[Mile 2,180-2,194] Katahdin

9/23 – Day 146

9.7 miles from Abol Pines to The Birches

 

Thru-hikers can camp in Baxter State Park without an advance reservation at a site called The Birches. Only the first twelve hikers each day can reserve a spot and you cannot stay more than one night. While it is possible to summit Mt. Katahdin without camping in Baxter, we chose not to rush our final days and tried to snag a spot by arriving to the entrance station booth early, just a half mile from Abol Bridge. There was a ranger waiting at there who was really cool and helpful. He congratulated us on our progress and let us know there was still plenty of space at The Birches, securing Spout, Season Pass, and me permits for the night.

 

 

The best word I can use to describe Baxter State Park is “magical”. After a week of abysmal weather, it was finally a beautiful fall day and walking through the park was a dream. The foliage was even more vibrant than the previous sections and we strolled over the flat terrain with ease. We only had nine miles on the agenda, meaning we could really take our time and soak in our last full day on trail.

 

 

The AT followed along the Penobscot River once we entered the park. We took regular breaks at the many stunning waterfalls, such as Pine Point and Big Niagara Falls, which were all flowing extremely fast thanks to the monsoon of the previous week.

 

 

We reached Daciey Pond, which had the most epic backdrop in existence: Mt. Katahdin. In addition, there was campground with a rustic library built on the lakeshore. The interior was complete with some informative wildlife posters, shelves of various books, and a maddening, half-built 1,000 piece abstract art puzzle on one of the tables. We spent a few hours in the afternoon relaxing, eating snacks, and puzzle building. Later, Spout stayed warm reading some ghost stories while Season Pass and I took out rental kayaks on the incredible lake and tried, unsuccessfully, to spy a moose.

 

 

Eventually, we left the lake and completed the final two miles to The Birches campsite. There were two small lean-to shelters and a handful of decent tenting locations set in the middle of a dense birch grove. After pitching camp, we walked next door to the much larger, Katahdin Streams Campground. There, we checked in with the rangers and recieved our final NOBO thru-hiker numbers. I was #1003 and Spout was #1004.

 

 

The summit weather forecast for tomorrow was posted on the ranger station, and predicted a mostly sunny day in the 40s, with winds in the 40-50mph range. One of the rangers told us that was the highest wind he had seen posted in three years of working in the park. The remainder of the evening back at camp confirmed that the wind was indeed wicked. The birch trees all around us were shifting noisily all night long, pulverized by massive gusts that hit every couple of minutes. Temperatures dropped into the mid-30s (before factoring in wind chill) and we built another fire to keep ourselves warm.

 

 

Spout and I sat around the firepit with Season Pass, Socko, and Bad News. We were the only five hikers camped at The Birches, which was apparently unusual. Together, we toasted our hands over the flames and shared crazy stories of our respective journeys on the AT. Describing the final night as bittersweet would be a tremendous understatement. The conflicting emotions I felt after five months of joy tainted with struggle were almost too much to handle. At times, the conversation felt uncomfortably existential.

 

On one hand, I knew finishing was inevitable. It had to end. On the other hand, I felt like I would do anything, anything, to spend the rest of my days out in the wild, living this simplified lifestyle, lost in the whirlwind of adventure, even though I knew this was completely irrational. What a strange feeling.

 

 

This trip felt like it would never end. Day after day we would wake up, hike for ten or twelve hours, then go to sleep. Progress was incomprehensible, especially during moments throughout long stretches like Virginia. After a month of grinding, we just barely scratched the surface and there was no reason to think we would ever make it all the way. Entire months of our lives passed and there we were, still hiking the same trail. The whole time, we were always looking ahead to the imaginary day we would summit Katahdin. Now that we sat just five miles from the base, we were looking back on the journey through a rose-tinted lense. The thought of finishing was exciting, but not at all what I had expected. The cliché, “it is the journey not the destination”, could not be any more accurate.

 

 

After all the others went to sleep, I stayed up a while later with Season Pass. He shared his experience dealing with the final few moments of a thru-hike on the other long trails we had hiked. Then, we sat in silence for a long time, listening to the crackling of the fire and the rustling of leaves. Eventually, I retired to bed with my thoughts racing faster than the wind that was beating against our tent. Teary-eyed, I layed down and began to write following section. For some reason, it helped me process everything.

 

Lore

 

The Appalachian Mountains are older than Saturn’s rings.

The Appalachian Mountains are older than dinosaurs.

The Appalachian Mountains are older than trees.

The Appalachian Mountains are older than oceans.

The Appalachian Mountains are literally older than bones.

The Appalachian Mountains are not smaller than other ranges to the West – they are older. And they should be regarded with pure terror.

– unknown

 

A whisper in the wind, murmered by the once great, Mt. Bigelow made its way eastward. Away it flew across the glossy surface of Flagstaff Lake, past The Forks of the mighty Kennebec River, and through a hundred miles of untamed wilderness. How many countless waters did it glance before being recieved?

 

Katahdin felt the disturbance in the air long before it settled along the crest of her jagged crown. Translated from an ancient tongue spoken only by the mountains, it was a simple message, a warning, with an urgency that preceded it:

 

They are coming.

 

Katahdin stirred from her long slumber. The lesser peaks had rarely the audacity to bother her. Unless, perhaps, they had failed to block the passage. Known today as the Appalachian Trail, an unspoken allegiance united every single rock and root along the path. None shall traverse the entire range, lest they behold the true might of these ancient mountains.

 

A chill swept across the mystical wood of Baxter State Park as Katahdin scanned the landscape, settling her gaze on two small figures making their way across the golden road. One was a man, the other a woman. Both of them were clearly emaciated. They dressed in ugly, out-dated garments and appeared not to have any dignity regarding their appearance. They seemed quite weary, as if they had traveled for months on end. And oh, did they stink!

 

The man was walking in front. His beard was wildy unkempt and his dark brown hair was beginning to curl under the brim of his cap. He was skinny, to the point where his blue plaid shirt looked baggy on his withering frame. Did he eat anything other than candy?

 

The lady walking behind him was much fairer. Long, sun-kissed braids fell to either side of her face. She was wearing a filthy pink tank top with black shorts. On a first impression, she seemed to be the engineer type, maybe even one of the delinquents who was littering the south with those hideous leaf spouts.

 

Katahdin watched them closely as they neared the outskirts of the hundred mile wilderness. Their course was fixed on Abol Bridge, straight towards her woods and waters, straight into her territory. Over the course of the next day, they wandered a winding trail past many great waterfalls and roaring brooks. And as daylight began to fade, they stopped to rest for the night within a sea of white trees known as The Birches.

 

In the morning, the travelers made their way to the stream that ran down the slope of her very hillsides. Dipping their bottles into the crystal clear waters, they drank and they were satisfied.

 

Little did they know that the sacred waters of Katahdin Stream contained power beyond their understanding. The spiritual essence of the mountain itself was infused within, granting them the temporary ability to comprehend the Voice of the Appalachias. At once, trees bent and branches snapped as the will of Katahdin intensified, stopping them dead in their tracks as she first spoke:

 

Halt!

 

The couple froze, recognizing the booming voice at once to be the greatest of the North Peaks, the climax of their journey, the glorious, Mt. Katahdin. They craned their heads towards the summit, which stood towering thousands of feet above them. She was a cathedral of rock that rose from the earth with dominating prominence. Her south face was layered with dense evergreens that thinned in the high elevation, eventually transitioning to rugged, definitive stone above the treeline that revealed battle scars millions of years old.

 

The travelers felt small, so very small, but they were not frightened. The tranquil waters of the stream had calmed their spirit and they stood before her proudly. Waiting, waiting, as the pressure sat heavily on their tired shoulders that bore their backpacks. At length, the mountain spoke again.

 

So these are the two wanderers I was warned about. Hmph.

 

The forces of nature were translated by her deep and commanding presence, so that when she spoke, staggering gusts of wind followed. After a few moments, she released the tension in the air, freeing their speech before prompting them.

 

I have foreseen your arrival for many months. But before I grant you permission to summit, you must answer me this: Why have you come all this way?

 

The man and woman glanced at one another expectingly, as if each waiting for the other to answer. Hesitantly, the lady stepped forward. “To see you,” she said.

 

Hmm, yes. That is the reason many foolish mortals begin their quest. Yet so few accomplish what they set out to do. I wonder, why is that?

 

“It was a long journey,” said the man. “We are very weary, but we will not go home until our objective is complete.”

 

A long journey indeed… Do you even remember meeting Mr. Springer? That was many months ago at this point. He sent me word that two dreamers reached the top of steps above Amicalola Falls, but I need not worry. “They won’t make it out of Georgia”, I recall him saying.

 

“Our excitement carried us over the mountains of the deep south. I will admit that we first underestimated how grueling the terrain might be, but we were so very grateful to begin our travels. We learned that positivity was essential in overcoming adversity,” said the woman.

 

I figured that old fool Clingman wouldn’t slow you down either. He is far too content to stand there smoking his pipe while his wild beasts do the dirty work.

 

“The Smokies were certainly our first great challenge. We had to face the bears to cross the fabled Newfound Gap, and they were fearless. It was through them that we learned to stand tall in the face of danger,” said the man.

 

And Virginia… not so flat is it, hmm?

 

“Not at all. We spent quite a bit of time there. So much, at some points, that we were beginning lose hope that we would ever escape its borders. But we persevered through it all and learned that persistence is key,” said the man.

 

Then you overcame the rocks that I meticulously hand-sharpened myself and strewn about Pennsylvania.

 

She peered closely at the two travelers again. Their shoes were tattered and worn beyond reasonable limit. They shifted uncomfortably from side to side as they stood. It was apparent they were in great pain. Their feet had been beaten raw and they may never recover. This pleased Katahdin.

 

Tell me how you handled the drought in the mid-Atlantic.

 

“Oh that wasn’t too bad”, the woman said, pulling a leftover hotdog from her backpack and taking a bite.

 

And what about the heatwave when you entered New England?

 

“There were no longer any grand revelations by this point. We had cultivated the mindset we needed and knew what had to be done to reach you. It was never going to get easier. We just had to take it one step at a time,” the man answered.

 

I ordered Washington and his band of misfit Presidentials to take care of you. But it seems they, too, have failed. Then, you walk blindly into the trap I had set in Mahoosuc Notch and leave unscathed! How dare you disrespect the greatest of my kindred then come to me seeking passage!

 

At this, the true wrath of Katahdin was revealed. An ominous halo of storm clouds swirled around her as the skies darkened and crackled with wicked bolts of lightning.

 

“Of course, we mean no disrespect,” said the woman.

 

The deadening breeze indicated brief consideration by the mountain and she released her intimidating facade. These travelers had come prepared. Even she knew that there was nothing more she could throw at them to dampen their spirits. Over two-thousand miles, countless obstacles, and months of abuse from the elements had apparently not been enough. Who were these determined fools who spent the last week walking through freezing rain to set foot on her hallowed ground?

 

Name yourselves, travelers, and tell me your quest.

 

The man spoke first, “They call me Candyman!” He bowed his head slightly, then stepped back.

 

“Spout!” the woman said excitedly. “My name is Spout! And we have come to conquer Baxter Peak and complete the Appalachian Trail!”

 

The two of you have already proved your worthiness by making it this far. The terminus of what you call the Appalachian Trail lies ahead, just a mere five miles by foot. I grant you passage, but heed my warning: it will not get easier from here.

 

“Begging your pardon,” said Candyman, “but we have come all this way. Surely, there is nothing that can stop us now!”

 

You misunderstood me, so I will say again: it will not get easier from here.

 

She let the words sink in for a few moments before following up.

When the celebration is over and you find yourselves back in the comfortable dwellings of domesticated life, you may still face challenges beyond your greatest reckoning. In your relationships, in your career, and in all future endeavors big and small, you must be prepared for hardship more formidable than these very mountains.

When it inevitably happens, you should remember this moment. Remember what you went through to make it here. Remember both the physical struggle and the endless internal battle. Remember the rocks and the rain, the climbs and the descents, the highs and the lows. But most importantly, remember how you found such joy through it all. Remember the people you met, the landscapes you beheld, and all the perfect moments in between. Never forget this adventure of yours. It is a testament that you Candyman, and you Spout, can do anything.

The couple grasped each other’s hands and saluted with their trekking poles held high in the air. This was their moment. They released hands and prepared to take their first steps of their final climb.

 

Oh, and there is going to be eighty mile per hour winds on the summit. Good luck.

 

And after a deep inhale, the mountain released a bellowing sigh that swept them off their feet. They stood back up at once, gathering themselves, and set off up the mountain into the raging hurricane to finish what they had started.

 

9/24 – Day 147

5.3 (+5.7) miles from The Birches to Mt. Katahdin (to Roaring Brook Campground)

 

Spout and I woke up before 7:00am on our last morning. The howling wind and biting cold made it difficult for us to sleep in anyway, but we were mostly just excited. We packed up and walked the half mile to Katahdin Streams Campground to check the updated weather report. A ranger came outside and plastered a new forecast on the board, telling us “it’s gotten worse”. The remnants of Hurricane Fiona that made landfall in Nova Scotia were affecting much of the northeast. Winds on the summit of Mt. Katahdin were estimated to reach 65-70mph today and temperatures were in the 40s. This is before considering “gusts” that typically peak around 20mph higher than the base wind speed. The ranger advised us not to summit, and we were devasted.

 

 

Waiting for tomorrow would not only have felt anticlimactic, but there were reportedly forty other thru-hikers competing for spots at The Birches to summit the next day. We decided our best course of action was to wait a few hours to allow the winds to die down a bit, then attempt the climb and turn back if it felt unsafe. We walked to camp and I built a fire to keep us occupied for a few hours. Spout was particularly anxious, especially when Socko and Bad News left to attempt the climb. We waited until 10:00am, then decided to send it.

 

 

We put on literally even piece of clothing we owned, anticipating a frigid ascent in the high winds. Within fifteen minutes, we stripped down to nothing more than our standard hiking shirts because we were sweating buckets.

 

 

The climb was about five miles in length and over 4,000′ of elevation gain, making it one of the most difficult of the entire trail on paper. However, we have been preparing for over 2,000 miles and it was time to perform at the level we were capable of. We powered through the first two and a half miles, taking us only a single hour. The highlight of the bottom half of the mountain was Katahdin Stream Falls, a magnificent pillar of falling water that was truly a sight to behold.

 

 

As we progressed, the trail grew more rocky and the wind built steadily. We were still sheltered beneath treeline but soon came upon a series of serious rock scrambles that shot us out of the forest. Turning around, we had an impressive view of The Owl to the west and could see for many miles under the blue, sunny skies.

 

 

Chaos reigned supreme once we pulled ourselves up over the first rebar onto a massive, round boulder and found ourselves completely exposed to the elements. Now was the correct time to put on every layer of clothing we owned.

 

 

From there, we had just under a mile of extremely technical rock climbing across a narrow ridge. Staying on the south edge of the ridge protected us from the worst of the wind, but we were nearly blown over every time a powerful gust caught us during a vulnerable move.

 

 

It took us close to an hour to reach The Gateway from treeline, where the trail leveled out almost like a plateau. It was a great alpine expanse and the summit was finally visible across a field of tall, red grass and boulders.

 

 

The terrain was much more manageable, but still rose gradually by 700′ and there was there was nothing to cut the wind anymore. We slowly staggered our way along, step by step, until we passed a cut-off trail with a sign pointing towards Baxter Peak just a mile away. One mile remained of the climb. One mile remained of the entire Appalachian Trail.

 

 

Socko and Bad News were working their way down after a successful summit. We congratulated them and they wished us luck on the final push – and we needed all the luck we could get. The wind was unbelievably powerful by this point. A continuous stream of at least 70mph forced us to walk practically sideways the entire time. There is no way to confirm the speeds, but I would not be surprised if some of the gusts topped 100mph. No exaggeration, we were hiking in a hurricane.

 

 

After a few more minutes of grinding, we popped our heads over a hill and could just barely make out the wooden frame of the summit sign about a hundred yards ahead. The wind grew stronger with every step, to the point where standing up was not worth the hassle. So there we were, two thru-hikers crawling on all fours to the summit of Mt. Katahdin. It seemed rather poetic. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I hustled to the top and slapped my hand against the sign. Whew.

 

 

At 2:00pm on September, 24th, Spout and I finished our thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail!

 

 

At that moment, even if it was only for a few seconds, we were larger than life. I screamed as loud as I possibly could. Spout celebrated in her own cathartic fashion. We embraced one another and cheered on our fellow hikers who shared the summit with us. Season Pass reached the top and we were surprised to see Stryder and P.I. sitting behind a large rock near the sign, hollering and drinking beer.

 

 

It’s funny because we often daydreamed about finishing and discussed which poses we would choose for our photoshoot, but Katahdin had other plans for us. Leaving the refuge of the windscreen boulder to go stand next to the sign was excruciatingly painful. Shards of ice were literally soaring up and over the summit, sometimes pelting us in the face. The wind chill was nothing short of intolerable. The poor soul selected to snap a particular group’s pictures would lose all dexterity in their fingers after only a few seconds. Spout and I hurriedly ran to the sign and held on for dear life while trying to look triumphant. The results were scary, but we didn’t care. It was all part of the fun.

 

 

I could not have felt more proud of Amy, and I like to think she is proud of me. Certainly, we will remember this moment for the rest of our lives. We are blessed that it worked out exactly how we dreamed it up. It was always the AT. It was always northbound. It was always the approach trail to Katahdin. And most importantly, it was always together.

 

I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. – J.R.R. Tolkien

 

We hung out at the end of the trail for maybe twenty minutes. To our dismay, we did not have cell service at the summit like the rangers had indicated and could not coordinate updated plans with Spout’s Aunt Carrie, who was planning on picking us at the Roaring Brook Campground at 4:00pm. The last time we had service to contact her was nearly a week ago, and we had to hope she was there waiting for us.

 

 

Eventually, we began hiking several miles down a different trail off the summit, over the saddle, down to Chimney Pond, and across to Roaring Brook. One thing we did not anticipate was how strange it would feel hiking for an additional three hours after completing the trail, but it was either that or a helicopter, and I’m all out of money. Fortunately, the descent from the saddle was absolutely stunning and we had an unobstructed view of the entire Knife’s Edge of Katahdin as we slowly worked our way down the treacherous rock slide.

 

 

When we reached Roaring Brook Campground around 6:30pm, Carrie and John were miraculously still waiting for us. They brought us Subway sandwiches to inhale while we maniacally explained how ridiculous the summit conditions were and how relieved we felt to see them. After a while, they drove us to Millinocket, ME where Carrie had booked two rooms at Hotel Terrace. We offered Season Pass the full package of a ride and a room in town with us before he scheduled to fly out of Bangor, ME the next day. The five of us celebrated in town by grabbing dinner and drinks at the Scootic Inn and Blue Ox Saloon.

 

 

And, just like that, it was over. The emotions we expected to feel were absent. Of course, we were elated but we did not shed a single tear nor truly process the gravity of the situation at the time. All we cared about was that we were warm, happy, and surrounded by familiar faces. Our journey was complete. Everything that we had experienced in the past five months was suddenly nothing more than a fleeting memory. It was time to go home.

 

What’s next?

 

Where do I even begin? The most important decision of my life during the last five months was whether I would eat at Taco Bell or McDonald’s when I got to town. It seems like a safe move to gradually ease back into real life. We’ll take at least a couple of zero days sitting around on the couch, healing our bodies, and processing the overwhelming emotions that are swelling inside us now that it is all said and done.

 

For the short term, we are spending three days with Carrie at her home in Newmarket, NH. Afterwards, we are flying back to Pittsburgh, PA for at least a few months while we figure things out. Where we will live, where we will work, and how we will choose to spend our time are just a few of the things we need to consider.

 

I was never really sure how to wrap up the blog. I feel like I’ve captured more than enough of our journey through the many, lengthy posts. I do have some plans to update the website and want to continue using this domain as a time capsule for all of our future adventures. I’ve also considered writing one or two analysis posts on all of the data I’ve collected now that the thru-hike is over. If you’re interested, check back in a few weeks.

 

 

Etc.

 

Amy and I were genuinely blown away by all of the support we received when we announced we were going on this journey. To everyone who donated, sent care packages, came to visit, encouraged us, commented, or even just read the blog posts: Thank you!

 

Though maintaining the website was difficult at times, I couldn’t be more pleased with how it turned out. I discovered my passion of journaling through this platform. The positive feedback I’ve received truly made all the difference and I’m excited to explore creative writing, hopefully with some proper editing this time.

 

What’s most important to us now is that we get to spend time with our loved ones. See you soon!

 

Stay Dirty,

Candyman & Spout

AT NOBO 5/1/22-9/24/22