A Walk in the Woods

Signs that summer days are fleeting are everywhere. There's the nip in the air, the blue blue skies so indicative of September in Maine, the earlier sunsets, and the schoolbuses! Everywhere! The return of those big yellow kid-movers has made for two happy boys in our house. I find it so hard to believe that Ethan will be boarding one of them next year at this time. Speaking of our biggest little man, he started pre-K yesterday and couldn't be more thrilled with his new room and teacher. He is very proud of being a pre-kindergartner, having his own set of supplies, and not having to nap anymore at school. Poor Adam, on the other hand, had to say goodbye to most of his slightly-older buddies as they moved up to preschool and he stayed behind in Room 6. That late October birthday (plus that little skill that he refuses to attempt to master but is a must before becoming a real preschooler) means he has to stay behind until the mid-year move-up when he'll join his friends (presuming he ever decides to use the potty!).

But before we delve into all the fall fun that awaits us, there are still summer stories to share! I have been negligent with my blog updates of late, and am more than a week late in my post-AT adventure report. My second attempt to join Paul on the trail went off with nary a hitch, and I spent three amazing days in Middle-of-Nowhere, Maine early last week.

The adventure began early Sunday morning, when I left my warm and cozy house and my boys still in their PJs for a three hour drive to the Maine backcountry. After two hours, I completely departed civilization for gravel logging roads and mountain views. I left my car on East Flagstaff Rd, Maine. Yup, that's right - this spot is so rural that it's not even part of a town, just Maine. I nervously said goodbye to my car, strapped on my pack, and hiked 2.5 miles in (and up) to meet Paul at the intersection of the Safford Brook and Appalachian trails.

We reconnoitered at 12:06 (which I thought was quite impressive given we planned to meet "around noon" on the side of a mountain!) and headed out to climb Little Bigelow. Little Bigelow, true to its name, is quite small compared to other Maine mountains Paul had been busy tackling in the days prior, but the views from the top were spectacular nonetheless.

From the top, we could see Flagstaff Lake, our target for nightfall.

After a quick snack stop at the top, we made our way down Little Bigelow and over a nice flat stretch to the campsite at Flagstaff Lake. We had been hearing rumblings of thunder in the distance, but hadn't paid them much attention since they seemed quite far away. Boy were we wrong! Our tents couldn't have been up for more than about thirty seconds before the skies opened up and we found ourselves in a full-on thunderstorm. What we thought was a quick passing storm turned into torrential rain, gusty winds, and too-close-for-comfort lightning ALL.NIGHT.LONG. It was around this time that I starting thinking that this whole thing was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea. I spent the evening in my tent, shivering, eating Triscuits for dinner, and alternating between counting raindrops as they fell on my face, staring at the ceiling, and planning my exit strategy. Walking back 11 miles is surely preferable to walking another 19 miles away from my car, right? There was that road back there - maybe I can find my way back to my car from that. But also echoing in my head was some advice Paul had shared with me earlier - Never quit on a rainy day. Miraculously, we had cell phone coverage, so I could talk to my boys for a bit - they cheered me up with so many questions about rainbows and pirate ships and what Uncle Pauly was doing in his tent (eating candy). After a long night, I pulled myself out of my puddle (literally. side note: do not buy a $20 tent from WAL*MART and assume it will protect you from a deluge) and was rewarded with dry air and a much-improved outlook on this adventure. Getting a look at our beautiful surroundings didn't hurt.

After Paul spent a couple minutes doubled over with laughter at the state of my gear (drenched), then another couple minutes saying "I told you so" about cheaping out on gear, he asked in the zen way that comes with spending the summer on the trail, "But how good does it feel to get through a night like that and come out the other side ready to hike?". I thought about it for a second and realized he was right - it did feel good and I was ready to hike (forwards, not backwards). And it was all up from there.

Monday was a great day of walking through what I would argue to be the most beautiful stretch of Maine wilderness, past and over rambling streams, through rivers, by ponds and lakes completely uninhabited by man, boat, or cabin. The terrain was flat and easy (with the exception of the mud and EXTREMELY slippery roots and rocks thanks to the previous night's rainfall) and 15 miles seemed (relatively) painless and utterly enjoyable. For most of the walk, we were totally alone in the wilderness, hearing only the sounds of nature - the babbling brooks, the birds, the wind rustling through the trees, and the rhythmic click-clack of our hiking poles. It was the most peaceful and serene 8 hours I've ever experienced. We stopped for a snack at West Carry Pond (by the way, we Mainers have interesting interpretations of "ponds" - these were the biggest ponds I'd ever seen!).

And lunch at East Carry Pond. While we gobbled up tuna packets (wow, those tasted good), we attempted to dry out our gear in the sunshine.

Then it was on to Pierce Pond, where we set up camp for the night.

We witnessed a gorgeous sunset, started and put out a small forest fire (now I know why Paul's trail name is "Shaky" - not the steadiest hand with the camp stove), and ate freeze-pack ice cream sandwiches (not cold, but very tasty!) before turning in at, oh, 7:30.

Paul tells me that sunset is referred to as "hikers' midnight" and since I never stay up until midnight anyway, I figure that was a big night out for me. Of course, we were up with the sun and the birds the next morning, taking down camp to get over to the famous 12-pancake breakfast at Harrison's Camp. This was a treat beyond treats for me to experience - a real "AT experience" that I was lucky to have fall on my stretch of trail. Tim owns and operates Harrison's Camp, an old sportsmen camp from the early twentieth century, accessible only by boat, sea plane, or very rough dirt roads. He caters to fishermen, hikers, and those wanting to get away from civilization for awhile.

For hikers, he hosts a 12-pancake breakfast every day at 7 sharp, with a dozen "patriotic pancakes" (with raspberries, blueberries, and apples), sausage, eggs, juice, and all the coffee you can drink. He also has real working toilets and clean cool water. Hikers' paradise!

After two days on the trail, finishing all 12 pancakes was almost possible (Paul cleared his plate no problem). We spent a good hour plus drinking coffee and chatting with Tim and other hikers before setting off for the quick 4 miles to Caratunk.

Between us and Caratunk remained one last major obstacle: the Kennebeck River.

This river is large and dangerous and not meant to be forded, so the ATC actually provides a canoe "ferry" at no charge to hikers.

This is the "official" AT route, as noted by the white blaze on the bottom of the canoe.

After "Hillbilly Dave" (very appropriately named, I might add) paddled across the river, it was just a short few hundred yards to Rte 201, where I met my ride back to East Flagstaff, Maine to get my car. I had been a tad nervous about the whole getting-a-ride-from-a-stranger-in-backwoods-Maine thing, but the moment I laid eyes on "Pie Lady", my fears were assuaged. She was a delightful, older-than-time woman who just loves to give hikers rides and hear their stories. We had a pleasant 1.5 hour drive back to my car, and then I drove home to life and reality, armed with a new sense of peace, renewed appreciation for my environment and my body, and wonderful, everlasting memories of joining my brother, if only for a tiny piece of his grand adventure.