The Best Birthday Ever

Hello my faithful readers.  The end is in sight.  As of this moment, I am a mere 114.5 from Katahdin, in Monson, ME, a small town just south of the One Hundred Mile Wilderness.  It seems like it was years ago that I first shouldered my pack at Amamcola, yet it also seems like it was only yesterday.  Time sure does fly.

I guess getting older makes one more melodramatic, being 19 does that.  Oh yeah, in case you missed the hint in the title, I had a birthday.  More about that later, first I must pick up where I left off--the Hostel in Gorham where we had retreated from the weather of the Whites.

While we had done the bulk of the Whites, we had one ridge left: the Wildcats.  We left the hostel late-ish and found a cool campsite less than a mile from Pinkham Notch at the foot of our 2,000 foot climb (in 2 miles, because switchbacks are for wimps).  Due to our lazy pace off of Madison, and our lazy out of Gorham, we had done 5 miles in two days, putting us behind schedule. We did the logical response: hike a 19 in the toughest section of the trail.  Yes, what a brilliant idea...

We did it, but we were bushed the next day. We did an easy 16 to the peak of Mt. Success.  We camped up in the alpine zone this one time and it was awesome.  It was also very windy.  We layered up, found a grove of pine, hunkered down, and slept like babies.  It was also fitting that we slept on Mt. Success because we were less than 2 miles from the Maine border, a huge achievement.

Before I move on, I must be the bearer grievous news--Excalibur bit the dust.  The stick that had been a trusty companion since NJ, and now it is no more.  I lost the bottom 8 inches saving myself from a fall.  It briefly became Anduril, the Flame of the West, reforged from the shards of Narsil.  But he stick was too short, so I stuck it in a moss bank, and moved on.  Several days later, I found Loki, my replacement trekking pole.  Loki and Voldey, my trekking pole are named after notorious villains.

We entered ME the next morning and promptly enjoyed all the rough terrain the southern ME has to offer.  Full of rock scrambles, bogs, roots, and more, southern ME beats you black and blue (literally).  We ended that day with what our guidebook labeled as the, "most difficult or fun mile of the AT,"--Mahoosuc Notch.  Mahoosuc is a ravine filled with massive boulders that you hop, scramble, crawl, weave, and ninja your way through.  Most SOBOs we talked to said the average time to get through the Notch was 2 hours.  I forgot to look at the exact time that I entered, but I did see the time when I left the shelter 1.6 miles before it.  I left the shelter at 3:45, I was walking out of the Notch at 5:20.  1 hour, 35 minutes for 2.6 mile with the Notch being one of those miles.  What was the secret?  Well, as they say: when the going gets tough, the T Mac gets pumping.

We hiked into Andover the next evening, where enjoyed the homely--but overpriced--comforts of local hostel.  What should have been a $35-45 resupply ended up costing just shy of $70!  Oh well, I knew that it was going to be more expensive going North into the land of one-street towns, but still... Yikes!

The next section was nice.  The terrain mellowed out for the most part, and we entered the land of 10,000 ponds.  We still had the climbs of Saddleback, Crocker, and the Bigelow ridges, but they were not the same rock scrambles and climbs of the Whites.  The weather was great; cool in the evenings and morning, but hot enough during the day to make for perfect swimming opportunities in the streams and ponds.  It was in this paradise of trail that the most important day of the year rolled around--my birthday.

You must understand, I traditionally have had a blueberry pie on my birthday.  It started when I was turning 5, I believe, and every year since then without fail I have had a pie made by my awesome mother.  I wanted to pack out a pie, but Andover had an appalling lack of pies, so I was forced to go for a blueberry Pop Tart instead.  We slept in, swam in a creek, and pulled a lazy 16.  All-in-all, it was the best birthday ever, even considering the lack of blueberry pie.

We resupplied in Stratton at a much more reasonable price, and headed out.  We hiked the Bigelows the next day, our last 2,000 foot climb until Katahdin.  The following night we were at Pierce Pond shelter.  This was the best swimming yet and the sunset was drop dead gorgeous.

After roughly three weeks of 15-17 miles a day, we did a 23 to Moxie Bald shelter.  It felt good to actually to do a serious chunk of trail.  Anyways, that day we had to cross on the famous Kennebec River ferry, the only ferry on the AT.  On the northern shore, I got my second taste of fame (my first was an appearance in a Hank Williams Junior music video).  A reporter from the Wall Street Journal was doing a piece on the ferry.  So we got featured in the prestigious WSJ, not bad, if a I do say so myself.

(Photo Courtesy of Debbie Morrison via Facebook)

We rolled into Monson the next evening where we are resupplying for the One Hundred Mile Wilderness and the final push to Katahdin.  We expect to summit around the 29, which brings our hike to a grand total of 145 days for 2189.8 miles of awesomeness.  I hold that date loosely (Baxter SP limits the number of hiker allowed to summit each day, and we have hit a bubble of hikers, so competition for those slots will be high), but we will summit by the end of this month for sure.

The Final Countdown

Greeting fellow earthlings, I come in peace.  That came out of left field...

Anyways, I am slipping in this update due to a convenient computer at a hostel.  Not too much time has passed since the last update, but a lot has happened.  Namely, the Whites.  Let me start back at Hanover.

After scoring a free slice of pizza and a twisty donut from benevolent local establishments we hiked out of town.  The Whites were fast approaching, but first we had the easiest 40 miles I have seen in a long time.  The trail had no climbs, no rocks, no mud--for once, the AT played nice.  Rather, someone in the local trail clubs actually had the bright notion that hikers don't have to hike up every single mountain.  Or maybe they felt bad for the upcoming Whites,  so they did a pity section... either way, the trail was really nice.  We did 10 out to Moose Mountain shelter where there was no moose (meese? moosen?) to speak of.  An easy 18 followed the day after.  The next day is where the fun really began.

One of the interesting features of the trail is the lack of awareness of the world of civilians.  Namely, in Hanover I learned that half the US seems to be on fire while the other half is flooding.  The long arms of the hurricanes reached this far North.  We had good weather day one out of Hanover, but the following day it rained.  Weather reports stated that we had one more good day before a week of stinky weather set in.  So on that one day, we did aimed for Moosilauke, the first peak of the Whites since we didn't want to have a 3500 foot climb in the rain.

We were aided in this quest by the Omelette Man.  If Marvel ever lacks for a superhero (which, considering the plethora of obscure characters now getting their own movies and TV shows, I doubt will ever happen) they should do a movie about this man.  He has this tent set up on the trail and he cooks these epic omelettes for hikers.  It was delicious.  Fueled on by eggs, coffee, muffins, and bananas, we pulled a 19 mile day up and over the first 4000 footer since the Smokeys (Stratton Mtn. came close, coming in at 3900 and change).  The climb was hard--yes--but the view up top was rewarding.  We had entered the Whites.

The next day, the weather set in.  The rain and wind made the steep and rocky trail treacherous, so our mileage suffered.  That day we only did 13, and the last 4 up and over Kinsman Mtn. took almost 3 hours.  20 to 40 foot section of the trail were sheets of rock, slick with rain.  You had to pick your way from crack to crack, root to root.  All the while you got wetter and wetter, and the chilly air cut to the bone.  Come to find out, that was one the most technical sections of the trail, and we did it in the worst weather imaginable.

We had a brief respite from the weather the next day.  We pushed into Lincoln for a partial resupply since it was the last spot to get out until Gorham, which was at the other end of the range.  Turns out that it was Labor Day Weekend, so this town was teeming with tourists.  Tourists, unlike locals, are unfamiliar with thruhiking and therefore less likely to pick up hitchhikers.  We ended up getting semi stuck in town, burning precious good weather hiking time, trying to hitch out.  Eventually we got a ride out.  We thenb began the 2 1/2 mile accent up to Franconia Ridge.  Apparently, National Geographic has it ranked pretty high worldwide for beautiful day hikes and understandably so.  It was early evening when we broke out of the tree line, and we had the ridge to ourselves.  We were treated to a 360 view of the surrounding country as the sunset.  The next two miles along this ridge were lovely.

As it got dark, we hiked down to Greeneleaf Hut.  Now these huts offer bunks, meals, and shelter from the elements for $130-$150 a night... unless you area thruhiker.  Then they offer a work for stay (WFS).  You do roughly an hour's worth of chores (such as scrubbing pots, doing dishes, or sweeping floors) and they let you sleep in the hut and partake of the leftovers of the meals.  That sounds measly, but there were always a load of leftovers.  Anyways, we did a WFS at Greeneleaf and joined on a game of Ticket to Ride: Europe (I played my worst game in a really long time with a measly 78 points). 

The next morning, the real ordeal began.  The weather came in and stayed.  That is not to say that this entirs section sucked--it had its moments of beauty--but it was very difficult both physically and mentally.  We finished off Franconia Ride and hiked to Zealand Falls Hut and did another WFS.  Due to a 7 miles anomaly of a flat section of trail, we pulled a 18 to Lake of the Clouds Hut, only a mile and a half from the peak of Mt. Washington.  We did another WFS and braced ourselves for the following day.

The weather report for the summits the next morning read as follows: In the clouds, light rain, chance of thunder storms, 40-50 degrees but wind chill makes it 30-40, steady breezes of 25-35 mph with occasional 50 mph gusts.  Yeah, that is just a bucket of fun just waiting to be enjoyed.  Add o that that this ridge consists of this endless rock field.  We made it to the summit, soaked and freezing, and went to take a picture by the sign only to find that both our phones were dead.  So from Lake of the Clouds to Gorham I have no pictures.  Oh well.

Fortunately, after we made it to Madison Hut for lunch, the clouds lifted so we had a beautiful decent into the Gulf Wilderness.  There is nothing special about this "wilderness" other than it means that some federal red tape forbids painted blazes in order to maintain its original state.  Except they could hack up different trees, craft signs, and then screw them to other trees, because this is "more natural?"  Leave it to the government to complicate something so stupidly simple...

The plan was to go from LOC to Gorham, NH to retreat from the pervasive wet and cold, but we ended up getting into a super intense Star Wars nerd-out session we ended up stealth camping about three miles from the gap.  It was getting dark, and I had hiked about 300 yards ahead and stopped to take out my headlamp when I heard something behind me.  The previous night, I had read a book I found in one of the huts titled, "The Haunted Hike of New Hampshire."  I read that... in the dark... in a supposedly haunted hut... not a good idea.  Anyways, I head this noise behind me and spin around to see this hulking shape in the trees.  At this point I literally almost pooped my pants (I had had to go for a while, but had not found an opportune spot, this scare didn't help anything).  My headlamp goes on and glowing green eyes stare back at me.

Then the moose snorted.  It sounded like a horse.  The whole deal had caught me so off guard that it was ridiculous.  There was no poltergeist, it was only a moose.   

We hiked to the road the next morning where we hitched into town. 

We still have a 20-ish mile section left of the Whites, and then we enter Maine, the final state.  At the border we will still have 280 or so miles left, and 160 of those are reported to be the toughest section of the trail.  But we are getting closer every day.  Out of 226 pages in our guide book, we are on page 193.  It is like the last 15 minutes of a movie.  The end is in sight, but you are at the climax of the action, the final gauntlet, waiting to see the hero prevail as he faces the hardest challenge yet.  We are there, the final countdown to Katahdin has begun.

Bonus picture, when the local trail maintenance club is run by collage students...