Date: 2008-09-17
From: Little Bigelow Shelter

To: Pierce Pond Shelter
Miles today: 17.3
Weather: clear sky

Morning, sun streaming through the trees brightly. The trail gently sloped downhill, crossing a few logging roads here and there. Reached the shore of Flagstaff Lake, everything grey, water, rocky shore, sky a muted tone. The water was amazingly clear, rock-bottomed, driftwood tangled on the shore. I hunted amongst the debris for awhile, finally finding a perfect, smooth white branch to use as a new hiking stick. The trail skirted the muddy banks of the lake for a ways, then climbed over a small mountain and down into an open pine forest, ground soft and littered with needles underfoot, the glitter of another lake through the trees. I had a good rhythm going, music in my ears, and before I knew it, I¢d reached the edge of the lake, with eight miles behind me. I stopped for a lunch of GORP with m&m¢s. Took off my shoes and waded out into the cool lake, the water up over my knees, the rocks at the bottom slippery with algae. The sun was shining brightly, the lake surrounded by pines, gently rippling, herons flying overhead, beaver lodge. I was feeling wonderful, one of those rare days where I felt as if I could hike forever and not care. The afternoon flowed along smoothly, hiking on through groves of paper birch, deep still pine woods, over puncheons through areas flooded by beaver dams, dead tree trunks sticking up out of the brown water. The trail passed several more lakes, one of which had a lovely little sand beach. The sun was hot, and Orion hiked up and convinced me to take a dip with him. The cold was a shock at first, but it felt good to be wet, and the sun dried me soon after I¢d gotten out of the water. Refreshed, I hiked on, the trail running along the edge of the lake, in some places just a narrow band of ground, erroded by the lapping waters. Evening was coming on as I reached the shelter, the light getting low beneath the pine trees. The shelter was down in a rocky hollow right on the bank of Pierce Pond, and I was the first to reach it. I washed my clothing in the lake, then sat on a rock, dabbling my feet in the water, enjoying the stillness of the afternoon, the sun on the water. Before long, other hikers began to arrive, the girls, Just Mike, Gonzo, Orion, Worm, Scatter and Architect, Hoot and Sundance. We got a fire going, and sat around eating together. It was Gonzo¢s birthday, so we took up a collection: granola bars, drink powder, candy, anything we had in our food bag that might be passable as a gift. Sang happy birthday by the campfire as the sun set in a terrific display of fuschia cumulus clouds on a powder-blue backdrop of sky, the silouettes of pine trees reflecting on the water with the sunset colours rippling around. Sad to think that this sort of camraderie, this lovely hobo¢s life will soon be coming to an end. There is a great sense of expectation, and there is a sense of relief, because, at this point, we all know we¢re going to make it. We are of that select few who¢ve walked over 2,000 miles, and the end is in sight. We have tested ourselves and found ourselves capable of enduring, in spite or injury, rampant insects, lack of water, lousy food, driving rain, deep mud. We are here, in Maine, and in a little while, we will be at the foot of the final mountain.