Date: 2003-09-05
From: Pierce Pond Lean-To

To: Caratunk, ME
Miles today: 4.0

"We all know that people are better when we get them outdoors - in nature. When you are in nature, you're with the best teacher in the world. When you're with nature, you learn about yourself."- Jim Whitaker, the first American to climb Mt. EverestChief had heard the coyotes' duet with the loons last night too, and made mention of it in the morning. So, it wasn't a dream! What a special event to witness.The sun came back today. The best thing about rain is the day after. The earth smells so good, and the sight of the sun's rays slanting through the rising mist can make a strong soul weep.But the day after rain is a slippery one, and hikers traversing slick roots need take care. I went down hard on one downhill, knocking a shin and jamming the ring finger on my right hand. The pain shot through my hand. Tonight, that knuckle is swollen and stiff. I may never play the violin again. Not that I ever did...I also had my most frightening experience yet on the AT. We had to cross a log bridge - a daily experience in Maine. But this one was:1) wet 2) round! 3) set high above a gorge. It felt like a tightrope walk. Having just fallen, my body retained a strong impression of the treacherous nature of wet, mossy wood. To walk that high up over a slick log seemed like an impossible thing to ask. True, there were two smaller saplings (too small to support me) on either side of this log, but it just made it more treacherous - there were foot-catching gaps between the round logs. Images of me slipping a step and being unable to recover, falling to my death, hanging by an ankle, beset my overactive imagination. I started out with every scrap of focus I could muster. A hiking pole tip skittered right off the left sapling, making me tipsy. Even my hiking poles failed to grab hold! I could feel how slick it was underfoot from yesterday's soaking rain- one slip and there would be no purchase for recovery. I felt a shock of fear, and pushed it aside; it was of no use to me now, nearly half-way out, and would only serve to weaken me. I was committed.I felt a prickle of hot sweat trickle down my armpits. I felt like getting down on all fours and crawling across. I might have even done it if I thought I could "assume the position" without a fall. The last few steps the fear broke through my resolve and I hastened my steps, slipping off the log on the last footplant, banging my ankle. I must have crossed a billion log bridges on the AT, but this one made me sweat. I will be happy to never cross it again!I top the last rise before the Kennebec and suck in my breath - it's WAY wider than I had imagined. It's gorgeous, sparkling in the sun: Chief is already on the other side, waiting. The Kennebec River is "the most formidable, unbridged crossing along the entire AT," according to one guide. I would have to agree. At about 70 yards wide, the river also rises rapidly with unexpected releases from the hydro plant upstream. A hiker drowned here in 1985. We hikers are warned in bold print: "Do NOT attempt to ford the Kennebec." I'm told the ATC will not recognize the thruhike of anyone who fords the Kennebec. It looks doable upstream, on rock bars, but perhaps another day. Today, this is the official route. The old canoe even had a white blaze painted on the bottom.The ferryman, Jeremy comes over with his big black dog Mia. I am glad to rub her, as I am with all dogs. But she gets to jumping in and out, from the river to the canoe. She deposited quite a bit of water in the bottom of the craft. Of course, that's right where my pack sat, soaking it up. I wasn't too happy about that, even being the dog-lover I am. The ferryman seemed oblivious. The longtime ferryman, Steve, retired this year, and a rafting company has the contract.Caratunk House Bed and Breakfast, run by Paul and Jensen, is just about where you come out of the woods. Paul is a former thru-hiker, and I'd heard he was really nice and personable. He had the decorators touch, did a bit of antique dealing on the side.He made us killer burgers and chocolate milkshakes.I collect my pocketmail. Successful '03 thruhiker Skeemer writes about reentry: "I'm trying to catch up on 5 month's rest. My dog still likes me and my wife baked me a peach pie. I'm doing nothing, and doing it real slow." Make haste slowly, buddy. You did good.The bunkroom upstairs has a VCR. So, of all the movies available, I watch a video on the the PCT, so help me god! I must be a masochist.The Caratunk postmistress, Marie, deserves special mention. She has been a Trail Angel Extraordinaire. Besides the usual business, she helped me call around to track down some missing CF cards - I am running out of "film" for my digital camera with 150 spectacular miles to go. (I took so many pictures in The Whites, the mail flew thick and fast, and I must have gotten ahead of some.)The problem: The Wilderness and Katahdin are coming up, I'm in a remote area and CF cards don't grow on fir trees around here. Or even in most stores. Caratunk doesn't even have a grocery store, much less a WalMart or photo shop. Monson - our last phone and trail town - is unlikely to have the CF cards either.Marie speaks: "I'm going to WalMart tomorrow, I'll get you one." Just like that. I am purely blown away by this - me, a perfect stranger. She's the most helpful post office employee I've encountered outside my own at home in Southern Pines. I tell her I will bring the money by, as the cards are very expensive."Oh, don't worry," she says. "I'll put it on my debit card, and if you don't come back, I'll just return it."Southern hospitality, Maine style. The "Above-And-Beyond" award goes to postmistress Marie of Caratunk, ME. Future thruhikers, be sure to be nice to Marie of Caratunk, ME and tell her I said hello.Chief and I eat supper at an expensive brew pub, then get a ride back to the Caratunk House. I walk up the quiet street to the pay phone at the post office. The moon is coming on to full. It rises early, ducking in and out of the clouds. Watching it fills me with longing. That longing again! But for what, for what?Back at the Caratunk House, I step on a scale. Although I have been sloughing it off to cheap, bad scales, the mounting evidence is finally undeniable. I have GAINED 8 pounds, and my clothes hang on me. I've lost a fair amount of "body fat," shall we say, if you know what I mean.I am one big muscle - and the climbs are still hard, the pack still heavy. I sink when I swim. I still ache and my feet still hurt. I hobble in the mornings. But I can walk all the way up a mountain without stopping. I am woman, hear me roar.