God
knows I’m not a city boy. After spending my first quarter-century
in Colorado, with access to the tallest mountains in the lower 48
at my fingertips, moving to the city was not easy. But alas, it
had to be done and now, four years later, I’m making an effort
to get out to explore the New England wilderness.
Prior to the extended Fourth of
July weekend, I received the wilderness call. Actually it was from
a good friend Mikey, who just moved up to Bangor, Maine to get his
PhD in forest soil management. With no other plans at stake, I packed
my essentials and hit the road up north.
Saturday morning we hit the store
for supplies and within 90 minutes out of Bangor, we were deep in
the woods looking for the trailhead. Despite a series of huge puddles
in the road—which Mikey’s Toyota pickup handled with
reluctant ease—we pulled over at the trailhead.
At Present>
As the three of us throw our packs on our backs and decide where
the safest place to stash the keys is, we see a shirtless gentleman
walking up the trail towards us. Not sure what to think, we wait
for him to approach and introduce ourselves.
“Wow,
not too many folks make it this far in on the road,” Tom said
after introducing himself. We agreed after nearly losing our vehicle
several times in the staggered lagoons in the road. “I did
the full AT in ’92 and now I live just down this road here,”
he explained pointing down the road. “Now I just hang out
in the summer and welcome travelers with burgers, beer and pot—a
little hospitality as they embark on the hundred,” referring
to the stretch of the Applachian Trail (AT) known as the Hundred
Mile Wilderness area, the home stretch of the AT leading to the
northern terminus of the trail at Mount Kahtadin in Baxter State
Park.
As we set off across the rotten bridge
signifying the trailhead, Tom told us to stop by on the way back
for food and drinks if we were up for it. And he gave us one last
warning about the area: “Ahhh, Massachusets plates; people
will probably fuck with your car...oh but you’ve got a Red
Sox sticker, you might be all right. Safe travels!” And we
were off.
Now
all I have to worry about is putting one foot in front of the other.
“This is the part about backpacking that really cleanses the
mind,” I think to myself. Wearing my sandals for the hike
paid off immediately as we came to a river within a mile of the
trailhead. As Mikey and Mary pulled over to join me in Chacos, I
scanned the banks for the easiest place to ford the knee-deep stream.
The cool water ran through my toes and I finally realized in exhilaration,
that not only was the water the perfect temperature, but I had everything
on my back to survive. What a liberating feeling! This is indeed
the separation I need.
At the top of Barren Slide, the second,
lower summit of Barren Mountain, we stop for a rest with a view.
As I sat on the rock ledge overlooking miles of untouched wilderness,
I realized my mental activity is beginning to acclimate to the lack
of technological stimulus. When I left the car, all I could think
about was my job and the myriad other consuming issues of my life.
Like a recurring commercial sequence, I would switch from one neurotic
thought to another—however always trying to remember to smell
the fresh air and take in the beautiful surroundings. But there’s
nothing like a long, hot uphill slog to get your mind into the present.
Now at the top of the slide, three miles into our 6.1 mile hike,
the neuroses was beginning to chill.
With
the Barren slog behind us, all we had was a low-lying valley between
the peaks, then one last glory ascent to the ancient firetower at
the summit of Barren Mountain. A few twists and turns beyond the
summit, we found the turnoff to Could Pond, where we would let the
frustration of twenty-first century living slip away as the sun
gently fell behind the thick coniferous forest surrounding.
3
July 2005
Waking from my dream filled slumber on the mossy forest carpet,
Mary greeted me with a hot cup of coffee—one of the most luxurious
amenities of the weekend. Now I’m sitting on my camp chair
in the beaming sun. Some friendly dragonflies are comfortably perched
on my premises appreciating the sun as much as me. I’m not
sure, but I think they are keeping the carnivorous bugs away, so
I’m happy to let them remain. (Plus, for bugs, dragonflies
are beautiful creatures!)
A
gentle breeze just toppled Mikey’s thermarest, knocking his
Nalgene cocktail into the pond—luckily with the lid closed.
In celebration of our freedom on this Independence Day weekend,
we took advantage of his special whisky sour recipe consisting of
filtered pond water, lemon-lime Gatorade mix and Jim Beam—a
concoction that will not only keep you happy, but also hydrated.
The
dragonflies hover busily over a grouping of water lilies and in
turns, take seats at the floating stumps. Twelve inches to the left,
my feet float effortlessly in the surprisingly warm water. Apparently
the dragonflies have been eating well because the mosquitoes—the
infamous back-woods-of-Maine mosquitoes—have been non existent.
Back
up at camp we were surprised by a 3-foot snake who slithered up
to see if we’d notice if he checked out our foodstuffs. “Oh,
this is going to be a shitshow if Hank see’s that snake,”
Mikey said. So Mary gently grabbed their young black lab by the
collar and he was never the wiser about our campsite companion.
Continued >>
Page 1 of 2
|