Date: 2020-09-30
From: Pierce Pond Lean-To

To: US 201 (Caratunk)
Miles today: 4.0
Weather: mist

Dutchman and I were up early to hike the short distance to Harrison's camp in a light rain. It had come in waves through the night, and sounded more intimidating inside the shelter than out. We feared fording the brook that feeds Pierce Pond might be tough with the rising waters, but it was easy enough to rock hop across. At Harrison's we mingled with a half dozen fisherman guests and dug into a huge breakfast. A baker's dozen pancakes stuffed with apples, blueberries, and raspberries, Maine maple syrup, eggs, sausage, juice, and coffee. I polished it off without much effort. I am no longer surprised at my apparently bottomless appetite. Dutchman struggled for a time, but eventually finished. In fact I stepped away for a few minutes and returned to find him finishing off someone else's leftovers. I explored the lodge's great room, with a live edge Parcheesi board, a pool table, a moose head, big leather chairs, and scores of old books. A thick history of Pierce Pond - a nearly uninhabited area? A huge two volume collection of AT thruhiker narratives - from 1975, when it was hardly a household name. I could have sat around all day and a week perusing Tim's treasures, but I had a ferry to catch. But before stepping out I studied a newspaper he'd saved from two years ago. They'd found the body of a woman who'd become lost on the trail several years earlier. It had happened in the area I'd been three days ago, north of Saddleback. She had been found near a stream that, had she followed it a quarter mile downstream, would have led to a larger stream and then across the trail. It is possible to lose the trail if you wander from it in dense vegetation, but any hiker should know how to stay found, carry the right navigation tools, and know how to use dead reckoning to regain their position. Failing that, they should hike with someone who does. Dutchman and I hiked slowly through rain and over wet rocks, roots, and leaves along the brook for over three miles. The rain turned into a downpour for ten or twenty minutes, removing any hope of staying partially dry. Near the end the trail climbed and dropped steeply on a slippery dirt track over a hill and led us to the confluence with the Kennebec River. After a few minutes the ferryman on the far side noticed us and paddled over. Greg was friendly and had us sign the usual waivers before giving Dutchman an oar and sitting us in his three-man canoe. The transit took all of three or four minutes to cross the 400 foot wide river. Upstream it looked shallow enough to ford without wetting your kneecaps. I decided I'd worried myself too much over possibly missing the ferry. On the way to the road we hauled out a bag of trash from a riverside campsite. In the village of Caratunk I asked at the forest service shed if I could dispose of it. The ranger thanked me, and asked where we'd found this bag full of beer cans and the like. It seemed clear it was not left by hikers. Eric from The Sterling Inn picked us up by the post office. At his hostel / B&B we found Red Beard, who had crossed after us but then walked down to the inn while we'd waited in town. Red Beard is a Southern boy, history buff, and HVAC guy by training who now lives out of an RV and moves around where he pleases taking odd jobs. He is flip-flopping, having started in Harpers Ferry. The Sterling Inn is a well-maintained, clean, and comfortable old home with all the comforts a hiker could want. Eric's son shuttled us out in the evening for dinner and snacks. Between the extra calories and low miles today I hope to regain my energy for the leg to Monson starting tomorrow.