Date: 2017-08-28
From: The Birches at Katahdin Stream Campground

To: Appalachian Trail Lodge in Millinocket
Miles today: 5.2
Weather: few clouds

Sasquatch and I share one of the shelters at the Birches. Most folks are tenting. "Squatch" wears a size 15 shoe but is about my height. It's chilly again this morning but the day feels different. Today is a day hike up a single mountain. There is no further destination. Waterboy and the retired flip-flopper are already gone. The rest of us eat breakfast in relative silence. I use my last tuna packet. Better than poptarts.I've decided like most people to leave the bulk of my belongings at the ranger station and carry only water, snacks, first aid, and foul weather gear in my pack up Katahdin. I've never slackpacked until now. But I want my memory of today to be of an enjoyable hike, not the pride of carrying an extra ten pounds.I start up the Hunt Trail, as the AT is known here. I'm told it's the most difficult path to the summit. Naturally! It winds through the campground and gradually up to Katahdin Stream Falls where it crosses the gorge on a narrow footbridge. Several hundred stone steps lead above the falls, then give way to a long, steep boulder scramble, still below treeline.I pass mostly dayhikers, including several families. Some, especially the kids and teens, are doing well. Others are huffing and puffing, often looking like they came right from the couch. Most of them will make it anyway. One fit-looking man is on metal crutches and swinging a stiff left leg over each boulder. He's working hard and perseveres through stumbles. I don't want to pry so I just exchange greetings. The scramble gets only more challenging higher up and I don't see him again. That he even got this far is amazing.I pass Rocketman, and later another Rocketman. Neither is the retired rocket scientist Rocketman I met in New Jersey, or the young Rocketman I met with my son in Pennsylvania. The first is a section hiker I met at Hikers Welcome in Glencliff. He's with Greybeard, the wise-cracking West Virginian. They've skipped up to Katahdin and will then hike south. Maxx the giant Airedale is absent as dogs are not allowed in Baxter state park. I pass Platter and Brown Sugar, girls from the Birches. Now above treeline, I catch Squatch and am passed by Scout from the diner yesterday. We are surrounded by incredible views of lakes, forests, and mountains. The horizon is so distant it fades into mist. We're now on the "spine", a steep column of boulders and ledges with nowhere to go on either side. I pass a sixty-ish dayhiker who looks wiped out. He complains about his hip and thinks he'll have to turn around. He's eager to have a sympathetic ear.As I reach the Gateway to the Tableland I catch up to and chat with the other Rocketman. He's joined by his two grandsons for the final leg of his thruhike. I snap a photo for them while they wait for his son to catch up.The hard part is over. It was a fun and challenging climb. Now the relatively level Tableland spreads out like a Martian landscape. A small spring named after Henry David Thoreau, an early visitor, bubbles up and pools over the rust-colored earth. The trail leads upward over rocky ground towards the peak. Waterboy is coming down. His journey is now over and his mom is waiting for him at the bottom. He was a good companion for the last few days. I wish him well in Colorado. I look forward to hearing about his future adventures. Up ahead is a completely unexpected rendezvous with River Birch, who I met in Vermont when he was out for the weekend with his thruhiker buddy. He planned to join his friend for Katahdin but the friend summited earlier than expected last week. How strange that I should encounter him on both of his brief excursions to the trail.The weather is perfect. Almost no clouds, and the air is practically still, even at the peak. Workout, Woodpile and a few others are already there, snapping pictures and congratulating each other. I climb up the sandwich board-style sign for a photo. I can see to the hazy horizon in every direction. I wish there was a guide to tell me what I'm looking at. Somewhere to the northwest is Canada. There are few mountains other than Katahdin's own subsidiary peaks. A narrow ridge of rocks called the Knife Edge leads east towards one. I gaze over the gulf on the northside at a pond far below. A dayhiker named Bob is sitting quietly in the commotion. He points out Pemadumcook Lake, which spreads across the southern view, where he has a summer cabin. Five times he's summited, he says, and this is the first time he's had a view. I realize we are all very fortunate to be finishing today.Greybeard arrives. He comically rips off his shirt and climbs the sign for a he-man picture of his droopy frame. "That's going on the cover of AARP magazine!", he says, speculating his future fourth wife may see it. Squatch, Brown Sugar, Platter and the remaining thruhikers finally make it and pose for numerous group shots. Dayhikers coming over Knife's Edge are gleeful to encounter newly-minted thruhikers. The buzz grows loud with dozens of people milling around. The height of the season is just beginning. I can see why Baxter state park trustees are cracking down on large group celebrations. It's crazy enough with random collections of individuals.I could absorb the view and the moment all day, but after an hour and a half it's time to go. Dayhikers are still coming up as I gingerly make my way down the spine. I pass the hiker with the hip problem again. He's given up and is headed down. Now there's a problem with his camera. I nod sympathetically. Soon after I lose the white blazes amongst the enormous boulders. What a place to lose the trail! The mountain drops off steeply on either side. Two Swiss thruhikers Jukebox and Cooper come up behind me and decide to plow ahead anyway. Fortunately we discover the trail ahead. The Swiss guys practically race down the mountain. I keep up most of the way. The most precarious stretch is behind us. Now it's just hopping and jumping down from rock to rock. It's an adrenaline rush. The elevation drops away and before long we're below the falls again. I slow to a walk. This is my last mile. No reason to hurry through it.I grab my tent and other deadweight at the ranger station. Then I run into a final taste of trail magic in the campground parking lot. Courtesy of an older couple who hiked 400 miles in the mid-Atlantic section last year and are here for their second attempt to summit Katahdin. Pretty Boy and his new trail family are sitting in a big circle in the middle of the lot enjoying sodas and snacks. They will summit tomorrow. With him are Mantis and Family Pack, two of the first hikers I met as I left Harper's Ferry. It seems like a lifetime ago. They've been on the trail almost continuously while I've been on and off. What a coincidence to meet at the end anyway.It's 24 miles to the nearest town, Millinocket, where I'll spend the night. It is so remote the only transportation out is one bus a day from the next town over. As I reach the park's gravel main road Ghost Hiker jumps out of a truck. She came down the alternate Abol Trail (shorter and arguably easier) and got a lift back to pick up her things. The driver is none other than Bob from the summit. He offers to take me halfway to town, to a diner where I can get another lift. His home is nearby. I cautiously accept, not seeing any other options at the moment. Bob tells me he's retired and lives 7 months on Pemadumcook Lake and the balance down in Portland. He usually climbs Katahdin with his granddaughter. But now she's 18 and had to leave for college early for volleyball team practice, so she climbed it in July with friends. I can see now it's been a bittersweet day for him. We see two hikers thumbing as we inch down the gravel road (Baxter's grant forbids paved roads). I recognize Ropeburn and Bugs, and Bob stops. They've been trying to get in touch with her parents who are coming from Wisconsin, but without a cell signal they are headed to town hoping to find them. They jump in.Five minutes later, just past the main gate, Bugs recognizes her parents' car passing us. Bob honks and pulls over and they are reunited. Bob and I continue on, now on paved road. We pass Bob's turn off and reach the diner, but Bob decides he's got nowhere to be and will take me all the way to town. He just needs to pull over and find a cell signal to call his wife. It's only twenty miles out of his way! Millinocket is the largest town since Hanover, but the main drag looks more like a ghost town. Bob tells me it used to have forty thousand residents and the largest paper mill, Great Northern, in the world. Now the lumber goes elsewhere. Tourism is the main industry. In one unmarked storefront park rangers are bent over plans for the recently designated and locally controversial Katahdin Woods and Waters national monument. I check in to the AT Lodge hostel. Ole Man, the owner, tells me they sent out 550 southbounders this year, far more than the 200 of recent years. He credits the movies Wild and Walk in the Woods. He notes Walk in the Woods was supposed to release in 2004 but halted when the original lead Paul Newman died during filming. Newman made friend and director Robert Redford promise to finish it. Twelve years later he did, playing the lead himself.It's a mile out of town but I decide to skip the local pizzeria and walk to McDonald's. In the next booth is Mike Hoen, the hiker from Katahdin with hip and camera problems. He works crazy hours and this is his first day off in a long time. Between diabetes and the hip he's upset at not being able to summit. He offers me a ride back to town. I ask about the knight emblems on the car and he tells me he's a direct descendant of a Knight Templar through his French / Nova Scotian ancestors.Back at the hostel an Israeli woman is making herself dinner. Her son Jaws is summiting tomorrow along with her husband. They are at the Birches tonight. She and her husband have been hiking with Jaws since Manchester, Vermont but she has no interest in climbing yet another mountain, even if it's Katahdin. Her husband is American and she has lived here and gotten green cards twice only to give them back. Never interested in citizenship. She prefers Israel, but says the only mountains in Israel are near war zones.It's busy now at the hostel. All the hikers from the summit are here or at the pizzeria. It's time for celebration, but old habits die hard. The bar is empty and hiker's midnight is eight as usual.