Date: 2003-08-29
From: South Arm Rd

To: ME 17
Miles today: 13.3

The most striking thing about this cold morning is the low-lying clouds. I "wow!" and Bear, bless his heart, slams on brakes for us to get a better look at the sunlight glowing on the dramatic fog. Later, looking down from the flanks of Old Blue Mountain, we see the same cloud layer from a different perspective. It is flowing like a river of ice through the low passes and valleys. This is how the glaciers must have looked when they began to lock the North up in an icy straitjacket.Hiking up, we put up seven grouse, always an event to stir the heart - literally. They explode and beat away. My adrenaline level shot up a few points.On top of Old Blue, I snap pictures of the short tufty trees, natural balsam topiary. "Poodle trees," I called then - bare trunks crowned with a pouf of needled greenery. As I am doing this, up walks Finch!"Surprise!" Chief and I call out.Though he is a very swift hiker, Finch chooses our esteemed company over speed today, and walks the rest of the day's miles with us. He is good company and uses big words. "A cornucopia of blueberries" he notes on Beamis Ridge. I just love PhD hikers!Chief and I have an invitation to come home with him and Judy tomorrow.We accept with pleasure.In the col between Old Blue Mt. and Elephant Mountain, there lives a natural, old-growth stand of red spruce, some of which have been dated back to the 1620s! They line the Trail for a half mile. As the life expectancy is about 400 years, these are very, very old trees. Their community is breaking up, dying a natural death, in order to make room for the next wave of life. Finch notices that the small birds have already started migrating. The warblers have left, and now that I think of it, I haven't heard a thrush since Vermont. "The woods are quieter," notes Finch.The 13.3 miles we are walking today is about 30 percent more than we've been doing lately in this rough terrain. But it's good to walk. I'm in the habit now, you might say.When I first became enchanted with the idea of an AT thruhike, I thought long distance hiking would be about leisure. The Long Trail broke me of that romantic notion. Chief agrees. "It's a lot more scheduling and making your appointments than you've ever thought of," observed Chief.It took me awhile to get used to the daily grind though. "There's one thing about it, if you're going to leave from Georgia and walk to Maine in one season, you've got to get up and hike almost every morning."This may seem obvious, but the body rebels at this for a time. So does the mind. Zero days aren't relaxing either. They are full days, with chores, phone calls, making arrangements and connections, resupply, laundry - not so leisurely.It doesn't make it bad. I'm just less naive about it. It took me awhile to understand the fine print of the program I signed up for. I knew from the start I wanted to walk from Springer to Katahdin. Ha! I just thought it would be easier!Some of it is my ongoing struggle with time. If I could have released the goal of reaching Katahdin, then I might not have had to struggle with time. Friends who are just walking, loosely, don't wrestle with time as I do.Other people have similar struggles. "People are wanting to meet me at the end, and are asking me not only which day I'll be finished but what TIME. I can't tell them. I don't know!" said Crash in frustration.More insight on time: I've also realized out here my natural rhythms are slower than that of most people. They have been since babyhood, I can see. I've always felt rushed to keep up with the rhythms of the general population. Always running behind.That doesn't make their rhythms wrong, or mine wrong either. But in the past it has led to me feeling like a square peg squeezing into a round hole. The AT has helped me understand that. For the most part, I've set my own rhythms out here - or rather, listened to those rhythms and abided by them. It's so clear and obvious to me out here, but what will happen back in "civilization?"The tough part will be returning to the frantic pace of life when I return. How will I adapt? I don't have a clue.Well, no matter right now, the Beamis ridge blueberries lie thickly on the bush and flash us as we pass. At first we are grabbing on the fly, but soon we have stopped and are raking these dusky purple beauties off the bushes by the handfuls.We also see a Canada jay, but it is deep in the red spruce and retreats as we watch it. These bold birds will take food from your hands. They live in the boreal forests, says Finch. I look forward to another encounter. We also put up more spruce grouse.After a mile-long kick up to the road, at the end of the day, we are cooked. "Who has any legs left?" I ask as we crest the last few yards.Bear is there, and also Judy. We make arrangements to meet there in the morning.Back at The Cabin, I shower then talk to my friend Trooper, who finished the Long Trail on the 23rd. For supper, Medicine Ma, Harmon and Giggles have joined us, as well as two starry eyed future thruhikers. It's a fun meal. After brownies and ice cream, Chief and I sign the long wooden table in the great room. On the underside. It's a Cabin tradition. I sign the end opposite Honey's seat. Earl Shaffer, AT thruhiking pioneer, is about three feet further down.I am tired. Good tired. Tomorrow, we head into Rangely, ME.