The End is the Beginning

If you know even a little about the Appalachian Trail, you probably know the iconic sign atop Baxter Peak on Mt. Katahdin in Baxter State Park, Maine.  Resting on a bed of rocks like a weathered sandwich board on a city sidewalk, it looms large as the final destination for NOBO’s (northbound) thru hikers finishing the Appalachian Trail. It is, in many ways, what hikers think about, pine over, and long to arrive at throughout the course of their journey.  It is the checkered flag bringing home the poor, tired, and weary masses of thru hikers who set out from Georgia months ago full of hope and anticipation and are now emotional and physical vestiges of themselves in the Maine wilderness.  Okay, maybe a little dramatic but you get the point. In some pictures you see, thru hikers are huddled over the sign like grieving widows over a casket, completely depleted and physically ruined. Other pictures show hikers poised atop the sign in victorious formations of pure ecstasy, elated to have finished the impossible journey. Often these images are taken enshrouded in clouds and fog as if these hikers were enveloped by a mountain blanket of thick mist as a consolation. Others arrive on clear days, but it’s always a toss up what the weather will do at over 5,000 feet. On this day, I was so fortunate to summit Katahdin on a clear, beautiful day. A clear ascent was the one thing I wanted on day one, and I was so grateful to have it! The vistas went on forever from the rocky peak as the mountainous landscapes faded into the distance of the untamed Maine wilderness. It was the perfect way to begin the trail. I and my friend Jacob—who joined me for Katahdin and the 100 Mile Wilderness—stayed at the summit for an hour and a half, eating lunch, talking with other hikers, and absorbing the views. I even met a day hiker from Pennsylvania who gave me his phone number and told me to give him a call when I pass through and he would pick me up for a hot meal. The kindness of the trail on display, day one.

Climbing Katahdin

It was no easy task climbing Katahdin. The first mile or so of the Hunt trail was relatively easy wooded canopy that gradually ascended beside some streams and a waterfall. But things, shall we say, escalated quickly.  It wasn’t long before we were above the tree line performing boulder scrambles complete with iron handle grasps and twisting and turning between large rock outcroppings. Eventually we found ourselves ascending a steep bouldered ridge line that went up several hundred feet to a larger plateau that formed the approach to the peak. The views were surreal by this point, and I found myself unavoidably enamored by the beauty of the place.

I Saw the Sign

We reached the summit of Baxter Peak in around three and a half hours and were greeted by the rugged, iconic “Katahdin” sign perched on a pile of small boulders. Standing at the sign and watching day hikers and thru hikers arrive, I began thinking about beginnings and endings. The weathered sign atop the peak represented a beginning for me, and I had to stop and acknowledge that is a minority position to inhabit on this trail. One of the hostel owners in Millinocket (Trash Panda, very cool guy running the A.T. Hiker Hostel with his equally cool wife Loins of Arabia) told me he estimates around 250 hikers will be going SOBO (southbound) this season attempting a thru hike. I am number 124 so far that has been documented, and it’s late in the season. Compare that with over 2,000 who attempt at Springer Mountain in Georgia in the early Spring headed NOBO. So that rugged wooden sign atop Katahdin speaks differently to hikers depending on how you find yourself arriving to it. As I perched myself against the sign for a photo op, I felt so filled with excitement, hope, and optimism. But I also felt like I hadn’t quite earned the view like others had, but that still didn’t deter me from celebration. I was there to begin a journey, one that has been simmering in me for a long time, and one that will lead me to my own victorious celebration in due time.  And maybe that’s the thing about beginnings and endings; they don’t necessarily have to exist apart from each other to affect the human spirit.  My beginnings can bear witness to another’s endings in solidarity to their journey. And their endings can ensure my journey is filled with the audacity of hope and possibility. In a best case, a circle of sustainable courage is created. I’m learning that already on the trail—that the journey has to take precedence over the destination. If all I do is think about the ending, the steps I take to get there will be absorbed by the loftiness of the finish. To be in the moment with a horizon in sight is to live the richest and most fulfilling life. It doesn’t matter that someone else’s ending is my beginning and vice versa; it’s the shared experience of the trail that simplifies and unifies.

Final Thoughts

Being at that sign was such a strange and beautiful intersection of life. It’s like when a grandparent dies in a hospital wing and a baby is born in a room the floor below.  Or when you have to put your dog down the same week your neighbor gets a new puppy.  Or your dad retires while you try to figure out a career. We are immersed in beginnings and endings, and they never stand alone in their nature but somehow bind to each other and to us. And maybe that’s what I was feeling as I gripped that worn wooden placard on top of Mt Katahdin. This journey we are taking begins in life and ends in death, but everything in between only strings us along toward each other as long as we allow it—as long as we can see that ends are beginnings and beginnings are ends, and each needs the other to be what it is.  Now to get down this mountain.

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