Hiking

Experiences out in Nature

Journal Entry: June 2, 2010 – The 100 Mile Wilderness

Wednesday , June 2, 2010

Day 4

Woke up sometime before 5:30 a.m. to the sound of rustling plastic.

Mouse!  In my food!

I scrambled and pulled everything out to see what damage had been done.  Thankfully not much.  There were two holes chewed through two different bags of dried fruit and nuts.  Maxwell did not move once.  My little ratter.  I put everything in a spare garbage bag near my head.  When I looked up the little culprit was in front of me and headed back for seconds.  It ran when I reached for my pack.  Cute little bugger.

Up and headed around 7:00 a.m.  Today was a grueling one.  I hiked 11.5 miles, according to my map, from the Hurd Shelter to the Rainbow Streams Lean-to.  We walked through a multitude of ever-changing forest realities.  The bugs were out and thick.  I wore mosquito netting all day and sweated.

Stopped mid-day to rearrange gear.  My pack is heavy heavy.  Maxwell got the first aid kit and his rain jacket to carry.  Little pack dog.  I decided to drop some gear.  An easy decision.  I left soaked pink Nike sweatpants neatly folded on a downed tree.  Good-bye 10-lbs of dead weight.

The rest of the afternoon I leap-frogged with Limp Along.  Back and forth.  The two miles prior to reaching the lean-to was all mud, gnarly tree roots and swarms of insects.  Limp Along sat down on a rock and I continued on ahead.  At one point, I looked out through the trees to the lake on my right hearing voices on the water.  Was I hallucinating?  A canoe with two men in it paced me and then it paddled off, disappearing.  I paid it little mind.  I focused on picking my way carefully, steadily along the rooty trail.

The light was disappearing.  I was in a haze.  Then suddenly a gray shining rectangle appeared in my line of sight.  I blinked twice wondering if it was a mirage.  I tamped down that feeling of excitement and relief as I approached, just in case.  It was the lean-to.  Relief.  I thought back to the moose, seen earlier in the afternoon crossing the shallower open water, and smiled.

 

Distance: about 11.5 miles

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Journal Entry: June 1, 2010 – The 100 Mile Wilderness

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Day 3

I woke early and to an overcast sky.  Looked like rain was on today’s menu.  We packed up and headed out at 6:30 a.m.

Not far along we reached a deep and fast flowing tributary entering the river  we’d been following.  The only problem was I couldn’t see the next blaze.  I didn’t see anything resembling a path or opening on the far bank of the tributary.  And certainly no visible blaze.  I was loath to cross the stream.  It required a lot of work, removing all my footwear, rearranging gear and Maxwell would have to swim for it.  My pack was heavy and the thought of taking it off was not an appealing one.

There was a path heading upstream along the tributary  but that didn’t make sense.  I checked my map.  I saw boot prints at the stream’s edge.  What to do?  I followed the path but turned around after 100-ft when the old and fading blazes disappeared and the path appeared old and overgrown.  I tossed down all my gear and re-inspected the map.  We had just started out and already, so early on in the morning, there’s this.

Finally, I took off all my footwear and forded the stream alone.  Lo and behold, there was a path on the other side, obscured by the low hanging branch cover.   The trail turned immediately 90-degrees to the right.  Roughly 20-ft in that direction after the turn I saw the white blaze.  Relieved and fighting off frustration, I headed back across the stream to collect my gear and Maxie wondering if I should make multiple trips.  Instead, I tossed all my gear on my back and around my neck and go for it barefoot.  Maxwell swam like a champ.

About mid-morning the clouds opened up and it began to rain steadily.  Soon after my pack, jacket and pants were soaked through.  A plus was my feet were still dry.  Then suddenly, to the right there was a crashing sound of tree branches.  A bull moose, 30-ft away from us and startled, dashed off in the opposite direction.  A while later an upset grouse crossed our path.  Maxwell didn’t know how to react.  He seemed taken aback at this unafraid creature squawking and moving at us aggressively before disappearing back into the underbrush.

The trail flattened and widened.  Up ahead a kiosk with a drop box appeared.  Upon closer inspection, I realized this marked Baxter State Park‘s boundary and that I had just ‘stealth camped’ for the night.  I completed the register form.  The path became a road.  It was 12:30 p.m. and the Abol Store and Campground appeared a half mile or further along.  We entered the store, dripping and cold, signed the register and then headed back out into the rain.  The man and woman didn’t want my dripping pack inside and we needed to press on to make it to the Hurd Brook Lean-to, hopefully by 4:00 p.m.  They had a sign saying ‘No dogs’ on the entry door but smiled seeing Maxwell and offered him a treat.  Just outside of the store we took a brief respite at a picnic table with some branch cover and quickly ate lunch.  Everything on me felt soaked through, cold and heavy.  I knew I was carrying at least 10 extra pounds of water weight.  While crossing the Abol Bridge, a gentleman in a truck towing a trailer stopped to make sure I knew I was heading in the right direction.  Another 200-ft and we enter the 100 Mile Wilderness.

It was like entering a beautiful softly glowing dream of thick green moss-covered rocks.  The ground blanketed in pine needles and spotted with ferns.  Pale pink, white and purple Ladyslippers dotted the edge of the trail.  Two stood silently as beautiful sentries on either side marking the entrance into this seemingly enchanted forest.  A point of no return.
The only sound was the rain falling softly on the already soaked canopy overhead.  I felt relieved and full of wonder as I headed further in.  I studied the subtle changes of forest as I walked along.  It was peaceful here.  I felt a profound sense of satisfaction, alive and aware.

As I continued on I noted a few clearings where a tent could be set up but my mind was set on reaching the lean-to.  We walked.  A wooden sign came into view  saying ‘Spring’ and we stopped to gather water.  Not long after that, almost a mile or so I saw the roof of the lean-to.  It was heaven out of the rain.  We pitched camp and I changed into dry clothing wishing the conditions would permit starting a fire.  I snuggled into the down sleeping bag to warm up.  About an hour later a soaked older man appeared.  Limp Along was an old-timer from Georgia and had flown up to do the South bound thru-hike, a pleasant fellow.  He and Maxwell got along famously.

I prepared the first hot meal, needing it after this long wet challenging day.  I ate and then fed Maxwell in the disappearing light.  My legs ached and the bottoms of my feet hurt.  I needed all the rest I could get.

 

Distance: about 8.5-miles

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DRadio Wissen – August 31, 2010

“My friend, Sonja Beeker, a Freelance Radio Journalist got in touch and told me that another radio station wanted to broadcast the interview.  They also wanted a longer broadcast and more content.  Sonja asked if I could put her in touch with someone from the Appalachian Trail Conservancy.  I immediately thought of Matt Stevens who then passed the information along to Hawk Metheny, who agreed to do the interview.

Here is the link to the DRadio Wissen podcast, broadcast on August 31, 2010.  Enjoy!”

Journal Entry: May 31, 2010 – Hiking from Katahdin to the 100 Mile Wilderness

Monday May 31, 2010

Day 2

I got up and was headed at 7:30 a.m. this morning.

The Ranger at Katahdin Streams Campground said he climbs Mt. Katahdin four or five times a year.  He has been working at Baxter State park for 20 years now.  I’m working off old maps that a friend, Pete Mason had lent me for the hike.  The Ranger pointed out a change, the A.T. had been re-routed through the Grassy POnd Trail since they had been printed.  And in spite of dumping 10-lbs of dead weight, my pack is heavy.  I read in the Appalachian Trail Guide that ‘every ounce counts’ which is all too true.  I purposefully neglected adding the two liters of water in my pack when I had weighed in again.

It was a warm and sunny day.  There were multiple spots along the Nesouadnehunk Stream that invited a swim.  Around noon, I come across one that I just can’t resist and decided to stop for lunch.  After eating, I decided to take advantage of the sandy beach and wash my hair.  I haven’t bathed in three days.

I put on my bathing suit, the trail runs quite close by to the section of stream.  Maxwell had found a soft sandy pit trapped on the rocks to lounge.  When I jumped in he lifted his head up, looked at me then lay back down.

The water was frigid.  It took three attempts before I could completely submerge myself.  I scrubbed handfuls of sand into my scalp and across my skin.  It took my breath away.  When I’m done my skin aches painfully from the cold.

Too chilled to care, I strip out of my bathing suit and lay it next to me on the rocks.  I let the sun and warm breeze dry me off.  I trimmed my toenails, shorter than usual.  They had been pressing hard against the front of my boots with every step downhill.

Just as Maxwell and I were about to head back to the trail, I noticed a discarded walking stick lying on a rock nearby.  Thank goodness for that stick!  An hour later we reached a cross-path and a sign reading ‘High Water Bypass 0.9 miles’.  And indeed the water was high.  It had rained last evening and the rocks and rushing water looked treacherous.  But the thought of going a mile out of the way quickly dissipated when I recalled a slower shallow sandy section a short ways upstream.  I back-tracked along the trail, pulled my pants up above my knees, slung my gaitors and boots around my neck, and forded the river with that stick to balance myself against the current.

I was already three-quarters of the way across when I remembered Maxwell.  He was on the leash and dislikes water.  There he was though, behind me swimming like a champ.  We walked out onto a small island, or what we thought was a small island.  We continued across, this section was deeper than the first but equally paced in its flow.

After an hour of hiking downstream searching for the trail’s intersection I slowly began to realize something was not right.  We came upon a small sandy beach and I dropped gear to take a break.  I left Maxwell and the pack and hiked further along the stream which had been growing in width and depth.  I could not find the trail.  I went back to the beach and sat down.  It was getting late in the day and time was a-wasting.  I considered camping at this spot for the evening. It was already 3:30 p.m. or so.  Instead, I went back to my original crossing spot and waded to the ‘island’.  My hunch was that the trail continued on the island.  Sure enough, it split the stream and with a little bush-whacking I found the path and the white blazes.

We hiked until 4:30 p.m. stopping when we came to a nice wide ledge opening covered in pine needles, overlooking a roaring waterfall.  The sky was beginning to gray up and I worried about the possibility of rain.  I know my limits and I had reached them for today.  The frustration of getting lost weighted my already heavy pack.  My shoulders and back aching.  My feet sore from fording the pebbly river bare.  I set up camp, ate dinner and settled to bed.  Only thing is, I’m not sure if I’m out of Baxter State Park at this point.  I’m too tired to care.

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Distance:  about 4.5 miles

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Journal Entry: May 30, 2010 – Hiking Mt. Katahdin


Sunday May 30, 2010

Day 1

The summit of Mt. Katahdin is 5.2-miles North from the Katahdin Streams Campground up the Hunt Trail. Maybe it was nerves, the oppressive heat or the relentless mosquitos but I had a difficult time sleeping. And, Maxwell and I disagreed on the particulars of the sleeping arrangments of the sleeping bag. He and I jockeyed for space off and on searching for a happy medium.
Everyone was awake at 6 a.m. and we were at the trail head at 6:30 a.m. and hiking. Amy, aka Whoopie Pie, was off and running and son out of sight in the first mile. About two miles later Mary disappeared on ahead. They were both seasoned hikers and had done various trails up Katahdin several times. I took my time. There was no sense in exhausting myself trying to go at someone else’s pace. I was not there hiking to keep abreast with others, solitude was my purpose.

The Hunt Trail was pleasant and woodsy to start, following and winding left to right, along the Katahdin Stream.  The incline steepened rather sharply around 1500-ft and the tall trees gave way to shorter denser pines.  Around 3500-ft, the pines disappeared and the view of the sky opened, the trail turned into ledge and boulders.  This is known as ‘The Gateway’, a narrow rocky trail that drops off on either side.  The sudden gusting winds that day added to the challenge.

I reached a 40-ft section, which felt more like mountaineering than hiking, with rebar and giant boulders forming 5-ft and higher cliffs.  I picked up Maxwell, about 7-8 times but his diminutive frame and endless energy was well-suited to this terrain.  We are passed by several hikers.  They were all quite pleasant and greeted Maxwell enthusiastically.

Once, beyond the boulders and rebar, we reached a plateau rock field that seemed to stretch as far as my eyes could see.  Growing here and there in the ‘valleys’ formed by the rocks littering the ground were low-growing shrubs, a half-inch tall and decorated with small white flowers.  Piled rocks, about waist-high mark the path ahead  Eventually, stakes and white string contain your footing to a narrow 2-ft wide rock and sand path.

Not far into this section I meet Whoopie Pie and her mother, Mary on their way back down.  They have already reached the summit and had lunch.  Amy’s face is flush with excitement.  She tells me she is going to head onwards to the Abol Bridge Campground, 8-miles just beyond the southern boundary of Baxter State Park, and tent there this evening.  She’s twenty-four years old.  Whoopie Pie had been in training for 6-months in preparation for the hike.  And she was under a self-imposed deadline, to reach Hanover, NH by July fourth.  There was going to be a pie-eating contest that she wanted to participate in there.

Ah, to be twenty-four again!  Only if I could knowing what I know now.  She and Mary told me that I could stay another night at the lean-to.  It had already been paid for.  Mary thought she might stay one more night if there was nothing available at the Abol Campground.  Whoopie Pie was already past us and on her way.

Maxwell and I continued on and reached the summit.  There were two signs, one was embedded in the face of a rock and the other, a free-standing sign.  One tells of the donation of the land to create this wilderness park.  The other proclaims the summit, the point that is the highest peak of the mountain.  Maxwell and I sat, took in the view, found a spot out of the direct wind and eat our lunch.  At 5250-ft and on that clear day, there was a perfect view, 360-degrees around us, of everything.  We gazed out over the Klondike.  We watched the clouds passing just overhead, so close it felt as if they could be touched with an outstretched hand.  I asked a young man to take a picture of Maxwell and I next to the standing sign before we head back down the Hunt Trail.

The hike up had taken the better part of the day and it was early afternoon when we put away the remnants of our lunch.  We crossed the rocky field and passed others heading to whence we came.  When we reach the boulders and rebar, poor Maxwell gave me a frightened look.  He had quite willingly let me take the lead and following, he had carefully navigated the same route I had taken along the trail.  At that section though, he balked.  I took off my daypack, borrowed from the Ranger’s Station and zipped him in.  Only his neck and head were sticking out of the opening in the top.  He did not move.  He did not struggle.  He did not whine or cry.

I turned around and began climbing down through that steep tricky section.  Maxwell was so quiet, I dare say ‘happy’, that once past that, I momentarily forgot he was still in the pack.  I popped him out not long after to walk behind me the rest of the trail down.

We walked through the dense pine and reached the wooded forest.  We pause a moment to again look at Thoreau Spring.  We do not linger.  Later along the trail we take a break on a cliff to view the waterfall edge next to it, then looked down to the pool below.  Two men appeared, having climbed up a narrow path leading down to the pool below.  We stood and spoke for a while.  They had met Amy on he way down and asked me if I was a ‘thru-hiker’ as well.  I answer, “Yes, but I’m not hiking for speed or glory.  I’m hiking for…”

The man nodded and finished my sentence, “For philosophy.”  We exchanged a few other pleasantries and headed our separate directions.

Maxwell and I reached the lean-to around 4:30 p.m.  Whoopie Pie and her pack are long gone.  Mary is packing up her gear to head to Abol Bridge to meet her there.  I had weighed my pack in at the Ranger’s Station yesterday, 55-lbs.  Mary agreed to take some ‘dead weight’ off my hands and deliver it to a friend who lives in Thetford, VT near Norwich.  Mary headed as soon as I gave her the garbage bag of items.  There was no second-guessing to be had.  I took my lightened pack to the Ranger’s Station…42-lbs…without water.

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Distance: 10.4 miles

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Copyright 2010 The Truth Will Set You Free

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