The 100 Mile Wilderness is the last stretch of trail that leads to Baxter State Park and Mount Katahdin, the Northern Terminus of the Appalachian Trail. The wilderness is the most remote section on the AT, 100 miles of trail interrupted only by the occasional private gravel road that may not see a car for weeks. If something should happen it would be a long time until help or resources would arrive. Upon entering, hikers are met with a sign warning them to carry at least ten days of food, though by the time thruhikers get this far they ignore such posts and trudge on through with five or fewer days of rations.
With less than a week left, the affect of the thruhikers had changed, which, in a way, changed the trail itself. Where once there was an attitude of careless ease and freedom, a sharp focus now emerged as many were bound by deadlines in order to catch a plane or bus home. Even those that could take their time, such as Firefly and I, were in a silent push to the end. After 2,100 miles, the reality of really being finished set in and anticipation settled over us. Try as we might to enjoy the last few days, a nagging impatience with the final rocky miles stretched out endlessly as views of the greatest mountain lured us onward. With this new mindset, the hiker community faded, and the mental transition to post trail life began.
I was ready to be done. And at the same time, not ready at all. Most of the last few days hiking had been spent daydreaming of what I would do when I got home, but sometimes when I thought of getting off the trail I just wanted to turn around and walk back to Georgia. The hard terrain would increase my desire to finish and the beautiful days would make it seem less important to hurry.
Animals
About 18 miles into the wilderness, I heard a snap, and the full weight of my pack swung to my right shoulder as the left hip belt disconnected and folded in. Great. I wasn’t about to walk all the way back to town for a new pack this late in the game. I threw my pack down to analyze the damage and perform a quick operation with string. A few knots and loops later, I had my pack back on and I was heading toward the shelter. It was rather uncomfortable, but it would do. So now everything I owned was broken. My shoes had holes and were ripping down all sides, the shoe lace had broken and the tread had torn off. A mouse had chewed a hole in my tent, my trekking poles had snapped multiple times, my gaiters were barely holding together. There were burns in my jacket, a gash in my food bag, a rip in my sleeping bag, my pot stand was merely twisted remains of chicken wire, and my water filter was no faster than a drip…. Even if I wasn’t ready to be finished, my gear was.
The trail itself doesn’t let you finish easy, at least, not at first. It throws you 40 final miles of terribly steep ups and downs over roots, rocks, and mud, a reminder that even after 2,100 miles you are not invincible. Yet despite the heavy downpour the first night in the wilderness and the ankle high mud that followed, despite the steep hills that made you gasp for air on the way up and wish for new knees on the way down, despite the rocks that turn your ankles and roots that trip you up, the trail still offered plenty of beauty. A few minutes along an open ridge or a few miles following a laughing stream, I was constantly shown the beauty among the rough.
The second half of the wilderness leveled out, and aside from the occasional sections of roots and rocks it was smooth sailing, and the next three days gave us the flattest terrain all trail. With the ability to hike faster, came the extra time to relax and have fun. Twenty miles no longer took ten hours, but seven, giving plenty of time for sitting on the beaches of the lakes and swimming in the clear streams.
I forced myself to stop often to soak it all in, yet it was hard to stay focused on the present when my mind wandered to home. Despite the palatable anticipation, I enjoyed the last few days.
The trail through the wilderness offered four views of Katahdin, making some hikers go crazy with how close it appeared though still days away. The first mountain with a view was completely white with fog, forcing us to wait for another day to gaze upon the “highest land.” When we finally saw our destination, I was filled with excitement.
Every time I got a glimpse of Katahdin I grew impatient and fantasized about pushing long miles to finish a day earlier than planned. Many of the people I had been traveling with had summited already and I longed to be up there on that mountain with them. I was worried about it being foggy, worried about too many day hikers crowding the summit, worried that I would be summiting with only a few other hikers I had gotten close to. I wanted the summit to be perfect, and there was a lingering fear that it wouldn't meet my expectations.
I stopped at the final view and sat a distance away from the trail. I looked up at the mountain, at the streak through the trees and the ridgeline we would soon be climbing. I realized all this worry about it not being everything I hoped, worry about it not being amazing, was futile. I could feel the reverence flowing from the mountain, even from there, and it was encouraging to realize that a mountain of that power could not disappoint. No matter if it was crowded or foggy, it promised a fantastic finish. I felt contentment wash over me.
Despite this contentment, some stress remained. Baxter State Park has many rules and regulations, one being that you can only camp at designated campsites. If you are caught breaking this rule, you will be escorted out of the park and all hopes of summiting Katahdin would be dashed. The problem is, the Birches, the only campsite for thruhikers, only holds 12 people. Many hikers were upset at Baxter for such a rule, for it puts hiker vs. hiker, and there is an unspoken competition to get one of those spots. Even though more people could fit in the campsite, the park doesn’t allow more than the allotted number to camp there any one night. There is a signup sheet entering the park, and if you don’t get one of those 12 spots, you have to wait outside the park another day before going in to summit, or do a really long day of hiking in order to get through the park and summit on the same day. According to an unofficial sign-up before the 100 mile wilderness, there would be 15 people trying to get into the Birches the same day we were. This could have changed, as some people may have gone slower or faster through the wilderness than they thought, but it was enough to make me nervous that we wouldn’t get in. When we got to the last shelter in the wilderness and no one was there, that made me concerned. Firefly and I decided to hike the remaining four miles out of the wilderness to Abol Bridge, the last legal place to camp before entering Baxter, and see if everyone was waiting there in order to get an early start to secure a spot in the Birches. We got there just as the sun set and found a space to pitch our tents. Only a few other hikers were there. At 5am we rose and hurried the remaining mile to the kiosk where we could sign up for the Birches, and much to our relief, we were the first ones on the list. It turned out that spots didn’t fill up until the afternoon anyway, so all the worry and early morning was for nothing.
It was only ten miles to the Birches, which gave us plenty of time to dawdle at waterfalls and overlooks, and we still got there around noon. We napped and sat by the creek, talked with other hikers, ate snacks. We got one final trail magic; some folks had made lasagna, apple crisp, and salad for us. The trail magic broke the tension of finishing that had been hanging in the air.
Once again the community feel came back as we squeezed eight on a picnic table, and we were family. Laughter and chatter filled the small pavilion where the food was being served. The next day we would summit, and the journey would be over. The beautiful weather and merry atmosphere once again made me wish it all would last longer, that I wouldn’t be finished so soon. But ready or not, Katahdin here I come.