A Hundred Miles of Wilderness and a Walk up Mount Katahdin

We were late for the morning shuttle from Shaw’s, so my mom drove Hotdog and me back to the trail. At the trailhead, I hugged her, and then Hotdog and I stared at the opening of the trail. The Hundred Mile Wilderness awaited. I felt slightly intimated, but at this point we had seen so much and successfully overcome such a barrage of challenges since starting the trail, that confidence soon became the dominant mood. We stayed at our last hostel, bought our last resupply, and now we were stepping into our last section of the trail.

Our first day in the Wilderness wasn’t difficult. The trail offered minimal elevation gain and we enjoyed walking by wild raging rivers and waterfalls in beautiful pine forest. Interesting-looking mushrooms of brown, purple, and orange were scattered around the forest. We were also surprised at how many hikers we saw.

Crowded at Cloud Pond 

We took a quarter-mile side trail to our home for the night, the Cloud Pond Lean-to. We were happy to find Hoot there, but a little less excited to find out that two separate youth groups had also chosen Cloud Pond as their campsite for the night. We made do with the scraps and found a tight flat spot to set up our tents in the middle of the side trail to the pond. Hotdog decided to forgo his tent’s rainfly, tying two guy lines to surrounding trees to support his bug net. I thought he looked like a goof, and I wasn’t afraid to let him know.

After setting up camp we found Hoot eating a two-pound jar of hummus. “Where on earth did you get that?”, we asked him. “I scored it from one of these youth groups. They didn’t want it because it had some mold. Not so bad that a thru-hiker wouldn’t eat it.” He offered me some and I politely declined.

Plane Wreck

In the morning we caught up with Hoot, who had left camp early, and we hiked on together as a group. We soon came across the wreckage of a plane crash. The plane was mangled with debris everywhere, but Hoot had told us it was a father and son who had made it out just fine. After the crash, we moved on to the Chairback Range.

Hiking with a Third 

It was difficult for me to adjust to hiking with a 3rd person. I hiked In the middle for a bit behind Hotdog and felt suffocated until I took the lead. Hoot had started the trail nearly 20 days after us, which led my anxiously inclined brain to decide that I needed to hike as fast as I possibly could. I wanted some space to hike however I’d like to hike, but I oddly found myself stuck to my role, unwilling to split off from the group. The longer I led the group, the more out of control and frustrated I found myself. The butt kicker of a trail through the Chairbacks, filled with mud and quick and technical elevation changes, probably didn’t help my mood either. This would last for the first 11 miles of the day until we found ourselves at a river ford over the Pleasant River.

Rivers, Old Growth, and Whitecap

The water was clear, slow, and beneath the knee at its deepest point, so to cross I decided to pop my shoes and socks off and attach them to my pack to keep them dry. On the other side of the river, we found a nice talkative AT Ridgerunner, who also happened to be a triple crowner. He gave us helpful tips about entering Baxter Park and some encouragement that the trail eased up ahead. We had seen many people come fording across the river while we were there, including section hikers, day hikers, and summer camp groups. The companies who own the logging roads through the 100-mile wilderness offer access to the public for a cost. I didn’t mind seeing people, but I found that thus far the 100-mile wilderness surprisingly didn’t seem as remote and quiet as other areas of Maine we had been in.

We ate lunch at the Hermitage, a stand of 100-foot high old growth White Pines originally preserved by the British for ship masts. After lunch, the trail eased up considerably and we were able to increase our pace from the morning. Hotdog, Hoot, and I ascended the trail into the Whitecap Range, our final mountain range before Katahdin. The lunch break renewed my spirit and my energy. My legs were tired, but there is something about the mild physical suffering of hitting a big climb when your body is beaten down that puts me into a state of flow. The 500mgs of caffeine I took throughout the day might have had something to do with it too. I hopped into the front of the pack and led the charge through four different peaks until we finally hit the tallest mountain in the 100-mile wilderness, Whitecap Mountain.

On the summit of Whitecap, we found a fellow NOBO thru-hiker named Fire Guy, whom we had been leap-frogging all day. He was quiet, speedy, and wore a cowboy hat emblazoned with the Hyperlite Mountain Gear logo, which gave me a laugh. The peak of the mountain was hazy, but the silhouette of the surrounding mountains still looked stunning in the fading light of the day. On the backside of the summit, we got another glimpse of Katahdin, still far off in the distance, but inching ever closer from the last time we saw it in the Bigelows.

Food Talk 

We camped a mile and a half after Whitecap, a little ways off Logan Brook Lean-to which was already full of tents. Our spot was essentially a flat clearing of rocks. Hotdog, Hoot, and I sat around eating our dinner together. Aside from Quick on the Draw, Hoot was the only hiker we had ever formed a small Tramily with. The beauty of thru-hiking is its simplicity, stripping down our focus to the most basic human necessities: food, shelter, water, and clothing. Tonight’s topic of discussion centered around how our meals tasted and what meals we were dreaming of back home.

Post-Trail Pondering 

Hotdog woke up as tired as I’d ever seen him, but I was ready to go, excited that we had put our hardest days behind us. Throughout this hike, our energies so often seemed to be at odds with each other. Yet, we persevered through it all together every day for 130 days. Early on in Maine a fellow Michigander that I had met online, who also happened to be a triple crowner, had sent us a care package and a nice note. When addressing the post-trail readjustment process he mentioned how unrelatable thru-hiking is to most people. Most thru-hikers set off solo and return home to an environment where they can’t truly connect with anyone about what they’ve just done. What set Hotdog and I apart on the trail is that we came out here together and made it through the entire way. We’d always have each other to lean on at the end of the journey.

Elf Watch 

Tall uniform pine trees spread throughout the forest among vibrant green moss as I set out of camp. Smooth flat pine needle-covered ground, which almost seemed too pleasant and gentle to be the AT, made for easy walking that allowed me to scan for moose. The forest had such a storybook-like look to it that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see an elf peek out somewhere either. The odds of seeing a moose or an elf felt similar. The forest led past one of many quiet ponds and I watched as a loon floated along the surface before diving into the water to hunt for lunch. Watching or hearing a loon always sends a wave of peace through my mind and body.

PBR Resupply 

I found Hoot and Hotdog on Little Boardman Mountain, our only climb of the day, during mid-morning. The terrain down the mountain was a long and gradual downhill with minimal obstacles. It would have been difficult not to speed through. We made up 15 miles by noon to get to Jo-Mary Road and catch Long John from Shaw’s for our resupply bucket. To our delight, Long John had brought trail magic along with him, and we each ravaged a handful of sugary bread treats and two PBRs a piece. The mid-hike beer always hits well at the moment, but it always makes you pay for it afterward. Thankfully our hike had turned into more of a stroll, so we got to pay for it a little less that day.

Impromptu Beach Day 

Me and Hoot got to a small beach on Jo-Mary Lake before 4 pm. The sun was blaring and it felt like we had entered an oasis. We set our gear down, blew up our sleeping pads, and then waded off into the lake to float on them. Hotdog came in half an hour later and joined us out on the water. Sometimes we forget that it’s okay to let up on the gas a bit and enjoy something nice when you encounter it. This was a damn good reminder. We collectively agreed to end our day early and pitch our tents in the sand.

With no service and plenty of time to kill til sundown, we felt like castaways on a deserted island. The deep penetrating rays of the sun had quickly transitioned from energizing to tormenting. Hotdog and I sat in the shade behind my tent while Hoot sat in his tent. We sat around joking about strange encounters we’ve had on trail and Hoot told us about a challenge he completed in Pennsylvania called the 24-24-24, which consists of hiking 24 miles and drinking 24 beers within 24 hours. As we hung around, I cold-soaked my dinner, a delicious concoction of dehydrated refried beans, minute rice, & Velveeta cheese. I stuffed myself full to let the calories begin repairing my muscles. When I noticed myself drifting off with my head on a rock, I decided to retire into the tent for the night. There was supposedly fantastic stargazing after dark, but we were far too tired to make it past twilight.

In the morning, all 3 of us slept in, but we left on different schedules. Hoot first, then me, and finally Hotdog. I woke up at 7 am and left before 8 am. This would be the equivalent of sleeping in on vacation until noon back home.

A Closer Look

Shortly into the day, I came across Hoot when I turned off on a side trail with a sign that said “Katahdin View”. After a few steps, lo and behold and there it was.  No longer a vague silhouette in the distance, this was the classic wide and prominent mound view that every AT hiker would recognize. The upper half of the mountain was veiled by clouds. I hoped for a clear summit day, but nice views wouldn’t make the moment any more special. Touching the large wooden summit sign and knowing I was on the mountain was enough for me. I’m wise enough to know that the millions of steps it took to reach the peak are most important, but the allure of imagining myself atop Katahdin with my feet on the back of the sign and hands lifted triumphantly in the air was undeniable.

After I finished gawking at Katahdin, I saw an Otter hop off a log into the lake. To my other side, I took a moment to admire a large stump within the water. Moss, plants, and even another tree grew out of it as if it were one big flower pot.

Bird Escort 

A hawk loudly screamed, “KA KA KA” at me as I passed by on the trail. I heard tales from SOBOs about a territorial goshawk that attacks hikers near the Kennebec River, but thankfully this hawk seemed content to fly off to a tree branch and keep watch on me. I watched a family of ducks float down the Nahmakanta Stream as I walked parallel to them downstream and then a great blue heron flew down the stream in spurts, stopping and going each time I got closer. I felt as if the birds were escorting me toward the end to the great mountain ahead; the Appalachian Trail rewarding me at the end of the journey for all the miles I had overcome to get there.

Privy Wisdom 

I found Hoot at a picnic table just before Nahmakanta Lake. He seemed stressed about the forecast for the days ahead and was considering possible alternatives to our plan to finish and summit Katahdin in two days. I knew I’d have enough to worry about once I got back home in a few days. Life at home and life on the trail both have their pros and cons, and one of the best aspects of the trail is that it allows you to completely live moment by moment, not worrying about what’s to come in the future and not worrying about things that happened in the past. I laid out on the bench of the picnic table to relax while I downed trail mix. I was going to enjoy the simple life while I still had it. On the way out I stopped at the privy and saw a sign on the back that said, “Live simply, laugh often, love deeply”. I had never expected to get genuinely good advice from a toilet, but here I was.

Hotdog & Tomcat

Hotdog had finally caught me while filtering water at a stream and we hiked on together. I had missed having his presence around. With similar pace, fitness, temperament, and communication tendencies, we had perfect hiking chemistry. We walked past twilight to arrive at camp on Rainbow Lake. I picked up an abandoned pair of Crocs on the way. If I didn’t find their owner, I planned to wear them on the journey home. Before crashing for the night I reminisced as I spooned my final cold soak meal. I couldn’t say I was going to miss eating a cold-soaked dinner every night, but the simplicity and adventure it symbolized would be a different story. I shut my eyes and enjoyed my final loon symphony in Maine.

Journey to Abol Bridge 

I heard Hotdog’s alarm blare off at 5 am. We weren’t set to leave until 6 am, but we’re both morning moseyers. First, we hit snooze, then we lay awake dreading to get up, and then we take as much time as possible eating breakfast before packing up our gear. The trail is a bad place to not be a morning person.

The morning was dark and gloomy with a bit of misty rain. We had been blessed with great weather for our first four days in the Hundred Mile Wilderness and now it was time to pay the price. Ending the AT without at least a little bit of bad weather wouldn’t have felt right. I decided to accept the gloomy day with a warm embrace. Getting the full spectrum of experience makes life more full and worth living. Hard times raise your appreciation for the good times.

I was slow to warm-up, but quickly found my groove. I climbed up the rocky and foggy Rainbow Ledges and excitedly found some wild blueberries. A good excuse to take a quick break. Soon I passed by Hoot and Hotdog and found myself settling into my trail flow as I effortlessly floated down the trail until I heard cars driving by ahead. When I turned back I read the same warning sign I had read when entering the trail from Monson. We had officially completed the Hundred Mile Wilderness.

Logistical Frustration 

We arrived at the Abol Bridge camp store, which was smaller and less equipped than I had expected. I hadn’t looked far enough in advance to Baxter State Park’s camping information before heading out to the Hundred Mile Wilderness, and I began to stress because I didn’t have the $10 cash I needed to camp at the long-distance hiker’s site called the Birches. Abol Bridge was my last hope to find cash, and to my dismay, they had no ATM or cash-back option. Hoot was in the same boat and we fed off of each other’s stress.

Frustration and stress consumed my body and mind. I felt angry at Baxter State Park for their confusing camping system, Abol Bridge for not offering any way for hikers to get cash, and finally myself for not thinking further ahead from Monson. The day’s weather had made a turn for the better in a beautiful area along Nesowadnehunk Stream and I was within the final 15 miles of the trail, yet I found myself stuck in a loop of worrying about a silly logistical problem. When I came across a sign for the Big Niagara Falls, I took the side trail and sat above the falls with a beautiful view. I focused on the sound of the falls crashing and watched the perfectly imperfect but consistent flow of the water bouncing from rock to rock before hitting the pool below. After 15 minutes I found my feeling of frustration dying down and I returned to the trail.

Gump

I came up behind a hiker staggering forward with a limp at a slow and steady pace. He was a thru-hiker named Gump. A pot jangled on the outside of his pack with each limp. He was wearing the same shoes he started the trail with, while I was on my 5th pair, which had already started to tear so badly that a quarter of my foot could be seen. Why did we endure so much pain and suffering to get here? There were no conventional metrics of success waiting for us at the end like wealth, fame, or status. Each of us decided to embark on this journey independently. We may all have different reasons for hiking, but they are reasons that are completely our own, and this ties a common bond between us. This was a commitment to myself and my dreams before anyone else’s, and I found that to be something worth sacrificing for.

Katahdin Stream

I made my way closer and closer to Katahdin Stream Campground where I would need to stop at the ranger station to pick up my permit to climb Katahdin the next day. Before reaching the campground I stopped at Grassy Pond to take in a fine view of Doubletop Mountain. I savored it for a moment. With cloudy weather promised the next day, there was a real chance that this would be my final mountain view before returning home.

At the ranger station, I found Hotdog and Hoot waiting. Hoot was in a good mood. He had borrowed $20 for our campsite from a fellow thru-hiker named Jumbo. My relief could be felt in the air and the tension across my body loosened up. One by one we talked to the ranger and received our Katahdin permit tags. I stepped foot from Georgia as hiker #1438 and now I would be the 190th NOBO of the year to reach Katahdin. For the past 200 miles SOBOs, flip-floppers, and section hikers were congratulating me on the trail, but the end still felt too far away. Now I had single-digit miles left to the summit. It was my final night on the trail. No injury was going to stop me from reaching the Northern terminus now. The pride and sense of accomplishment were starting to set in. I reached my hand out to Hotdog for a handshake and we pulled each other in for a hug. “We made it man”.

The Birches

We set up our tents outside the lean-tos at the Birches and then the ranger came to talk to us all about the mountain. Hotdog, Hoot, and I sat around camp joking and eating dinner for the final time. As I looked around at them and the other thru-hikers at camp I was hit with a strong bout of grief for the trail. I missed home immensely. I was beyond excited to be back in the land I loved with the people and pets I loved, but I also recognized how special this thru-hike was and that it was now on its way out. Listening to birds throughout all hours of the day, rejoicing at the beauty of an ice-cold mountain spring after days of filtering out of beaver ponds, eating disgraceful cold-soaked slop with Hotdog, and having a tent party in a 1P-sized stealth spot; I was going to miss it all. I had trail running and weekend trips back home, but I knew that nothing but another thru-hike could truly touch the camaraderie and experience of this trip. After dinner, Hotdog commented on how he had eaten his final cold-soaked dinner. “Until the PCT,” I said in response, half as a joke and half as serious as can be.

Climbing Katahdin 

We woke up in cheery moods. With the anticipation of the special moment that was only hours ahead of us, it was impossible not to be ecstatic. Every thru-hiker at the Birches got up one by one and headed off to follow the white blazes that were quickly dwindling. We sped ahead, hoping to beat any other crowds of hikers to the top of the peak so we could have more time to relish in whatever feeling we’d find at the top.

With our steady and reliable internal engines, built like an old Toyota motor, we slowly passed by a few groups of early risers. We stopped to catch our breath at the Katahdin Stream Falls which were an unexpected gift and the most serene waterfall I had seen on the trail.  Successive drops filtered water into shallow pools on moss-covered stone while the morning sunshine illuminated everything in a warm glow. The scene looked exactly like what you would find in a YouTube video with a title like, “Peaceful ambient music for relaxation”. With our bottles full of water that could rival the water from the Fountain of Youth, we hiked ahead, preparing ourselves for the terrain to get hard.

Scrambling

The climb quickly became reminiscent of the Whites. The angle of the climb took a sharp rise and large rock faces required us to put our poles away for consistent four limb scrambling. Every part of our beings quickly became engaged. Our muscles burned and propelled us upward, our lungs pushed air out and pulled it in at a quickening pace, and our eyes scanned directly in front of us as our minds continuously worked to solve the puzzle of rock ahead and find the most efficient route forward. The trees began to thin out and the sky cleared. We looked off at a sea of clouds on standby like an infantry waiting for orders. We couldn’t tell if they were coming our way, or blessing us with a weather window.

We were only halfway up, but the views were already awe-inspiring as we looked at the large mountains surrounding us. We mantled over boulders, at times grabbing metal rods drilled into the rock where natural holds didn’t exist. It was not only a difficult climb, but at times it was also frightening. My adrenaline spiked whenever I reached a spot requiring a big move or a leap. Several times since beginning this journey I had heard Katahdin was the most difficult climb on the AT. I took these statements with a healthy dose of skepticism, but now that I was in the thick of it, I couldn’t deny their truth.

The Tablelands 

The thrill of the technical climb eventually delivered us to The Gateway. A smooth flat trail extended ahead of us, snaking through the Tablelands. We passed by a mother and son from Quebec and after a quick stop to catch our breath from the meat of the climb, we continued towards our final destination. We were only a mile and a half out from Baxter Peak and the famous wooden sign whose image had been burned within our brains and been an item of worship for thousands upon thousands of hikers over the years.

The hike through the Tablelands shifted the tone of the day. We started the day with pure excitement and joy as we joked and bantered with one another. Now, however, words were no longer available to us. Each step became hugely powerful and a barrage of emotions I couldn’t fully understand began working its way through me. Together, we were on our own journeys within ourselves and with the great mountain.

We passed Thoreau Spring to the final climb up to the peak; less than a mile to go. The path to the end was completely in sight. I kept my eyes peeled forward, waiting for the first emergence of the sign; suddenly, there it was. My heart raced and in a flash I had thought about all we had been through to get here. The pain and anxiety it took to just reach the Southern Terminus at Springer Mountain, leaving behind the safety and security I had been societally and evolutionarily conditioned to crave; the mental and physical suffering Hotdog and I had experienced on the trail from homesickness to Norovirus to pushing through injuries and losing dexterity in our fingers in frozen rain. All of this was coming to a culmination in this moment. We were damn lucky to get a moment like this, however fleeting it may be. Many people go through intense suffering with nothing to show for it. We wouldn’t take this opportunity for granted.

The Final Blaze

The sign became closer and closer, until finally, it was within arms length. I stopped a foot away. Hotdog was close behind me, and Hoot was further back. Hotdog approached the sign across from me and stopped. We looked each other in the eye, raised our hands, and without a word we lowered our hands down to touch the sign at the same time. A weight crashed off of my shoulders. The journey was over; there were no more white blazes to follow.

The silence continued. For 5 minutes we stood there without a word; no celebration, no high fives, no congratulations. No string of words could sufficiently match the feeling of reaching Baxter Peak. Pride, grief, gratitude, joy, excitement, and emptiness all washed over me; or was it a complex new feeling I had never experienced before? I’m not sure I’ll ever know. Whatever it was, it was strong enough to whirlwind out from inside and manifest itself as tears. I stepped aside and tried to hide my sobbing.

The AT gave us the greatest gift of all with this moment. The skies were clear and we shared the peak with no one but each other. In our silence, our eyes shifted from the wind-beaten wood of the sign to the majestically terrifying spine of rock that towered above the land, and even the clouds, around it. For many years I dreamt of the AT with my head in the clouds, but now I had risen above them.

After a moment, we came back together and re-entered the world of spoken language. Now it was time to celebrate. Hoot was the first to lift himself with his feet on the back of the sign and then raise his arms and pack in the air. I centered him in the middle of his phone camera and snapped a few pictures, forever immortalizing him at the top of Katahdin. It’s an honor to take one of these pictures. They will likely live for as long as the subject does, maybe even longer. One glance will trigger a library of memories and joy that will be passed down to younger generations and result in legendary dad lore.

Hotdog and I hopped up on the sign for individual pictures, but they just felt off. They didn’t tell the actual story of the journey. There was nothing solitary about our adventure. Together we hopped up on the sign put one arm around each other and held our packs up with the other. We were good friends before the trail, but the shared toils and joys of living and walking outside together for the past 132 days had developed into a deep comradeship that I had never experienced before. Reaching the summit of Katahdin never felt guaranteed, especially not together, which made the moment all the more special.

We stepped off the sign and were shocked to see that there was a 4th hiker on the peak with us the entire time we were there. Fire Guy had been sitting a little ways off, leaning on a rock just out of our sight. With one knee up, his Hyperlite cowboy hat, and a mysterious silence, he gave off the aura of a real cowboy. All he needed was a piece of straw wedged between his teeth.

We paused for a moment and wondered what to do next. The mission was complete. We hiked from Springer Mountain to Katahdin and took our pictures to prove it. For the first time in over 4 months, we were shot back into total ambiguity and left to forge our paths forward.

Hiking the Knife Edge

The sky was still clear and we looked off to the right where a menacing spine of jumbling rocks aptly named the Knife Edge led to Pamola Peak a mile away. We all knew what was going to come next. Hotdog and I were bursting with energy and excitement as we sped off down the trail. Hoot seemed less excited, but he hesitantly trailed behind us anyway.

The wind began to rip with an occasional violent burst, but our seasoned trail legs rooted securely onto the stone beneath us like a century-old tree. The route traversed along the ridge line with 1,500-foot drops surrounding it on both sides. Any mistakes would be costly. Despite the danger, we moved quickly and lightly, grounding ourselves briefly before the next step. I was reminded of a Haiku Hotdog and I had created and wrote in a logbook back in the Smokies:

“Wild just like the wind
Blowing from stability
Rooted like the tree”

Hotdog sped ahead and created a gap between us, while Hoot lingered behind until he was out of sight. I feared the worst but reassured myself that he had turned around. The mere height and desolation of the terrain were enough to make anyone feel uneasy, but the only section that felt truly sketchy was a succession of scrambles down Chimney Peak and back up to Pamola. We negotiated each move with caution until we found ourselves standing on Pamola touching another wind-worn sign marking Katahdin’s second-highest peak.

We turned around to do the whole thing over back to Baxter Peak, and hopefully find Hoot. Hiking the Knife Edge was our victory lap and the final mile that Hotdog and I would hike as a duo. The climb back taxed our legs, but adrenaline, dopamine, and endorphins flowed through our bodies to minimize the perceived effort. Once we reached Baxter Peak we, thankfully, found Hoot there waiting for us, along with a sea of day hikers.

Goodbye AT

Mere moments after our return the wind picked up and veils of white began to fly past us. Seconds later the peak was completely socked in. I understood it as the AT’s way of saying goodbye. I couldn’t think of a more fitting end than the atmosphere closing the curtains. We touched the sign once more and I leaned down to kiss it before turning around and walking away for the last time.

We headed back down the Appalachian Trail and passed by many hikers in the fog until we hit Thoreau Spring. The Hunt trail and AT share the same trail and it was the route we took up from Katahdin Stream, but Thoreau Spring marked an intersection with another trail down the mountain called the Abol Slide Trail. We opted to take Abol Slide back down, and with that, we had taken our final steps on the AT.

With the excitement and invincible feeling of reaching the goal now waning, the feelings of exhaustion and soreness began to set within and result in a long journey back to the base of the mountain. One moment of excitement served as a pick me up when we ran into fellow thru-hiker Josh who was hiking down the mountain wearing a paper crown from Burger King. He had just completed the final leg of his triple crown.  We had nearly made it back down when a couple rushed up the trail; “Is it worth it?”, the man asked me. “Well it’s pretty socked in right now”, I reply, instantly filled with regret for insinuating that the value of a mountain as great as Katahdin is solely in the views it has to offer from its peak.

Back to the Base 

We walked through Abol Campground at the base and found Fire Guy sitting characteristically alone on a bench waiting for his shuttle back to civilization. We ran out of water many miles ago and the sound of a stream lured us into the woods. As I filled up my CNOC bag and squeezed the water through my filter on the other end, I wondered when I would find myself doing this again. We walked down the forest road back to the ranger station with our thumbs out. A nice lady stopped to give us a ride, but my mom was the next car in line. We hopped in and headed out.

We received our final bout of trail magic when a nice group of older ladies from Massachusetts came to ask us about our journey and offered us some brownies. Hotdog and Hoot had to wait an hour for their ride to the airport in Bangor. I planned to road trip back home with my mom. I felt odd sitting at the lean-to outside the ranger station all packed and ready to leave. We knew our end point from the moment we took our first step on the trail, yet it still felt like an abrupt end. I’m a sentimental person who struggles with goodbyes and ending things. My mind was split between a strong desire to be home and a somberness to be leaving an experience that had given me so much. Impermanence is an inescapable fact of life. All good things can and will come to an end. Now was the time for us to close out our story.

A Bittersweet Goodbye 

I said goodbye to Hoot and wished him well on his journey back to Mississippi. I stood outside my mom’s car and waited for Hotdog to come back from the bathroom so we could say our final goodbye. A hiker with a grizzled beard walked up a dirt road in my direction. I looked up and was instantly hit with the feeling of disbelief and excitement. It was Quick on the Draw. Considering the number of times the trail had brought us together in 2,100 miles, I shouldn’t have been so surprised, yet I found that with each new meeting, my surprise and excitement to see him never weakened. If it wasn’t for Hotdog’s need to go to the bathroom, I would have already been gone. It’s funny how life works out.

Primo arrived shortly after Quick on the Draw, as did Hotdog. The four of us enjoyed one final celebratory moment together in front of the Katahdin Stream sign. Only 5 miles of trail separated Hotdog and I from Primo and Quick on the Draw. At the end of that 5th mile is a special moment full of triumph and emotion and the symbolic barrier that transitions one from the act of thru-hiking to the title of thru-hiker.  Physically, we would all soon be separated from the journey, but the photos, maps, drawings, words, and mementos we collected on the way could always bring us back, even if it was just for a moment.

I said goodbye to Primo and Quick on the Draw for the final time and wished them luck on their trip up Katahdin. The only person left to say goodbye to was Hotdog. We pulled each other in for an emotional departure. The journey had started one and a half years ago after sharing a couple of beers had led to a state of buzzed confidence and the commitment to hike the trail together. That decision led to the greatest experience of my life and a plethora of good and bad times that I will look back on with equal fondness. Freezing rain, pain, exhaustion, pizza, night hiking, struggle, illness, and heart-to-hearts had stripped away all traces of superficiality and crafted a friendship that was as close as it gets. Above all else, I was grateful for Hotdog and felt lucky as hell that we were able to share this journey. “See ya later”, we said to each other. Then I hopped in the car and began the drive home.