Open at the close

To those of us who grew up on Harry Potter (hmmm, it sounds like a drug when you phrase it that way), the quote "Open at the close" conjures up images of the golden snitch. To me, I have realized what I set out to do so many years ago. I have hiked the entirety of the Appalachian Trail. In this sense, I close. Yet at the same time, I am open. With this way-point reached, I look ahead to a road that is now open. Open with possibility, open to a new goal, open and unwritten. But before I charge ahead into the unknown, I'll share the final savory moments of the trail, the 100 Mile Wilderness and Katahdin.

I was carrying a mere 4 days of food and relying on a bucket left in the woods by a man with a beard for the remaining three days of food I needed.

One of the first things that comes to mind when I think back over the 100 Mile is Dry Shoes! This requires capitalization and exclamation points. If you have ever been out on a multiday trek and had wet feet you will understand my elation.

(Side note:  For the past two summers I have been developing a new scientific tool as I hiked. It is called the soggometer. It is a diagnostic tool that can be used to qualify the level of wetness your feet are experiencing and the sogginess of your shoes/socks and this level can then help extrapolate to other variables such as trail conditions, historical weather, or the state your feet will be in when you take off your shoes and can more loosely extrapolate to hiker mood. Soggometer readings range from "blissfully dry" through "squelching with every step.")

Prior to the 100 Mile my soggometer reading had been consistently between "soggy beyond belief" and "squelching with every step" due to wet trail conditions, river fordings (yes I removed my shoes, but the river was up to my hips and my shoes got wet anyways), and slippery wet rocks that led straight down to bog pits as deep as my calf. Therefore, you can understand my elation that throughout these seven days my soggometer readings ranged merely from "damp with sweat" to "transient wetness" but never reached "noticeably wet." This miraculous occurrence does not mean there was no rain, (in fact I was chased off the summit of Whitecap Mt and my first up-close view of Katahdin by a thunderstorm) but that through a combination of luck and skill I managed to maintain dry feet on the the trail; a feat which on a ordinary trek may have considerable influence on hiker morale, though in this particular situation was merely the cherry on being near the end of the trail.

Can you find the beaver at this river crossing?

The final days were punctuated with blissful sunsets,

Antler's Campsite on Mary-Jo lake

breakfast in bed with the sunrise,

Antler's Campsite

cool lakes for swimming,

View of Katahdin

and beautiful panoramas.

Tiny rowboat on lake. View from Nesuntabunt Mt.

I emerged from the 100 Mile Wilderness onto a bridge full of people taking in the view of Katahdin, whose first question to me was "Oh, are you out for a day hike?" and then "No, then just for an overnight?" I have come to realize, a dress signifies society. A person hiking in a dress must therefore not be long away from society. I must admit to secret glee at flouting cultural expectations when responding "No, I walked here from Georgia." And the inevitable second response "No, I'm alone."

View of Katahdin from Abol Bridge.

Yes, these feet brought me here from Georgia. Here being Big Niagara Falls in Baxter State Park.

At long last I packed up my gear that final morning and set off to climb. Up.

White Blazes, they end here.

 The climb, for it is a climb, not a hike, was sunny and gorgeous though the final climb after the tableland was socked in with clouds. Climbing Katahdin was a rather gymnastic feat and I'm glad that I am very flexible given how short I am. On multiple occasions I found myself putting my foot up near my shoulder because that was the only place for a foothold. On this note, I do not recommend climbing Katahdin in a dress if you are very short. No, there is not an amusing story lurking in this comment, just a lot of people on a mountain and a feeling of self consciousness usually absent in the woods.

And then finally the mist parted and there I was. At the top. At the last white blaze. At the sign telling me I was closed. And that I was open.

I followed blue blazes down off the mountain. I had a time of quiet and reflection, alone with a flock of my little birds at Chimney Pond. Then my mom and sister arrived.

Chimney Pond, view up to Knife's Edge.

The trek was over, the next adventure awaits...

Sunset over the lake while eating dinner with the family.

We had a lovely dinner, my mom, grandparents, sister and I with gorgeous view across the lake to Katahdin.

Slan abhaile Katahdin.

Success will come with patience, but the best times of your life have not yet been lived.

 Open at the close.

The wilderness begins...

that is the 100 Mile Wilderness. The final stretch before Baxter State Park and the climb up Katahdin. It's a bit hard to comprehend that I have finally reached this point on the trail. I'm looking forward to a gorgeous section of trail ahead. Stay tuned for pictures of the final trek.


In the meantime a short peak into what keeps my mind occupied during the hours of hiking:
Up on the Ridgetop
Up on the ridgetop hikers walk
Haul their packs and scale the rock.
Eating as much as they can bring;
feed a hiker to hear them sing:
Ooo who wouldn't go
ooo who wouldn't go? Up on the ridgetops and mountains high that make our spirits soar and fly.


There are more verses, but typing them out on my phone is a bit tedious, so tune in next for pictures and the other verses!

The beginning of the end

Yesterday I crossed the Kennebec River. A very distinct point in the trail. I did not walk a single step, but rather paddled a few dozen strokes. It felt like the beginning of the end. It was also very wet. Umbrellas and canoes don't work well together.

A rainy river crossing of the Kennebec River.

I have been back on the trail for ten days and have fourteen more to go; less than 150 miles of trail.

The post I never wrote last year was titled "On Fallling..." At t-minus 250 miles from Katahdin I slipped on a wet rock and fell, breaking my left ring finger. In rural Maine, that meant hiking another four miles down and up over another mountain before reaching the road and having an hour and a half drive to a hospital. Of course, true to trail spirit, I met an ER doctor on the top of the next mountain, who taped my finger up properly before I continued on my way. The x-ray showed a complex fracture and the doctor's statement, "I think you need to see a specialist," in a drawn out manner said it wasn't a suggestion. So homeward I traveled with the help of my amazing friends and family to be patched back together with pins and a few months of healing.

So once more this summer I have set off, into the wilds of Maine, on a quest, being drawn onward by the loadstone, the mountain that draws all hikers, Katahdin. Having journeyed by ferry across the unpredictable Kennebec, it is as if I have crossed the threshold. The end is close. By setting foot on the north bank of the river I have entered the magnetic pull of Katahdin and every step northward I take is eminent with the knowledge that it puts me a fraction closer to the completion of my goal. 

Katahdin is calling; I will answer that call. 

~Little Bird

My feet have grown wings and onward to Katahdin I fly.