And I love it even more for how much I hate it sometimes. I arrived at the shelter finally, County before me, and caught my breath. Somehow the first MATC shelter on the trail was the perfect Maine lean-to, exactly how I had always pictured it. I don¢t know how to describe it, other than it is exactly what a Maine shelter should be. A babbling brook in front, a clearing, a gigantic log at the fireplace, in a clearing carpeted by yellow leaves. I want to move in. And, miraculously, we¢re the only people here tonight. Beatbox and Poptart slackpacked through today, but tonight it¢s just us. And I¢m in love with life.