Welcome to Maine: The Way Life Should Be

It has taken longer than expected to settle back into the grind since returning from my nine day adventure in Maine. I was there visiting my dear friend Squatch, the Documentarian, who has been hiking on the Appalacian Trail for the past six months shooting his next documentary, Flip Flop Flippin': One Man's Look for Character(s) on the AT . I procrastinated as long as possible in hope that some great influx of money might miraculously materialize in my bank account, but after five patient months I realized I was running out of time to visit him before his attempt was over. So he and I arranged to meet at the Boston airport on September 13th, drive the five hours up to Bangor, and then proceed on to the AT the next day. We would leave his car at Jo-Mary Road in the middle of the Hundred Mile Wilderness and hike north fifty-four miles finishing on top of Mount Katahdin, the northern terminus of the trail.

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I hate flying. It isn't a rational fear, but it certainly feels like one when there's turbulence or the weather's bad, or there's a lack of gin. My flight left at 6am, well before the airport bars unscrew their vodka bottles satiating the enormous demand for overpriced bloody maries. I arrived in Boston at 5pm feeling slightly peevish due to my overwhelming sobriety. After Squatch and I reunited, we set off toward the great state of Maine. Time flew on the car ride north as we caught up and rehashed our latest political musings. We decided to abandon our hiker trashiness and stop in Portland to feast on a classic Mainer dinner of lobster. After the initial excitement wore off I peered down at my plate and had an epiphany. This crustacean I was tearing apart was nothing more than the gnarliest looking bug I had ever paid twenty-two dollars for.

The next morning we found ourselves lost down Jo-Mary Road trying to find the trail crossing. I was relieved when we righted ourselves using a GPS app on Squatch's iphone. Then I was taking my first hesitant steps onto this infamous trail of which I have heard so much. Instantly I knew that I was somewhere new. Rocks and roots galore, at times boggy beyond belief, straight up and straight back down the mountain, the AT welcomes you. A few miles in we picked up Tangle, a solo section hiker who didn't seem to mind Squatch and my bantering. Together we drew in for the evening at the Potaywadjo Spring Lean-To. On the PCT people talk a lot about the AT. I'm telling you this shelter was straight out of my imagination, exactly how I had pictured these peculiar shelter places to be. We met Bone Lady there, a gal who thru-hiked the AT in '08. She was a character who shared many of our hiker friends. We were sad to learn that she would be continuing south the next day.

What with a total of seven whole miles under our belts we were in obvious need of a "nero." We had heard great things about the White House Landing three miles up the trail from the shelter. So the next morning we set out, eventually diverging from the trail and blue blazing to a lake where we blasted an air horn alerting those across of our arrival. Minutes later a man zipped across the lake, threw our bags in his tiny bass boat, and just like that he taxied us across. Tangle was already working on his 1 lb. burger when we rolled in. Following lunch, the three of us made our way over to the bunk house for a surprisingly intense game of Trivial Pursuit. It rained all day so it could be argued that there was some practicality in our staying the night, but we may have been swayed by the homemade whoopie pies alone. The rest of the evening involved napping, gluttonous eating, and hours of conversation.

The White House Landing

After breakfast we boated across to the trail and began our first full day of hiking. The terrain was constantly changing. We forded a river, followed a creek bed, skirted a lake, cooked lunch at a shelter, climbed a mountain, discovered a gorge and ended up hiking well into the night. I saw my first view of the looming Katahdin. I saw more mushrooms than I could count. During our night hike I tripped and fell, something I can imagine might be kind of a trend on this trail. It was just another day spent hiking, where nothing really happens and yet so much transpires. Squatch and I pitched our tents upon arrival at the Rainbow Stream Lean-To so as to not disturb the five or so other hikers who were already asleep inside.

Another full day of hiking followed. I went ahead and gunned it for the next shelter, promising myself that there would be no more night hiking on this trip. I listened to my ipod enchanted by the Avett Brothers. The day was less eventful allowing for more introspection. I made it to the shelter by 4:30 and was surprised to find it empty. Tangle arrived not far behind and eventually Squatch sauntered in as well. Behind him was a speedy thru-hiker named Jedi with the sweetest Alabama accent I'd ever heard. Following dinner the four of us piled onto the baseball bat floor of the shelter and were soothed to sleep by the ferocious roar of Tangle's snoring.

Super special times at the AT Cafe 

Having had to bear two whole days in the wilderness I was all for hitching into Millinocket for some breakfast the next day. It was a gentle three miles to Abol Bridge from the lean-to. Peering down the road we noticed what looked like two hikers heading our way. And what? Isn't that Bone Lady? She had bailed off trail to meet up with Swiss Cheese, an '09 thru-hiker who's now got a sweet gig working in Baxter State Park. Before we were properly introduced, Swiss Cheese was already pulling Budweisers out of his backpack for us. Did I mention it was nine in the morning? Two beers later I was hammered, and I believe so were my hiking partners, but the couple who picked us up didn't seem to mind. Gotta love Maine! In town we promptly noshed at the AT Cafe. Tangle was expecting a package at the AT Lodge which hadn't arrived yet, so we bid him farewell and went off to hitch back to the trail. We hadn't been thumbing it long when Kiana and John pulled over and picked us up. They live in Bar Harbor, own their own spa and are tremendously interested in doing a thru-hike when the kiddies are grown. As we chatted they informed us that the weather was expected to turn on Tuesday, the day we were planning on summiting Katahdin. They were planning on climbing it Monday. Our group then impulsively decided that in exchange for a quid pro quo cameo in Squatch's film they would let us stay at their mansion of a cabin for the night and that we'd all hike the mountain the following day together. In addition they would cook us an amazing dinner of steak, salad, pasta and veggies, and we could use their shower. It was a tough decision between that and being drenched in Tuesday's storm, but we figured they needed all the advice that we could impart for their upcoming thru-hike. We had a wonderful evening together chowing and chatting It was arguably the best trail magic I've ever received.

Looking twelve.

Squatch, Kiana, John's severed head and myself.

The following morning we were out the door just after 5am. On the road into the park we had our first and only moose spotting. He trotted along in the middle of the road before us for some time until finally scurrying off into the trees. Before starting up the Hunt Trail, Squatch and I traded out our full packs for borrowed day packs the rangers leave out for distance hikers. Mine was blue and orange hawaiian print, which made me look even more like a twelve year old than I already do. Then we set off. I had been unable to sleep the night before due to nerves. I worried that the climb would be too strenuous, the cliffs too sheer and the snow and ice too difficult to traverse. There had been a lot of hype leading up to this climb. So as we made our way up the mountain I kept wondering when it was going to get hard, when I was going to be afraid. Yes, at times scaling the boulders was tricky and yes there was a moment when I thought to myself, "How are we going to get up that vertical mass of rubble?" But it was never scary, and it wasn't even all that difficult. Kiana and I galloped up the
mountain chatting almost the entire way, and the men followed in the distance. The view from the top was incredible although contrary to Squatch I didn't find it was better than Mt. Whitney's. There were a few hikers completing their thru-hikes when we arrived and there were a decent number of people scattered about, one of whom somehow happened to be Bone Lady. She just seems to be all over this trail. We took the necessary photos with the signage, ate hummus and goat cheese supplied by our hosts and eventually scampered back down the mountainside. We stayed the night at the Katahdin Stream Campground in the Birches with a few thru-hikers that were planning on heading up the mountain the next day. The night was a joyous one, with many stories from the trail being passed around the raging fire.

For our final day of hiking we completed the ten mile section between Katahdin Stream Campground and Abol Bridge southbound to complete a continuous route. I couldn't have asked for a better final taste of this trail. The day was still and grey and the trail startlingly flat. Back at Abol bridge we ran into a group of about eight guys well into a PBR binge, all of whom were thru-hikers savoring the final days of their journey. One of them was the infamous Mike D who we had heard about from some other hikers earlier in the trip. He apparently swam the Kennebec River, of which there is a canoe ferry service that the ATC supplies for hikers' safety. The water level was so high when Mike D arrived that the guy running the service deemed it unsafe to paddle his canoe across. So apparently this made Mike D want to swim it instead. He barely survived the feat and he does not recommend that anyone follow his example. From there, this bona fide ride bride got us a hitch in record timing. I'd say my thumb may have been out for thirty seconds? Yes, I boast. Back in Millinocket we checked into the AT Lodge and spent the evening with a bunch of the hikers who had just completed their thru-hikes that day.

 

After the owner of the lodge shuttled us back to Squatch's car we decided to drive out to the coast to check out Acadia National Park and spend my final day of vacation like real tourists. We stopped in Bar Harbor and walked around the shops, slightly amused by the stuffed lobsters and moose tchotchkes. In the afternoon we drove the scenic route out to the Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse and set our tents up at the Seawall Campground. It was midafternoon at this point and we twiddled our thumbs for a few hours. By this time after eight days together Squatch and I were running low on new topics to discuss. Eventually we drove back to Bar Harbor for a scrumptious dinner followed by Midnight in Paris, the recent Woody Allen film. We both loved the movie and the only thing that could make the night better was to sit in the park afterward with some caramelized pear ice cream. It was a fabulous ending to a wonderful trip.

Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse

The next morning we woke early and drove the five hours back to Boston, where I boarded a plane and was reunited with Marlowe after a mere nineteen hours of travel. I had a great time immersed in the peaceful stillness of Maine, but I was glad to be back in the beautiful squalor of Oakland.