The Maine Event

On Tuesday, August 6th, I entered into New Hampshire after a very challenging day of hiking the last ten miles of Maine. This section included the Mahoosuc Arm, a long, steep, and slippery section of mostly granite. This was followed by Mahoosuc Notch, considered one of the hardest miles on trail. Truth be told, it was really fun, basically a mile long section of bouldering, boulder caving, and choose-your-own-adventure scrambling. Next was Maine’s final gift of (count ‘em) five 3k+ peaks, including some messy bogs along the way. Only then did she finally let me out of my lease (though she kept the deposit).

My summit of Katahdin was on July 3rd, so in all I spent 35 days hiking the Appalachian Trail in Maine. This also included six days of rest for a badly sprained ankle in the 100 Mile Wilderness as well as several additional zero days along the trail. So if I do the math correctly, fourteen states total comprise the trail, apply the Maine timeframe to each, and I should be cruising into Springer Mountain in about a year and a half! Not really, but this just speaks to the difficulty of Maine and the inherent ruggedness of the terrain.

All Grow’d Up

I grew up in Maine. I don’t mean that I lived there as a child and learned the alphabet at the local Roving Moose Elementary School. I mean that when I started the A.T., I was a hiker baby, but I had to grow up fast if I wanted to survive. I had to decide within three miles on trail if this epic journey was something I was capable of, and then I had to shed any naïveté I held dear about the trail and its storied lore. The SOBO grows up in earnest. I knew all this going into it, but experiencing it first hand is different. At a hostel I stayed at in Stratton, ME, I overheard a NOBO (north bounder) in another room saying, “I see all these SOBO’s and they’re just babies; they hardly know anything.” I understand what he meant, but I thought, “Brother, a SOBO hits puberty in the birth canal. We don’t get the luxury of infancy.” If you hike the A.T. going southbound, you come to terms with your journey on day one. Mount Katahdin looms as a giant on the horizon, an indomitable icon for every thru hiker. I’ll never forget the night before I began the trail when I was wandering the streets of Millinocket with my friend Jacob, aka “Papa Smurf”, who would be joining me for Katahdin and the 100 Mile Wilderness. We explored the small town and crested a hill in the adjoining neighborhood where we were staying. As we turned, we noticed a street sign labeled Katahdin Ave and turned to see the magnificent monolith in the distance peeking austerely through the uprights of opposing rows of historic home fronts. It looked down upon us from its throne of dominant splendor, pronouncing its majestic presence upon every onlooker. We both just kind of looked at each other knowingly, as if to acknowledge the reality of what we were facing the next day.

Kicks and Hugs

A friend of mine back home asked me how I felt about the trail, and I told her, “It kicks your butt and gives you a hug at the same time.” Maine taught me that reality. It was my first time in this state, and I can’t imagine a more extensive tour of its great wilderness. It is one of the most beautiful and rough-hewn places I have ever seen. Its roots, rocks, mud, rain, mosquitoes, vertical ascents and descents, and untethered brutality kicked my butt. But its endless mountain vistas, azure blue skies, majestic mountain evergreens, incomparable sunsets, starry nights, and sprawling lakes all hugged me with a tenderness I’ve never known. I found that the more I suffered at the hands of Maine, the more she unveiled her beauty to me; it was an almost predictable exchange. And I’m pretty sure Maine will be untouched in its beauty and difficulty by any other state on the trail.

The Maine Lessons

Maine will forever be a part of me from the time I crossed over its border. I will miss it.  I will remember the lessons I learned as a student of this great state. I learned to shrink my perspective, to wake up each day and hold myself responsible only for it. If you don’t, everything else will feel too overwhelming. I learned to stop and appreciate beauty at every turn, to not be consumed by completion of the trail but to participate in the journey each day. I learned that the inherent balance in suffering and beauty are what lead to deeper meaning. Maine taught me that I have a strength in me that until now has been untapped, one I never understood how to access. She broke me in ways I’ve never been broken, then she tenderly revived me with the touch of incomparable sunsets or the kiss of starry bathed nights. And sure, maybe Georgia would have had the same lessons in mind had I started there, but I don’t think the delivery would have been the same.

Maine in the Veins

Have you ever had a really good friend that moved away or you find yourself the one leaving? There is an ache you feel when absence becomes tangible. Or when you find yourself transitioning out of a particularly meaningful season in life and have to say goodbye to the way it was.  Sometimes goodbyes are hard and change unsettling, and I found myself surprised at the particular ache I felt when saying goodbye to Maine. In a way, Maine was my caretaker for a month and I was like her foster child. Her role was to find me a home, both in myself and in my surroundings. Maine took me through hardships and kept the reasons hidden, but she pulled the veil every so often to remind me of the importance of grandeur, beauty, moving slowly, and seeking transcendence. And when the time came for her to hand me off to New Hampshire, I found myself tearing up at the realization that our time together was finished. But I’ll be back. I hope to return one day to witness the resplendent colors of Fall or drift through the white blanketed winter landscapes. It’s something that’s been stamped in me and forever sealed, and I won’t soon forget this part of my journey, this lovely and savage Maine event.

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