Date: 2013-09-29
From: Stealth camp @ stream north on AT

To: Sidney Tippan Campsite
Miles today: 13.4

I slept like the dead last night. I was absolutely exhausted from the hiking and the crying. I woke up at 5:45, and I knew I should get up, but I didn't want to. I fell back asleep until a little after 6:00. Then I got up and moving. I was on the trail by 7:30. Even after all this time, it takes me an hour and half to get up, dressed, packed, fed, and go to the bathroom. Last night I decided to pre-dig a hole for my morning "business." Genius. I can't believe I hadn't thought of it earlier. It sure beats stumbling around in the morning on stiff, sore ankles trying to find a suitable place for one's waste without soiling oneself. Yes, incredibly handy.Anywho, I awoke in a much better mood. My ankle felt a little better, but it still feels so, so weak and unstable. It was an easy-ish walk tot he Chauback Lean-to. I signed the log-book and took in the fresh morning air. It's been a gorgeous couple of days. I headed up to Chairback, and it was a ton of rock-face climbs up immediately followed by rock-face climbs down. There were slab walks, but these slabs weren't smooth. They were jabbed and uneven. Ugh. My poor ankle just can't catch a break. There was a mini-Mahoosuc Notch-type of climb down; huge, sharp jagged boulders that lined the side of the mountian. They seemed that they could continue their sharp slide down the mountain at any second. I spent the entire descent crawling down on my butt. Buffalo, Rigs and Planet came down behind me, and I realized that I had gone several yards off trail. All the blazes seemed to be painted for those climbing up, so you didn't seem them until you stopped, turned around and looked up behind you. I had to gingerly crawl horizontally across the giant pile of sharp rocks to get back on the trail.The ups and downs and scary downs continued until the turn-off for East Chairback Pond. There the trail seemed to take mercy on us, and it turned into a smooth, straw path for most of the next mile and a half. As I came down to the Katahdin Ironworks Rd, I heard the engine of a truck and the crunch of gravel under tires. I stood on the side of the dirt road as a truck sped by. Here I am in the 100-mile Wildneress, and here's a truck. What are the chances of that happening? I followed the trail that paralleled a stream for half a mile until I got to the ford crossing of the West Branch of the Pleasant River. Rigs, Planet & Buffalo were there eating lunch. There was a guy across the stream putting his shoes back on (He turned out to be the local ridge-runner). A middle-aged couple, the lady holding a Dunkin' Donuts to-go cup, her husband in bright white cotton socks were asking the trio all sorts of questions. A few seconds later a young couple with two mischevious dogs came up, both wearing cotton t-shirts and cotton shorts. Then a group of 6 or 7 middle school-aged kids and their two chaperones showed up. They were all wearing street clothes. Where did all these people come from? And was I really in the 100-mile Wilderness? I watched as the group shed their shoes (save one kid who decided to rock hop across, except that the rocks only extended half-way across the 20 yard wide stream. It didn't matter, he fell off one of the rocks and ended up knee-deep in the stream anyway). I decided I would kill two birds with one stone- shed shoes, ford river, have lunch on other side, soak feet in stream. I ate my three-day-old sandwich while talking with the ridge-runner. He was hilarious. He seems to spend a significant amount of time sitting here at the this crossing ensuring that the day-hikers make it back across the river before dark. He gives them pointers on how best to cross the river. Some listen, some don't, but he never seems to have a lack of entertainment. He said that even thru-hikers look like zombies when they try to cross the river. It was surprisingly warm, almost hot. I patched my feet up and rewrapped my ankle. It's pretty sore, and I've tweaked it several times. I wonder if it will ever heal. It worries me. I headed on and got caught behind a mother in blue jeans and cotton batmat t-shirt hiking with 20-something daughter wearing leggings and knee-high city boots. They walked slowly in front of me. I followed behind them over several boardwalks. They never offered to stop and let me pass, so I had to try to rush past them when the trail opened up going up a hill. It seems that all the day hikers are headed out on the Gulf Hagas loop. Forunately, after I passed the turn off for the GHL the trail quieted down. The terrain mellowed. There were still plenty of rocks and roots to pick across, but for the most part I could actually walk. I had expected to be able to fly, but instead I just got really, really tired. I'm not sure if I'm not getting enough calories or if I'm dehydrated or if I'm just exhausted. Either way, around 2:30 I decided I needed a break. I set my pack down on a rock. I was in an open spruce forest. I laid back on the spruce needles and watched the bright fall colors as they rustled in the wind against a piercing blue sky. The stream babbled below. I could easily have closed my eyes and taken a nap. Instead I watched my belly rise and fall with each breath. I felt my ankle throb. I watched a little bird hop from limb to limb. I heard the squirrels chatting away. I looked back out at the yellow leaves. I watched one tree shutter as if it were being shaken from the trunk. If this were a dinosaur movie, I'd expect a T-Rex to coming barreling through the trees at any moment. I took a deep breath and sighed it out. I needed to get moving. I wiped the needles from my skin and off my shirt. I hefted my pack. My ankle whimpered. And then I started walking. I passed Rigs, Buffalo and Planet at the Carl A. Newhall Lean-to. They were headed to the same campsite as me. I climbed about a hundred stone stairs (beautiful trail work, but again 100-mile Wilderness?) to the top of Gulf Hagas Mountain. I was whipped, so I ate a Snickers bar hoping it would coax me along. I saw a home-plate sized rock with an arrow on it (K <--). The trail was very distinguishable, so I wondered what the "K" meant. Maybe to direct a person or a group? I racked my brain for "K" words. And then it hit me, Katahdin. I looked up, and sure enough. There it was. Like a moose running through your campsite in the middle of the night though you've never heard such a thing before, you know it immediately for what it is. I've spent almost 6 1/2 months walking, and that's where I've been headed for. I got emotional, and I started to cry. I was almost there. But I still had 77+ miles to go. A lot could still happen between now and then. My ankle is perhaps the largest question mark of all. But in the evening light, framed on either side in golds, reds, oranges and deep green, Mt. Katahdin looks so regal and proud. A site to behold. I slowly worked my way down to the Sidnay Tippan campsite. I kept sneaking glimpses at Katahdin through the trees. I heard some voices up ahead- Old Boy, Jake and Hog Greer (who I hadn't seen since mid-May back in Virginia). They were already at the campsite in the process of building a fire. I found a nice spot to set up my tent. I chose a place with few trees overhead so that I can look up at the stars tonight. The night sky has been so clear; I'm not sure how many more nights of star gazing that I'll have. The trio showed up soon after me, and we chatted as we all went about our evening routine. I'm still 31.9 miles away from Tom, so I'm not sure if I'll get to him by Tuesday night. The roots, rocks and my poor ankle are holding me up. I'm trying to mentally prepare myself in case that I don't make it by Tuesday. I'm so ready to see him. Well, sweet dreams AT. Thank you for another beautiful day and for a peek at the "prize."