MacKaye's Monadnock

September 13
Monson to Katahdin

The 100 mile wilderness is the longest stretch of trail without a paved road on the AT. It is the longest section to hike without towns. Mount Katahdin is the biggest climb on the AT, the steepest, the most prominent mountain... “Are you worthy?” The mountain asks. Northbound hikers have traveled over 2000 miles, and have been proven to be strong, and resilient, only to be given a fairly rude final exam.

A rumor circulated that there was no appropriate mountain on which to end the AT. The rumor continues that Avery and MacKaye, trail founders, hired legions of workers, prisoners, volunteers, CCC members... to build a mountain in Northern Maine. Rocks to be piled, were mined from a ridge in Southern Maine. The remaining rift left by the mining operation was called Mahoosuc Notch. Katahdin was finished sometime in the 1920s and designated as the northern terminus of the AT.

Sounds reasonable I think. Katahdin does look like a giant rock pile, but a magnificent alpine rock pile. I can’t think of a better terminus.

One day before arriving at Mount Katahdin, the clouds finally parted, revealing the monolith in all of its glory. At a mile high, Katahdin stands above everything in Maine, and especially everything in Baxter State Park. The surrounding terrain is low and rolling, dotted with countless lakes, big and small. Beech, Birch, and Maple dominate the lush forest, just starting to blush in color in mid September. Every opening in trail, grants a spectacular view of the beastly mountain though, particularly north facing openings over lakes.

Friends from past trails met Ladybird and I just south of Katahdin. And they brought a whole watermelon, and a pie! We ate at Rainbow Ledge, with a view of the mountain.

The weather was somewhat less fantastic on the climbing day however. Clouds hung low in the sky, a visible front moving swiftly to intercept us. There were views on the ascent, but I was too busy holding onto metal rebar staples and boulders to look out. The trail up to the Table Lands in steep. Hands are required as the rout scales several boulders and steep pitches. It heads straight up a wind blown treeless ridge. Then comes the treeless windblown Table Lands. Baxter Peak, the highest point of Mount Katahidin, is only a few hundred feet higher than its surroundings. The top of the mountain was blanketed in Mist. Tiny moisture droplets formed and condensed, making everything wet. Eventually the mist turned to some sort of miserable sleet.

Mountains like Katahdin create their own weather. Clouds gather around the summit. I am not bitter about my summit day. Sure I could have waited three days for the weather to clear, but this is part of the experience. When there is rain, you get wet. When it is sunny and humid, you sweat, and still get wet... Hmm. I have no regrets, only fond memories.

I had a beautiful summer with far less rain than a normal year. Only near the end of my hike, did it start to rain more often. I had a more social experience than the other trails. One I enjoyed very much. After fastpacking the CDT, I learned to enjoy my self when not walking again. I enjoy walking, and when walking solo, often there is nothing else to do but walk. This year, I learned to enjoy swimming, the people around me, and just sitting and taking in the world around me.

I am sad to see this trail come to an end, but I know I will be back out there. Canoeing, biking, and hiking. Stay tuned for my Long Trail journey, starting September 18.

Knee Deep in the Mud

September 6
Gorham NH, to Monson, ME

All of the sudden, it is wet. The ground was muddy, the rocks were slippery, and the roots were bare of bark and without texture. Stepping on one meant an instant seat, in the mud, or on a sharp rock.

Goose eye mountain, of course, was blanketed in clouds. Ladybird and I approached a mud pit on a bog bridge. seeing a plank six or so feet away, I decided to jump for it. With one foot back, and my right foot on the edge of the plank, I threw my body forward. Limbs flailed as I flew forward. I reached out with my feet, and hit the plank. Panic struck as I started to slide. My arms went into a frantic windmill trying to maintain balance as I slid on a thin film of mud. Then one foot lifted up. Then the other, as my momentum changed from forward to upward. Now parallel to the ground, I rotated 180 degrees, now facing downward. Then the mud approached. My right leg hit first, then my right trekking pole, 12 feet away. I was helpless to stop as my right leg buried itself to the thigh in cold mud. Then my right arm did the same and my face ended up inches from the surface.

After recovering I was back on the bog bridge. Lady bird walked effortlessly atop what I had jumped. Convinced that the bog bridges hid a mere inch below the surface of the mud I walked fearlessly forward, sinking up to my left thigh.

Then there was Mahoosuc Notch. Often described as “the hardest mile on the Appalachian Trail,” Mahoosuc Notch is a mile long stretch of trail... rout, a jumble of rocks, through which hikers climb and tunnel. It can take up to five hours for some hikers to travel the distance, but typically takes about two. Due to the recent rain, Ladybird and I were cautious. I still managed to draw blood from my right shin.

There are so many attractions in Southern Maine. It is an underrated section of trail. There is Spec Lake, the highest lake in Maine. Spec Mountain has a lookout tower and spectacular views. The Baldpates are, well, bald domes of granite, devoid of plant life in convenient locations for holding on the decent. When wet, these peaks are extraordinarily slippery.



Maine is also home to countless lakes and ponds, which offer excellent swimming. There have not been so many opportunities for swimming since Virginia. However, the cooling weather dissuaded me from swimming as often as I would have liked.

I can see returning to Southern Maine.

Miles of Razor Sharp Rocks

Franconia Notch to Gorham, NH
August 28

The Presidentials in the White Mountains of New Hampshire rise from the green north eastern forests to rugged piles of rocks. This is the home of Mount Washington and “the worst weather on earth.” The day Ladybird and I walked the ridge from Mitzpah Hut to Madison Hut happened to be one of the most glorious days I could imagine in New Hampshire. Temperatures during the middle of the day were around 60 degrees and only a few wispy high clouds and small puffy cumulous clouds wafted by.

The summit of Washington, however, was a circus. Hundreds of people hiked up the couple dozen stairs from the parking lot or waddled off of the famous cog railway to fight for a spot atop the peak with the sign, “Mount Washington, Elevation 6288.”

I am told that in the early days on the Appalachian Trail planning stages, Mount Washington was considered for a possible northern terminus. I cannot imagine having to fight for a moment alone at the Appalachian Trail terminus at the top of a peak where people in sandals or heels can stand, with their cars parked 100 yards away. Mount Katahdin was a wise decision, I hope.

Several miles from the summit of Washington, all day hikers were gone. Ladybird and I bagged the other peaks on the way to Madison Hut. The terrain gets steadily more rugged. boulders become bigger and sharper. Mount Jefferson resembles a giant cairn. Mount Adams was similar. The difficulty in Adams, however, was the decreased temperature and diminishing daylight. Still a mile away, the sun had sunk to just above the horizon, below a bank of distant clouds which had increased as the day grew older. To the west, the setting sun illuminated the sky in neon red light, reflecting off the bottom of the clouds, highlighting the numerous ridges. Ladybird and I arrived at the hut, cold, in the dark, but pleased with a spectacular day.

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The huts in the White Mountains offer “work for stay” to Appalachian Trail hikers. They say there are two spots per night available at each of the eight huts. Ladybird and I were given “work for stay” at both Mitzpah and Madison with more than two hikers there. When we were asked if we wanted to work at Carter Notch Hut just after noon, we couldn’t refuse. A warm sunny day lounging by a lake, swimming, reading, visiting with the hut “croo” and other hikers? Typically “work for stay” is not granted before 4:00. Why not. We stayed. 3.2 mile day.

I Want to See Mountains!

Vermont and New Hampshire to Franconia Notch
August 18

Onrushing clouds broke around the rocky peak like waves on a rugged coastline. Ominous banks of billowing moisture bowed before Mount Killington, refusing to unleash fury upon the mountain top.

Northbound on the Appalachian Trail, Mount Killington, at over 4000 feet is the highest point since central Virginia, and the first peak bald peak in many miles.

The peaks in the south, balds, are often grassy and can grow trees, but due to harvesting and grazing remained bald. The mountains in the north climb into the alpine zone. Trees become stunted and windblown and eventually decide better of it, and refuse to live much higher than 4000 feet.

Climbing Glastenbury, Stratton, and Killington, I saw the increase in conifers. Spruce and Balsam Fir are omnipresent. As elevation increases, the needles surround and clutch their branches more tightly, growing thicker. This protects the trees from the surprisingly harsh conditions.

4000 feet in the west is laughable. There is typically not any snow that sticks around for the entire season in California at 4000 feet. But in the north east, 4000 feet is alpine. No one lives that high, barely anyone lives higher than 2000 feet.

The Appalachian Trail in New Hampshire goes over the summits of over 20 4000 footers. All of them are rocky and exposed. None of them have verdant deciduous trees.

Ladybird and I decided to tag a couple additional 4000 footers taking the Flume Slide Trail from Franconia Notch. The Flume slide trail is not recommended for south bound hikers. The ascent was at a 45 degree angle, sometimes steeper, up damp, slabby glacially, polished rocks. We scrambled, slipping backwards with every step, grasping violently for spindly trees, which clung loosely to the limited soil. Finally we reached a narrow shoulder and proceeded on actual real live trail to the summit of Mount Flume, then Liberty.

Franconia Ridge was spectacular in its sunlit glory. Dozens, nay, hundreds of day hikers crawled along the trail like ants on a discarded candy. Brightly colored fleece jackets dotted the rocky landscape. As evening approached, the day hikers departed, leaving the overnight hikers. This was when the gravity of the present situation hit me, pleasantly. I am alpine. I am above tree line. This Sierra boy feels at home.

Return of the Berry Monster

Well there's all kindsa berries. There's blueberries, raspberries, thimbleberries, huckleberries, blackberries, (western and eastern) mulberries, elderberries, strawberries...

And none are safe from the Berry Monster. The Berry Monster walks the ridges, valleys, and hills looking for the slightest glint of color. Down a well trodden path it plods, glancing not straight or up, but down to the right and left. This Berry Monster walks on two legs, grubby meat hoofs at the ready to pounce on tiny blue orbs, or red jewels, packed with the juice and nutrients to sustain the Berry Monster for another hour. At a large patch, the Berry Monster may regress to a previous evolutionary state, stooping to all fours, crawling on hands and knees, looking up under the leaves for shaded fruit, out of the harsh fruit-shriveling light of the fierce sun. Grubby meat hoofs become a blur, shoveling tasty morsels from bush to madly chomping jaws. Juice flows obscenely from red stained teeth. Extremeties change color from dirt stained brown, to juice stained red and purple. The Berry Monster has total disregard for others in it's presence and greedily defends the berry patch from other invaders and rarely leaves fruit for other creatures.

Occasionally the Berry Monster will pass through an area of significant human population. It pulls its bedraggled self together and dawns human-clothes, pulling sweat soaked money from a dirty rucksack, makes its way into the nearest grocery store. With dirt and juice stained paws, slaps the soggy currency down at the register in exchange for more fruit.

This pattern continues and becomes mare severe as summer progresses. As fall approaches, the Berry Monster must find other ways to survive until the first strawberries of spring.

Gateway

New York to Massachusetts.
July 23

On the Pacific Crest Trail, the Bridge of the Gods acts as a gateway to the Pacific Northwest. Psychologically, I felt it made a difference, suddenly I was in Washington, land of rain and berries, 500 miles left...

The Bridge over the Hudson River was similar for me this year. After what seemed to be like forever in the Mid-Atlantic, I encountered rain and lush greenery again. The day before crossing the bridge it rained... hard. It was that hard pelting, driving, buckets, red-on-the-Doppler sort of rain. Clothes were completely soaked beneath my poncho.

After the bridge, it was a relatively short jaunt to the Connecticut border. Just over the border, streams flowed and greenery grew over the trail. The towns of Kent and Salisbury were dominated by white houses with peaked roofs, manicured yards with neatly trimmed grass and hedges, large old healthy hardwoods, quaint business, and the signs of old money... Rumor has it that Alec Baldwin wished a hiker luck in front of the grocery store in Salisbury, which, might I add, had endive, radicchio, and beluga lentils! The first time I have seen this trinity of yuppy bobo foods since... Maybe the San Fransisco Bay Area!

Suddenly I have traveled from the Mid-Atlantic to New England.

And then there were mountains. Great tall, exposed cathedrals of stone. Well Out here they are. 4000 feet is a beast of a peak in this neck of the woods. I have discussed the differences between mountains of the east and west. Before another discussion, I will have to experience New Hampshire.

But Race mountain and Mount Everett at a paltry 2500 feet towered over the idealic lowlands and vast forests. This was another gateway. The gateway into the north east.

My saunter has been re-energized by the passage into new and different territory. I await treeline.

Going Plaid

Mile 853 to 1362

There is an allure to fastpacking. I learned about Scott Williamson before I hiked the PCT. It was amazing that there were hikers capable of doing consecutive 35-40 mile days, hikers capable of walking over 5000 miles in a summer, or even 10,000 in a year.

I began the PCT hiking 15 to 20 miles per day. As my pack weight dropped and I reached thru-hiker level fitness, I was able to push further. 15 went up to 20, then 25... 30 was very doable. 25 became comfortable. I did my first 40 mile day in Washington, and my first 50 in Oregon and California.

On the CDT, with a lower baseweight, I was able to push further more easily. I did my 50, I did a few 40s...

It becomes much easier with thru-hiker fitness, and a light pack. At first I thought 50 was this goal I could never reach. It fascinated me that people were capable of such things. But then when my pace quickened and nutrition improved, I learned that 50 could be done in daylight, 16 hours of walking just over three miles per hour could get a hiker 50 miles.

So with a 50 under my belt on the PCT and CDT, I had to try for one on the AT

The four state challenge is traditionally a 44 mile day from the border of Virginia and West Virginia, through Maryland, and into Pennsylvania. Myself and the woman with whom I am hiking, Ladybird had planned to go for it, long before we reached northern Virgina. And so after visiting Harper's Ferry WV, we backtracked to the border, and took off early the next morning.

The gruesome details can be found at www.trailjournals.com/sangabrielat on the date of June 23.

It takes more than physical endurance to accomplish such a feat. Almost anybody can walk. One can start at One mile per day, and with relentless progress, will reach high mileage. The mental aspect is much more challenging. To walk for 20 consecutive hours takes a meditative state a t time. It has only been through many miles that I have learned to turn my brain down to a dull hiss while I churn out miles in a zombie-like state.

It takes an even more brain dead state to walk for 30 hours.

Ladybird and I had considered the possibility of walking the length of the AT in New Jersey in 24 hours. I did walk the length, though it took almost 30 hours. See the entry for July 8 on my AT journal.

I had a very difficult time working through the intense fatigue. My body wanted sleep so bad that I staggered drunkenly at times, with only chocolate covered espresso beans to keep me upright. I actually blinked out while sitting on a rock but was relieved to find that only less than 10 minutes had passed.

72 miles is the realm of ultrarunners. Athletes who run upwards of 50 and 100 miles in a single race, typically in under 24 hours. I don't know if backpacking 72 in this terrain is possible with even a light backpacking pack. I think I could trim off two or three hours, but I don't know if I could trim off six.

The NJ72 sub 24 is still up for grabs. Let me know if you succeed. Requirements are to hike from the middle of the Delaware Water Gap I-80 bridge to the Register at the NJ/NY state line in a 24 hour stretch, unsupported. One must carry their typical thru-hiking gear and enough food to make it to whatever resupply they chose. Current known time is 29 hours 26 minutes.