Firefly and I really wanted to beat the crowds, even if it meant getting up obnoxiously early, so at 4:30am we crawled out of the shelter. "You guys are crazy," the hiker next to us muttered, before rolling over and going back to sleep. It was only a five mile hike to the top of the mountain, and we were able to leave much of our gear at the ranger station so our packs were light. The beams of our headlamps cut through the night as we began the gradual ascent through the trees. It was difficult to think about anything except dodging the roots and rocks and powering up the hill. Running on adrenaline, we hiked quickly, and after two miles we were rewarded with a view from a gap through the trees. I gasped. Although the sun rose on the other side of the mountain, we could see the fingers of light spreading across the valleys below us, turning the land a perfect gold in the distance. It cast such colors and shadows that it looked like a desert stretching out for hundreds of miles, scattered with lakes and mountains.
Above the trees, the real climbing began. The trail ran over huge boulders dumped on top of each other. Many times we were climbing a vertical rockslide, pulling ourselves up over rocks bigger than us. It was a blast!
But it was also exhausting, and it was only when we stopped for a break that I realized how tired I was. The hill was obscured in fog so we weren't able to tell how high we had to climb until we had finished climbing. Perhaps this was a good thing, for if we had been able to crane our heads back to look at the peak we may have been discouraged with how high up it was. One final push up a steep section led us to flatter ground and we were able to happily stride along the ridgeline until the trail once again started sloping up. I was surprisingly unemotional. Here I was trekking the last mile of the journey and I didn't feel a thing. Neither happy nor sad, excited nor tearful. Shouldn't I be feeling something? This was the end of an incredible adventure, after all.
Then I saw the sign through the haze. My heart gave a little start. This was it. This was the sign I had been looking forward to since Georgia. This was the marker I had been thinking about for 3 years. This was the peak that kept me going on the hard days. This was the mountain I had dreamt about for six months. This is the place I had gazed at hundreds of times in photographs, wondering what it would be like to be there. And now I was here. At Katahdin. It was over. I was done. I had walked 2,189.1 miles here from Georgia. Unfathomable. Unbelievable. Then, reality hit.
I fell onto the sign, breaking into deep sobs that soon turned into uncontrollable laughter. I had never felt such a wide range of emotions at such intensity in my life: sadness, disbelief, joy, excitement, pride, relief... I can't even describe the feelings that were rushing through me. It took me by surprise, for I had been emotionless for the last few weeks about the idea of finishing, and I expected to feel simply nothing when I arrived. Katahdin had the same affect on Firefly, for she was leaning against the other side of the sign, crying and laughing with me.
Thruhikers Moxie and Sunshine were off to the side along with their friend, but other than those three we were alone on the summit, giving us time to comprehend what had just happened. The burst of emotions faded quickly and were replaced with contentment as we climbed the sign for our victory pose against the white backdrop. I couldn't have asked for a better finish.
We waited at the top for the fog to clear out. It was still rather early in the day, and I was certain the sun would burn off the mist. We watched as day hikers made their way to the peak, and soon the top was crowded. There was consistently about twenty people up there. A few hours later, the rest of the thruhikers started to arrive, and I watched as they approached the sign, some pausing in solemn reverence, some shedding a few tears, some jumping up in whoops of joy. The never left, and we still had to go back down the mountain, so after four hours of waiting we took off. I let Firefly get ahead so I could have some time alone. Once I got under the clouds I paused often to soak up the views and think about the trail and what was to come.
Soon I would be seeing my family. Soon I would be getting in the car and, in only a few days, driving the distance I just took 26 weeks to walk. Soon I would be at home, unpacking my backpack and cleaning up my messes. Soon I would be sitting on a couch eating snacks and watching TV for hours. Soon my body would stop aching as my muscles returned back to their normal size. Soon I would relearn the social norms of society. Soon I would find a job, a house, a routine life. Soon life would return to "normal," though I'm not sure anything could be normal after taking 5 million steps on the Appalachian Trail.
For now, I was content to sit and look at the mountains.
