morvasaaty/AppalachianTrail-LD-Hikers-Blogs-and-Weather-20-years huggingface dataset:
Date: 2008-06-21
From: Katahdin Stream Campground

To: Owl Trail
Miles today: 1.0

Immediately upon entering Baxter, a snapping turtle crossed the road. It waddled deliberately, head held high, and slipped over the bank into the water. The pond rippled, distorting the reflection of the perfectly blue and white sky. It was a good omen.After several discussions with park employees and a long drive through dense green woods, we emerged below the great and monstrous Katahdin. What a mountain she is! Big and boldery and grey. But she is our destination tomorrow.Today, we hiked the Owl Trail, but to get to it, we had to hike the AT! 1.0 miles exactly! What a fun surprise, our starting early. I walked it faster than I should have because I was so excited. It came back to haunt me, as the Owl Trail is a respectable hike/rock climb to a peak of 3700+ feet.We paused rarely, for overlooks of Katahdin, for two white lady slippers with perfect blooms, for a delicious honey sandwich at the trail¢s end. I was exhausted but loved it. Many sweaty hours later we returned to the ranger¢s station to sign in for our summit tomorrow. Hank called me from outside: a three-toed woodpecker! A lifer for us. He (gender known due to his small yellow crown) tapped at a low tree branch, so low that no binoculars were necessary. He gave us a good look and then flew off deep into the woods.   The ranger offered to weigh our packs, which both came in around 27 lbs, food and water included.   He applauded our achievement and told us that only one other SOBO hiker this year had measured lower. Yippie! All that hard work and research paid off.How do you finish such a grand day? With a bull moose! We glimpsed one grazing in Abol Pond. And then back to Millinocket for a rich local porter.
Date: 2008-06-22
To: Katahdin
Miles today: 5.2

The Hunt Trail/AT up Katahdin is a FUN trail to climb! Awaken your inner-child kinda fun. Scraped knees, bruised elbows, smiling all the way. I had been worried that it would be unenjoyably tough. Topographic profiles of Baxter look similar to the famous CO2 ice core graphs. Happily, this was not the case.Oh, it was difficult. The first miles along the soothing roar of the Katahdin Stream lulled me into a state of calm. Once we passed the falls, its white water thundering down upon the granite rocks, the trail began a steady climb. Steady, steep steps up the mountain. The incline rendered beautiful by the rich reds and greens of the conifer forest. Then came the rocks. No, not rocks, boulders. Huge granite obstacles. No trail to walk, simply white blazes painted on granite rocks, which where themselves piled upon granite rocks. A challenge worthy of a Herculean labor.   And finally, after two miles of climbing on bolders, the top. We could see its brown sign. It motivated us upward, called us forward, beckoned us to it.Just as we reached it¢¦a false summit! Oh no! The real summit was still another mile plus away. The horror. The horror.But what a magnificent mile. My brother commented that it looked like the setting of Highlander. I was reminded of a field of megaliths. Pink granite stones covered in sea foam green lichen rose above the cushion plants and sedges which covered the mountain top. Dark-eyed Juncos fluttered and sang upon the rocks.After a short stay at the summit, we began back down. A raven soared upon air drafts created by the approaching storm. We worked our way slowly, ever so slowly, down the treacherous rocks. Back at the hotel I commented to my brother that hiking made me tired. ¢No, not tired.¢ he replied. ¢It just makes every position you lie in very, very comfortable.¢
Date: 2008-06-23
From: Katahdin Stream campground

To: Hurd Brook lean-to
Miles today: 13.4

Years ago we rented bikes in Ireland to tour the lush forests of Killarny in the Ring of Kerry. We came upon a grove of absolulte charm. Emerald moss grew over rocks and trees so continously it was difficult to distinguish the individual objects underneath. I felt sure Hank had a chance of seeing a gnome. Today, the woods were even more enchanting. The forest understory was brillantly green. The clear blue sky and the towering Katahdin reflected in still ponds. Hank asked if there might be gnomes.I said I thought they were native to Europe.He responded that they had likely immigrated over. After miles walking over thick spongy moss, we paused for a picnic and peered at pitcher plants blooming at the edge of the pond.   The moss gave way to soft, giant cinnamon ferns. Tiny white butterflies fluttered in the sunlight. But the forest gave way to a short road walk and there my brother left us to return to South Carolina. The miserable heat of the parking lot compounded my sadness of watching him drive away. All of a sudden my pack was heavy. The woods tried to lift my spirits. A wood thrush called me toward the Hurd Lean-to and beckoned me towards a place to rest.
Date: 2008-06-24
From: Hurd Brook lean-to

To: Rainbow Stream lean-to
Miles today: 11.5
Weather: broken clouds

The morning wind made the woods talk. It pushed and pulled the tree tops creating a sound like the surf coming and going against a sandy beach. The trunks groaned and creaked as they swayed. Waves in Rainbow lake splashed sloppily against the rocky shore. Only the forest floor was quiet. In the shadows of the screaming trees, we counted no less than ninety-five blooming lady slipper orchids during the day's hike. They ranged from the purest white to the deepest pink and all the shades in between. Their fairy tale blossoms were a pleasant distraction from the obstacle course that was the day's trail. Since the topography of the day's eleven miles was gentle, MATC, the trail maintainers of this section, chose to make the trail challenging in other ways. The course ran something like this: mud pit, overgrown underbrush, mud pit with rocks, mosquito army, mud pit with roots, mud pit with stones, overgrown underbrush, mud pit, over a tree, over a tree, under a tree, over a tree, mud pit, mosquito army, mud pit, mud pit, mud pit. Well played, MATC. I was indeed sweaty and covered in mud by the end of the day's hike....but HA! You erred in placing the Rainbow Stream Lean-to by a babbling brook of a stream! Within moments of setting up our tent, Hank and I were bathing in its cool waters. I am oh so clean. We even washed our clothes. So that now there is no grime to distract me from enjoying the yellow sunset behind the tall pines and the deep booms of the distant thunder.
Date: 2008-06-25
From: Rainbow Stream lean-to

To: Nahmakanta lean-to
Miles today: 13.9

With no understory to speak of, the woods of the morning were like a cathedral. A moss rug and stands of tall pines created high ceilings. Patches of light patterned on pine needles like sunbeams through stained glass. Hank noted that, like the original medieval cathedrals, there were no pews for sitting. Lucky for us, we are not picky and a fallen log or a well placed rock is a fine place for a rest. A red squirrel descends from one of the tall tress and regards us. They are ridiculously cute, these red squirrels, like a cartoon. Petite bodies of fine, soft red fur and huge adorable eyes - Japenese-anime eyes. They often chatter at us from the canopy, singing as the cathedral's choir.
Date: 2008-06-26
From: Nahmakanta lean-to

To: Cooper Brook Falls lean-to
Miles today: 15.7
Weather: overcast clouds

There is always a weak point, a spot of vulnerability in even the most seemingly invincible armor. In the Hobbit, Bard brings down the dragon, Smaug, with an arrow to the left of his chest, the only kink in its impenetrable scales. Similarly, the Death Star, a battle station the size of a small moon, had a single two meter square opening through which it could be destroyed. Lucky for the rebel forces such a shot was just like taking out wamprats on Tatooine for good ol' Luke. So, even though my clothes were treated with permethrin and even with a generous lathering of N,N-Diethyl-meta-toluamide, in the war of me vs. mosquito, the mosquito found the hole in my defenses: the eye. I had not put DEET on my eyelid. At the perfect moment, while my hands were engaged grasping slippery rocks at a stream crossing, my tiny winged opponent bit me on the inner crease of my right eyelid. Soon thereafter we wore head nets and acquired fan clubs. The crowds surrounded us and screamed and screamed. They followed us for miles. One even made its way into Hank's head net (he squished it). None made it into mine, but the damage had already been done. Eventually the mosquito army retreated and left us at the beautiful seven cascade waterfall of the Cooper Brook Falls Lean-to. As I write, Hank reads his philosophy and the rain tries to find the weakness in our tent. No success so far, but the morning is hours away...
Date: 2008-06-27
From: Cooper Brook Falls lean-to

To: Sidney Tappan Campsite
Miles today: 17.1
Weather: overcast clouds

The trail could have been scary this morning, had I not been with Hank. Dark stands of conifers grew dense and maze-like - reminiscent of the hedges in "The Shining." The sky was an eerie white grey. Worse, the woods were quiet - creepily quiet, unnaturally quiet. I trudged on all morning in the dreary fog created by the low clouds or by my exhaustion. Miles and miles and miles. I thought it might be making me mad. I saw spots. No, those were gnats hovering in front of my face. I was dizzy. No, a horse fly was circling round and round my head. My vision was warped. No, this stand of birch trees happened to be crooked. At lunch, I collapsed into the shelter. Then, the second wind. I hiked like an ironman up White Cap Mountain. I was rewarded with a glorious summit. The clouds blocked the view, but opened in pockets to reveal sparkling lakes, distant mountains, rays of sunshine. It was as if God were opening the curtains so that we could peek out.   I forgot all the woes of the morning.
Date: 2008-06-28
From: Sidney Tappan Campsite

To: Chairback Gap lean-to
Miles today: 11.7
Weather: overcast clouds

Hank said the shelter was like a monastery and he was the apprentice. "Grasshopper, go fetch water." The trail up to the shelter was steep and rocky, so, of course, the spring was well below. We hiked to a real monastery in Japan, once, one just outside of Kyoto. We took a back path up the mountain through a forest of giant cedars. The front path was an unbelievably long steep stone staircase. I could understand the connection in Hank's mind. Our trip to Kyoto had been on our mind all day as Maine's mountains were surprisingly full of reminders. The trees on the peaks were stunted and twisted. They were shaped by the elements - a natural bonsai garden. The mist breathed gently through them. Down the mountain, below the bonsai forest, the moss grew thick in all varieties of textures and in all shades of green. It feels like the gardens of a moon palace - only without the staff to rake up all the fallen pine needles. Oh! And for lunch, we ate nori and rice balls - a pleasant change from nut butters and a lightweight way to get some greens!
Date: 2008-06-29
From: Chairback Gap lean-to

To: Long Pond Stream lean-to
Miles today: 10.9
Weather: light rain

You know those summer afternoon thunderstorms? The torrential downpours that come in, drop buckets of water, and pass on in twenty minutes, just enough time to drench everything. Yesterday evening we had such a downpour, only, it didn't last for twenty minutes. It showered on and on all night and morning. In fact, it has rained all or part of all the days we have been hiking. This leaves the rock scrambles slippery and treacherous and makes the trail more of a river than a footpath. All the this-makes-it-all-worth-it views are gone; we hiked to the top of eight mountains with naught to see but rain clouds. I needed something. A reminder. A bright spot. The trail granted me two. First, a boreal chick-a-dee. A lifer (first of a bird species observed by a birder) for us who flitted about as we paused for lunch. Second, the bog on Fourth Mountain. What a bog! We walked on logs so as not to disturb the spongy moss dotted with ferns and the occasional conifer. Flowering pitcher plants of deep crimson and tiny ariums of white lined the path. The drizzly rain that followed us through the day now seemed appropriate. I felt as if I were walking through a fifties era dinosaur painting and kept peeking for a brontosaurus (Apatosaurus). Beyond 4th Mountain and up Barren Mountain the sun came out. No, not true. The sun stayed the same, we just hiked above the clouds. It was like looking out a plane window at a rolling cloudscape. We took advantage of the sun. Hank hooked the phone to the solar charger and booked us a place to stay in Monson. I spread everything out to dry. It may be raining below us, but for the next thirty minutes, we are warm and dry.
Date: 2008-07-02
From: Monson

To: stealth site South of the West Branch of the Pisca
Miles today: 12.1

If the AT were a product, today would be its promotional.-Wake up in a bright cheery room to the smell of real coffee brewing.-Eat a full breakfast of eggs, sausage, bacon, pancakes, orange juice, fried potatoes, and blueberry pancakes in the great company of fellow hikers.-Joke together about the wonders and woes of the recently completed wilderness.-Depart for the trail under sunny skies and with the warmth of a farewell hug.-Hike on level, well maintained paths.-Eat lunch on a log swapping stories of the trail conditions to come with fellow hikers.-Follow a dynamic river.-Feel the burn of uphills that become downhills just as you become winded.-Share a campsite with a new friend.-Fall asleep to the sound of birdsong.
Date: 2008-07-03
From: stealth site South of the West Branch of the Pisca

To: Moxie Bald lean-to
Miles today: 5.8
Weather: overcast clouds

I have seen Hank do philosophy in a row boat on the Neckar, drinking the local hefe-weisse, quoting Heidegger. I have sat beside Hank studying logic under the high ceilings of a neo-gothic library, illuminated by sunbeams filtered through stained glass. I have listened to Hank discuss Derrida over croissants and coffee in a Parisian cafe. I have watched Hank translate Plato from the original Greek by the big sunroom window overlooking Lake Michigan, the cat sprawled over his dictionary. Now, I have seen Hank read Leibniz on the bank of Bald Mountain Pond. The water gently sounded as it lapped the granite rock upon which he sat. Two loons dove in the still waters reflecting a sky colored by an approaching storm and a setting sun. The mountains we have climbed or will climb surrounded his reading nook.
Date: 2008-07-04
From: Moxie Bald lean-to

To: Pleasant Pond lean-to
Miles today: 26.4
Weather: broken clouds

I didn't join them around the fire. Being a girl, I would have messed up the dynamic, altered the conversation, interrupted the boyness. But I peaked out from under the vestibule and watched secretly. The twelve year old boys and two male councilors offered Hank a marshmallow for roasting. (Two marshmallows, he corrects.) As the white fluffy goodness toasted to crispy, golden perfection, the boys asked Hank how far he was hiking. "Georgia," Hank said, biting into the warm sticky sweetness. "You're hiking the whole Appalachian Trail?" "That's the goal," Hank replied. "Whoa!" the boys sang in unison. It was a "whoa" of astonishment, a "whoa" of adoration. I was happy for Hank with his temporary hero status and his marshmallow. They were both well deserved. Besides, I had recently enjoyed my own trail magic: homemade chocolate chip cookies from the Cookie Lady.   (note from poster - daily miles not accurate but that number was needed to bring the miles hike up to where it should be)
Date: 2008-07-05
From: Pleasant Pond lean-to

To: Pierce Pond lean-to
Miles today: 9.7
Weather: clear sky

We followed the creek for miles. It babbled, sang, and, occasionally, spilled over into the trail, making for a muddy walk. Eventually, it delivered us to Caratunk wherein we met with out next hydro-encounter: the Kennebec River. Magnificently wide and gentle, the Kennebec is deceptively dangerous due to the unpredictability of the dam upstream. We obeyed the rule and climbed into the canoe in which we were ferried. Floating across the soft rapids was a delight and made me miss our canoe back home...so many adventures left to be had. On the other side, I am reminded of the wit of the wise Nassardin:The Nassardin was sitting on a river bank when a traveler approached on the other side."How do you get across?" asked the traveler."You are across!" replied Nassardin. But hikers should hike and not just tell stories. So we did, once more following a stream. The water thundered down the mountainside. Waterfalls came as often as commercials. When the waters calmed, Hank and I paused for a picnic on an island two stone steps in. The light was soft through the trees. A tiger swallowtail butterfly dangled beneath the blooming blue flag irises. Hank missed a stone and the water invaded his boot. He was temporarily but intensely grumpy. We set up camp in a pine stand along the shore of Pierce Pond. Two spotted sandpipers flirted in the cove nearby. The pond was breath-taking, as if from an inspirational poster. We went to bathe in its clear cool waters. As Hank stepped onto a rock, the water just above his knees, I mention reading something about leeches in the register. "Am I going to get leeches in here?" "I doubt it," I replied. " Leeches are typically found in still, shallow, murky waters. Anyways, they're real small and...THERE'S ONE!" At that moment, a monster sized leech (a generous decimeter long (about 4 inches) and a centimeter (about 1/5 inch) plus wide) rapidly undulated toward Hank's leg. It was unbelievably fast and a wretched black color - as if from a B-grade horror movie. Hank escaped untouched, but our baths thereafter were rather quick. Apparently, Maine leeches are different than those found in South Carolina. Now, we are clean, fed, and free to fall asleep listening to the water fall over the wooden dam we crossed this afternoon.
Date: 2008-07-06
From: Stratton, ME

To: Little Bigelow lean-to
Miles today: 17.3
Weather: scattered clouds

@?!::@~ @?!S Small surprises seem huge when you simplify your life to a pack and a destination. The littlest things make life seem grand. Examples: As Hank filtered water four merganzers landed beside him in the lake. Four! We ate lunch at West Carry Lean-to where a trail magician left a box of oreos. Oreos! America's favorite cookie. (Chocolate chip is number two.) How do I eat my oreos? While hiking, two at a time. At the shelter, we bathed, like always when there is a nearby river/pond/stream. Here's the cool part: at the Little Bigelow lean-to, the stream forms natural tubs. Pools perfect for baths and huge boulders to create walls for privacy. My own private bath in the woods. Only small things, but they've made my day extraordinary.
Date: 2008-07-07
From: Pierce Pond lean-to

To: End Horns Pond lean-to
Miles today: 10.2
Weather: scattered clouds

"This is the best day of hiking," I said."The best day of hiking so far,"amended Hank referencing The Simpson's Movie. Up and up and up the Little Bigelow, we climbed the perfect trail. Just at the moment our legs screamed in pain and our lungs and heart argued over which would give out first, at that moment the trail rewarded us with amazing, no, spectacular views of giant mountains, sparkling lakes, and a big blue sky. I adored Little Bigelow but from it we could see the big Bigelows trying to intimitate us. It worked. There is nothing little about little Bigelow lest it is compared with its big brothers. Before we could hike up Avery's Peak we had to first hike down the mountain on which we stood. Such a shame to lose all that elevation. At the bottom of the climb, the mountain towered above us, like a big stone giullotine over our heads. Slow and steady we made our way up. At the top, it was clear that the Little Bigelow views were merely a warm up. Wow. I mean WOW! We sat and enjoyed ourselves. A yellow-rumped warbler snatched up bugs and it fluttered above the tiny blooms of the alpine plants. I was in heaven. Then, as unexpected and delightful as the return of Santa to Narnia, a trail magician gave us an orange. Cold fresh fruit. Fresh fruit on a mountain top. I about melted. Never has an orange tasted so sweet.
Date: 2008-07-08
From: End Horns Pond lean-to

To: Stratton, ME
Miles today: 5.1
Weather: scattered clouds

Hike faster. Eat pancakes.We awoke with first morning light.Hike faster. Eat pancakes.Up and over the climbs toward town.Hike faster. Eat Pancakes.Past pine stands.Hike faster. Eat Pancakes.Over creeks and streams.Hike faster. Eat pancakes.The leaves crunched under our feet.Hike faster. Eat pancakes.Hike faster. Eat pancakes.Hike faster. Eat pancakes. We made it. We were into town in time for breakfast, and we ate pancakes, and they were delicious.
Date: 2008-07-09
From: Stratton, ME

To: Spalding Mountain lean-to
Miles today: 13.5

When last we left our heroes, they had climbed the 4000+ ft peaks of the Crockers in 90 degree heat. Sweat poured down their bodies. The salt stung their eyes. Their clothes, which had been clean just that morning, were wretched. Their attempts to thwart their nemesis, the little devils (black flies), were overwhelmed by the numbers of their enemy. Now, we find them faced with a downward descent of grave peril. Were you to look at a topographic rendering of the climb, you would see a vertical line in place of a mountain side. Can they make it? Yes! We watch as our heroes take great care in climbing down the rock slide. But wait! What's this? The topographic terror continues as an ascent? Good thing our heroes are rested and well fueled from their recent trip to town. They begin to climb. The trail retaliates. As our heroes cling to boulders, the sky opens to reveal a Noah-worthy downpour. The water streams down the trail like the sweat had rivered down their bodies previously that day. Within minutes they are sopping. Wet and exhausted, they make it up Sugarloaf. The trail changes tactics. On the Mountain top, they are trapped in conversation by Dr. Grumpy herself! Mosquitoes pierce their skin as Dr. Grumpy complains on and on about weather, shelter locations, how tall the mountains are. Our heroes cleverly change the subject to an upbeat topic and make their escape before she can re-grumpy. It is not until the thunder and lightening begin that our heroes become frightened. They are not on the mountain top but they are occasionally exposed so they rush to the shelter. They do not arrive dry, but they arrive. They arrive. Both still love the trail. Oh no! Little did our heroes know their nemesis, the little devils, wait for them at the shelter... Will our heroes be eaten alive?Will Hank ever resolve the concept of the nature of an individual?Will their boots ever be dry again? Stay tuned for the exciting continuation!. . .