Date: 2003-09-12
From: Sidney Tappan Campsite

To: Crawford Pond Campsite
Miles today: 14.8

Last night, when my bladder drove me out of my tent, I had another of those magical moments. It was still. Even the forest animals had settled down. I emerged from my tent into a moonlit clearing. That's it, that's all - just silence, and the moon was pouring down. Just alone and in the middle of it. Very much in the middle of it.Heavy condensation in the morning, both inside and outside my tent. That is a problem with all single wall tents, not just mine. I wiped it down with my bandana. The foliage was just as wet along the Trail, and soon I was soaked.I knocked out the first two viewless mountains, and began to chip away at White Cap. I was really enjoying the climb, because I sat down every time the whim struck. I'd been told that this is our last major climb before the biggest climb of all - the one at the end.At one point, I looked to my left and there she was! Just like that. Katahdin. Mother K. My destination, my endpoint. Large as life itself. No longer a figment of my imagination.It wasn't a conical peak so much as a massive ridge. I finally shut my jaw and resumed walking. Before long, I was sitting on the sunny, rock-strewn summit of White Cap. I decided it was lunch time, even though it was early. I pulled everything out of my pack to dry, and within short order it was.As I am eating, up comes the pacesetter, Finch. He joins me for lunch. He's whipped. He feels he's done too much. He's eager to finish and now it is not as much fun as it was. He's very thin, and says he doesn't have the endurance he had a month ago.Shortly after, Dreamwalker, Cobra and Splash and Chief all find their way to the top. They walk to the far side of the summit to look at Katahdin.Chief joins me and we walk down to the next shelter together. Like "the old days," we joke. This is our last hairy descent of the trip, we console ourselves; coming down Katahdin, we'll be off the Trail and it won't "count."I find the first difficulty of my bruised hand - it is painful to palm the hiking poles on the downhills.At the Logan Brook shelter, we find a unique spring. It comes tripping down a stair-stepped mossy falls as a stream, then drops underground through a filtering gravel bed, emerging cold and clean on the other side.Dreamwalker and I leave the shelter together and walk on. He's leading, and pauses, reading a sign pinned to the ground "Caution! Wasps!" I figured they were yellow jackets - usually, the first person makes them mad, the second and third people get stung. We make a run for it - Dreamwalker first - and, unaccountably, Dreamwalker gets stung and I don't.Later, we learn, Chief had also been nailed, so Finch had made a sign and pinned it to the ground with sticks. His logic: "That's where thruhikers look."At East Branch Leanto I made an early supper, with plans to walk a little further. Finch, Dreamwalker, Chief stay put for the night.Everyone is drained by the heat, humidity and their push over the mountains of these last few days. I clean up and leave about 3:30 pm, not knowing where I will lay my head for the night, and not much caring. Things seem to sort themselves out on the AT. I want some more of that moonlight magic.I set out to ford the East Branch of the Pleasant River, and find out I can rock hop. Ha!From there it's a climb up to a high pond, then even more climbing up to Boardman Mountain. Hey! What's all this steep trail? I thought our big climbs were behind us until Katahdin! Little Boardman kicked my butt. The sun's slanting rays of early evening set Little Boardman mountain glowing. At one stony ledge, I turn and look out. There is Ms. K, glowing too. Well, she would, wouldn't she?After about five rather tough miles (I thought), the sun is below the horizon and I know I need to find a campsite. The woods are very rocky, boulders even, and full of deadfall. No flat spots there. I reach a road, but am always wary of camping anywhere near one. I keep walking and within a half mile or so come upon a sign in the woods - sand beach. A hundred yards and I come out to the shores of Crawford Pond and yes, a flat spot tucked away by the beach. My guidebook says no camping is permitted here. Those in charge wish to steer fires and trash to areas better able to handle it. But I am caught out, will build no fire, leave no trash. I chance it. My tent will be soaked tomorrow, camping near a lake.The sun goes down, the lake surface is glassy and fish splash nearby. Someone, an earlier swimmer, no doubt, has printed "LEECHS" (sic) in the sand. Not afraid of no stink'n leeches either. Ya just pick em off.It's a bit cool for a swim now, but I might have chanced it earlier. In my tent now, I hear a fox bark, and a distant barred owl answer. Later, some coyotes start up, from far away. A great horned owl lets out a call and finally the forest falls silent. The final word.