This is the mantra we've heard since Georgia. Well, I've suffered pain, I've dealt with rain, so its about time we got to Maine. Shouldn't pain and rain stop there? Nope. Maine is full of pain and rain too, maybe even more so than other states.
I had heard there was an airplane crash somewhere before crossing the border and followed a Southbounders instructions. Rabbit trails led us to a heap of twisted metal, rust and moss covered unidentifiable plane parts. A few steps further took us to the back of the fuselage, ripped apart from the rest of the scraps, toilet still intact in the tiny bathroom. The plane had been a small passenger plane with eight or so people. Apparently the pilot knew the plane was going down so he turned off the electricity to prevent an explosion and crash landed as close to the summit of a mountain as possible. Everyone survived the crash, but two died from injuries a few days later before they finally were found by rescue planes. Its things like this along the trail that remind you how short and unpredictable life is.
Over the next hill we came upon the sign to Maine. The final state. I stepped across the line, expecting a jolt of excitement, an emotional breakdown, perhaps, or something, anything. Instead, I just felt hungry. So Firefly and I sat on a log eating snacks and staring at the sign with emotionless disbelief.
The first day into Maine we were faced with the longest mile on the AT. Mahoosic Notch is a gash in the earth where God decided to throw huge boulders. The guidebook describes it as "the most difficult or fun mile on the AT." When I got to the gorge floor, a burst of cold air hit me. I could see ice in between rocks, still remaining from the previous winter. The AT winds over and under these huge boulders, and it was fun for the first hour, climbing and sliding on this playground, but after a while I was ready to be on normal ground again. But normal for Maine is rocks, roots, and mud, so progress is usually painful or slow.
Mahoosic Notch
I found Firefly waiting for me at a campground. The terrain had been the hardest we had faced and we had only made it nine miles, but it was already 4:00. I wanted to push another seven miles before dark. Firefly looked at me with exhausted eyes; she did not want to go on. Though tired myself, I was stubborn. I was ready to push my limits after so many zeros. I wanted to go until I couldn't take another step, go until I was trembling with fatigue. I informed her my decision to try to make it to the next shelter, but she could do as she pleased. With anger and frustration, she silently picked up her pack and followed me. We made it to the shelter just after sunset.
I was running low on food. My lunch had consisted of jerky and syrup, but I was headed into town soon so I wasn't too worried. As I hiked downhill I heard laughter ahead. A large group was having a snack in the middle of the trail. "Do you want a tortilla?" The last guy in line asked. I paused midstride. Of course I wanted a tortilla. I thought about kindly refusing, that it was alright, he should eat it. "Sure!" I say, "Wait, are you talking to me? Are you serious?" "Yeah!" He looked surprised I had accepted the offer. The group laughed as he reached down to get the food. "Wait, is something wrong with it?" I asked. "No its just heavy, you know?" He replied, weighing the flat bread. I totally understood. It was the best tortilla I've ever had.
Partly because I was lazy, partly because I thought it would be awesome, but during a town day I suggested to Firefly and Siddhartha that we should do a full moon hike. We could hang out in town til the afternoon, do an easy two miles to the next shelter, and then do a night hike over the ridge line of Saddleback Mountain. They were on board. After a productive day of doing nothing in a coffee shop, we headed to the shelter. We explored the nearby boulder caves and then built a fire, enjoying the company of the hikers around. Meanwhile, it had gotten unseasonaly cold and windy, and the idea of hiking over a mountain in the dark was becoming less appealing. Before going to bed we decided that if we could see the stars when we woke at midnight, we would go for it.
I was slightly disappointed when I woke to see stars overhead. Sleeping would be so nice, but I got up and packed my tent and went to meet the others. At least the wind had died and it wasn't as cold... in the valley.
Hills are much easier in the dark because you cant see the top. Siddhartha's headlamp kept going out, so he hiked between Firefly and I. Every time we passed over rocks or puddles I had to turn around to shed light on his path, thus the going was extremely slow. Many times I only went a few paces before turning around. Finally we made it to the ridge and broke out of the trees to be met by a persistent cold wind and shroud of stars overhead. The full moon allowed only the brightest of starts to be seen. Shadows of mountains loomed in the distance, while our own moon shadows skittered across the rocks. We paused often to look around at the night landscape. We made our way over the smooth slabs of rock, popping in and out of small stands of trees for a while. I grew very sleepy, and was comforted by the knowledge that a campsite lay a few miles ahead. When the others learned this they agreed to stop there rather than push on to the shelter two miles past it. Knowing we would soon be in warm sleeping bags gave us new energy to push over the next little hump of a mountain under the bright moon. We crashed on the platform at 4:30am and fell asleep just as it was getting light out.
The 2000 mile marker. Someone had made it out of rocks, sticks, and pinecones. Over the next 20 miles I would be seeing three more of these markers, remnants from previous years before the trail had changed length, a reminder that I truly had made it that far. It was like rounding the final curve of a track. The finish line was so close I could feel it. Just one last push. But my whole body has turned against me. Though my mind is strong, old pains are popping up again. "Arrow, I've brought you 2000 miles, aren't we done yet?" it seemed to say.
Unofficial markers
The Bigelow mountain range tore me apart. My shirt was soaked with sweat, I felt disgusting, my ankles were weak from constant rolling, my knees hurt, and I was exhausted. The particular section of trail was especially frustrating because it turned south to go the long way around a lake. I was hot, dehydrated, and angry at the trail. I wanted to destroy the trail, but I realized the only way to destroy the trail was to not let it destroy me.
A canoe painted with a blaze provides safe passage across the Kennebec river. After a lady died many years ago trying to ford the unpredictable waters, the Appalachain Trail Conservancy hired someone to ferry hikers back and forth across the watery stretch of trail. I had been looking forward to this since Georgia. To ride a canoe on the official AT was a nice change from slomping over hard ground.
We spent the night on top of a mountain, sprawled out under the stars. Perhaps this would be the last good sunset and sunrise we would see. Perhaps this was the last chance to cowboy camp.
One week left. I can't even grasp that. After all I've done, all I've seen... it will be over. Soon I will be standing on the last mountaintop, arms outstretched for my victory pose, and then shortly after I will be back home sitting on a couch, the trail just a memory. Life as I know will change once again. I will merge back into society, relearn the social norms of civilization. I will start to pay attention to time and schedules, eat normal portions, and get some sort of job. I will be thinking back to the trail and the good times, the scary times, the hard times, and probably be wishing I was back there. Just like that it will be over. But I still have one week left. One week of adventures, excitement, sweat, and fatigue. One week of views, rocks, roots, and mountains. One week left with the hikers I call family. One week left of facing nature in its purest form. One more week on the Appalachain trail. And thus I set off into the 100 mile wilderness, the final stretch of trail that leads straight to Katahdin, my destination.
The next time you will hear from me, I will have completed my journey. I'll see you on the flip side.
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