2196.7 miles, 3,845,033 steps

I’m done! In both senses of the word. I’ve trod every (passable) mile of the AT, and it wore me out. I accomplished the mission. I’m ready to go home.

But I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. In fact, I retained that mentality all week. On my way to the finish line I received quite a few “Congratulations!” to which I replied, “Thank you, but I haven’t reached Katahdin yet”. Each time I was queried “Are you a through-hiker?”, my response was “that’s the plan” even when I was 500 feet from the northern terminus. It’s not over until it’s over. Premature celebrations have cost olympians the gold. There’s no guarantee I won’t trip and break a leg on the very last day. No faulty assumptions, no devastating surprises.

The trends from the last two weeks continued. Mountains for the first half, lowlands for the second, and a bit easier overall. Gentler grades, with very little scrambling to be seen. 67.4 miles below 2000’, with only 6 brief sections that weren’t pancake flat. Dozens of lakes and hundreds of streams, yielding a bounty of drinking water with only one or two difficult fords. Drier mud, drier shoes. Hiker’s paradise.

Additionally, I avoided previous mistakes. Laxer discipline slowed me down in the first half of those weeks, forcing me to pull ridiculous hours at the end to catch up. This time around, I set my alarm for 5:00 AM each morning. Getting earlier starts was a key factor of success for the final stretch.

With July mostly gone and clouds frequently blanketing the skies, summer was waning in the Northeast. Some days were cool enough for long pants, especially with the steady gusts. Nights were downright chilly, forcing me to fully zip up my sleeping bag and pull on a mid layer in the morning. Not enough evaporation to fuel more than some brief showers. The milder climate mirrors the wind-down of trail life. It takes me back to summer breaks in my high school days, savoring the cool night air as I drove home from volleyball with friends. The whisper of the new season prompted me to reflect on the closing of this adventure and increased my anticipation of what is to follow.

Day 152: Sunday, July 21

ME 15 to Vaughn Stream – 13.7 miles

Before they start the rounds of shuttling guests back to the trail, Shaw’s offers an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast for $11. I tore through six of the blueberry flapjacks… after downing a fine plate of eggs, bacon, and country potatoes, that is. An hour later, myself and 10 other passengers spilled out of a van in the trailhead parking lot, though I tarried to finish up the previous week’s trail update. Come late morning, I strode over the southern boundary of the 100 Mile Wilderness.

As the name implies, this is the longest stretch on the AT without any infrastructure: no towns, stores, power lines, or even public roads. There are a few private gravel drives, but access is never guaranteed and should only be sought in an emergency. The AT remains in the Wilderness all the way to the boundary of Baxter State Park. This contributed to the massive crowd at the hostel over the weekend: everyone stops in Monson to resupply before their final week. There’s Abol campground and general store just before you enter Baxter, but there are no other resources. It hearkens me back to my reflection on the Great Smoky Mountains, this tract of forrest similarly unconquered by modern man.

The plunge into the secluded wilds was chaotic and disorienting. The course bobbed and weaved between and over countless tiny hills. No landmarks, no way to gauge progress. I slowly trended northeast, but I’m fairly certain that my direction of travel touched all four compass points. It’s like that common device in adventure novels where the uninitiated traveler is transported through a strange landscape that separates reality from fantasy. That’s the best way I can capture it, but the whole thing kinda runs together.

However, there was one interesting sight: Little Wilson Falls, which the shuttle driver claimed is the tallest waterfall on the AT. Not only can you get quite close to the cascade, but the geology of the cliff was striking. The rock, which I’ll guess was slate, was more pristine that the weathered outcroppings on highly trafficked footpaths. The face of the precipice was broken into hundreds of right angles, as if sculpted by a cubist. Almost unique enough to add to my list of favorite sights.

I was more eager than usual to stop for dinner. You see, I struck great fortune in the hiker box at Shaw’s. This week, I have packets of grape jelly in my bear can. Exactly one for each tortilla, no less! Combined with the peanut butter, it makes a fabulous evening meal. A fitting celebration for my final days on-trail.

Day 153: Monday, July 22

Vaughn Stream to Gulf Hagas Brook – 20.4 miles

The task for today was a range known as the Chairbacks. I’m not sure where that name comes from. Despite the implication, these aren’t particularly steep. In truth, they weren’t that bad. I’d claim they’re the easiest peaks in all of Maine: by no means a walk in the park, but not exhausting. There’s even a joke in the naming. Sometimes, geographers get lazy when there are several summits close together and assign names like “First Peak”, “Second Peak”, and so on. In the Chairbacks, between Third and Fourth Peaks is a hill that some sources label “Mount Three and a Half”. Oh, hiker humor.

In the middle of the day, I encountered the full wreckage of a plane crash to the left of the trail. The shuttle driver for Shaw’s had explained that this was a very old wreck, and wasn’t on the AT until a major re-route. Both occupants survived, and since it wasn’t graphic I uploaded the photos to the album so you can have a look for yourself. I think the fact that the aircraft is upside down makes the lack of fatalities that much more impressive.

Day 154: Tuesday, July 23

Gulf Hagas Brook to Cooper Brook – 20.4 miles

Sleepily putting on the pot for breakfast, I felt gentle drops on my head. “Shoot, it wasn’t supposed to rain this early”, I muttered. Having not pitched my rain fly, I scrambled to collect all my effects. Even a drizzle is enough to soak a sleeping bag. Thankfully, the onset was prolonged enough to hold off until I’d stretched the cover over my pack. I shuffled the 2.5 miles to the next lean-to on an empty stomach.

Slumping my chilly, damp, and famished frame onto the lean-to floor, I was not in a pleasant mood, to say the least. I’d covered ground in good time but was otherwise downcast. After igniting my stove, I put on some music to cheer up (specifically, The Hillbilly Thomists’ self-titled album). I was singing along to the folksy tunes as I stirred the boiling water into the bowl. Gobbling the piping oatmeal, warmth and energy radiated into my limbs. By the time I shouldered my pack, the showers I anticipated to linger all-day had ceased. My visit to Carl A. Newhall Lean-to had turned my misery into joy.

The morning’s business was a succession of four peaks. The fourth and tallest, White Cap Mountain, is supposed to grant the first view of Katahdin. For me, the summit was encircled by a sea of clouds. The sight was wondrous, and more fitting of the mountain’s name. I think I would have preferred this to clear skies. I’ll get to see Katahdin eventually, anyhow.

Once I descended this ridge, it would be my last time above 1500’ before Katahdin. I’d at last come to the northern half of the 100 Mile Wilderness, riddled with rivers, ponds and lakes. I caught the sunset as I skirted Crawford Pond. Admiring the sky’s reflection across the mirror of the surface, a disturbance caught my eye. At first it seemed to be a large river otter, but when it hauled a branch off of the bank, I realized it was a beaver! Even in the final few days, the trail still has new marvels to display.

Day 155: Wednesday, July 24

Cooper Brook to Pollywog Stream – 27.6 miles

Today’s goal was to crush as much of the lowlands as possible. I sped over the flat ground, covering over 27 miles in 14 hours (including breaks). Not much to stop and admire, and even fewer distractions. There was barely a soul to chat with. Hands-down the easiest day on the whole AT, despite the distance.

And it better be that way. See, the 100-mile wilderness is really 50 miles end-to-end as the crow flies. The northern half is especially inflated, a meandering 45 miles that could be 15. If you usually don’t, I encourage you to view the GPS waypoints and see the massive S-bend for yourself. I’m not sure what convinced the trail designers to triple the length of this section beyond necessary, but I can only trust that it’s worth it.

Just south of Jo-Mary Lake, I came within two miles of a seaplane base. I heard the aircraft multiple times each day from here on out, occasionally snatching a glimpse of the unique craft. Given the prolific bodies of water in Maine, it makes good sense as a mode of travel.

I took a good 1.5 hour break at Potawadjo Lean-to for lunch, which was longer than usual. Sure, flats go by quick. But miles are never free, calories and fatigue still add up.

A hill named “Nesuntabunt Mountain” was one of the final amends items. It’s famed for a miraculous 16-mile sight line to Katahdin… which was obscured with fog. As before, no bother, I’ll get there sooner or later.

Day 156: Thursday, July 25

Pollywog Stream to Abol Bridge – 17.5 miles

A shorter day to set up the next. I finished at 4:30 PM, the earliest since I don’t know when.

Rainbow ledges was a fine hill. Its own claimed view of Katahdin was clouded up, but bunches of minuscule blueberries dotted the margins of the trail. I did sample one, more to try a wild berry than pretend to enjoy its sharply sour flavor. Generally, trying random woodland fruits is a great way to poison yourself. I made an exception here, since blueberries are effortless to identify from both fruit and leaves (which are frequently mottled red). The closest doppelgänger, the bluebead lily (which I have photographed previously) is not toxic, so the consequences of a misidentification are more unpalatable than dangerous.

Late afternoon, I emerged from the 100-mile wilderness onto Golden Road. From there I crossed Abol Bridge to Abol Bridge Store, the only place of business for 10 miles in any direction. A gaggle of fellow hikers was hunched under a small awning to dodge the brief rain. This group of slightly more than a dozen would be a sort of “mini bubble” I’d end my journey alongside. All of us were at Shaw’s the prior weekend, and most I’d met before then. There was Two Chains and Wolfman who I met in the Whites. Milkman (not the same one I met way back in Georgia) and I stayed at The Barn in Gorham, and he was even now still trying to convince me to jump over to the PCT after this. Wild Turkey and I shared a shelter in Vermont, just north of Killington. Atlas and I entered Maine together, and Frontier accompanied me through Mahoosuc Notch. If only Serendipity, Cow Bell, and Pack Mule were there, it’d have been an entire recap of all the folks I’d gotten to know in Phase 4.

I popped into the store to procure enough trail food for the last day, as well as some goodies for that evening. No cheaper way to carb up than an entire large bag of Utz potato chips (I burn 3,500 calories per day, do not try this at home). Loitering on the side porch, we gabbed on about our favorite moments from the 100 Mile Wilderness and how we planned to navigate the Baxter State Park regulations. As the sun dipped low, we split up to our different campsites: some were tenting right at the store for $23 per-person (no amenities), more still went across the street to a state-run lot that charges $13.08 (in cash, so $14). Milkman and I walked five minutes back across the bridge to camp on the trail for $0 each.

Interlude

Before I recount my trek through Baxter State Park (BSP), I have to explain the regulations pertaining thereto. Like the Smokies, through-hiker activity is heavily governed by policies, permits, and prohibitions. Dispersed camping is strictly off limits, enforced by a hefty court fine. The only long-distance hiker site is The Birches, which has an occupancy of 12, costs $10, and has a one-night stay limit. Around evening, a ranger will personally inspect each tent and require you to relocate it if it’s not pitched on a durable surface. To get into The Birches, you have to sign up with a ranger at the kiosk near the southern boundary starting at 7:00 AM.

To climb Katahdin, you must first visit the ranger station to obtain a free permit. In July, the latest start time they permit is 12:00 PM, though most will start somewhere 5:00 – 7:00 AM. No matter your start time, experience level, or physical condition, they advise you to turn around at 1:00 PM if you haven’t summited.

As you can see, there’s a ton of hoops to jump through on the way to finishing a NOBO hike. From one perspective, I get it. Not everyone is responsible when setting up camp. Some people set out for Baxter Peak woefully underprepared, putting their lives at risk. Each of the rules listed above can be part of an effective strategy to protect both people and the natural beauty… but all of them together is a bit absurd. I’m fine with no stealth camping, but only 12 occupants in a clearing that could fit 20? If you advise a 1:00 PM turnaround time, why let people start at noon?

To be honest, it works out fine if you follow the typical approach: camp near Abol Bridge, do 10 easy miles to Birches, then the following day summit and shuttle out of the park. But what do you do when there are 17 hikers going through BSP at once, as in my case? Furthermore, due to shuttle schedules (a whole ‘nother world of logistics I won’t touch on further), I couldn’t wait until Saturday to summit.

Accordingly, I decided to get caught in as little red tape as possible. I’d forgo The Birches altogether: to enter the park and summit in the same day, I’d have to pass by the kiosk well before the 7:00 AM sign-up time. Plus, it’s only 5 extra miles past The Birches to leave the park, so it doesn’t tack too much onto the day to leave directly.

I wanted to relate all this to explain why I chose to push so hard on the last day. Plus, if my purpose in this blog is to best give you a taste of the through-hike experience, sorting through paragraphs of stipulations is one of the aspects of logistics I otherwise keep hidden. In no way do I want to bash the rangers, either. They’re not responsible for enacting the rigamarole, and they genuinely do a ton of work to detect and respond to emergencies.

With that out of the way, let the curtain rise for the grand finale…

Day 157: Friday, July 26 ⛰️

Abol Bridge to Katahdin – 15.1 miles

The insistent chime of my watch alarm cut through the night at 3:30 AM. Any grumpiness was promptly cured with a steaming bowl of oatmeal. One last hearty, comforting breakfast to ready me for the day at hand. A final skim of the mile markers, elevation profile, and water sources depicted in the guidebook. Come 5:00 AM, I knelt on the trail for an extended prayer before striding off into the pale specter of first light.

The 10 miles to the ranger station were just as easygoing as the previous two days. After observing a brilliant sunrise, the path following the river was peaceful… until growls and rustling grass broke the silence. Glancing to the left, I made out three long, dark shapes galloping at me from the bank, fangs bared. Leveling my trekking poles at the threat, I bellowed “Hey! Back off!”. That was enough to rout the contingent of river otters, grunting with resentment as they slipped into the water. I recovered a tranquil mood by stopping to watch a waterfall for a few minutes. Seeing two reflections flash across the surface, I looked up just in time to spot two creatures gliding low over the evergreens. “Wow! Those are bald eagles!”. My mouth fell agape. A fitting and majestic entry to close out the list of bird sightings.

9:30 AM saw me approach the ranger station. Sliding over my plastic blue summit pass, the ranger informed me I was the 147^th NOBO (607^th overall, adding in SOBOs, Flip-flops, and sectioners) to register. I was shocked my number was still that low (I started as #103), but it makes sense when you consider that people quit, many decide to become flip-floppers on the way, and the bubble is still far behind. I broke for an hour to rest and fill both water bottles.

Once the AT crosses Katahdin Stream, the real party starts. Mt Katahdin is definitely the most aggressive climb of the entire trail. Mashing together a steepness exceeding Mt Mousilauke (3000’ gain in just 3 miles!) and scrambles more technical than Webster Cliffs, it really is the final exam. These boulders push your climbing creativity to the extreme. I’m talking bear hugging a rock while groping for the next foothold with your tippy toes. Pushing all your weight against a wall to generate the normal force for traction up a smooth incline. Grabbing an overhead iron bar and stepping up a cliff wall until it’s at your waist, then gingerly raising each knee over as you focus on not falling backwards off the mountain. And did I mention the 25 mph gusts of wind? Grueling, invigorating, and exhausting. The photos barely do it justice.

1.5 miles before summit, I entered the plateau known as the “Tableland”. At last, the endpoint came into view. From this angle, the view is a bit misleading. It looks as if one of the alternate routes to Baxter Peak comes from a higher point, but this is an illusion. Look at the picture before the final white blaze. The mound with the people on top is Katahdin, to the right of which is the frightening Knife Edge Trail to the slightly shorter Chimney Peak.

At 1:51 PM, as I took my very last steps up to the wooden sign I’d sought for nigh six months, there were scores of day hikers around. One lady kindly took my pictures, the poses for which I’d deliberated over several weeks. My favorite is the re-creation of the most famous photograph of Frassati, though I was more inclined to pose with a spork than a tobacco pipe.

With the first bars of signal in days, I made a brief call to my mom before connection dropped. I sent out as many texts to friends and family that I could manage, uploaded the last waypoints to the tracking website, and promptly stashed my phone. In the course of these activities, the crowd dispersed. I had the peak all to myself, taking in the 360-degree view of the surrounding country.

What did I feel when I finished? Honestly, just a mere hint of relief. Intellectually, I knew the strife was over, but it didn’t hit my heart. When I encounter big moments of change or accomplishment, I usually go emotionally numb. I focused intently on the details of my surroundings: the sunlight glimmering off the lakes, the rugged texture of the rocks, the imposing mountains round about me. I take in the moment as it comes and goes. Reflection and reaction come later.

Also consider what I still had left to do. I couldn’t afford a helicopter and didn’t find any volunteers to carry me, so I still had to get off this beast! Satisfied with how long I’d lingered, there was little time to lose getting down to base.

Katahdin to Abol Bridge – 10.6 miles

Given the ordeal of the ascent, going back down was surprisingly not as difficult. Generally, I could perform a dip to softly lower myself down a ledge or sit down and scoot over slanted rocks. Controlling my balance while stepping backwards over the iron bar was the only nerve-wracking bit.

Since I’d already taken the AT between the BSP boundary and the ranger station, I opted for a more direct route that shaves off 5 miles. It takes you right past The Birches, so I stopped to say hello to the mini-bubble and offer intel. When they saw me sauntering toward their campfire, they cried “Oatmeal! Congratulations!”. It felt odd to receive accolades from my fellow hikers without being able to reciprocate identically, since they’d accomplished 99.8% of the same feat. Once I’d divulged some info on water sources and tricky climbs, we moved the conversation along.

Since I was already acquainted with everyone there (with the exception of Peanut Butter and Last Mile, two guys from Germany), we got to more developed talk than surface-level introductory facts. On top of that, an old friend was in the crowd: Rocky, the catholic I met in New Jersey! Just as it seemed things couldn’t get better, a family from a neighboring campground came to bring us trail magic! I spent the hour dining on s’mores with good company.

With 4 miles left, I couldn’t stay too long. Besides, they would be at the same hostel as me tomorrow night, so this wasn’t goodbye. The Blueberry Ledges Trail out of the park was suspiciously devoid of berries, but thankfully lacking any ledges. Passing the spot where I’d greeted the sun, it was now gone beyond the ridge line. Going back across the road, I found the exact spot I’d pitched camp last night.

Saturday, July 27

Millinocket, ME

By 8:00 AM, my shuttle departed from the Abol Bridge Store bound for Millinocket. It was the driver’s last day working for the hostel this season. As a middle school English teacher, she’s saving up enough PTO over the next few years to knock out her last 1500 miles of the AT in one go.

Thirty minutes over gravel roads and small-town avenues brought me to Appalachian Trail Hostel & Outfitters, the destination for triumphant NOBOs and hopeful SOBOs. First order of business? A bite to eat, of course! I inquired at the bakery for a slice of blueberry pie, but they don’t start making those until the following week. I settled for a blueberry muffin, but it seems the hallowed Maine blueberry pie managed to elude my presence for yet another trip to The Pine Tree State.

However, the Appalachian Trail Café was not out of their famous donuts, which are larger than your clenched fist. Impeccably doughy and glittering with sugar, it was no wonder I took half of my breakfast burrito to go.

In the time before mass, I sought to get my backpack flight-ready. My original plan was to simply ship it home, but upon being quoted $100 for that size of parcel, I proceeded to plan B of stowing it as checked baggage. Normally you wrap the whole thing in strong plastic to keep the straps and buckles safe, but Tampa airport enacted an embargo on plastic-wrapped packages on the 19^th. So, the hostel owner gave me a duffel left behind by a SOBO into which I could just barely squeeze the pack. Happy to find a cheap solution, I wasn’t troubled by the less-than-manly hot pink straps.

Once I was back from mass, the rest of the mini-bubble had arrived at the hostel. We spent the rest of the evening sharing our after-trail plans. Most of us were off to new or old jobs. Notable exceptions were Atlas, who’d decided to work at the hostel through October, and Milkman, who was looking forward to living out of his van for a few weeks before finishing his flip-flop. A few floated ideas of trails in and outside the US they would tackle in the not-too-distant future, but all of us agreed we’d be recovering from this bout for months to come.

Sunday, July 28

Bangor, ME

A good number of us went back to the Appalachian Trail Café for breakfast. This time I went for their donut French toast special, which is exactly what it sounds like.

At 9:00 AM, the hostel drove those of us who were Bangor-bound to the Medway gas station, where we caught a bus that took Interstate 95 all the way to the airport. Checking the duffel and passing security went smoothly. From the air, I took one last glimpse of Maine’s sprawling forest before shutting the window cover and closing my eyes.

On the Horizon

All is now done, but not yet said. As promised, I have much to share about the trip as a whole. Reflections, stats, and highlights to come.

Accordingly, it’s time to open the quiz! I strongly recommend you give it a try, each question is crafted to revisit a specific aspect of the journey. I think it’ll prime you to enjoy the recap post even more. Furthermore, it’s intended for you to answer without peeking at the actual blog. Give it your best shot, don’t ruin the fun for yourself by hunting through hundreds of pages of my ramblings. Most questions are quick: you know it or you don’t. A few require a little extrapolation or guess-work, but those are weighted to serve as tie-breakers. I’ve decided the prize for the highest score is an Appalachian Trail badge I picked up in Millinocket, pictured above. Here’s the link: https://forms.gle/PbZNjWVPyvw7zPzM9

Finally, a reminder to send your questions my way! If you’re curious about any aspect of the overarching experience or a particular section, don’t hesitate to put a comment below or otherwise send me your query.

Pebbles

New birds: Yellow-bellied Flycatcher, Solitary Sandpiper, Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Brown Creeper, Bald Eagle

Songs in my Head: “Antarctica or Bust” by Hans Zimmer, “Takin’ Care Of Business” by Bachman-Turner Overdrive, “Angel Band” & “Poor Wayfaring Stranger” by The Hillbilly Thomists, “Tour’s End” by Jeff Lorber, and “Closing Time” by Semisonic. Fun fact, that first one was composed for a Mr. Beast video.

🎶 Closing time / Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end 🎶,

Maxwell “Frassati” / “Oatmeal” Stelmack