So I Summited Mt. Katahdin… Now Come Get Me Please.

(Days 121 to 137)

If the Appalachian Trail states were characters from Mean Girls, Maine would be Regina George.

Maine Character Energy

Captivating, Fierce. Beautiful. Intimidating.

Hiking northbound, the Appalachian Trail truly saves the best for last. The final 282 miles of trail traveled over stunning mountain ridges, through towering forests, past picturesque lakes and gushing rivers. It was the most wild and serene landscape we encountered in the thousands of miles walked. The Maine section commands respect as it is equal parts challenging and stunning. The terrain was unforgiving, marred with tangles of slippery roots, sharp rocks and ankle-deep mud. As much as I was ready to make it to Mt. Katahdin and complete this adventure, Maine kept me grounded and present in the experience. Attempting to rush through meant shoes full of mud in the best case scenario or a twisted ankle and pre-mature end to the hike in the worst case scenario. 

There was no autopilot option available to cruise through these miles, and in hindsight, for this I am deeply grateful. I begrudgingly had to slow down and savor the Maine wilderness. (What a hard life.) It is like growing up with strict parents who make you do your homework right after school and eat your vegetables. You resent it in the moment, but looking back realize that it was what was best for you. 

When the remnants of Hurricane Debby hit, it dumped rain on us for 24 hours, completely flooding the trail for about two days. You know that game you would play as a kid, “The floor is lava”? Well, these two days were a long game of, “The trail is a river”. It is like “The floor is lava” except instead of avoiding the lava (in this case water), you walk right through it. 

Annoying? Yes. But also liberating. Instead of taking the time to carefully rock hop around mud puddles, we could callously stomp right through them. Between the state of the trail and the numerous river crossings, there was no way our feet were staying dry. As it turns out, Maine doesn’t believe in bridges. “Why would I give you a bridge when you have two perfectly good legs that can walk across the river?” And it was at one of these river crossings that we made the dumbest decision of our thru-hike.

If you are going to be stupid, you better hope you are at least lucky.

My general advice would be to try to avoid being stupid altogether. 

Along with flooding the trail, the rainfall from Hurricane Debby caused the water level and volume of the rivers to rise. There were two major river crossings that we encountered the day after the majority of the rainfall, the West Branch of the Piscataquis River and the East Branch of the Piscataquis River. While we were wary of crossing either river on the day where most of the rain hit, we were hoping by the following day that the rivers would be passable. The alternative to these crossings were to skip six miles of the trail and take a lengthy road walk. Being stubborn purists(ish), the ideal scenario was that we would be able to cross the rivers and avoid the road walk. The first crossing that we hit was the West Branch of the Piscataquis. We figured we would hike there, scope it out, and if it was unsafe to cross, we would turn back and take the road walk.

When we approached the West Branch, we assessed the situation. It was clear that the water level was high, and the water was moving swiftly, but we thought it would be passable. Picky and another hiker crossed first while Hitman and I watched, noting their path of travel. They safely make it across with the water rising up to about their hips. Being much shorter, I knew that the water was going to be above waist deep, but it seemed calm enough to still be feasible. I had said that anything about waist deep would be a no-go for me, and what we encountered was just on the cusp of what I would be willing to attempt. So I crossed alongside Hitman, who continuously checked in to ask if I was ok.

My response was “Yes”, until half-way through the crossing where two branches of the river flowed together. The current there was exceptionally strong for those few feet, and although I was trying to brace myself with my trekking poles, I could feel the current pushing my feet out from under me. The color drained from my face as I told my hiking partners, “I am not okay”. Hitman had gotten a few steps ahead of me, so as I planted my feet as well as I could, he backtracked to stand in front of me and break up the current. Picky got back into the river to follow me from behind, and together the three of us safely made it to the other side. 

While this certainly felt sketchy in the moment, we didn’t realize quite how sketchy it truly was until we made it to Monson, ME. At Shaw’s Hiker Hostel we learned that a number of other hikers had also attempted that crossing, but were ultimately swept down stream and lost a variety of gear. Many others made the wise decision to not even attempt the crossing and opted for the road walk instead. When we went to the ATC visitor center to get information on entering Baxter State Park and summiting Katahdin, the volunteer also discussed river crossings (there were four more major crossings we would face in the 100 Mile Wilderness). She showed us data from the USGS documenting river flow volumes at the Piscataquis river over the past few days. It turns out the ATC recommends only crossing a river with a flow volume of 200 cubic feet per second (cfs) or less, and we learned that when we crossed the river, it was flowing at a rate of over 800 cfs.

As I said – we were stupid. Thankfully, we were also lucky.

And that is the story of how we managed to make an exceptionally poor life choice, but somehow still make it to Baxter State Park with all of our belongings.

Ranger Donald Duck is my hero.

Scheduling a thru-hike is notoriously fluid. You can try to plot out your itinerary week by week, but in likelihood that plan will go out the window on Day 1. Your mental energy is better spent elsewhere because there are too many moving parts to seriously commit to anything beyond three to five days out.  And that is why coordinating entry to Baxter State Park and planning our Mt. Katahdin summit was by far the most anxiety-inducing part of the thru-hike. We were going with the flow the entire thru-hike until *BAM* – logistical nightmare.

There are limited camping options in Baxter State Park. In fact, there is only one location, the Birches, reserved for northbound thru-hikers with a capacity of twelve hikers a night. The Birches is located a little over 9 miles into the park, about 5 miles from Baxter Peak. Sign-ups for the Birches open at 7AM every morning, and if you are unable to secure a spot in the park, you can either postpone your summit to wait for a spot at the Birches or you can take your summit all in one day – hiking the 9 miles from Abol Bridge, summiting Katahdin and exiting the park in one lengthy day.  When we arrived at Abol Bridge, it was 11AM, but we were fairly confident that we would be able to stay at the Birches as we were not in a bubble, and everyone we passed assured us that there was no way the Birches would be full. However, upon arrival, we were informed that the sign-up for the Birches was in fact full. 

While we didn’t have the good fortune to snag slots at the Birches, we did have the good fortune to have Ranger Donald Duck (Ranger Don) looking out for us. He radioed out to all of the campgrounds in the park, trying to find an opening where he could place us. There were four other thru-hikers in the same boat, making a grand total of seven desperate, tired thru-hikers looking for a place to stay in the park to avoid the dreaded 20 mile day. At about 2:30PM, morale was dwindling, but Ranger Don came through! Three sites had opened up at the Katahdin Stream Campground, so we were able to make the trek into the park and camp at the base of Mt. Katahdin. While we were told the miles through Baxter State Park were cruisy, they were not quite as cruisy as we had daydreamed about, so we were deeply grateful that we walked them the day before our summit. 

The next morning, bursting to the brim with excitement, we headed out for our final 5 miles on trail. Months of walking and thousands of miles under our belts, we were ready to face the final challenge of the AT – summiting Mt. Katahdin. The first two miles of the hike was a relatively normal ascent with rocks and roots and switchbacks, but these miles gave way to giant boulders and a lot of climbing. Knowing that the end was in reach, these miles didn’t feel tedious. Stunned by the beauty of our surroundings and the adrenaline of completing the hike, we were propelled up the mountain in what felt like no time. Before I could believe it, the famed sign was in sight and shortly we were right upon it, taking the summit photos we had been planning out in our heads over the past few weeks. (Selecting the ideal summit pose is very important. Choose wrong and you are given no choice but to start the entire trek over again to get a second chance at a summit photo). We were filled with swelling pride and all-consuming joy.

But, if summitting Mt. Katahdin was a dream, descending Mt. Katahdin was a nightmare.

The Longest 4 Miles of My Life (AKA How I Almost Killed Picky)

“Let’s hike down Knife’s Edge”, he said. “It will be fun!”, he said.

I believe it is cruel and unusual punishment that a northbound thru-hike ends at Baxter Peak on Mt. Katahdin, but hikers are still expected to get themselves back down the mountain to leave. Isn’t the 2197.4 mile approach trail to the summit enough? I made it. I am done. But now I am expected to also hike off this mountain. The least that they could do is provide some kind of escalator or even a slide! After hiking all these miles, the last thing I wanted to do more of was walk. Accordingly, I was committed to get off of Mt. Katahdin as quickly as possible, so I was willing to take the shortest way down. Unfortunately for me, the shortest way down is not necessarily the fastest way down. A mistake that I do not intend to make ever again. 

There are multiple trails that one can take to get depart Mt. Katahdin after completing a thru-hike. Picky convinced our trio to take the Helon Taylor trail which is, by mileage, the shortest route. The trail starts with a 1 mile section called the “Knife’s Edge”. Now the fact that this small section of trail has its own name should have sent up some red flags for me, but the whole Helon Taylor trail was only about 4 miles total so how bad could it be?

The answer is pretty bad. The “Knife’s Edge” section is essentially a skinny pile of rocks. “Trail” is a generous way to describe it. That section alone took an hour and a half, but even beyond “Knife’s Edge” progress down the trail was painstakingly slow. It took us 3 and a half hours to get to the trailhead, which is about as much time as it took us to hike up to the peak. I hated every minute of it. I have never checked how far I had left to go as many times as I did in those few hours. 2.3 miles to go, 2.1 miles to go, 1.8 miles to go and so on. Later in Millinocket, the manager of the hiker hostel there told us that the Helon Taylor trail was his least favorite trail in all of Baxter State Park. I can understand why.

The only reason that I am writing this trail update from the comfort of my parents’ home in Maryland and not a prison cell is because I did finally make it off of the mountain and I was far too tired to strangle Picky by the end of the day. Exhaustion beats homicidal rage every time.

“Where is the trail?” you ask. You are looking at it.

Now what?

So that is a wrap on the Appalachian Trail. Four months and two weeks gone by in the blink of an eye.

Well, shit. I guess I need to get a real job.