2082.0 miles, 3,659,300 steps

I’m surprised how much this week was a recapitulation of last. I don’t have a ton of unique things to point out. In the interest of getting this out to you sooner, the day-by-day accounts will resemble brief lists of key moments, rather than polished and cohesive narratives.

The overall rhythm was the same— strenuous peaks to start, mellow flats to finish. However, the overall conditions were significantly easier. The weather resumed a pleasant ambiance, with only two brief overnight showers. Foot bridges kept my shoes dry until several fords on Friday. The elevation profile of the mountains was more like ocean waves than saw teeth, less packed together and not as steep. The lowlands offered a glorious 57-mile stretch with three ascents greater than 100 feet. So I should have less trouble knocking this one out, right?

That’s what I thought at least. In truth, I let my guard down. I was less disciplined about how often and for how long I stopped for breaks. I didn’t push for as many miles earlier in the week, meaning I was yet again straining in the last 48 hours to sprint the final stretch into town. Had I tacked on 10% more distance in the first three days, the final two would have been less rushed. I’m determined to have learned my lesson this time, and I’ll be more proactive as I enter the final week where logistics are most rigid.

Keeping a level head is a balancing act. You’d think the positive emotions dominate: anticipation of the end in-sight, awe at the progress achieved, and confidence in the ability to endure all remaining trials. When I heard in Georgia tales of those who quit in Maine (not out of injury or bankruptcy, but frustration), I was incredulous. Now I understand. “Two weeks left” can be a rallying cry or a lament. I get ecstatic over “almost there”, but must ward off “not yet there”, or worse, “should already be there”. Every mile yields accomplishment and fatigue. Ultimately, I deal with emotions best by keeping my attention on the present. I’ve been staying grounded to my current situation rather than getting caught up in the big-picture.

Day 146: Monday, July 15

ME 4 to Orbeton Stream – 13.5 miles

Despite surmounting three summits today, these were not so tiresome as their counterparts in southern Maine. The prospects of the ski slopes and placid water, though not wholly novel, managed to inspire my spirits a little. A sort of Era of Good Feelings kicked off today, an abiding sense that the worst was past and success is inevitable. If the last two weeks were the climactic showcase of the best and worst parts of trail life, then I was relieved to decrescendo into the falling action.

Day 147: Tuesday, July 16

Orbeton Stream to North Crocker Mountain – 14.6 miles

Two milestones punctuated the day. First was reaching a plaque commemorating the final section cut by the CCC, and second was crossing the 2,000 mile mark.

A minor thunderstorm rolled though in late evening, stunting my progress for the day. While I was satisfied with the prudent choice to hunker down, I regretted not starting early enough to reach my goal before the storm’s onset.

Day 148: Wednesday, July 17

North Crocker Mountain to Safford Notch Campsite – 14.5 miles

Bigelow Reserve called to mind Franconia Ridge. Although not as tall, the windswept balds offered panoramic vistas. Scanning my guidebook atop Avery Peak, I realized this was the last time I’d be above 3000’ before Katahdin. This spurred me on, knowing the worst climbs were far behind me.

The course down the northern face wove among fascinating boulders. Some reached astounded sizes, larger than charter buses. Others were crowned with ferns like a jester hat. My favorites had -45-degree overhangs, calling to mind a Jawa Crawler. I almost laid my sleeping bag underneath one of the natural awnings, but the surface below was too jagged.

Day 149: Thursday, July 18

Safford Notch Campsite to Scott Road – 17.8 miles

Today was the introduction to the flats. Just two ascents, each under 1000’ and gradual. Right off the bat was Little Bigelow, less of a mountain and more of a ridge. The ground rose gently over 2 miles, then plateaued for two more. It was so nice to have a climb with nothing to it, piece of cake.

The descent off Little Bigelow, itself hardly challenging, sunk me into the lowlands. Don’t be mislead by my introduction, it wasn’t truly “pancake flat”, with frequent bumps that required more-than-minimum effort. But  few real, sustained rises. It was a pleasant stroll along the lakeshore, a steady breeze causing the sunlight to shimmer over the ground.

Day 150: Friday, July 19

Scott Road to Bald Mountain Stream – 30.7 miles, 50,000 footsteps!

Today was push day. In truth, I’d been hoping to make a 30-miler at some point, but it took 15 hours and the easiest flats to make it happen.

Not too long before noon, I arrived on the banks of the Kennebec River. Its very dangerous to ford, with hidden drops and a dam upstream. So, one of the local whitewater rafting guides ferries  hikers across in a canoe, two at a time. When it was my turn, I got to sit up front and help paddle against the wind. A loon dove and swam underneath us as we glided along.

In the fields just south of Moxie Bald, a few pinhead-size blueberries cropped among the blades of grass. I didn’t taste any, since diminutive berries tend to be sour.  The summit, with its short pines and rumpled swaths of stone, appeared like the surface of an alien planet when cast in the pale moonlight.

Day 151: Saturday, July 20

Horseshoe Canyon to ME 15, shuttle into Monson ME – 14.8 miles

My favorite part of the morning was Horseshoe Canyon, a serpentine gorge etched by the west branch of the Piscataquis River. Unfortunately, the web of branches precluded quality photographs.

I crossed the highway to the trailhead parking lot at 11:15 AM, just under an hour before the hostel shuttle does the first pick-up. However, a local man that dropped his kids off for a weekend trip was about the head back into town and offered me a ride. After a few minutes on the road, he dropped me off at Shaw’s Hiker Hostel.

The place is well maintained and the staff run a tight ship, with spacious grounds and several buildings. Even with 40 hikers seeking overnight accommodations, it didn’t feel overcrowded. The was a red main building with two whole floors of gear and provisions for sale. There, I checked in and retrieved my Amazon and Walmart packages. Laundry went quick, since they had two sets of machines. My bed was in the nicer, two-story bunkhouse. The second floor offered a lovely veranda with comfortable chairs. Secluded and peaceful, I relaxed there when not out-and-about.

Monson adds yet another splendid northeast town to the list. Not more than a block away was the general store on Main Street. Though only the size of your average gas station convenience store, the space was well-utilized. They’d refined their inventory to offer the perfect balance of trail foods, pantry staples, baked goods, local produce, cold beverages, and even a gift shop. Not to mention the back wall was a deli, from which I secured a tasty sandwich.

I then crossed the road to the ice cream shop. There’s a local brand, Gifford’s, though it’s not quite as creamy as the Graeter’s that this midwesterner grew up with. I tried the wild blueberry flavor sandwiched between two chocolate chip cookies. It was the perfect fruity taste, a mild sweetness that wasn’t overpowering.

The nearest Catholic church is 20 miles away in Greenville. Two weeks ago, I got in contact with the parish office, who connected me with a parishioner who passes through Monson on her way to the Saturday vigil mass. I was super thankful she was willing to give me a ride, otherwise I was looking at a very expensive Uber or shuttle. We got there a good 30 minutes early, giving me ample time to enjoy the peace of sitting before the tabernacle.

Once she dropped me back off in Monson, I made my way to the only restaurant in town. The speakers floating R&B and newspapers spread across a long table left no doubt in my mind that the homely Spring Creek Bar-B-Q was a local’s spot. Though it was quite a while until they rung the bell and called my name to collect my order, this only gave me more time to enjoy the atmosphere. The barbecue bacon burger hit the spot for a summer evening, especially when paired with a sweet tea from the fridge.

After swinging by the general store one more time for a fudge brownie and a bottle of milk, I retreated to the bunkhouse veranda for the remainder of the day. Shaw’s and Monson were just what I needed to recharge for the big finish to come.

On the Horizon

After braving the 100-mile wilderness and climbing Katahdin in Baxter State Park, that’s it!

As I approach the conclusion of the hike, I’d like to explain how I’ll wrap up the blog. Next post I’ll give you the full account of the final week, focusing on the day-to-day events per usual. However, I want to share a reflection on my journey as a whole, and I’d be way too rushed to cram all that into a single update next weekend. So, there will be a second post a week later, allowing me to collect my thoughts and more easily transmit them via an actual keyboard.

On top of my personal conclusions, I have lots of cool stats to share. I’ll also answer any final queries in one big Q&A. Curious about a particular aspect of the hike or the journey as a whole? Drop a comment or otherwise send me your question before two Saturdays from now.

Furthermore, I’d like to spice up the grand finale. I’m in the process of cooking up a little quiz as a fun way to revisit some of my favorite moments from the blog. I’ll keep it short and simple, confined to information in this website OR things I want you to guess. Nothing requiring internet research. For those of you with a competitive inclination, if I get enough responses, I might give out a small prize to the highest score…

Pebbles

New birds: Yellow-rumped Warbler, Common Loon

Songs in my Head: “The General” by DISPATCH and “Summer Breeze” by Seals and Croft

🎶 Sweet days of summer, the jasmine’s in bloom / July is dressed up and playing her tune 🎶,

Maxwell “Oatmeal” Stelmack