Date: 2020-09-28
From: Route 27 (Stratton)

To: Little Bigelow Lean-To
Miles today: 15.3
Weather: overcast clouds

Justin drove Spruce and me back to trail at 9, stopping for breakfast sandwiches at the market. Freight Train was headed out later, while Equilibrium and Donald were headed home.At the trailhead trail angels Gracie and Christie were out enjoying the autumn leaves. They wanted to meet us and take our pictures, and offered us water bottles. Spruce headed south and I crossed the road to enter the Bigelow range.It was another scorcher today. Well, relative to a Maine autumn. I felt low on energy despite a good rest and plenty of calories. As I paused on trail I heard some creaking. I looked up to see a tall dead fir trunk leaning against another tree looking and sounding like it was going to fall any moment! I scurried ahead fifty yards to be clear of any misfortune.Saw few other hikers today. One, an older woman named JJ, was hiking southbound from Abol Bridge for six weeks. She started in Georgia in March but got off and is now sectioning. Her kids worry about her - wear strong boots, Mom! Bring the right stove! She's looking forward to holing up in Stratton during the rain. Everyone seems to think a great flood is coming. It was a 2000 foot climb up to the Bigelow ridgeline, and that was before another 800 or so to the first of several summits. It's the largest climb left until Katahdin by far. The elevation profile looks positively tame in between. West Bigelow and Avery Peak are two more 4000 footers in my collection now. That makes 10 of Maine's 14. Three of the remaining summits are in Baxter State Park, two on Katahdin itself. The 14th is Old Speck, which the AT climbs but does not cross the summit. I passed over that side trail when I was in a hurry to reach Grafton Notch. I regret "saving" that twenty minutes now. It will take four hours to bag the peak on its own.The Bigelow ridge is stunning in good weather. Flagstaff Lake (the dammed Dead River) stretches some thirty miles along one side and endless orange, yellow, and red forest covers the valley to the south. The ridge itself is stark, rocky and austere, again rivaling Franconia Ridge. It gets far less traffic, but is still quite popular in the summer. The wind roared on the southern side but was subdued, even calm, a few feet to the north. I sat for a long time eating lunch on one of the summits, looking over Flagstaff Lake.My gear continues to wear and tear. My water bottle cap snapped yesterday, and the bottom third of one of my trekking poles disappeared. It was strapped to my pack but the bottom clip came open, allowing the tube to slide out. It may have been opened by a branch when I was bushwhacking to Redington. I caught up with a northbounder named Dutchman who started in Maryland. A Georgia native, he just earned a PhD in Physics, specifically quantum computing, from the University of Maryland. He was looking for a Hiker named Red Beard who was new to me.Some weather was moving in and the clouds descended. I climbed over Little Bigelow ridge inside a cloud. Mist wet the rocks making for tricky footing. Dusk fell into darkness. Where had the day gone? The ridge bumped up and down constantly - what I ironically call "Maine Easy" terrain. There followed a slick descent over bare bedrock, roots and rocks with a headlamp that couldn't pierce more than a few feet into the fog. Dutchman followed, having given up on seeing his friend today. We finally made it to the shelter well after dark, having only done fifteen miles. Shows what dragging my feet will do.