Date: 2009-09-16
From: Trident Col Tentsite

To: Full Goose Shelter
Miles today: 14.4
Weather: few clouds

I spent the morning in New Hampshire pondering the concept of 'backpacking range'; followed that with an afternoon in Maine knocked out by its wild beauty; and finished things off with my first night in what would be the final state of the trip. A fairly full day in other words.My heavy load was all to obvious and I couldn't help but questioning the wisdom of it all. I reasoned it would give me 'range' - the ability to spend more days out on the trail and, therefore, to go further. But that wasn't right. I wasn't really going further. I only hoped to walk 120 miles in 8 days. If you were of a mind to do 24 mile days (and many hikers can and do) then it would only take 5 days. 3 days less food, 3 days less weight to make those extra miles that bit more achievable. So for me 'range' isn't really about miles, more a combination of time and miles and (when combined properly) with something that feels right. Pace, miles, days - a mixture. A combination that maximises my personal 'Backpacking Range', or more accurately maximises my enjoyment, pleasure and peace of mind. I guess its nothing more than hiking my own hike.I passed a couple of ponds, paused at Gentian Pond Shelter (a pretty spot with good views), climbed over Mt Success and descended, via a rolling downhill (if such things exist), to the state line.Humans seem to have a strange affinity to numbers, or to quantifying things numerically. Few hikers will reach here without considering the fact that they are entering the final state, and therefore stage, of this epic journey; 13 down, 1 to go. It seems unnecessary to 'keep score' in this way, yet we do. 100 miles, 10%, the psychological half way, the actual half way, 1 month, 2 months, 100 days. We seem to be attached to the decimal system, expressing our progress in its ordered terms. I count miles (1,900 up to last nigh), the number of days (148 counting today), the number of nights I camp (I'd have to look it up but I have it written down), the number of days it rains (OK maybe not the number of days it rains). I break the trail into thirds: to Troutville; to the Appalachian Trail Train Station; and, if I make it through this final state, to Katahdin itself. I find beauty in numbers, in mathematics, in form. Music I am told is based on mathematics and most of us react positively to that. Its a way of quantifying if not completely expressing the experience.So here I am in Maine. And it is beautiful. Not beautiful because it is the final state or because I now only have 13% of the trail to hike but beautiful because of what surrounds me. Wherever you are above tree line you have nothing to complain about. The transition may be mental. Does it seem more remote, more unspoilt, more wild because I expected it to be; or is it simply all that and then so much more besides.On over Mount Carlo with views all around, hills rolling on, unbroken and unspoilt. A day spent under warm blue skies. I looked down to what I suspected was Success Pond. It didn't matter if I was right of not; names are names and numbers are numbers but life was most definately good.I headed up Goose Mtn East, dropping my pack to stroll up to the peak proper. There was no real need. It was something to do. It was a chance though to celebrate in my 'Backpacking Range'. To be in no rush. To explore for the unexpected and to revel in it. At 25 miles a day the pressure would have been to continue, for pauses to be brief, for long breaks to be short breaks. With a heavy pack the imperative was different. It demanded I smell the roses.Denali, Gorgonzola, Dave and Spider were at the shelter and so we chatted around the fire they had built. It was fun but the light was fading and so I headed for my tent. Lying there I could hear the conversations continuing as darkness closed in. So there are down sides to my love of tenting. By retiring when I did I left the relaxed bonhomie of the hiker community earlier than I would have liked. A compromise, a unwelcome one, but no regrets.