Down Time

Just a quick update on our hiatus, which has been quite hectic and more than a little overwhelming. We rolled into Pancho’s mom’s place near Annapolis in the middle of the night, after a long, stressful drive from Maine. Then came three solid days of shopping. Oy. We were both in need of clothes and supplies for our trip to Amsterdam, especially Pancho, who had no pants that fit anymore. Losing 6 inches in the waist seems to necessitate a trip to the mall. And WOW is the mall a horrible, anxiety-inducing nightmare after four months in the woods. The noise, the light, the ridiculous consumerism were pretty overwhelming for us both.

These boots are no longer made for walking....
 I was just hoping to make it up Katahdin in them.
It's never a good thing when you can see your socks through the top....

Manscaping in process--the mutton chop phase.
Thankfully short-lived.

Fortunately, we survived the mall (actually 3 of them, with which I am now WAY too familiar) and headed off to Amsterdam. Much like Vegas, there is very little that I can reveal about the trip J, just that Pancho really freaked out some of our friends and we still have no answer to the eternal question: how many entrepreneurs does it take to find a brothel in Amsterdam? (More than you might think….) We do have an answer to the question of how comfortable wooden shoes are—not even a little bit. Especially when you’ve been pounding the hell out of your feet for months. Yikes.

Sue rocks the clogs.

Dean, Eric, and their special friend.

On the party boat.

We’ve been delayed a bit this week in our preparations to head back out onto the trail. We’ll be taking off from central Virginia on Sunday, heading south this time. Actually a touch nervous about changing directions—we’re so accustomed to looking at the map and the guidebook in the other orientation. Hopefully, we’ll stay on track the right way—if not, we sure won’t be publishing the fact here! 



Before--in Buenos Aires, right before we started hiking.

And after--4 months, 1400 miles, and 56 pounds later, in Amsterdam.

The Last Stretch (Part 1)

Warning sign at the end of the 100 Mile Wilderness.
Love the ending: this trail is fraught with peril, but "good hiking!"
Oh, those wacky Mainers and their dry sense of humor.

Ahhhh…Maine. What can I say about Maine that would be fit for family consumption? OK—moving on now.

For the moment, we’re on hiatus. A nearly 2 week break, spending some time here in the DC area with the mother of Pancho and a brief jaunt to Amsterdam for EO University.

The slog—and yes, that is the best word I can choose—through the 100 Mile Wilderness was the toughest part of the hike so far. How to describe the trail through Maine?

Wet:  Often, the trail just runs along a streambed, which during heavy rains like there have been in the last few weeks, can be well over ankle-deep.

Muddy:  Hopping from rock to rock through pits of slime. Putting your pole out for balance, then having it sink 2 feet or more into the muck. Tiptoeing across bog-boards (planks or sawn logs, frequently of dubious stability) that become slick as glass when wet. The boards are also all too often submerged, and thus, not so helpful.

Rooty:  There are exposed roots everywhere, so that at times, your feet are nowhere near the ground. And like the bog-boards, the roots are deadly slick when wet.

Unfortunately, we had a bit of a schedule heading into the Wilderness, trying to get to Katahdin right after Labor Day. So we had to push some big mile days through some very nasty weather. Several straight days of rain—non-stop, drenching rain. Everything was soaked. Us. All of our gear. Our tent. Few things are as dismal and miserable, and we had some really tough, long days. We pulled through together, though, which is a pretty big accomplishment :).

We arrived in Millinocket, the town closest to Mount Katahdin on Tuesday evening, unpleasantly moist and terribly ripe. After hot showers, laundry, and a reunion with our friends Swift and Deja, we were ready to summit the next day.

Katahdin, from Abol Bridge.

Our hearty band, ready to summit.

Wednesday morning, the four of us took the long drive back out to the trail at Katahdin. When we set out, we were wearing shorts and tees and the weather looked, well, not so bad by Maine standards. The hike is 5 miles up, with some very rocky, challenging parts in the middle. Naturally, it started to drizzle about halfway. About 2 miles from the summit, the climbing stops and there is a relatively flat tableland. Around that point, the wind kicked in, the visibility dropped to zero, and the temps started to plummet. By the last mile, I had layered on long sleeves, full raingear, hat, and gloves. Still freezing. After a hurried lunch and the requisite photo shoot at the summit sign, we headed back down. Fortunately, the descent was not quite as treacherous as I had anticipated, though there was still much butt-scooting and dangling from trees.

View on the way up Katahdin, while there was still some visibility.

Pancho, Swift, and Deja heading up toward the tableland on Katahdin. 

Pancho on the tableland, approaching the summit.

The standard summit shot, looking a touch chilly.

The (limited) view from the top.

We met up with my folks at the base, who drove up from ATL to meet us and drive us down to Maryland. (Best trail parents EVER. :) ) Now we have to regroup a bit, doing laundry, cleaning up all our gear, shopping for new clothes for Pancho (always traumatic) who has lost well over 50 pounds.

There may be a post from Amsterdam—sort of the anti-AT experience. Otherwise, we head back onto the trail around the 23^rd, to complete the southern leg of our journey. Stick with us—we really appreciate all the support and encouragement y’all give us!

Hurricanes, river crossings, and mooses...oh my!

Here are some belated photos and details of our stay in Caratunk during the hurricane and our hike from there to Monson, the start of the 100 Mile Wilderness.

Loading up the Kennebec Ferry with Hillbilly Dave.

Swift and Deja sport the latest hurricane fashions. 

One of our primary concerns in the post-Irene world was the water level of the streams north of Caratunk, many of which can get dicey in high water conditions. Since we waited in Caratunk an extra day, the levels dropped some, so that we weren’t carrying our packs overhead, while picking our way across a chest-deep channel, as some others did.

We did have an exciting beaver dam crossing, aided by our buddy Who Knows, who happened to encounter the rather hostile beaver, apparently somewhat irritated by the constant flow of hikers.

Who Knows crossing the beaver dam with a pack. 

Pancho on the beaver dam

We also experienced the pristine ponds and rivers of Maine. Dining al fresco takes on a whole new meaning sitting beside a crystal clear pond, listening to the loons.

Bald Mountain Pond.

West Carry Pond.

And I finally got to see a moose, instead of just the copious amounts of poop littering the trail!

Moose!

Racing Irene

We're spending a soggy day at Northern Outdoors near Caratunk, ME, riding out the hurricane. Three days ago, we stopped for lunch on the roadside near Stratton, when our friends Swift, Deja, and Who Knows appeared and informed us of the impending landfall of Irene. The stretch between Stratton and Caratunk is either above treeline or boggy areas along ponds. Not good when the forecast calls for significant rainfall and high winds. So the five of us decided to push to Caratunk by Saturday night, in advance of Irene's predicted Sunday arrival.
One small hitch: crossing the Kennebec. All of the AT guidebooks stress the need to take the ferry across the river and the danger of fording it. The dam upstream releases unpredictably, which means the water levels can rise dramatically and quickly. Several hikers have died attempting the crossing, so now, the official AT route is the ferry.
Now, you need to keep in mind that when I say "ferry," I'm not talking about Staten Island. I'm talking about a guy and a canoe. Hillbilly Dave takes you two at a time across. And we witnessed firsthand the issues with the Kennebec. It was pretty innocuous when Pancho and I went across. By the time our buddies came across, the water had come up more than a foot and the current picked up enough to make it difficult to land the canoe. The ferry only operates two hours each morning and afternoon, so making it in time for the ferry was an issue. On the heels of two long days, we busted out thirteen miles over relatively flat terrain to get to the river crossing. By the last three miles, we were exhausted, driven only by the promise of hot showers and reputedly awesome nachos.
So now, we're waiting on a weather window to head out for our last 150 miles. Hopefully, we'll leave here tomorrow, but at the moment, we're drinking some great microbrews, playing Ms. Pacman, and listening to lots of 80s tunes.
We'll keep y'all posted. Hope everyone in the storm zone stays safe and well.

Entering Maine, as Tough as the Whites, plus Bogs

Welcome to Maine!

The Whites may have the reputation for being the toughest section of the AT, but southern Maine is sure as hell no cakewalk.  We headed out of Gorham in the rain, on a slippy, sloppy trail.  Probably the dominant feature in Maine is the mud, in some cases, bottomless pools crisscrossed with wood planks.  These “bog-boards” may—or may not—actually be above the surface of the mud or water.  A misstep can land you thigh or hip deep in the muck, and you’re unlikely to ever see your boots again.  There are also near-vertical scrambles up rock faces, which really aren’t that pleasant in the rain, when you never know, if your feet will shoot out from under you and send you reeling back to the bottom.

The first view of Maine, after a foggy first day.

Our second day in Maine was clear and sunny, but it also took us into Mahoosuc Notch, notorious as either the most fun or most difficult single mile on the trail.  We would have to vote for the latter.  It’s not so much hiking as it is an exercise in creative problem-solving in three dimensions.  It’s difficult to describe the Notch to the uninitiated—it’s a scramble over, under, through rocks of all sizes.  And it took us FOUR hours.  Did I mention that it’s just ONE mile? Oy.  Part of the problem for us was the scary, nasty fall Pancho took near the beginning of the Notch.  He lost his footing, and fell straight back, 5-6 feet down, flat onto his back.  It was one of the rare moments that having a huge pack strapped to your back became a positive.  His ankle wedged between two rocks, twisted, yet, fortunately not broken.  It scared the crap out of me.

After a long, frustrating day on the trail, we reconnected with our friends Swift and Deja, before heading into Grafton Notch and the Mahoosuc Mountain Lodge.  Not one of our better choices. A great facility—they guide dogsled trips and have 40 huge dogs on site—but not as hiker-friendly as they could be.  So, our intrepid buddy Swift set out to hitch 15 miles into Bethel for supplies (i.e., beer and food).  If there is one guarantee with Swift, it’s that he’ll come back with a great story.  It took 2 hitches to get into Bethel to the grocery store.  Swift left the store with a shopping cart full of burger-fixings and beer.  After pushing the cart for some distance, he spied a pizza delivery shop.  Huh. An opportunity, no?  So he went in and asked if they delivered to the Lodge.  Nope—too far. “Really?” says Swift. “Well, let me talk to the driver.”  “What do you mean?” sputters the manager.  “That’s not how this works!” But Swift already had the driver in his sights and says, “let’s talk terms….”  After a bit of negotiating and an exchange of currency, Swift, the driver, two pizzas, the groceries, and beer are on the way.  Soon thereafter, Deja and I spot a car gliding to a stop in the drive, about 100 yards from the Lodge.  Excitement—it’s a pizza guy!  And Swift!  Why are they stopped way out there?  Because, they ran out of gas, of course.  But we had appetizer pizza, burgers on the grill, and beer.  Not such a bad evening J.

From Mahoosuc Mountain, we headed into Andover to the Pine Ellis hostel.  To say that Andover is a small town is a bit of an understatement.  There are two hiker hostels, a general store/gas station/diner, and one stop sign.  We stayed at the “better” of the two hostels, as we got to sleep in a room with a bed versus sleeping in the driveway in a cargo container (no joke!).  We spent three nights there, slackpacking through the difficult section of southern Maine.  Though very tasty, we definitely exhausted the menu at the diner, not to mention freaking out the waitresses with the sheer quantity of items we ordered at every meal.

On top of Baldpate Mountain.

Pancho in Maine.

With Swift and Deja at Pine Ellis, Andover, ME.

This morning, we finally left Pine Ellis, heading into Rangeley, an adorable vacation town on a string of beautiful lakes.  We busted out a blazing 13-mile hike in under 6 hours, then hitched into town to the North Country B & B, in a beautiful old house facing the lake.  At the moment, we’re sitting at the bar of a little bistro—a delightful change from the Andover diner—drinking some wonderful blueberry-basil cocktails (Pancho is paying attention so he can re-create at home).

This will likely be our last post with pictures until we summit Katahdin.  We only have 14 hiking days left on our northbound leg.  Wow.  We’re planning to take a break for a couple of days near Caratunk, after crossing the Kennebec (in a canoe ferry!), at Northern Outdoors center, for some rafting and beer, to fortify ourselves for the last push.

White Mountains--been there, hiked that.

We rolled back into Gorham yesterday afternoon after knocking out the last 22 miles of the Whites, including a tough climb up the numerous, unending slopes of Wildcat. Though it's a rather unheralded section of the Whites, not being on the way to Mt. Washington, there were still the White Mountain hallmarks--steep ascents and treacherous descents. Fortunately, by the time we reached the last, nasty downhill into Imp campsite, we had perfected our sit-and-scoot technique for descending sheer rock faces. Otherwise, we were going down like second-rate Tarzan impersonators, desperately clinging to the scrawny pines clinging just as desperately to the mountainside. After a frigid, windy night at Imp, we headed back toward town, finishing off with a refreshingly benign hike along the beautiful Rattle River. We spent another delightful evening at the bar at the Saalt Pub here in Gorham and now we're back at McDonald's, availing ourselves of the Wifi.

Pond approaching Carter Notch Hut.

Looking back down on Carter Notch Hut,
a small assembly of buildings near the lower left.

View from Mt. Moriah.

16 miles to the Maine border, and the last state in the northbound leg of our hike. It's actually a bit odd and anticlimatic, for us, at least. Now, when we chat with folks on the trail and say that we're northbound thru-hikers, they congratulate us and say how exciting it is to be this close. And of course, most of the other hikers we know are almost done. Their last state, counting down the miles to that big moment on top of Katahdin. It will be awesome to witness and share that experience with some of our new friends, even though we'll have several hundred more miles to complete our own journey. Yet, as one of our buddies pointed out, we'll have two summit experiences, and one of them will be at home.

Halfway There

We left North Woodstock for our jaunt into the Whites last Thursday, hoping to stealth camp along the route up to the southern Presidentials.  Unfortunately, the campsites had all been closed due to overuse (a euphemistic way of saying that people are pigs and tend to make fires and leave toilet tissue everywhere).  We ended up at Greenleaf Hut, for our first White Mountains hut experience.

Looking down on Greenleaf Hut from Mt. Lafayette.

View from Greenleaf Hut.

On top of Mt. Lafayette.

The Appalachian Mountain Club (known affectionately J among thru-hikers as the Appalachian Money Club) maintains a number of high mountain huts, mostly frequented by families and weekend hikers.  A stay at the hut includes dinner, breakfast, a bunk, toilet, and running water, but no heat, light in the bunkrooms, or showers, all or over $100 a night.  AND the majority of the huts are booked weeks in advance, making it nearly impossible for thru-hikers to stay in them.  They do have a work-for-stay program for long-distance hikers, allowing you to sleep on the dining hall floor and eat leftovers, in exchange for doing a few chores.

At Greenleaf, we ended up doing some windows and sweeping the bunkrooms—taking maybe 40 minutes all together.  The unfortunate thing was that the hut was almost a mile off the trail, adding 2 miles to our trip and was about 1200 feet below the ridge we were hiking on.  Any thru-hiker will tell you that extra miles are a bad, bad thing, and it’s extra bad when you lose elevation (Climbing extra miles really sucks!!!).  The problem in the Whites, though, is that so much of the trail runs above treeline, through very delicate alpine environments.  It’s actually illegal (enforced by a $5000 fine) to camp above treeline, so you either stay at the huts or drop well below the trail in order to find a campsite.

One of the weird things to us about the Whites is how crowded it is here.  There are so many different trails, with relatively few people actually hiking on the AT.  The huts, lodges, and campgrounds are all packed.  We ended up at a campground in Crawford Notch a couple of nights later, only to be assaulted by an onslaught of children.  Some sort of scout or church group had taken over all but 3-4 campsites, with wholly inadequate adult supervision.  Sadly, children screaming until midnight does NOT enhance an ideal wilderness experience.  But we did get to shower and do laundry, so it wasn’t all bad.

We headed out from Crawford Notch hoping to reach Madison Spring Hut, on the far side of Mt. Washington.  The weather deteriorated rapidly, as we headed up toward Lakes of the Clouds Hut, the highest and most popular of the huts (and usually the most difficult at which to score a spot).  We literally were unable to see the hut until we were within 25 feet of it.  There were also reports of 70+ mph winds on the summit of Mt. Washington, 1.4 miles from the hut.  We decided to call it a day.  Although we were too early to get work-for-stay spots, we were even more privileged to score places in the “Dungeon.” Infamous among thru-hikers, the Dungeon is the winter refuge room at the hut, located in the basement, behind a clanging, solid metal door.  For $10 we got a wooden platform in the dank, dark hole and the possibility of dinner leftovers.  Honestly, the Dungeon wouldn’t have been so bad—without the hiker with the sleep apnea-induced death-rattle snore, the hiker with the crinkly, loud air mattress, and the third with the crinkly, loud space blanket.

Approach trail to Lakes of the Clouds Hut.
When we were coming down this trail,
we were completely socked in, with about 25 ft. visibility. 

View from Lakes of the Clouds Hut.

Thru-hikers go in, but they never come out....
The Dungeon door, Lakes of the Clouds Hut.

Pancho in the Dungeon.

Leaving Lakes of the Clouds for the summit of Mt. Washington.

The bad night of sleep was rewarded the next morning, when we summited Mt. Washington on a gloriously—and rare—clear day (It only gets 65 clear days per year on average).  As we neared the top, we heard the whistle of the cog railway that runs up one side of the mountain blowing.  I was very excited, since both of our dads are big rail buffs.  Then we could see a big puff of smoke, from the lone steam engine still operating once a day on the mountain.  By the time we reached the summit, I was able to snap plenty of pictures of the steam train coming up the mountain.

Mt. Washington Cog Railway. The steam engine
approaching the summit.

Descending Mt. Washington, to begin the traverse
of the northern Presidential range.

Looking back up Mt. Washington, at the cog rail tracks,
visitor's center, and some of the weather monitoring towers.
The visitor's center looks slightly like a 1960s spaceship
landed on the summit.

Looking out across the Presidential range,
 and a long day ahead....

Though we were blessed with amazing views, Mt. Washington is also the epicenter of the White Mountains tourist explosion.  Snack bar (always a good thing), gift shop (rarely a good thing), museum, displays, parking lots, etc….  Heading down from Washington, we were into the northern Presidentials, one of the toughest sections of the White Mountains—and easily the most spectacular area we’ve seen so far.  At least in the hiking arena, Washington is definitely overshadowed by Madison.  As one of our friends described it, Mt. Madison is a great big pile of rocks, requiring climbing straight up, hand-over-hand.  Then comes the descent. OY!!!  Crawling down the rock pile, then down a nearly vertical section of slick mud, roots, and rocks.  It was a pretty agonizing day for me, with the brutal downhill, coming into the campsite just as it began to rain.

Fortunately, we were heading into Pinkham Notch the next day, for a stop at the visitor’s center snack bar and a hitch into town.  Laundry, showers, beer and dinner with friends make for a great evening.  We ran into Swift and Deja and shared a couple of pitchers of Longtrail here in Gorham.  Today, we zeroed, which involved spending most of the day at McDonald’s, since our B&B  sadly doesn’t have Wifi.  Go figure. The place is pretty cool, though—an 1890’s house built by a lumber baron.  The only surviving descendant, who is 95 and lives across the street, owns the Mt. Washington auto road.  The toll road that the tourists (ie: those too lazy to hike J) drive up to the summit. Huh. Just curious how much that nets him every year….
Tomorrow we head back out, for the last 22 miles in the Whites.  We’ll be back in Gorham over the weekend (there are 2 road access points), for another day off.  Two zeroes to celebrate finishing the Whites and reaching the halfway point of our hike. Yay, Team!