Date: 2014-10-05
From: Wilson Valley Lean-To

To: Maine 15 - Monson Maine
Miles today: 10.8
Weather: clear sky

I cocooned in my sleeping bag early last night even though there was a little daylight left, if you could call it that, because it was so heavily overcast. After dark, I was rudely awakened by hikers coming in and throwing their backpacks down in the shelter. They proceeded to flash their lights around as they made dinner, ate and aired up sleeping pads. I kept thinking, can't they see I'm over here in the corner trying to sleep. Hibernate was more like it. I grumbled to myself, but didn't feel like getting up and joining them. I was hibernating.The drizzle would last awhile, then the wind would blow a minute to shake the trees. This pattern went on late into the night. About every thirty minutes, I heard a rush of rain on the tin roof and I thought, "Ahh, it's finally going let loose and really rain." I had mixed feelings because like the song says, "I love a rainy night." On the other hand, I had heard about Wilson Creek's notoriety for flooding. Bonnie, the trail runner had used the word inch when describing the forecast for tonight. Wilson Creek lay between me and a warm bed and hot food in Monson later on when the new day arrived. After midnight, the music of the pounding rain on the tin roof, grew into a steady rhythm and continued throughout the night.I only had ten miles today, so I stayed bundled up in the fleece bag until eight and may have lingered longer, but my bladder demanded relief. As I appeared from my den, one hiker said, "Blueberry Bear! Is that you?" It was Man Bear whom I had not seen in a month along with Grandpa Walker. I was glad I had kept my mouth shut last night, because with the nights rest, I no longer felt grouchy. After all, how would that have looked if I had told off my Brother bear?While eating breakfast, I investigated escape plans in case Wilson Creek was too high to my liking. There appeared one exit past Wilson Cliffs to a road on my map which eventually wound its way down the valley to Monson. It would be longer than my AT route and had several intersecting, unmarked roads that may be problematic to follow to town. I thought, I could wander around in that maze for even more days, so I nixed that idea. I would intersect a railroad track before the creek, so I knew it would have bridges to get me over troubled waters. I didn't want to walk that distance on the rough ballast of the tracks either, besides dealing with trains on trestles if trains still ran. My final decision was go the AT way and deal with Mr. Wilson when the time came.I had only walked a short distance before I heard the train whistle sounding. Now, I was glad I was only crossing the tracks, not walking them. I had been across the tracks five minutes before I heard the sound getting louder as the locomotive roared by sounding like a jet plane. The trees blocked my view as I strained for a glimpse of the monster roaring through the forest. I was glad I made the right decision to not walk the tracks.This was the first day in sometime, navigating puddles on the trail. I tried staying out of the mud and water and wondering if this would be the day I both got stuck in a bog and had to wade across a stream. So far, I had managed to rock hop and log walk to get across with dry shoes.I heard the roar of a stream grow louder as I got nearer and, sure enough, Big Wilson was big today. I put the phone in its zip lock bag and tightened the straps on my pack so it wouldn't flop around and upset my balance. I looked for the best course to reach the white blazes on the opposite shore. I positioned the trekking poles and put one foot into the rushing water and felt for a solid foothold. The first foot held in place against the force of the water. I was pleased it was no colder than it was. I stepped forward with the second foot and planted it firmly. I wasn't being washed away yet, even though, I depended on the support of the pole on the downstream side to hold me. I felt the vibration from the force of the water on the sturdy pole. I continued one short step after another towards the other side. Sometimes, I could fudge it a bit and stand on a flat rock that was covered by only six inches of water. I knew from experience, I could only trust the rocks that were usually dry, otherwise they would be too slippery with algae to manage. Each time I took a step, I wiggled my foot around to find a solid foothold between the rounded stones. Near the middle, the water had grown to a depth just above my knees. I hoped this was the maximum and I would be to shore soon.Of course, I stared intensely at the rushing stream, charting my course and just past the middle I suddenly got the feeling I was moving and stream was not. You know that feeling you get if you stare at passing freight train while waiting at the railroad crossing? The train appears to be still and you are moving. I was already shaking in my hiking shoes. But suddenly, as I felt myself losing my sense of balance, things got ratcheted up a few notches. I stood as still and steady as possible with the push of the water and shifted my gaze to the shoreline and trees. In seconds, but seemingly forever, I regained my orientation. The rest of the way across, I would took turns looking for the route and then stopping to focus on the anchor for my eyes, the bank of the creek.I didn't assume I had made it until I had both feet on the gravelly shore. I said "thank you Lord!" With my concentration on the water gone, I noticed how shaken I was by the crossing. More so, I thought, than some of the steep cliff climbs. I didn't waste anytime there because I still had miles to go and two more crossings. Now, I stepped in the middle to puddles and walked up the streams that had formed in the depression of the path. No need to try keeping my shoes dry now. Just one more motivation to get to town and get dry feet.The other two crossings were tough but my experience with Big Wilson taught me how to safely ford the streams and I had more confidence. By now, I was needing a break but hoping to make it to Leeman Brook Lean-to. I met Momma Bear, Baby Steps and Daddy Longlegs and we caught up with each other on what had been going on with us since we had seen each other. We exchanged congratulations on the successful hike, and to "take care." They were just barely out of sight before I slipped on the slate and sat down on my bottom. Made my third slip for the day. (It is not as bad as you might imagine since the bottom of the backpack softens the blow of the landing.) But as I was going down, my weight transferred to the trekking poles and snapped one and bent the other. I was so disappointed that on my last day, they had broken. They have been so dependable and I have been careful to not get them stuck between rocks and damage them.Shortly, I came out on another open rock ledge and stopped there for lunch and to heal my bruised ego. After lunch, I opened up the sleeping mat on the rock and lay down for a nap. I enjoyed the view looking up through the shrubs and trees to the blue sky and cottony clouds. I set my timer for thirty minutes and it seemed like no time before it buzzed. I had wrung out my socks and dried my shoes in the sun before napping and felt much more comfortable. It wasn't long before reached the shelter and passed it up. But was happy for the landmark meaning I had two more hills and three more miles to get really dried out. I prayed that when I got to the road that someone would stop to pick me up before I went out on the road and stuck out my thumb.As usual, it seemed like the destination was taking forever, but suddenly I heard cars and knew I was there already. I stepped out of the woods and pressed the timer on my stop watch and took a picture of the time on my watch so I would not forget: 16:13, 10/5. Tears welled up in my eyes as I began to realize I had made it!As I was taking off the backpack, two cars pulled into the lot. Turned out that they were meeting there for a grandmother to get two of her grandchildren to take back with her. After they had made the swap, Cheryl, asked if I needed a ride to Monson. Of course I accepted her offer, letting her know how I had prayed for a ride. Of course, I was surprised it came with no waiting. God always seems to exceed my expectations. In our conversation into town, she said she often picks up the hikers, but had not done so in a couple of months. Also, I learned she has been a maternity nurse for over thirty years. We could have shared lots of stories about the hospital. She was honored to be the first person to see me and take me into town after finishing a thru-hike. I got a picture with her before she went on her way.