The 100 Mile Wilderness

The 100 Mile Wilderness is a stretch of the Appalachian Trail that extends from Monson, Maine to Abol Bridge, which sits about ten miles South from Mt. Katahdin. It is the most remote, untamed section of the entire trail and is exactly 100 miles. And if you’re moving southbound, you will probably enter this portion on your first full day on trail. It is suggested you have ten days worth of food and supplies on you when you go through the wilderness, but I was able to arrange a resupply about halfway in through Shaw’s Hiker Hostel.  The price was steep—$90 for the drop—but worth not carrying the extra weight. Plus, I would not have had enough space in my pack for that amount of food.

View of Mt. Katahdin from Abol Bridge, just before the 100 Mile Wilderness.

Our food drop from Shaw’s at Jo-Mary Rd, about 40 miles into the 100

The drop included complementary brews!

The SOBO Way

When you’re a SOBO, you most likely haven’t developed your trail legs yet entering the Wilderness (although as one SOBO ‘21 alum I met named Mud Lantern told me, “SOBO’s don’t get trail legs, they get trail wings”). Either way, I had neither wings nor legs entering the 100 Mile, despite being in good shape and having trained beforehand. These are things you earn on trail. A SOBO thru hiker is born in the flames of adversity. You have the single hardest climb of the entire trail on day one in the form of Mt. Katahdin. Then shortly after, you are thrust into the 100 Mile Wilderness all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed but proceed to get that tail generously handed to you. The terrain is rugged and difficult, some of the harshest on the entire trail. NOBO’s I met and talked to in the 100 recounted harrowing tales of 25-30 mile days on trail until they hit New Hampshire and the Maine wilderness. Suddenly, their progress crept to 10-15 mile days. The entire stretch of the 100 is littered with roots, rocks, mud, bogs, and steep climbs and descents. Switchbacks? Never heard of ‘em, we go straight the eff up ‘round here. Smooth trails like GA and TN? Keep dreamin’ bud, hope you brought extra ankles. Then there’s the rain. You’re guaranteed to get some, buckets at times. “No pain, no rain, no Maine,” as the saying goes. But I love being a SOBO. There’s a real sense of pride about it, knowing you are a distinct minority on trail and willing to front load the difficult stuff. And I was so fresh and optimistic going into the beauty of the 100 mile, I relished every bit of it I could. So many amazing vistas, starry nights, sunsets, sunrises, interesting plant life, animals, swimming holes, the list goes on. I encountered so much beauty in the Wilderness, and I was grateful to have fresh eyes to see it all. I can’t tell you how many jaded, grizzled, and depleted NOBO’s I encountered who were blitzing through the Wilderness just to summit Katahdin and be finished.  Such a shame, I thought, to blow by such beauty.  But I guess I can’t blame them, I’ll probably feel the same way down South.

Remnants of a 1984 plane crash. A father and son both survived. The A.T. was rerouted two years ago to pass the wreckage.

The Tag

Then there’s the issue of the official AT hangtag provided by the ATC (Appalachian Trail Conservancy). These are the iconic, rounded triangular tags given to hikers as markers of intent to thru hike the trail. The tag colors vary from year to year, this year’s is yellow. They are badges of honor on the trail, and hikers display them prominently on their packs like medals. Want to know how a NOBO gets one?  They sit through an orientation at Amicalola Falls State Park in Georgia before starting the trail, then workers answer questions and hand them out like Halloween candy to trick-or-treaters. A SOBO? He goes through the fiery furnaces of Mt. Katahdin and the 100 Mile Wilderness like Frodo carrying the ring to Mordor. When he reaches the end, he hobbles down to the AT Visitor’s Center in Monson 115 miles later to claim his tag. When I was given mine, limping into the office with my ankle bandaged and knee badly hurting, it felt like I received the Purple Heart. I thought for sure there would be a ceremony involving the release of no less than twenty white doves and the firing of multiple rifles. “You just get off trail?,” someone in Monson asked me. “You have the walk.” I was really proud to fasten that tag onto my pack.

THE LESSONS LEARNED

I say a lot of these things in jest. I have so much respect for the NOBO’s I’ve met who are just miles away from finishing the trail. I still have so far to go and so much to see and learn. The 100 Mile taught me some important lessons and humbled me in ways I didn’t anticipate. A couple injuries in this section sidelined me temporarily, during and after the hike. It was a real gut check for the rest of the trail, making me wonder existentially if I really have what it takes to finish this journey. It’s lonelier going southbound, with such a small percentage of hikers headed that direction, but the solitude is what I’m partly after. With the 100 Mile Wilderness behind me, having seen and learned everything I have, I’m ready to set out on the rest of this adventure knowing I have been refined in the flames of some of Maine’s toughest offerings. No trail legs yet, but I think I feel my SOBO wings starting to sprout, ready to fly me home to Georgia.

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