Dear Squirrels, I Hope You Made It.

Probably the last post I’ll make to this blog. I finished the trail back in August. This was one experience I’ve been thinking about a lot since, thought it was worth sharing.

 

I found myself crossing a river somewhere in Pennsylvania. I’d been walking for days, weeks when I came across a cooler someone had stashed in the woods with a few sodas and a note saying there would be food at a nearby parking lot. A woman named Moxie was handing out brownies to us wanderers. 

I was talking to a guy named Lost Boy painting my nails blue to match my shirt when I met Squirrels. Put simply she seemed cool. Cute, engaging, comfortable in her own skin. We’d both walked a thousand miles to meet by the side of that road. There’s a mutual respect between those going through it.

I went on my way followed by Lost Boy through a low lying area where a river had broken its banks. We passed through knee deep water hopping from log to rock trying to keep our shoes dry. I didn’t know if I’d see Squirrels again. People come and go while you travel making a friend is often a momentary experience. 

Weeks later I was descending a waterfall in Maine. I was outside Bethel with a guy named White Claw and a girl named Hummingbird. I’d been walking for weeks, months when I came to another parking lot. There again I met Squirrels. We looked at each other with a familiarity neither of us could place. I’ve seen you somewhere before. She was meeting with her dad who lived in Maine. Traveling is often a lonely experience, seeing family is a reprieve. Her dad gave me a ride into Bethel, pulling out of the parking lot into the wrong lane of traffic then driving nearly a quarter mile before noticing. 

I left Bethel the same day, leaving White Claw and Hummingbird behind. While walking the road back to the woods a guy on a motorcycle offered me a ride and I happily accepted. His red triumph sailed through the valley with a heavy hum while I held on for dear life. Rich, my driver, shook my hand and wished me luck before I walked back into the woods, alone once again.

Days later I camped near a hostel trying to save a buck. Instead of paying for a bed in the hostel I paid for a shower and laundry then headed out the same day. A very large man named Colossus ran the place. Sweet guy. I think being the sort of man whose presence could imply a threat requires developing a softness. If you’re the biggest person in every room you walk into, kindness is an imperative. 

I found myself heading into the Bigelow mountains in a heavy downpour. I stopped at a campsite to try to avoid the worst of the storm. There were two tents set up doing the same. When the rain stopped a British guy named Half and Half got out of one of the tents then Squirrels got out of the other. Always nice to see a familiar face. I told Squirrels her dad had given me a ride and she asked how his driving was. We headed off together into the Bigelows, camped near each other that night and for a few after that. By the time we got to Monson we were friends. 

The difficulty of leaving Monson is a known quantity. I’d been thinking about it for months. The hundred miles wilderness they call it. One hundred miles with one road near the sixty mile point. Other than that road the only way out is through. I left Half and Half and Squirrels not knowing if I’d see them again. A spirit blue, matching my shirt, carried me back into the woods, alone once again. My journey ended on Katahdin just past the hundred mile wilderness. By that point I’d walked 2,077 miles and one hundred and twenty lay ahead of me. 

Perhaps a day and twenty miles later I found myself crossing a small, unmarked dirt road. A family had decided the most remote possible location was a great place to hand out brownies to us wanderers and for that I was grateful. Who do I find sitting there but Squirrels and Half and Half. The three of us thanked our benefactors and headed back into the woods, together this time. 

Another day another twenty miles. The land flattens before Katahdin, easy walking for a day or two before the finale. White Cap Mountain ends with a long slow descent. Half and Half, Squirrels, and I camped just past the start of the descent that night. It’d been difficult, raining quite a bit for those few days. By that time you’re used to it. Sleeping on wet ground in a wet tent. Taking wet clothes off before bed and putting the same wet clothes back on in the morning becomes routine. Only a few days to our journey’s end we were nostalgic for the life we were currently living.

I came to a spring where Squirrels was collecting water. I did the same. She said she’d cried putting on her wet socks that morning because in a few days she wouldn’t have to wear wet socks any more. I’ve thought about that quite a bit since. She ate a snack and I carried on along that slow descent. Maybe ten miles later I saw a large man heading toward me. Colossus. Always nice to see a familiar face. We chatted for a moment but were heading in opposite directions, our paths were never to cross again. 

I came to that road sixty miles into the wilderness and Half and Half was sitting there asking if I’d seen Squirrels. I had, I told him, couldn’t be too far behind. Rather than carrying 100 miles of food as I had, Squirrels and Half and Half had arranged for someone to bring them the last of their food to that road. Half and Half was waiting with the man who’d driven out for them. I carried on and camped alone that night. 

The next morning I got a slow start and Half and Half caught up to me early. I asked how he and Squirrels had been the night before. Oh you haven’t heard? He asked. He then explained. Squirrels had fallen and hurt her ankle. He didn’t know if it was strained or broken but she’d sat on the trail for hours before starting to crawl. The hundred mile wilderness is a terrible place to get hurt, under normal circumstances she could have been stuck sitting there till she got enough strength back to walk. Luckily, Colossus happened to be heading in the opposite direction. Colossus saw someone who needed help and didn’t ask questions. He picked her up and carried her and her backpack nearly a mile to the road. The man who was bringing food out for Squirrels and Half and Half brought her back into town. She was gone. 

Fifty miles to Katahdin. 2,147 miles behind her she twisted her ankle and had to get off trail. Through valleys, mountains, snow, rain, hail, everything nature had to throw at her she’d walked. The Smokey Mountains, the Shenandoah Mountains, the White Mountains she’d climbed. Then one bad step on one easy section took her out. So it goes I guess.

I finished the trail two days later. I climbed Katahdin. I hitchhiked out of the park and I got a good burger. Squirrels didn’t. I don’t know how she spent those days. As of now I’ve never seen her again. I never got her real name, I never got a phone number or a social media handle. It was late August then. Months into the journey, days from the end. She lived in Maine and maybe she went home and healed up. Maybe she got back out there before they close Katahdin in October. Maybe she camped at Abol with her dad and maybe she climbed Katahdin too. I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever know. I hope she made it.

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Comments 5

  • Julie Jones : Feb 5th

    I like this post. Really made me think about the randomness of it all… connections on the trail and in life. Life is wonderful

    Reply
    • Brendan Kelly : Feb 5th

      I think that’s why it’s stuck with me so much. The best laid plans of mice and men and all that. Thanks for the reply.

      Reply
    • Jess : Feb 10th

      I agree. The “sonder” of it all really makes you wonder.

      Reply
  • Jay Carrier : Feb 5th

    Brendan,

    Looking to get in touch with you. I had been following you, but the posts seemed to stop early on (or maybe it was operator error). I figured that you got off trail. It is great to see that you made it to Katahdin.

    Jay Carrier

    Reply
  • Pcs : Feb 6th

    Great post, thanks for writing it

    Reply

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