The Mad Whittler Bunny Club (Sept 2nd - 5th)

"You will find something more in the woods than in books.  Trees and stones will teach you that which you can never learn from masters."

~Saint Bernard

Leaving Andover we had a fairly easy hike ahead.  We began the gentle climb past Surplus Pond and up Wyman Mountain.  We ran into Daystar and Gribley a few miles out of town by the pond.  They were getting a late start that morning and had just finished breaking down camp.  The five of us got hiking, finishing the climb up Wyman, stopping at Hall Mountain Lean-To for lunch, then making our descent down to Sawyer Notch.  The notch had a gorgeous brook with some nice camping spots and I was half tempted to spend my afternoon there.  But 2pm seemed a bit early to quit hiking and I wanted to get the climb over Moody Mountain out of the way.  Cheesetowel, who had actually already done this section since they hitched into Andover from South Arm Rd, warned us this climb was a bitch.  And a bitch she was.  Moody Mountain was definitely on it's period, she was mean and messy.  The climb was only a mile, but it was very steep and there was debris everywhere.  It was hard to locate the trail and often times I wasn't entirely sure I was on it. 

I found Pants and Gribley resting at a viewpoint that I was sure near the top, but they so kindly pointed out we hadn't even gone half a mile.  Not only was I not near the top, I was not even halfway near the top.  I sighed as I got up to continue the steep obstacle course that was this mountain.  Like most moody bitches, the best way to approach is slowly and carefully.  I finally reached the top, paused at the view, then began the descent to South Arm Rd.  At the road I found Pants, White Wolf, Daystar and Gribley taking a break.  Black Brook ran south of the road and numerous flat camping spots dotted it's bank.  White Wolf had already set up his tent by the brook, it was already 5pm and he had no desire to start the climb over Old Blue Mountain.  I concurred and went to claim my spot, and came back to everyone else reviewing their options.  Gribley and DS made the decision to keep moving just as Cheesetowel arrived.  They had woken up, finished their usual late afternoon lurk around town, and gotten a ride back to the trail.  Being they had yet to do any hiking that day, they decided to join Gribley and DS over Old Blue (I have a hard time not picturing Will Ferrell crying over "Dust in the Wind" every time I type that).  Just as the four of them were saddling up, six more hikers, Yukon and co., piled out of another car to start the climb up Old Blue.  Pants, agreeing that was gonna be one crowded mountain, followed White Wolf and I back to the brook.  

View from Old Blue

The next morning the three of us took off separately to start the climb over Old Blue.  She was long and painful, but we were rewarded with a great view at the top.  Then AWOL (our guidebook) decided to make things interesting by completely fucking up the mileage and just making things up.  Based on the detailed accuracy of our book for the south, and the total bullshit our book contains for the north, I was beginning to wonder if AWOL ever stepped foot in the upper states or if he was too exhausted by the time he got up there and just decided "Yeah, there's probably some mountains, let's throw a random stream here that may or may not actually be there, and that's probably about 10ish miles."  At this moment my book and profiles were providing me no information on where I might be, so I decided to sit down on a rock and eat some pop tarts.  

Longstride and Silvergirl arrived as I was lounging in the sun.  They looked concerned, and asked me if I knew where we were, they felt like they should have arrived at Bemis Shelter by now.  Well according to the book we should have, and no I had no clue where we were.  It occurred to me that at that moment, if someone were to put both a calendar and a map in front of me and asked me to point out what day it was and where I was, I could confidently do neither.  I was alarmingly OK with this truth as I got up to continue hiking.  I knew what direction I needed to go and that was good enough for me.  I made my way over what I was hoping was Bemis Mountain (cuz that meant the shelter should be at the base) but not without falling twice.  Annoyed, I was dangerously close to enacting Pace's 'third time' rule.  Third time I fall, that's where I camp.  

Exhausted and a bit crabby, I finally arrived at Bemis Mountain Lean-To around 3pm.  I walked past a bunch of tent sites which were empty save for two exhausted looking SoBos.  It was a bit early in their hike to be looking so defeated.  I smiled sympathetically at them as I headed toward the shelter.  Pants was there, apparently DS and Gribley had just left, hoping to go another 13 miles.  DS was down to her last pop tart so they were shooting for Rangeley tomorrow, while I was shooting for my sleeping bag and tent.  Pants and I decided that Bemis looked like a lovely home for the night (even though it was afternoon).  I set up shop and settled in with my book.  We saw no sign of White Wolf, so we assumed he passed the shelter without stopping in.  I was sleeping by 7:30, getting some much needed rest since I slept like shit the night before.  

View of Moxie Pond

We woke up the next morning ready for a 15 mile day to Little Swift River Pond.  The morning hike down Bemis was gradual, past Moxie Pond and down to Sabbath Day Pond Lean-To for lunch.  The pond was gorgeous, with a sandy beach in front that would have made excellent swimming.  Sadly, as we entered fall, it seemed our swimming days were over.  The trail in the afternoon was as gentle as the morning.  We arrived at Little Swift River Pond much sooner than anticipated.  It seemed that AWOL had misplaced some miles.  We debated just continuing on to Rangeley since it was early, until we found the unchained canoes by the pond.  It looked like rain, but we decided to take our chances.  We spent an hour paddling around the pond before the rain broke through.  Luckily we had set up our tents before so we just had to quickly paddle back in the light sprinkle and dive into our shelters.  I ventured out once to get some water at the pond outlet, where I was greeted by a very obnoxious red squirrel.  It is safe to say most hikers were getting pretty fed up with the red squirrels.  Red squirrels are small, cute and evil.  They are very territorial, so they make this hissing clicking noise every time we walk by.  They were fearless, would run right up to you, and even throw things at you, as this one was now doing as I tried to gather water.  Even though we were bigger, they out numbered us and were slowly stealing our sanity.  I cursed the asshole squirrel and dodged his acorns as I sprinted through the rain back to my tent. 

Little Swift River Pond

The rain never let up and turned into a ridiculous down pour.  We both woke up in a dirt filled water bed.  Shoving our soaking wet gear in our soaking wet packs, we started our five mile hike to Rangeley.  We passed Chandler Mill Stream and South Pond before arriving at ME 4.  We needed to get into Rangeley, nine miles west from here, to resupply.  At the road was a sign for a hostel called "The Hiker Hut," which was only .3 down the road.  We weren't sure if we wanted to stay in Rangeley that night, but they offered rides into town so we made our way down the road.  Below the sign for the hostel was a note that read: "Tater Tot, your dad left the Hiker Hut this morning to tackle the Saddlebacks and he says hurry your arse up."  Nice dad.  Realizing this note was actually from two days ago, my arse had a lot of hurrying to do.  But first it had some eating to do.  We approached the Hiker Hut, which was just that, a hut.  A nice woman came out one of the small buildings and showed us around.  We chatted for a bit, I guess they had been expecting me since my dad left.  Unfortunately they were full - FM, Meds, White Wolf, Owf, Flies and Solo all stayed here last night, and had such a great time they were staying another.  FM had taken their truck into town, so it looks like we were hitching.  We were picked up by an elderly gentleman and his son, and during the ride the old man asked me to hold out my hand.  I slowly and apprehensively did as he asked, and he proceeded to place a very tiny wooden bunny into my hands.  Just as I was beginning to wonder how much farther until town and how long I would have to be in this man's car, he handed me his 'business card.'

I paused as I was trying to decide if this was creepy or adorable.  I landed on both.  Say what you want about hitching, but it's a great way to meet a lot of interesting people.  We got dropped off in the center of Rangeley, only slightly larger than Andover.  We found everyone eating in the Red Onion, so we dropped our packs outside and headed in, ready to feast.  We were surprised to see Peach and Overdrive inside as well.  I guess Peach had gotten sick and they had been in town for a few days, but were heading back to the trail today.  We sadly had to let everyone else know we couldn't stay at the Hiker Hut cuz they were full:(  We took Peach and Overdrive's recommendation and headed towards the Saddleback Inn up the road.  

After we checked in we decided, in an effort to be efficient, we would split up the chores.  He took off with our laundry while I hiked up the road to the grocery store to grab resupply.  After we did this we agreed we would never do that again.  I was left with improperly dried clothes and he was left with a bunch of food that he apparently didn't want to eat.  You win some you loose some.  But we both won when we discovered the NCIS marathon on USA.  Though I was bummed we weren't at the Hiker Hut with our friends, I also knew it was going to be a mini trail days out there and I was actually looking forward to a little rest after our rainy night.  Southern Maine wasn't easing up on us yet, we had the Saddlebacks and Bigalows to look forward too.  But for the moment, I was just happy that we had caught up to some of our friends.  And that NCIS was on, that too.  

Everybody Shits and Everybody Eats Sandwiches (Aug 31st - Sept 2nd)

"The mountains are calling and I must go."

~John Muir

I had been reading a lot of John Muir at this point in my trip in case you couldn't tell.  The morning after Mahoosuc Notch, the mountains were calling, a lot of them.  And they were all saying "you must climb me if you want food."  Our supply was dangerously low, and we needed to get within striking distance of Andover tonight or risk running out of food. We weren't in danger of dying obviously, but we were about to be really hungry and crabby. That meant climbs up Mahoosuc Arm (the notch's running mate), over Old Speck and up and over the Baldplates.  We woke up and began the mile and a half hike up the arm, which turns out was a large, steep stone slab.  If I were a SoBo I would just bumslide the whole thing it was so stupidly smooth and slick.  Pants and I took a brief break at the top to regain our sanity, but it wasn't too long before the wind chased us away.

Pre-storm Baldplate

We hiked down to Speck Pond Shelter and found Flies and White Wolf, and decided to join them for lunch.  Speck Pond has an overnight fee and a caretaker, but it also posts weather reports that the caretaker gets.  Looked like today was going to be unfortunate.  We would have the pleasure of experiencing 80 mph (hurricane force) winds on the summits and a late afternoon lightning storm, just in time for my hike over the Baldplates (which are, you guessed it, bald).  Due to our food situation, the option of waiting out the weather was not there.  So, let's go get blown off a mountain.  I was a bit worried for the jacketless Flies, but the kid has some serious balls so I figured he would be fine.

We all headed up Old Speck as quickly as possible, the wind and rain starting to get ever more pissy as we made our quick descent into Grafton Notch.  Flies got there first and we learned from two SoBos that he had gotten lucky and snagged a ride into Andover from some day hikers trying to get off the mountain.  Not wanting to do the Baldplates in his current attire, he was apparently hoping to acquire a jacket.  The three of us stood talking to the SoBos for a bit, none of us looking forward to the prospective mountains we had to climb on either side of the notch.  Eventually we went our separate ways, dreading whatever the weather gods had in store for us.  

I was wet, cold and hungry and not very invested in this experience at the moment.  Pants and I started up towards Baldpate West Peak, keeping an eye out for a nice spot to stop and eat.  We didn't have much to eat, so I decided to hike until I couldn't take it anymore - I wasn't dizzy or felt like passing out yet so I could probably go another few miles, and as I write this I realize how insane and unhealthy that sounds.  But what we are doing by it's very nature is insane and unhealthy.  We had to push ourselves or we wouldn't have gotten here.  Though this was the first time I had been this dangerously low on food.  Pants and I took a quick break against a log to eat our meager rations.  I began scooping out the last of my Nutella when I realized that if I ate this I wouldn't have much for dinner.  I pathetically scrapped the Nutella off my spork and back into its jar.  Pants watched me with a sympathetic look...."That was really sad" he said.  "I know, let's just get this over with" I replied as we got up and finished our climb up the west peak.  

The weather was getting worse, and I still had three miles until Frye Notch lean-to (shelters are called Lean-To's in Maine, don't know why).  As I made my way over the rocky bald (which would have been really cool had it not been storming) I encountered a large group of college kids out for their weekend orientation trip.  I took some pictures for them, but when the lightning started to crack, I told them that was my cue, and advised they follow suit.  Instead I saw their group leader showing them proper crouching techniques.  Dude, how about you show them how not to get struck by lightning on a mountain by getting the fuck off the mountain.  We were completely exposed on the rocky summit, and treeline wasn't for another half mile.  Now was not the time for demonstrations.  I sprinted my way across the bald, trying not to fall on the slippery rocks.  I wiped out the second I got below treeline, but quickly recovered and made it to the shelter around 6:30pm.  The college kids didn't arrive for two more hours, they clearly haven't played 'outrun the lightning' as much as I have. But not to worry, the shelter was completely overrun with yet another group of college orientation kids.  What are they doing out here? What college is this? Shouldn't they be getting a tour of their campus?  I stood in the pouring rain and looked into the shelter and saw Gribley and DS shoved into a corner trying to cook dinner.  Screw it, I was already soaked, I'll just set my tent up in the rain.  White Wolf already had his set up in front of the shelter and Pants was struggling with his next to it.  I moved to the other side of the shelter and got everything up as quick as I could, got water, then crawled in, intending not to leave again. 

I put my headphones on hoping it would help me ignore my stomach, when I heard what sounded like a baby crying.  Around 8pm a soaking wet family, with a baby, arrived, having hiked up from the north. It was only a four and a half mile hike from the road, and not nearly as gnarly as what I just did, but it was still very tough, and in my opinion no place for a small child.  If you want to go camping with your family and you have very small children, why would you pick the most rugged section of Maine? I really respect their desire to go beyond car camping, it's something I urge people to do often, but you must research the area of wilderness you are entering to make sure it is something you are capable of.  I guess Gribley talked to them while they were setting up their tent, and they had no idea how tough that hike would be.  My heart went out to them the way it did to UT back in NY.  So many people, who have probably hiked before even, come out to the AT thinking they'll experience a nice hike through the woods.  As far as hiking trails go, the AT in NH and Maine is one of the most rugged, and it definitely kicks the ass of those not expecting it.  Hell, it kicks everyone's ass.  I eventually tuned out the noise and went to sleep.  A quite night in the woods, just me, 60 college kids and a family of 7.  I got up pretty early and left before everyone else, though they weren't far behind.  I'm not sure how it happened, but we were all out of food and were ready to pound out the fairly easy descent down to Dunn Notch and Falls.

Though yesterday was less than awesome, I awoke to a truly splendid morning.  I could tell I was the first one on the trail due to all the spiderwebs I had to walk through.  In the evening the spiders make webs across the trail.  Bugs use the trail as a highway and the spiders know this.  If you are hiking in the very early morning, you have the unfortunate duty to break through all the webs for the hikers behind you.  I usually make a habit of not being the first one to leave camp for this reason.  But there are benefits to hiking in the wee hours of the morning.  There is nothing more magnificent than watching the sun come up through the trees.  Watching the sunrise on a mountain is also phenomenal, but I prefer to view it through the forest.  The rays filter in and dance off the rocks, leaves and moss.  It highlights and lowlights.  It's like looking at something that's already wonderful and watching it get sprinkled with magic.  I paused to watch the light and appreciate the stillness of the forest.  These are the moments I  will miss.  I was wet, cold and starved yet I had no desire to move.  I let everyone catch up and pass me, and it wasn't until my stomach let out some horrible howl that I quickened my pace and caught up with everyone at the falls.

Don't fall down the waterfall

We had fun rock hopping above the falls, being careful not to fall into a watery death, and continued the remaining mile to the road.  We passed by a perfect swimming hole as we walked along the brook and I contemplated getting in.  Then I remembered it was cold out, and I was hungry.  But DS and Gribley, who at the time were challenging themselves to not pay for lodging or showers in Maine, were willing to dare a dip in the frigid water.  They weren't planning on staying in Andover, and wouldn't be getting a shower.  I decided my hunger could wait a bit longer so I could be entertained by the panic attacks they were sure to have when they stepped into their ice bath.  Needless to say they weren't in there long, and all our laughing and yelling were responded with a loud "Coooooweeeee" from the road.  

Out of nowhere, appeared Hungus above the pool.  He and Pace had stayed in Andover the night before and had just got dropped back off at the trailhead.  Not realizing we were so close to the road, I abandoned Gribley and DS, hoping to get a quick hitch into town.  I was presented with a very small, albeit paved, road that looked like it saw about eight cars a day.  We said goodbye to Pace and Hungus as they headed north into the woods just as White Wolf arrived.  The five of us waited for 45 minutes just for a car to pass, and of course it ignored us.  We were going to starve to death trying to hitch here.  The vultures were circling.  We tried to pass the time by playing Ninja, walking in circles and eventually succumbed to just laying on the road.  We stirred when we heard a truck approaching from the east, which was unfortunate as were were tyring to go east.  But who else was in the back of that truck but Flies, his Hawaiian shirt and blonde hair flowing in the wind.  He had gotten a ride out of town with Owf and was just going to skip the ten miles from Grafton Notch.  Their ride agreed to take us into town and we all piled in the back.  It was a windy eight mile drive before we were dropped off at the Andover General Store, the only store in Andover, ME, pop. 864.

We all made our way to the diner in the back and ate an obscene amount of food.  We found Cheesetowel doing what they do best, lurking outside the store.  After the feast we all looked around the store, grabbing our resupply.  I made sure to get more than enough food to get me to Rangeley, our next stop.  I never want to be that low on food again.  That was a type of hunger I've never experienced before.  It was beyond the "stomach growling I feel faint I'm starved" type of hunger.  It was pain.  Have you ever been woken in the night by the pain of your stomach eating itself?  Well it sucks.  We were all crabby and irritable from lack of food, and we all agreed we would never go light on food again, though the pickins' at the Andover General store were slim and pricey.  I spent like $70 on pop tarts.  

Afterwards we scouted out the few hostels in town and opted to take Hungus's advice and stay at The Cabin.  The Cabin was about three miles out of Andover, so we called for a ride just as Trail Momma appeared.  We were chatting with her as our ride pulled up - a dear sweet old man who had apparently just had a stroke and was using a walker, well half using a walker as he also had a broken arm.  We loaded our packs as the old man struggled with the keys.  Yeah....this seems safe.  As we were all piling in, Trail Momma offered to take me to the library, then to The Cabin, as she was staying there also.  I took one last look at our driver attempting to get in the car and decided the library sounded wonderful.  I hopped into Trail Momma's car as the boys apprehensively got in Bear's vehicle,  watching Towelie put the key in the ignition for him.  I said goodbye to DS and Gribley, and got in the car that had less probability of death.  Trail Momma and I spent about an hour at the library before my computer time was up (you see how it was difficult to keep my blog updated getting about an hour of computer time a week).  The Andover Library was a charming building, apparently used to be a church, and was in the shape of a small octagon.  

On the way to The Cabin we picked up an old British guy, a SoBo who was also staying at The Cabin, which turned out to be wonderful.  It was the home of Honey and Bear, the sweetest old couple I have ever met.  One day, years ago, they picked up a hiker trying to hitch into town, and just ended up bringing him home with them.  And they've been doing it ever since.  They've added on to their house, and the entire basement was now a hostel for hikers.  The house is filled with gifts and artwork sent by previous thru-hikers who had stayed there.  They also had several campers and a large tee pee in the yard hikers could stay in as well.  Everything was full but the bunkroom, so Cheesetowel, White Wolf, Pants and I were given beds in there.  Trail Momma and SOS were in the only private room upstairs.  We all went about showering, drying out all our gear and making our way through the case of beer we purchased in town.  

Breakfast at The Cabin

After we ran out of beer, Pants went to ask for a ride to town, and instead struck a deal that if he would grill all the chicken for dinner that night, he could take the car himself.  So, we had more beer and excellently grilled chicken courtesy of Pants on Fire. We had a nice relaxing evening playing Jenga, watching movies and being entertained by a brief but hilarious fight between Towelie and Cheesewater on whether we should crash a wedding that may or may not be a mile down the road.  Several other interesting topics were discussed over our Bud Lights, and I will refrain from mentioning them here.  Just know the most enlightening piece of information I took away from that evening was "Well all I know is that everybody shits, and everybody eats sandwiches."  Cheesetowel how I will miss you.  The next morning we woke up with hints of headaches, and groggily made our way up to breakfast.  It was raining, and over our pancakes and coffee we pleaded with the weather gods to put the rain away.  They did not, and White Wolf, Pants and I begrudgingly got into the car, rain jackets on.  Cheesewater and Towelie were still sleeping off the stimulating conversation from the night before.  Honey and Bear's son drove us back to the trail, and just as we were getting out, the rain stopped.  The weather gods had listened to us!  I wished they would do that more often as we headed back into the woods. 

  

Falling into Maine (Aug 28th - 30th)

"The world is big and I want to have a good look at it before it gets dark."

~ John Muir

The first few miles out of Gorham were pretty gradual until we started the climb up Mt. Hayes.  Due to all our separate hitches out of town, we got pretty spread out and I hiked most of the day alone.  Just as I was greeting the rocky exposed top of Mt. Hayes, a rainstorm decided to greet me. You would wait until I had no tree cover you evil wench rain cloud. Luckily it was a quick storm that blew over as I made my way across the summit.  As I stood up there I had to pause to watch the clouds whirl around me. The rain had passed and I stood amazed at how quickly the clouds were moving.  I was going to be sad when I was no longer close to the clouds and didn't have time or need to watch their movements.

I relocated my gaze to the ground and saw piles of crap everywhere.  MOOSE!!!  I was in moose country now, and there was a moose around here somewhere.  I hoped I would find him as I made my way down the trail.  I came down Mt. Hayes and decided to get the climb up Cascade Mountain out of the way before taking a break at a view.  The sun was out now and I tried to dry out some of my gear that had gotten wet when I participated in the mini rainstorm.  I chatted with a group of hikers I hadn't met before,  six guys that had been behind me most of the way, but were now hoping to cruise through Maine and wouldn't see much of after.  Southern Maine is said to be the hardest part of the AT, so I had no plans to "cruise" through it.  It was basically the Whites continued, expect we had just worn ourselves out with the Whites.  

Flies and Pants playing Scrabble

No one really had a plan as to where we were headed that night. I arrived at Trident Col Campsite around 4pm just as the sky was darkening again.  I was pretty over hiking in the rain so I headed in.  It was super crowded, and not with thru-hikers.  It seemed weekend warriors were out by the hundreds.  I found the last open tentsite in the way back and decided to claim it.  My dad, Cheesetowel, Roller and Sunkist, Meds and FM (who had caught up) all made it to the shelter four miles ahead, which  was apparently just as crowded.  White Wolf, DS and Gribley went past Trident hoping to find stealthing at the lake up the trial, while Pants and Flies decided they would try and squeeze their tents next to mine.  The three of us settled in for the night, playing a very intense game of Scrabble. Flies was carrying a full Scrabble board. His other gear choices included two Hawaiian shirts and a Mario blanket. No jacket.  I worried a bit for his well-being as we were entering fall, in the mountains of Maine, and it was about to get cold.  Perhaps the Mario blanket wasn't the best choice....but at the moment I was more concerned with trying to beat them at Scrabble, keeping an eye on the dark clouds above us at the same time, though it never did rain again.

Bog Board of Death

The next morning I was the last to leave, which seemed to be becoming a regular occurrence.  As it got colder out, it was becoming increasingly harder to get out of my tent.  My tent was tiny and cozy, like being in a warm little bottle.  I finally got going, traveling past Page Pond, over Wocket Ledge and around Dream Lake (very dreamy yes). When I got to Gentian Pond Shelter I decided to have an early lunch.  I had the place to myself and the shelter had a nice view over the pond.  I browsed the register and learned that everyone saw a cow and calf in the pond last night!  Dammit, that was my moose! I packed my crap and made my way out of the shelter, ready to head out of NH.  I was five miles from the Maine border, certainly there would be moose over there.  Out of the shelter I was immediately presented with a pud, and was then allowed to climb over Mt. Success.  I caught up with Gribley, DS, and Pants who were resting at a view.  DS immediately showed me a hilarious picture of Gribley face planting into a bog board.  The bog boards, though well intentioned, are really just wooden planks of doom.  Boobie traps. They are rotted, slick, crooked and sometimes don't even support your weight.  So thanks, MATC, for littering the trail with them all through Maine.  Like we didn't have enough to worry about, you threw in your man-made bridges of death.  After getting a good laugh, the four of us successfully finished climbing Mt. Success.  We didn't stay long, as it was a very windy success, and we were too excited to head down the mountain and into MAINE!!!

New Hampshire wasn't giving up without a fight.  Pace had texted me that NH had tried to kill her and Hungus on their way out, and I now understood.  Coming off Mt. Success was slick and rocky, and my dismount was less than successful.  At one point we encountered a 20ft slick, smooth rock face we were suppose to get down somehow.  Gribley went first, and to the far right he found a mossy, rooty part of the rock we could use to gently step down, rather than the rock slide that was the center.  DS followed Gribley and I followed her.  Literally my first step onto the rock my feet flew out from underneath me and I started sliding down the rock.  I quickly grabbed onto a tiny wee tree growing up out of the rock to avoid sliding into, and subsequently taking out, DS.  And then, there I hung. 

I love you Maine

After that snafu, there was no way I was making it over to the right to slowly and carefully make my way off the rock, the way DS was now.  The only option left to me was to let go and slide the remaining 15ft down the rock.  The only problem was DS was still baby stepping her way down.  Not particularly enjoying dangling from the tree, I politely encouraged her to kindly hurry the fuck up.  While she yelled at everyone to quit rushing her, Gribley stood at the bottom laughing and capturing the entire disaster on camera while Pants stood above us watching it all unfold.  She finally hit the bottom and I immediately let my tired arm go and quickly slid to the bottom of the rock, praying I wouldn't hurt myself along the way.  I arrived safely, and ultimately decided I did not fall, I simply found a more efficient way to get down the mountain.  Either way, it didn't matter because we were only a few steps from Maine!

Grbley giving Maine love

We hit the border and were greeted by a somewhat shitfaced White Wolf and Flies.  Everyone else had moved on, but those two decided to wait for us, and kill a bottle of Jameson to pass the time. The four of us immediately joined the party, ready to celebrate our Maine arrival.  We spent I'm not sure how much time at the sign, taking pictures, frightening approaching hikers by warmly and loudly welcoming them to Maine (or NH) and participating in general debauchery.  Eventually we decided it was time to try and go somewhere (i.e. we ran out of wine and whiskey). We ambitiously set our sights on Carlo Col Shelter, a mere half mile away.  Disclaimer:  I do not endorse drunk hiking.  Like most physical activities, hiking is more difficult drunk.  But it didn't matter to us because we were hiking in Maine!  

DS in Maine!

Turns out Maine is a buzzkill.  Think back to the last time you were pretty drunk (if you can remember) and recall how successfully you were able to walk around.  Now throw in roots and rocks and a vertical boulder field to climb down.  But like the hiking rockstars we are, we arrived at the shelter safe and sound.  And sober.  Carlo Col Shelter was a bit far off the trail, so there weren't a lot of other people there.  We all made dinner and eventually drifted off to bed, ready to tackle Mahoosuc Notch the next day.  The following morning we all made our way out of Carlo Col Shelter and up and over Goose Eye west, east and north peak.  The peaks were exposed, windy and cold and we all tried to hurry over them.  I got a bit slowed down on the descent, the MATC again tried to be helpful by putting boards over the steeper parts.  They apparently hoped to incorporate a tight-rope aspect to our hike, as these boards were literally the width of my foot.  I'd rather just deal with the rocks thanks.  From where I stood on the exposed north side of the mountain, I could see down to the rest of the crew below me.

At the border!

Now there have been a lot of epic and hilarious falls throughout this trip.  We all wish there was some way we could get a video montage of hikers falling down the AT.  With our joints getting weaker and the trail getting rockier, it is safe to say we all fell a lot.  But Gribley's bog board face plant and my tree dangling gymnastics had nothing on the 'Dances with Flies mud pit fiasco.'  From where I stood I watched Flies stand on a bog board at the bottom of the mountain, and write his name in the mud next to him.  He liked to write his name in mud.  He then got it in his head that he should top off the work of art with his footprints.  Confident that the mud was just a 'top layer' and not very deep, he decided to jump, pack on, into the mud to leave two perfect footprints.  The mud was not a 'top layer' but a pit.  He jumped into a pit of mud.  He immediately started calling for help as he sunk deeper into the muddy mess.  The more he struggled the deeper he went.  I watched everyone else run back to him, but before helping him out they all got their priorities straight and took an abundance of photos first.  He was eventually pulled out of the mud and unhappily hiked the remaining mile to Full Goose Shelter as a mudman.

By the time I arrived he had cleaned most of the mud off but was left with wet boots and socks.  Flies learned that day not to jump into pits of mud if you don't want to be covered in mud.  We all had lunch and then began hiking towards Mahoosuc Notch.  We had a quick climb over Fulling Mill Mountain and then headed down to the notch.  Mahoosuc Notch is considered the most difficult, or, most fun mile on the entire AT.  The notch is a mile long gap filled with car and house sized boulders that must be climbed over, under or around.  There are several parts that require pack removal in order to squeeze through or under boulders.  Though there are some blazes, the MATC took a 'you figure it out' approach, leaving it up to us to decipher how to traverse the mile.  I personally was quite excited for this section.  Pants and I happily dove in.  The first couple of minutes we were wondering what all the fuss was about.  It wasn't long before we found out.  The trail disappeared and a sea of giant misshapen boulders lay in front of us.

We didn't get very far int the notch before we ran into Gribley, White Wolf and Flies, who had their packs off and were climbing down into a small hole.  The pile up of boulders over the years has resulted in a series of caves underneath the notch.  Flies was ready to explore and we were ready to follow. After the first cave, Gribley and DS took off to make their way through the notch, hoping to make it up the Arm yet that night.  Pants, White Wolf, Flies and I remained in the notch exploring cave after cave.  It did occur to me at one point that I was following a 19 year old wearing a Hawaiian shirt down very small holes with I don't even know how many tons of rock perched precariously above me. Alas, Flies never lead me astray and should really consider a career as a cave captain, though there were some holes I was unwilling to crawl in for fear of severe claustrophobia setting in.  

After a number of hours goofing off in the notch, we were finally ready to get out of it.  Problem was we had spent more time below the notch than on it.We still had most of the notch to actually hike, which can take up to two hours on it's own.  And we had no water.  Brilliant.  As we slowly made our way through the boulders I got it in my head that I was going to make it through the rest of the notch without having to remove my pack.  Why? Well....I'm not sure.  I guess when you dedicate six months of your life to the accomplishment of one thing, have removed all other distractions, literally everything you do from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to bed is focused on the attainment of one singular goal, well, sometimes that can feel overwhelming.  We've all worked towards goals, everyday we do.  Lose ten pounds, buy a house, get a new job etc...but the difference is, while working towards those goals, our lives are filled with other things as well.  Dotted with smaller goals I suppose, like mowing the lawn and cleaning the kitchen. 

When you set the goal of losing weight for example, you don't drop everything else in your life to accomplish it (well I didn't anyways).  But when we left to hike the AT that is exactly what we have done.  We have completely abandoned everyone and everything in our lives to devote ourselves physically and mentally to the accomplishment of one thing.  Get to Mt. Katahdin.  Six months of my life focused on achieving one thing.  At times Katahdin seemed so far away.  Even where I stood, 275 miles from her summit, she still seemed a figment of my imagination.  In addition, there is not a lot of variety in what we do.  There is a plethora of variety in what we experience, 14 states, three seasons, varying terrain and people, but what we do, that is unchanging.  We hike. Every day, all day, we hike.  Never mind drastically changing your life in order to achieve one thing, but if the only road to that goal was to focus on doing the same thing everyday - get up and hike,  that's all I ever had to do - could you remain focused? Or would you lose yourself in the exhaustive monotony?  Many do, and they are not in Maine.  

I guess I don't expect everyone at home to understand what that feels like, but understand that at times in order for us to deal with this monumental task we have set for ourselves, to reduce it at times to something we can comprehend, we need to dot our lives with smaller goals, so to speak. Something other than "I'm going to hike to here today."  For example, White Wolf decided that he was going to ford all the rivers without getting his feet wet or having to take off his shoes (he would soon learn that trying to accomplish that goal in Maine would be like us trying to hike to a mountain on the moon).  And today I decided that I would traverse the notch without having to take my pack off.

Pants went pack off

This too, proved to be difficult.  I awkwardly squeezed myself through several cracks until I arrived at a point where it appeared the intended route was to belly crawl over rocks under a boulder.  Hmmmm.....I left the pack on and went for it.  It wasn't long before my pack was stuck by the boulder above me, and I couldn't move.  I also couldn't unclip the pack as it was pushing me down into my rocky grave.  Of all the various ways I could perish on this trip, I was going to go with 'suffication by backpack.'  A death that was completely avoidable by the simple advance removal of said pack.  I never said that the smaller goals we set for ourselves aided us in achieving our larger goal of getting to Katahdin.   As I convinced myself not to panic, I wiggled and wormed my way free.  I eventually succeeded in crawling towards the hole above me that was my exit.  Now there really was no where to put your feet, so to exit out of the hole you basically had to pull yourself up with only your arms.  For the smart people, the ones who removed their packs, they could simply shove their packs through the hole, then packless, there was plently of space to lift themselves out.  Now I, with my bulky pack on, had to exit the hole backwards, fitting my pack (on my back) through the hole first, then using all my arm strength (which after walking across the country was zilch) dead lift myself and pack out of the hole.  Success!  It's the small victories.  

Satisfied with myself, but thoroughly exhausted, I was ready to be done with "the most fun mile of the AT."  We caught up with White Wolf and Dances with Flies and found a flat spot near Bull Branch just after the notch.  White Wolf, Pants and Flies played Scrabble while I opted to lay in my tent and drink hot toddies and recover.  The 'pack on' Mahoosuc Notch Challenge proved to be more exhausting than anticipated.  I promised myself to find other ways to entertain myself while hiking and tried to rest up for the long day tomorrow.  Though I will confirm that the notch was extremely fun, just take your pack off before crawling into holes.  Good advice in general I suppose.  

The Last of the Whites (Aug 24th - 28th)

"As I make my slow pilgrimage through the world, a certain sense of beautiful mystery seems to gather and grow"

~A.C. Benson

Well the Wildcats were no joke.  They could rename the mountain "Land of False Summits."  So many times during our climb we were given false hope we were near the top.  The trail would flatten out, filling our hearts with happiness, and just when we would finally relax and soothe our tired legs, convinced the worst was over, we would encounter yet another insufferable rock face, laughing at us, feeding off our pain and despair.  OK a bit dramatic perhaps, but this continued for three hours as we all leap frogged each other while taking heart attack avoidance breaks.  We finally arrived at Peak E, then slowly made our way up Peak D where the gondola was.  I was surprised to see Squatch sitting there chatting with everyone.  He had literally just texted me that he was staying in Gorham, and wanted to try and meet at the notch.  Sadly I had already hiked out of the notch and was halfway up Wildcat when I got it. Knowing I was about to pass the gondola, he took it up and surprised us with treats and water:) He hung out until he had to catch the last gondola down at 5pm.  Sadly that was the last time I got to see Squatch on the trail.  He had to bounce ahead to film Trails End Festival in Maine, then get some footage of Katahdin and Knife's Edge.  But I am excited to see how the film turns out and plan to continue to follow his career.

After the gondola quit running we felt safe to pitch our tents in the open grassy area (we weren't sure this was technically allowed). Then we (me, Pace, Hungus, White Wolf, Pants, my dad, Roller and Sunkist) enjoyed a gorgeous evening, listening to Mitch Hedberg with Hungus's mini-speakers.  Towelie and Cheesewater arrived a bit later, after hitching into town to get food and whiskey (which they drank all of during the climb to numb the pain).  The next morning I got to watch the sunrise from my tent, then we all went about the practice of drying out our crap in the sun.  The problem with camping on grass, and why I usually avoid it, is everything is covered in dew in the morning.  One by one we all took off, aiming to get somewhere around Imp campsite, 10ish miles away.  I climbed over Wildcat Peak C and A, before beginning the horribly steep descent into Carter Notch.  We all took a break at Carter Notch Hut, the last of the huts in the Whites.  No one else was there but the croo, so we hung out for an hour eating soup and relaxing before our climb up Carter Dome and Mt. Height. 

The clouds started rolling in as we tried to take a break on Carter Dome, so we just decided to carry on to Mt. Height and down to Zeta Pass.  We took a quick breather on some small nameless peak covered in trees, where we all agreed we were kinda over it for the day.  The wicked descent down to Carter Notch and the subsequent slingshot straight up Carter Dome wore me out. It was one of those points in our elevation profiles we used to look at way back in VA and laugh at the fact we had to do that, you know, sitting around "look at how stupid this looks! It's like straight down and straight up! hahahahahaha!" Well now we were doing that, and we were tired. We thought we might try to find a stealth site before Imp Campsite, which was another $8 pay site.  We all got up to pound out our last climbs over Middle Carter Mt. and North Carter Mt. before we could begin our descent to Imp.  And by descent I mean steep and rocky vortex into hell.  Hungus warned us the descent was nasty and he was right. We got the worst of it out of the way and started searching for a site. The entire trail to Imp we had a rock wall to our left and a swamp to our right.  Awesome.  We had no plan B, and when I made it to Imp I found White Wolf and Pants near the sign.  Towelie and Cheesewater decided to go ahead and try to find stealthing somewhere on Mt. Moriah.  I was pretty sure my dad was at Imp and everyone else was behind us still.  

After that descent my joints were shot and I had no desire to climb Moriah at the moment.  While many hikers prefer going down to the heart pounding sweaty uphills, White Wolf and I would much prefer if the entire AT was uphill (well, flat would be best, and maybe it could be lined with unicorns and trees made of chocolate while we're dreaming).  We are surprisingly much faster going uphill than downhill. Between White Wolf's knees and my ankles we have the combined joints of a 97 year old.  One really tough descent wears me out more than three tough climbs.  Climbing down off the Carters did me in and I was ready to bite the bullet and just pay the $8. Pants and White Wolf followed suit. We hiked the .2 down to the site and found the tent platform farthest away from the group of college kids out for the weekend or whatever part of the week it was, I rarely actually knew.  The caretaker came over to collect our $8 and stayed while we made dinner to chat.  Tomorrow was our last day in the Whites, we had an eight mile hike to US 2 and Gorham, where we all planned to take a zero and recover.  I hadn't showered in a week, being we were too lazy to bother with the coin-op showers at Pinkham Notch.  I was ready for town.

The next morning I was the last to leave Imp, making my way slowly over Mt. Moriah.  I paused a few times to take in the last of the Whites.  I could still see Mt. Washington in the distance.  Distances are so deceiving.  You'll be standing on one mountain, looking out at the mountain ahead of you and it will seem so far away, but within a matter of hours you'll be standing on it, looking back at where you just came from.  There is nothing more rewarding than standing on top of a mountain looking back at everything you did to get there.  I said one last goodbye to the Whites and turned to head towards town.  The hike down Moriah was very gentle, I took a brief break at Rattle River Shelter with White Wolf, then we topped off our day with an easy two mile stroll down to US 2.  We got to the road and walked down to the White Mountains Hostel so I could pick up my bounce box.  I sent it there because I originally thought I might stay there, but now that we were a giant group we all decided to just split rooms at the hotel in town.  I really only like staying at hostels when there are no other options.  Usually splitting a hotel is the same price and you get a bit more space to yourself.  

After picking up my box we headed back to the road to hitch into town. We were the last to arrive at the Royalty Inn - everyone divided up to split rooms and I went in search of my dad's room. I tried to get all my 'chores' done the first day.  Pace, Hungus, Dances with Flies (who appeared out of nowhere) and I got a ride to the Walmart from Broadsword and then went to dinner with them at pretty much the only restaurant in town.  We all stayed up on the porch chatting and drinking beers before exhaustion set in and I had to go to bed.  I woke the next morning excited for the whole lotta nothing I had to do that day.  Pace and Hungus decided to hike out, but the rest of us were staying put. I made my way over to the library to update my blog - I only got one entry typed up when I got a text from Gribley that he and Daystar had made it to town and were at the Walmart resupplying.  They had gotten off back at Pinkham Notch to visit a friend of DS's so they had gotten a day behind.  They were planning on hiking out that night, but wanted to grab a case of beer and come chill at the hotel with us for a bit first. I knew at "grab a case of beer" they weren't actually going anywhere, but I let them pretend:)

I left the library to go meet them in Pants and White Wolf's room. They showed up with Cheesetowel and Flies, who had apparently only gotten their room for one night but were still lurking around town as usual. Before they knew it, Pants and White Wolf were hosting an impromptu hiker party in their hotel room.  It was fun but I was glad I had my dad's room to retreat to when I was finally ready for bed. The next morning I got up bright and early and headed over to the PO to send my bounce box to Monson, then stopped at the liquor store to grab some whiskey.  We would be crossing the Maine border in a few days and I intended to celebrate.  I then proceeded to wake everyone else up (apparently they all slept like tetris pieces in White Wolf and Pants's room) and we all grabbed breakfast, grabbed our shit and started the process of pairing off and hitching out of town. 

We traveled like a scraggly herd out of the hotel parking lot when some kid ran out of the lobby to ask us if we were "real live hobos." Daystar told him we were hikers, but I don't think the difference registered. Inspiring the youth of America.....My dad and I walked ahead of Daystar and Gribley, with Towelie wandering somewhere in the middle.  Hitching into town is, I find, much easier since you're on a highway of some type and not walking down a business or residential street.  I stuck my thumb out as we walked down the street and a jeep pulled over into the parking spot next to me.  I went to open the back door to throw my pack in when the lady got out to inform me that she was just trying to go to the bank.  Oh. I slowly closed the door...Right. Well, enjoy the bank then....I turned around, shaking my head at Towelie and my dad who were running to try and piggyback on my hitch.  I made a mental note that every car pulling over near me was not necessarily doing so to transport me places.

But you know who was? Trail Momma.  She was across the street honking at us! Gribley and DS were already climbing into her car.  We sprinted across the avenue, hopped in and Trail Momma dropped us off at the trailhead.  We excitedly took off for the woods. In two nights we would be in MAINE.  The final state.  "See you in Maine!" had become a common farewell when saying goodbye to hikers, and we were about to see everyone in Maine and I couldn't wait.  

The Whites Continued... (Aug. 22nd- 24th)

"Most people are on the world, not in it."

          ~John Muir

So after an extended break on the top of Mt. Jackson, the three of us (FM, White Wolf and I) tore ourselves away and headed down to Mizpah Hut for lunch.  Mizpah was by far the most laid back hut and most accommodating to thru- hikers.  Doing my Work For Stay there would have been a much more relaxing experience than the one I was about to have at Lake of the Clouds.  We got there around 1pm, my dad was still there from the night before.  He was only going to Lake of the Clouds as well, and was hoping to get there by 4pm to secure some WFS.  LOC was a bit different, as it can't really turn away hikers due to it's location.  They only have six WFS spots like the rest, but for everyone else there is some type of dungeon bunk room you have to pay $10 for.  LOC is at the base of Mt. Washington, considered the 'deadliest little mountain,' so they can't really send hikers up and over it at night.  Washington is the highest peak in the northeastern US at 6,288 ft.  Up until 2010, the summit held the record for the highest wind gust directly measured at the Earth's surface, 231 mph, recorded back in 1934.  Due to the convergence of several storm tracks over the mountain, the weather is known to be very unpredictable and erratic.  In 2008, GearJunkie.com made a list of the 'World's 10 Most Dangerous Mountains.' Mt. Washington was #8, right after Everest.  So. Let's go climb it.

First we had to wind our way around Mt. Eisenhower, Franklin, and Monroe.  It was a beautifully clear day and we all took our time over the rocks, enjoying the view.  The AT over the Presidentials is almost entirely above treeline. In the 19 mile section between Webster Cliffs and Osgood Tent Site, there is pretty much no stealthing,  as the AT is completely exposed and rocky.  And by no stealthing, I'm not only referring to the illegality of it.  I mean there is nowhere to put a tent, as the stretch is a 19 mile boulder and rock mess.  Our only option was to stay at LOC, then get to Osgood the next night.  We arrived at LOC at around 4:30pm and a welcoming party greeted us when we arrived.  Pace, Hungus, Towelie and Cheesewater were all there. They had all stayed at Mizpah the night before and only hiked the five to LOC, deciding to save Washington for tomorrow.

I snagged the last WFS spot, securing a place on the dining room floor and avoiding the dungeon.  The 'dungeon' looked like it came straight from Auschwitz.  It was a tiny cement cell with plywood bunks stacked on top of each other, the bottom bunk literally being a piece of plywood on the floor.  It was also probably only two degrees warmer in there than it was outside. My tent would have been warmer. The huts won't allow us to set up our tents as it would "damage the alpine vegetation" (um, you put a building on top of it) and it would "look bad for the guests" I was told by one croo.  How witnessing people actually camping is offensive I do not know.

Lakes of the Clouds Hut

Regardless, we all had a somewhat enjoyable evening relaxing by the lake that is up there while waiting for dinner to be over.  This is where our hatred for the huts really set in.  Everyone else had done a few WFS, so they were prepared for the torture.  But it was the first for Meds, FM, Pants, White Wolf and I, so we weren't sure what to expect.  Apparently we have to sit around like starving dogs waiting for all the guests to finish eating, then for the croo to clear everything.  We didn't get to eat until 8:30pm.  That's usually when I'm in bed.  Pace and Hungus got to eat a bit earlier, as part of their WFS was to talk to the normies and answer all their questions about thru-hiking.  The huts usually arrange a naturalist to speak to the guests each night, and when they don't have one, they pluck out a few thru-hikers to talk as their WFS.  Only after Pace and Hungus started their talk were we allowed to go back to the kitchen and eat.  After spending the last few months hiking 1,850 miles over mountains, we had larger than normal appetites.  And we are not used to eating that late.  We were crabby and starved. 

Afterwards the dungeon people retreated to their cave while those of us who got WFS had to wait until all the guests left the dining room so we could put down our pads and bags and go to bed.  I think part of the frustration was that for the last five months we have had to abide by no one's schedule but our own.  And by our own I mean we didn't have one.  I slept when I wanted to sleep, ate when I wanted to eat, and hiked as far as I wanted to hike.  I never had to worry about a work schedule, being somewhere on time, etc...so having to abide by someone else's schedule was just not suiting me.  Granted, LOC was a bit more chaotic than the rest of the huts, it was the largest and most popular due to it's location.  Eventually the normies cleared off and we could finally go to bed.  Well we also had to wait for the lunatic croo member Andrew to quit playing his didgeridoo, then we were allowed to sleep in peace. 

We were woken bright and early by normies milling around the dining room waiting for breakfast.  The hikers in the dungeon and those that already did their WFS decided to forgo leftover breakfast and get the hell out of there.  Unfortunately me, my dad, Roller and Sunkist agreed to do our work in the morning, so we had to wait for breakfast to be over and for everyone to clear out of the hut so we could sweep the dining room and bunk rooms.  After our chores were done, we were given leftover cold breakfast.  I scarfed it down ready to get out of there.  Sadly, Mt. Washington was covered in a cloud.  It was windy and freezing, but there could have been a tornado on the mountain for all I cared, I didn't want to spend one more second at this hut.  My dislike of the huts existence was justified by this experience in my mind.  I walked out of the hut and Washington loomed in front of me.  Now or never I guess.

Going up Washington

I started my climb up, and the whole thing really wasn't as bad as I expected.  That or I was just prepared for the worst.  There wasn't much of a trail as it was all rocks, we just had to follow cairns.  It was so cloudy I could really only see from one cairn to the next.  Sorry there really are no pictures, that would have involved me stopping and taking my gloves off, which I was unwilling to do.  Eventually I found my way to the top, the whole thing was in a cloud and I walked around a bit aimlessly at first trying to find everyone.  Finally some buildings emerged from the clouds.  I became pretty horrified by what I found.  Buildings and people everywhere.  I knew there was a road and a train that went to the top for those that didn't want to risk hiking it, but I didn't expect to find an entire plaza of consumption.  People everywhere, in T-shirts and flip flops trying to experience Mt. Washington without having to take more than 10 steps.  I found my way inside to a room reserved for backpackers.  We could stash packs and charge phones.  I saw everyone's packs and after dropping mine, went in search of them upstairs. The plan was to wait a few hours to see if the weather cleared before climbing down.  Unfortunately, the cloud never cleared, and our threshold for dealing with stupid annoying people was a lot smaller than our threshold for physical discomfort. 

We made our way over to the summit sign which was next to the eating and buying building.  There were tourists galore, trying to maneuver their way up the five foot rock pile to take a picture with the sign.  White Wolf took one look at the disgusting scene, said fuck it, and started hiking down.  I was about to follow suit, but my dad really wanted a photo.  And you know what, it took me two days to climb up here from Crawford Notch. I was taking my picture with this stupid sign.  We waited patiently for our turn, until a woman behind us called out "How about people wearing T-shirts and shorts get their picture first!"  Every thru-hiker near that sign paused to slowly look at her with disgust.  We were just waiting for someone to say it.  Finally Roller responded with "How about the people that actually climbed this mountain get their picture first while you go back to the car and get a jacket?"  ......we all got our pictures and quickly made our exit, walking away from the clusterf*ck to the more peaceful experience of climbing down Washington in a cloud.  

After three miles, we were far enough below Washington to be out of the windy cloud.  Once you got off the summit, it became a wonderfully clear day.  The 6 mile stretch down Washington, up Mt. Clay, Mt. Jefferson, past Edmonds Col, up Thunderstorm Junction and down to Madison Spring Hut were glorious.  All above treeline, miles of nothing but splendid views to wash away Lake of the Clouds and Mt. Washington.  We were truly lucky with how good the weather had been.  I can't imagine doing any of this trail in a storm, or even rain.  We were always completely exposed and the rocks would be very slick.  Most of the people would just stay at their huts, but we wouldn't really have a choice but to keep hiking, so I thank you weather gods.


I took a quick break at Madison Spring hut, but wasn't keen on lingering long.  I guess Gribley, Daystar, Dances with Flies, Honest Abe and Warrior had all tried to do WFS here the night before but got turned away.  The nearest place to camp was at Osgood, three miles away, up and over Mt. Madison.  They said they didn't need to eat, they just wanted to sleep on the floor, the porch even, but the croo said no.  Refusing to night hike down Madison, I guess they quietly cowboy camped behind the hut.  After climbing up and over Madison, I honestly can't believe they expected them to do that at night.  Leaving the hut, the climb up Madison was the usual rocky scramble, but the two and a half mile descent was the longest two and a half miles on the entire trail for me, and for many.  Hungus later told me it was the most elevation loss in one swoop on the entire trail. And the whole descent was rocks.  Walking steeply down misshapen basketball sized rocks.

Cogg Railway

The worst part was that there were so many false summits, you couldn't see all the way down.  It would flatten out (the rocks were still there) and you would get to the edge, just to be confronted with another long descent.  Over and over this happened.  You had to take such careful steps, all the rocks were so unstable, the entire descent turned into a giant controlled fall.  I was just biding my time till I face planted.  And face plant I did.  I tripped on one of the stupid rocks and flew about 10 ft face first into some tiny alpine bush.  I laid there for a minute, assuming I was broken, mangled and dead.  That was it, I'm not moving.  I live here now.  But I slowly got up and quickly realized I was perfectly OK.  My knee was going to have a wicked bruise on it, but all my body parts appeared to be in the correct place.  I looked back up at my trekking pole standing stiff, stuck in the rocks back where I tripped.  I couldn't believe how far I went.  I think it qualifies as flying.  I then looked at the bush I landed in.  It was the only bush among the sea of jagged rocks.  I tripped, flew, and somehow landed on the only spot that wouldn't result in pulverized bones.  So.  That happened.  I went back to get my pole and continued down the 10 ft. section that I had just 'air-blazed.'  I have had several scary falls, including one where I successfully punched myself in the stomach with my trekking pole, but that one just took the top spot.

White Wolf on top of Madison

I shook it off, thanked the bush for saving my life as I walked by, and continued my never-ending climb down this impossibly long mountain.  Eventually I was transported below treeline and the rocks smoothed out, giving me false hope that I might be somewhere near my destination.  But every once in awhile, I got a glimpse through the trees....I was still really high up on the mountain.  Are you kidding me. What was happening? How is this taking so long?  For fuck's sake, I'm not sure what kind of president Madison was, but his mountain was starting to piss me off.  Finally, around 6pm, I arrived at the side trail to Osgood tent site.  It was the only campsite off the AT in the Whites that didn't have a fee. It was bound to be crowded.  

FM, Meds, Towelie, Cheesewater, Pants and White Wolf were all there.  Roller, Sunkist, Pace, Hungus and my dad were still climbing down the miserable beast.  I squeezed my tent on a platform between Towelie and Cheesewater and went to the fire to make dinner.  The rest of the crew rolled in just before dark, looking as exhausted as I felt.  The Whites were wearing on us, and we still had the Wildcats to contend with.  The next morning we were all pretty excited to get to Pinkham Notch.  Pinkham was our first 'emergency exit' out of the Whites so to speak.  There was a lodge type thing at the notch with a restaurant, store and coin-op showers.  It was also an easy hitch into Gorham from here.  Meds and FM were planning to go into town and take a break for the night.  The rest of us were going to grab a hot meal, a small resupply from the store and continue through the Whites, going into Gorham in three days from US 2.  My dad got hiking at the crack of dawn, hoping to go into town to get a full resupply and get back to the trail.  The rest of us got a later start, as it was only 4.8 miles to the notch and we had no town ambitions.  We just had a small climb up Lowes Bald Spot before arriving at the notch.  

About a half mile before the road we were surprised with yet another blast from the past.  Strolling down the trail towards us was Spools.  He was a hiker I knew way back in TN and VA, and hadn't seen since.  He had apparently took some time off the trail and was now doing a flip flop.  Flip floppers start as NoBos, then at some point in their journey, flip up to Katahdin and hike south to the point they got off.  The main reason for doing this is the running out of time. Baxter State Park in ME closes Oct. 15 due to weather.  It is the only real 'deadline' the trail imposes on hikers.  If you aren't moving fast enough to make that deadline, you need to flip up and go south, since SoBos have no such deadline, no other part of the trail actually closes.  It is still most definitely considered a thru-hike, though I can't imagine not finishing my hike at Katahdin.  Spools flipped up at Waynesboro, VA, before the halfway point, so he had some miles to go. We finished catching up, got word on hikers behind us (you always know whats going on with the hikers ahead of you from the registers, but no clue where the people behind you are), then made our way to the notch.

Hiking down Madison

 Meds and FM got a ride into town from Broadsword and Snakegirl - two hikers who had already summited, but Snakegirl had skipped part of the Whites and was back finishing this section to complete her thru hike.  While I was in the restaurant eating with everyone, my dad arrived, getting a ride back from town with Trail Momma.  (Not sure if I've explained before - Trail Momma is slackpacking her husband SOS the entire way, she's not actually hiking, but has become such a part of the trail for many).  We all milled around Joe Dodge Lodge for a bit, procrastinating our climb up Wildcat Peak E.  We weren't going far, it was only three miles to the top.  We were hoping to stealth on the summit, there was a ski gondola that ran in the summer as well, and when it stopped at 5pm and the worker man went down, we were hoping to set up our tents and stealth in the grassy area next to it.  I contemplated getting a ride to the gondola, sending my pack up, then hiking up the mountain packless.  Or maybe sending water up so I didn't have to carry it (we had to carry a lot as there would be no water on top). Or maybe the first person up could take the gondola down and get water for everyone else (there was a restaurant at the bottom).  After about an hour of scheming ways to make this climb easier, we all agreed we just needed to get up and actually climb it.  I adorned my stupidly heavy pack (water why you so heavy?) and ventured into the Wildcats.