The Last Section Part 8: More Changes of Plans

This is part 8 of a 188-mile northbound section hike of the Appalachian Trail in Maine in September 2023. I started hiking at the road crossing near the town of Stratton, ME and finished at Mt. Katahdin in Baxter State Park, the northern terminus of the trail!

Need a catch-up? Here’s part 7!

Day 11: stealth tentsite at Long Pond Stream to stealth tentsite near Fourth Mountain Bog

That morning, or rather, noon, I was still at camp when the tramily of six or so hikers from the shelter the previous day walked up. They had also followed the detour, and I got to watch them have the same reaction as I did the night before when they saw the rapids. No doubt about it, Long Pond Stream was completely impassable that day. Fortunately, we were all safely on the other side of it, having done the road walk in one way or another, but I admit I was a little jealous of this tramily for doing it in the morning daylight after the rain let up. 

In terms of weather, I thought that most of the big rain was behind me. I had given myself permission to wait until late morning to break down camp once it let up so I could attempt to dry my tent out a bit, which explains why I was still standing there tying my shoes when the tramily showed up. One of the guys asked me if I had camped there, then jokingly looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist. 

Whatever. Hike your own hike :).  

They took a break at my camp spot and then pressed on ahead, and I followed shortly after. 

I didn’t feel like I had to race to get to a shelter anymore, as I was sure they were going to press on way ahead of me, and no big downpours were predicted anyways. The rest of the afternoon just blurred together in the usual mixture of climbs, puddles, breaks to pee, breaks to fill my water bottle, passing other hikers, getting passed by other hikers, and munches of granola bars and slim jims.

I had started hiking so late that morning, and the trail went up, and up…and up. So when I was nearing Cloud Pond Lean-To only five miles later, it could practically be considered evening. And it was getting cloudy. Then drizzly. Then chilly.

What is happening, where did this come from?

Cloud Pond Lean-To

When I reached the turnoff for the side-trail to the Lean-To, I stood there contemplating if I should just head to the shelter and end my day after such a short day of hiking. Reading this from home, I think the easy answer seems like “Yeah! Of course, end the day early if the weather is a bummer and you’re tired! What’s the rush?”

But on a section like the hundred mile wilderness, hikers do have to move with a little bit of purpose at some point or won’t make it to either the food drop on time or to Baxter State Park before running out. Every decision to hike a short day had to be weighed carefully against the fact that it would mean more miles on a different day.

Another thru-hiker walked up as I was standing there trying to decide what to do, and not far behind, a group of three section hikers. We started chatting, and I think we all influenced one another subconsciously. It was like everyone was looking for an excuse to end the day due to the discomfort of the rainy cloud it felt like we were standing in among the trees, but only felt better about giving themselves permission to end the day if others were doing it too. 

So we all started down the trail to the shelter, which was more like an obstacle course of wet rock-hops, slippery wood-slabs, and puddles. I was trying to sort out in my head how it was possibly raining and starting to feel cold again when I hadn’t thought it was really supposed to, but no matter, I was so close to getting under that shelter in my sleeping bag and wouldn’t have to set up a wet tent. 

We were about ten feet from the side of the shelter when I heard voices. I admit, my immediate thought was “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I walked around to the front of the shelter to see the same entire tramily huddled inside. 

All I could selfishly, but still half-jokingly think was “They’re stealing my plan!”

I had assumed they’d gone much farther ahead. Well, this situation does prove a point, which is how uncomfortable the weather was considering all of those thru-hikers stopped again after such low mileage. I overheard one of their conversations joking about it, it being apparent that this had not been what they intended when they started the 100 mile wilderness. 

Once again, I knew that if I asked, they would probably squeeze me in, but spending the rest of the evening and night crammed in there with a tramily that had been hiking the entire trail together just didn’t feel like something I was ready for, friendly as they seemed. “End of thru hike” vibes are just different than “Georgia in April” vibes. People already have their people, and are in their final push to the end. I just didn’t feel like taking on the social anxiety that being an outsider would give me. 

So for the second night in a row, I took a moment to feel disgruntled at the fact that there would be more hiking when I had already give myself permission to be done for the day, and I started back up the obstacle course of a side trail to get back on the AT and hopefully find a nice stealth spot to camp within the next couple miles. The tent sites near the shelter were looking pretty spongy after all the rain and not super desirable, and I just wanted to be alone after all that anyway. 

A Nice but Damp Camp Spot

Just over a fortunate downhill mile later, I settled for a spot that could qualify as only “wet dirt” and not mud, among an area of scattered tent clearings next to an overflowing creek with one other hiker nearby. 

I got set up, started boiling water for dinner, and watched my fuel canister sputter out about halfway through. If you’ve seen the movie “Wild”, can you picture that scene where the main character, Cheryl, sets up camp on her first night of the PCT and then realizes her stove isn’t going to work? She kicks it in frustration, and eats “cold mush” for the next several days. 

Yeah. That was me except I didn’t kick anything. But I certainly thought about it. 

At this point, I’m starting to feel like a drama queen, making everything sound so hard and miserable. But I’m telling you, I can’t make this stuff up. These are the events as they happened, and this is what they felt like. My new stove/fuel combination was having a problem on night two, after I thought I had taken care of it back in Monson. This was going to be the hike where I went all-out, ate both hot breakfasts and dinners and had tea every night. But not anymore.

The funny thing is, as fun as it is to re-tell, not all of this stuff was actually that upsetting. It was annoying, but it’s just part of it. All of this – the failed plans, being wet when I thought I’d be dry, gear failures – are pretty much what defines backpacking. Rarely is there a trip where a plan doesn’t change or something doesn’t go wrong. It can feel really hard. But as long as nothing is life-threatening, the annoyance becomes something to laugh at more than anything else.

Spoiler alert: things really perked up after this, with a lot more sunshine in the days to come!

Part 9 coming soon!