Date: 2010-09-25
From: Bodfish Farm-Long Pond Road

To: ME Rte. 15
Miles today: 14.4

After having a hearty 1-2-3 breakfast at Shaw's where you order one, two or three of everything, Wild Poodle and I donned our day packs, stopped at the gas station to pick up sandwiches for lunch and were shuttled to the start point of our southbound slack back to Monson. Nice day for hiking¢cool but overcast. Feeling lightfooted as could be with our 4 pound day packs, we headed the 1 mile up Bodfish Road to intersect the AT. Even with 4-wheel drive, I don't think Bodfish would have been passable. There were deep pools of water and potholes the size of craters almost the entire length which had us skirting the edges at times trying to keep the feet dry.We stopped at the Wilson Valley Lean-to for a break, replenished our water and ate a snack. Being stream-fording virgins, we were both a little nervous about the upcoming fords of the Big and Little Wilson Streams, particularly because of all the rain we've had. The high water route for the Big Wilson would have taken us 3 additional miles round trip to cross it at a highway bridge. We arrived at the Big Wilson. It was moving fast but didn't appear to be particularly high¢just knee deep, so decided to ford rather than take the longer route.   Took off our socks and boots, put on our Crocs and snugged them tight. I started across first.There was a grab rope strung between the two banks which one could hold onto, but I felt more stable just using my poles to help me across. Even though the water was very cold, I took my time picking my way across. I felt the tug of the current pull at my feet but taking advice I had read about fording, I always kept three points of contact--moving one foot and then one pole at a time.   The bottom was all slippery rocks so I took care placing each step. Given the choice when passing midstream boulders, I always passed them on the downstream side as the hydraulics of moving water going around rocks creates a "dead zone" on the downstream side where there's no current to pull at you and so gives you a break from the constant tug.We both sighed with relief having made it across. Continuing on, we passed a large, old beaver dam and a swampy area with broken and missing puncheons in the middle. The ford had delayed us a half hour, and negotiating the swamp was another half hour so we were already behind schedule with miles to go.After a brief stop for lunch we headed out to our next ford, the Little Wilson Stream. This one was even faster moving and appeared to have deeper water. I say "appeared" because we ended up not fording it. A tree had fallen across the stream spanning it from bank to bank¢about 30 feet or so¢and I decided to cross on the tree in true Croft fashion¢walking across it. It wasn't very wide, it was round and slippery, my weight made it bow a bit and it was about 4' above the rushing water. I was too high above the water to use my poles to brace myself on the streambed. A fall would not be good here.As I gingerly stepped off the bank onto the log, I prayed my decrepit boots still had enough grip to keep me from slipping. Even though my adventurous spirit was willing, my body rebelled and the adrenaline started to pump, giving me the shakes which were obviously reflected in how the tree started to shake too. I took a few long deep breaths whispering a "relax, relax" mantra and started to ever so slowly make my way across walking duck-footed to give my boots the most surface grip. My poles were all but useless in this situation so I just kept my focus on keeping my body centered on the length of the tree. It seemed to take forever to get across but I finally did with no mishap. Wild Poodle followed me but used the probably wiser method of scooting across on her butt.Crossing the Little Wilson had chewed up another half hour of time but even though we were behind schedule, we decided to take the blue blaze the 100' to see Little Wilson Falls. It was spectacular (see video). It's a 60' cascade that's so perfect it looks man-made, but it's not, and goes into a narrow gorge. All this is framed with rock cliffs and trees in all their autumn colors. It was magnificent.There were no mountains to climb so we were able to pick up our pace trying to chew up the miles. This morning, Wild Poodle asked if I was bringing my headlamp. I said no so she didn't bring hers either. As the shadows got long, we realized that had been an unwise decision. Even though we were bookin', we weren't going to make it to the road before dark. So we did the last two miles in failing light, with the last half mile in total darkness.How exactly does one stay on the trail when one can't even see the white blazes? I felt a shiver of fear run down my spine that I would get lost. I thought about Bulldog, the blind hiker I had met in Georgia. I thought about how those with impaired vision use their other senses to negotiate their travel. I focused on how the trail tread felt under my feet, the change in the height of the plants when I got off the tread, the altered riffle of the breeze going around a tree that I was about to walk into and the sound of the occasional vehicle somewhere ahead on the road. After 2,000 miles, the feet seemed to "sense" the rocks. Although I tripped over things innumerable times, I managed not to fall. However, I did go calf deep into a mudhole once.Finally made it to the road. Wild Poodle could only get a weak cell signal and I got none. She tried calling the hostel. It rang, someone answered, but then the signal dropped. Oh crap. What little traffic there was on the road whizzed by so fast, they'd be gone before they even saw us trying to hitchhike. There were a couple cars parked in the lot but the likelihood of someone else coming off the trail at this late hour and giving us a ride was slim. Just as we were coming to the realization we might have many miles of road walking ahead of us to get to town, a car magically pulls into the lot. It was the hostel. They figured it was us trying to call and came out to get us. Bless them.We got beds in the main house back at the hostel and took nice hot showers before heading out to dinner at the Lake Shore House. We did our laundry at the laundromat in front while eating dinner in back. Radar and Peru, and Cody and Stickwalker were here, too. They told us about a new beaver dam that had been built in the area between Caratunk and Monson. The pond it formed had put the trail 4' under water. There was no way around it so they had water up to their waists at times. Doing that in the pouring rain had been miserable so Wild Poodle and I didn't feel so bad we had skipped that section.Back at the hostel, we packed up for an early shuttle tomorrow excited about heading out for the last leg of this journey. Just as I was falling asleep, I heard a train whistle in the distance. I hadn't noticed before, but it's been awhile since I heard one. Must have been from the Canadian Pacific tracks we crossed earlier in the day.