Date: 2004-10-01
From: Cooper Brook, ME

To: Group Encouragement
Miles today: 18.0

Last night, I slept warmly on the ground under my tarp, but my sleep was interrupted repeatedly by a numbness¢a pins and needles condition¢that afflicted my left hand and fingers. This ailment first appeared during a night in Vermont. After that, it happened during a few other nights. I figured out that the only way to stop the numbness would be to stand up. This condition is not related to impeded blood circulation. I think that it has something to do with a nerve on my neck or shoulder being pinched by a strap on my backpack. On several occasions last night, I had to unzip the sleeping bag, crawl out of the tarp, and stand up. Within a minute or two, the numbness would go away.For a while this morning, the hiking was easy. The trail was generally flat. The rocks and roots underfoot were avoided without having to break my stride. On the ground, pine needles that had recently fallen cushioned my steps.I heard the call of a loon coming from the woods to my right; that enabled me to pinpoint my location. I was passing near Cooper Pond which was located off of the trail and beyond view. I considered hiking along a spur trail and visiting the pond, then decided against it. Yesterday was my "commune with nature" day. Today was a day for pounding out mileage.I crossed a stream by hopping from one rock to another. To my left, a little squirrel was also hopping across the rocks in the same direction. We were both carrying loads. I was shouldering a backpack. The squirrel had a large pine cone sticking out of its mouth.I walked by a primitive campsite with an unusual outhouse; it was built to resemble a log cabin. It was spacious inside, at least as far as outhouses go. The windows had curtains. There was a register inside.Late in the morning, I hiked approximately one mile along some spur trails. They led to the narrow inlet of a lake. A wilderness lodge was situated on the opposite shore of the inlet. To get across, a hiker must activate an air horn that will summon a motorboat shuttle. When I arrived at the shore, another hiker had already activated the horn. He was upset because the boat had not shown up for half an hour. When I arrived, the boat pulled up and we were transported across the inlet.Lots of thru hikers I knew were lounging about the lodge. Some of them had spent the night there, others like me were visiting the establishment to pick up packages or buy a lunch.I had mailed to this place a box containing three days of food; it had not arrived. I was happy about this development. There was enough food in my backpack to get me through the rest of the 100 Mile Wilderness. More food would have added to the weight on my shoulders. Also, I did not care for the fifteen dollar holding fee which the owners of the lodge charge hikers to hold packages. When I had shipped the box of food, I was not aware of this fee. I told the owners that in a few days, I would personally retrieve the box from the post office in Millinocket, the nearest town.I ordered a lunch and departed with several thru hikers on the next shuttle across the inlet. Back on the spur trail, a group of us thru hikers met another thru hiker who we all knew. This young man was walking toward the boat landing. His morale was flagging. He informed us that he was low on food and money. He told us that he was flirting with the notion of getting off the trail for good. We all knew that this person had recently been diagnosed with lyme tick disease, a condition that causes a person to feel tired and weak.We gathered around this hiker and conveyed to him an outpouring of encouragement. We offered to pool some food and give it to him. A smile appeared on his face and his spirit and resolve came back.Back on The Appalachian Trail, I was annoyed at myself for having made an early camp yesterday. It was becoming apparent that I would have to camp out for two more nights before I reached the Abol Bridge, a terminus of the 100 Mile Wilderness and a symbolic gateway into Baxter State Park. If I had pushed on yesterday afternoon, I could have made camp near the bridge tomorrow. On the following day, I could have enjoyed a short hike to the base of Mount Katahdin.The trail wound along the side of a hill adjacent to Nahmakanta Lake. Last year, I had visited this lake with a friend. That trip was an impetus for my decision to stop dreaming about a thru hike and to actually give it a shot.I stopped hiking at Wadleigh Stream Lean-to, where I strung up my tarp and hammock in the nearby trees. I decided to use the hammock because I was concerned about the possibility of rain. I avoided the shelter because I expected it to be crowded with hikers. One of them was ill from a cold or allergy and was sneezing.This location is thirty-eight miles from the summit of Mount Katahdin. The end of this journey is approaching, but I have not waxed philosophic about it. My attention has remained focused on the usual things, like where to place each step among a myriad of roots, where to make camp, and so forth. I am wary about tempting fate by assuming that this journey is destined to succeed because I am so close to the finish line. There is always a possibility of sustaining an injury that would prevent me from ascending Mount Katahdin.I expect to cast aside this paranoia¢a healthy paranoia¢when I reach "The Birches," a camping site in Baxter State Park. Thru hikers traditionally gathered at The Birches on the eves of their ascents of Mount Katahdin.Still, it is impossible to ignore some aspects of this journey that are coming to a close. For example, I am sleeping in my hammock probably for the last time. My food bag hangs for the final time on a chord looped over a high branch. Henceforth, the food bag shall hang in lean-to's. My backpack will no longer be heavy with food. These developments are like the leaves that are becoming colorful; they are harbingers of change.