I spent the past four days getting an introduction to Maine
hiking. It’s funny — nearly every year of my life, I’ve come up to New
Hampshire and hiked in the White Mountains. But until this year, I had never
ventured north to Maine and its abundance of mountains.
I made the choice to do so this August because of my quest
to summit all of New England’s 4,000-footers. I completed New Hampshire’s in
2009 and last year I tackled Vermont’s quintet of big guys during a two-day
marathon. Now it was time to at least get a start on Maine’s 14.
Here’s a recap of my four days alone in Maine’s vast
wilderness!
Day 1 — Saddleback
(4,120 ft) and The Horn (4,041), 14.6 miles hiked
THE NUMBERS
Miles hiked: 14.6
Time on the trail: 6 hours
Summits: 2
Mountains ascended: 3 (Saddleback twice)
Water consumed: 64 ounces
Food: Sunbutter sandwich, 2 Larabars
People seen: 7
I left Sandwich around 8:30 a.m. Sunday morning with a
four-hour drive ahead of me followed by a lengthy hike and then a drive to my
base campsite. It would be a busy day.
One note about the drive: I love how in Maine there are fun
road signs listing foreign countries (ex. — Peru 1,884, Spain 2,510!).
On the way to the trail, which was part of the AT, it rained
a bit, so I wasn’t surprised that the trail scattered with roots was slick
under my hiking boots. Not only that, but the little man-made bridges of long
wood slabs were very slippery and clearly had not been maintained for quite
awhile, as many of them deflated under my steps. (This is a stark contrast to
the bridges on NH’s trails, almost all of which are in good condition.)
After 1.8 quick miles, I reached the Piazza Rock campsite
and a sign that said if it was after 12 p.m., hikers should not attempt to
summit Saddleback Mtn., as the trail ahead was very difficult.
The time was 12:42 p.m. Naturally, I continued on.
The trail gained elevation but wasn’t overly steep, and I
made good time, reaching the beautiful Eddy Pond (3.7 miles) in less than two
hours. I was on moose lookout throughout the hike, as Maine is known for its
moose population. I especially had my eyes peeled while pond-side, scanning the
far shores.
No moose.
From there, the grade of the trail increased and within a
mile I emerged from the tree line and was immediately in awe. What I first
noticed were all the lakes below me — to the south, Long Pond stood out. To the
west, Rangeley Lake glistened in the early afternoon fog. As I climbed up
smooth rock slabs, I was in and out of the clouds. The weather was cool,
although still very humid. It didn’t matter, though. When you’re out in the
open like that, on top of the world, each step feels easier.
I reached the summit of Saddleback (4,120 feet), allowed
myself to rest for the first time after 5.7 miles and down a sunbutter
sandwich, and then headed down into the col before ascending The Horn (4,041
feet). The majority of the trail between the two peaks was above the tree line,
reminding me of the ridges I so loved in New Hampshire.
I was amazed that during the entire hike after the campsite,
I saw one person — one! Here it was, a beautiful Sunday afternoon — it didn’t
rain on me, although the clouds were nefarious — and I was alone on the
mountains. I soaked in the tranquility.
If not for the clouds, I could have had 360-degree views
from Saddleback, but I wasn’t complaining. With the mix of clouds and lakes,
there were beautiful photos to be taken and landscapes to be admired. When I
had my fill, I skipped, jogged and fast-walked my way down the mountains,
soaked my feet in the creek at the base, and was back at the Civic almost
exactly six hours after I had started.
I then made the drive to my base camp, Cathedral Pines
Campground in Eustis, ME, which was about 45 minutes north of the Day 1 hike
and just north of the small town of Stratton, around which my next three hikes
would occur.
On the way — heeding the advice of the clerk at the grocery
store — I kept a keen eye out for moose crossing ME-16 N. No dodging was
needed. As I was setting up my tent, the rain started to come down, and I got
it set up just in time. I ate dinner in the Civic and then crawled into the
poorly made tent. I didn’t sleep well, with occasional drops of water sneaking
through my rain fly and nailing me on the forehead.
I was glad, and still tired, when I saw light outside again.
It was time for my longest Maine day on the trail.
Day 2 — Sugarloaf
Mtn. (4,250 ft), Spaulding Mtn. (4,010), Mt. Abraham (4,050), 20.6 miles hiked
THE NUMBERS
Miles hiked: 20.6
Time on the trail: 8.5 hours
Summits: 3
Mountains ascended: 4 (Sugarloaf twice)
Water consumed: 80 ounces
Food: 2 Larabars, cheese and crackers, peach
People seen: 20
I awoke to clear skies on Monday morning. After escaping my
wet tent, I took my breakfast of rice cereal with raisins down to the campsite
beach, which overlooked peaceful, expansive Flagstaff Lake with the Bigelow
range of 4,000-footers as a backdrop. I could have sat on the dock and admired
the scenery all day. It was that beautiful, that perfect. But I had some hiking
to do.
I drove about 11 miles, through Stratford and to the
Sugarloaf Mountain ski resort, which, predictably, was dead in the summer. I
parked by the hotel. My plan was to hike up a dirt road — not suitable for
vehicles, thankfully — that snaked up the popular ski mountain.
The road was caked with pebbles of all sizes mixed in with
dirt. It didn’t take long to become steep. The early morning sun was already in
bake mode, and my poly pro shirt was soaked during the first half an hour. I
passed by another hiker on the road, a Jon Voit look-alike who wasn’t much of a
talker. He grunted at me in response to my cheery, “Good morning!” I continued
on.
The grade was tough, but it was made easier by the fact that
I could see the top of the mountain for much of the hike. I could see my
destination. Knowing that, I tramped on, and was on top of windy Sugarloaf,
among its radio towers, after about 90 minutes.
The views from the summit (4,250 feet) were impressive, to
say the least. Ahead of me, to the south, I could see my other two summit
destinations for the day — Spaulding and Abraham. To the west lay the Crockers,
my targets for Day 4. And across the highway rose my Day 3 Bigelow peaks, West
and Avery.
I soaked it all in, snapped a few photos — including a
self-taken portrait, which would be a theme of the trip — and headed down
the 0.6-mile spur path to the Appalachian Trail.
Upon reaching the AT, I met a pair of friendly hikers who
told me all about the trail ahead. They also gave me some information about Mt.
Reddington, the other 4,000-footer in the area I haven’t mentioned. The problem
with Reddington is that there’s no marked trail to its summit, but the guys
told me of a not-too-difficult route. I was tempted to give it a try, but it would
be difficult to fit into my busy itinerary.
Then it was back on the trail. The mundane trail. The four
miles of ridge hiking to the Mt. Abraham Trail were, to put it simply, boring.
This wasn’t New Hampshire ridge hiking, where you’re often out in the open. I
was in the woods. The walking was mostly flat, with a few ups and down, and I
didn’t see a soul.
There were just two interesting things:
1) The summit of Spaulding, which was a short 0.1-mile spur
trail up from the ridge — after climbing a few hundred feet, of course, on the
AT. There were only very limited views from the peak, however.
1) I passed a sign and a box commemorating the completion of
the Appalachian Trail 75 years ago. The section of the trail I was hiking, lo
and behold, was the final part of the trail completed on August 14, 1937. I was
off by one day.
After what seemed like an endless romp through the dense,
green forest, I reached the Mt. Abraham Trail, giving me 1.7 miles to the
turnaround/halfway point of my day. Finally. I hiked another bland mile through
dense, green foliage, brushing up against plants and ferns as I continued a
fast pace. Then, for the first time since Sugarloaf, I emerged into the open.
And it was all, of course, worth it. The rocky, smooth-faced
top of Abraham and its mini tower loomed not far from me. The sky was mostly
clear, with a bevy of very interesting, huge white clouds (fact: clouds ALWAYS
look much cooler in the mountains).
For the next half hour, I scrambled up large granite rocks
covered in lichen that reminded me of New Hampshire’s Presidentials. This was
my favorite kind of hiking. Upon reaching the top, I found the perfect resting
spot — a chair that, it seemed, had been carved out of rocks. I leaned back,
cut myself some cheese slices to go with my crackers, sliced up a peach, and
had a glorious mountaintop lunch.
While eating, I admired the rocky Abraham ridge to the east,
which I, unfortunately, would not be hiking (side note: one issue with hiking
by yourself, besides talking to yourself more than any sane person should ever
do, is that it stunts your ability to do loop hikes, which are almost always
much more enjoyable than out-and-backs). I also had a great view of the
mountains that I had already climbed…
Speaking of, I would have to climb one of them again!
An extra challenge of my out-and-back hikes is that they
involve going over at least one mountain a second time! On Day 1, it had been
Saddleback. On this occasion, it was Sugarloaf. But after enduring the long
ridge for a second time, I was energized to make my second ascent of Maine’s
second tallest peak, and this time I was really able to soak in the views, as
all I had was a 4-mile gander down a road (of course, it was no ordinary waltz,
and I almost tripped and fell a dozen times on the loose pebbles … but still).
I was back at the Civic before 5 p.m., ready to return to
base camp and jump in the lake.
And how refreshing it was.
Day 3 — West Peak
(4,145 ft), Avery Peak. (4,088), 12.7 miles hiked
THE NUMBERS
Miles hiked: 12.7
Time on the trail: 7 hours
Summits: 2
Mountains ascended: 2
Water consumed: 68 ounces
Food: 1 Larabar, handful of gorp, cheese and crackers
People seen: 20
My legs were not in the mood on Day 3. Sure, they had
appreciated the dip in Flagstaff Lake Monday night. And the hot shower at the
campsite. And, no, they hadn’t dismissed the full night’s sleep they received,
a stark difference from Night 1 at the beautiful, peaceful campsite.
They just didn’t want to hike up more mountains after a
20-plus mile day.
Well, too bad.
Much like the middle part of Day 2, the first 5 miles of the
next day were all in the woods and a mental test more than anything. I was
excited about this hike, as the Maine Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) guide
called the ridge covering West and Avery peaks the most appealing in the state
outside of world-famous Mt. Katahdin to the north (I’ll see you in a year or
two, Knife Edge!). I was also enthused to be able to do a loop hike for the
first time during my Maine adventures.
I decided to take the less steep — but longer — grade up and
then deal with the quick elevation change on the way down. Even so, my legs
weren’t feeling too energized as I sweated my way up the buggy Horns Pond
Trail. After 4.1 miles of hiking, I was reunited with the AT, but still had a
tough 0.8 miles up to The Horns, a mini summit at 3,805 feet.
It wasn’t a 4,000-footer, but it did offer an open rocky
ledge and my first views of the day. I sat down, devoured a Larabar, and stared
to the east at West Peak’s pencil-sharp pointy top. I still had 2.1 miles to
reach it, but, man, did it look cool!
While resting/reenergizing, a pair of guys came from the
east. In chatting with them, I learned that they were hiking the AT from the
north — the first southbound hikers I had encountered. There’s something to be
said for going in that direction (for one, you avoid the crazy rush of people
moving south to north; secondly, you can start much later in the year and,
thus, will probably find it easier to get space at lean-tos along the trail). I
wished them luck and descended into the saddle.
I had 2.1 miles to West Peak (4,145 ft.), and as I continued
to descend, and descend, and descend some more, I knew that meant one thing — a
very steep, long ascent. As it turned out, though, it wasn’t too brutal — maybe
it was just the adrenaline spike I got from knowing I had almost reached the
pointy summit — and I emerged from the trees a couple hundred feet from the
top.
The views were spectacular. To the north, Flagstaff Lake
(Maine’s fourth largest body of water) spread out before me, almost inviting me
to just jump in. It was topped off by a thin layer of mist, giving the whole
area a mythical feel. When I swiveled my head to the north, there lay my Day 2
hike — Sugarloaf … Spaulding … Abraham.
On top of West, I chatted with a Bigelow Preserve ranger,
who told me that on a perfectly clear day, Katahdin was visible about 115 miles
to the north. This was not one of those days. I also listened in on a
conversation he had with another man about using hiking poles. The ranger said
that using them would probably extend a hiker’s career by five years, saving
the knees. My take: I have never used the poles and fear that by going to them,
they would get in my way when navigating huge boulders, when I need my hands.
Having said that, I could be open to giving them a try, if they do, indeed,
reduce the pounding my knees take. We shall see…
From West, I dropped a steep 0.3 miles to the col, then
climbed 0.4 up to Avery. Considering all the woods hiking I’d done, this was a
breeze. The top of Avery was flatter than West, but no less interesting. It
offered a view, to the east, of the descending rocky ridge, part of the AT, to
the east. It also provided a cool profile of West. Since I hadn’t done much
resting all day and it was early, just a bit after noon, I sat down and took my
time downing another phenomenal lunch of cheese and crackers.
I still wasn’t ready to descend, but then I noticed the rain
clouds to the north. It clearly was dumping on Flagstaff Lake. As I packed up
my Camelback, I expected to start feeling drops. I waited … still nothing. This
was an incredible thing. There was a dark, stormy cloud to the west, hovering
just north of West Peak. There were clear rain clouds just north of me over the
lake. And yet, I wasn’t getting touched!
(Note: This whole scene made for some awesome pictures!.)
I almost wanted to bask in my good fortune, but I figured I
shouldn’t test my luck too much. After all, I was alone on an exposed mountain.
After another self-taken summit photo, I descended back into the col.
On my way down the steep Fire Warden’s Trail, I finally got
dumped on, but only for about 15 minutes. After that, I put the raincoat away,
the sun came back out, and I enjoyed the feeling of going down, down, down —
all the way to the car.
My legs appreciated it too.
Day 4 — South Crocker
(4,050 ft), Crocker (4,228), 7.4 miles hiked
THE NUMBERS
Miles hiked: 7.4
Time on the trail: 3 hours, 40 minutes
Summits: 2
Mountains ascended: 3 (South Crocker twice)
Water consumed: 40 ounces
Food: Nothing
People seen: 22!
Through three days of hiking in Maine, I had been on the
trail for 21-plus hours and had felt raindrops for about 15 minutes. I
considered myself pretty lucky.
So it was only appropriate that I got dumped on during my
final day. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
My campsite was packed up. My tent was dry. After my hike,
all I faced was a four-hour drive through bucolic, small Maine and New
Hampshire villages back to Sandwich.
Bring it on, rain!
And it sure did. After completing my Day 3 hike, I had
driven up Caribou Valley Road, a dirt road that would be the base of my Day 4
climb. I wanted to scout it out, assuring myself that the Civic could make it
far enough up the road that it would be worth taking this route as opposed to
the 12.4-mile out-and-back hike on the AT from ME 27-S. The road was fine,
allowing me to drive 3.9 miles up it — within 0.6 of its intersection with the
AT.
This made for a shorter hike over the Crockers, 7.4 miles,
giving me more time to get back to Center Sandwich for Aunt Sallie’s art
exhibition at 5 p.m.
The rain quickened my pace even more. Within about half an
hour of my start time, it began to rain, and it only grew heavier as I made the
long mile ascent of South Crocker Mountain (4,050 feet). The mile seemed to
take forever, including a very brief section of open rock climbing — although
the view was very limited, as I was living in a cloud — but my legs felt fresh
and the going wasn’t too difficult.
That’s a positive about the rain. It cools the air, scares
away the bugs, and, at least in my case, energizes. My tired legs of the
previous day? History. Sure, my gore-tex boots were logged with water by the
time I reached the summit of South Crocker. Yeah, my raincoat wasn’t keeping me
completely dry.
Other than that and: A) There were no views, even from the
open clearing on top; and B) There was no way I could take a picture without
doing some serious damage to the camera. … I was loving the hike.
The most amazing thing about the hike, I thought as the rain
stiffened during my descent-ascent of Crocker Mountain (4,228 ft), was how many
people were on the trail. During less than four hours, I passed 22 folks — and
they weren’t all through hikers, either. Many had chosen to go hiking despite
the iffy weather.
All but one of the hikers, a woman who was moving very slow
and looked miserable, gave a cheery “hello” or “hey” or “how you doing??” or
“nice day for a hike!” salutations. These were some true outdoorsmen/women.
As was the case on each of my first two days, the hike
involved going up a mountain twice — in this case, South Crocker, which I
ascended from both sides pre- and post-Crocker (I guess I descended both ways
as well!). You really get to know a mountain that way.
Ask me anything about South Crocker, folks, and I got your
answer.
From there, it was just a wet 2.7 miles back to the car. As
I tramped, I reflected on my first experience in Maine. Among the jumbled thoughts
(as my brain tends to dart in all directions when I’m hiking):
1. Maine hiking is mentally challenging because of how much
time you spend below tree line. It’s tougher than New Hampshire in this
respect.
2. But once you emerge from the forest, the views and
landscapes are incredible.
3. The lake views can make it seem like you’re not as high
up as you are. Yet, that doesn’t spoil how beautiful they are to breathe in
from the summits.
4. I missed moose! Not that I was itching for an encounter.
I did see moose droppings every day, but no moose. From my reading, September
and October make up the prime season to see them.
5. I’m not done yet! I didn’t get a chance to tackle the
Reddington bushwhack; I still have to do Old Speck in southern Maine; and much
farther north, Katahdin, its sub-peak Hamlin, and North Brother loom. Nine
down, five to go.
As I reached the road, the rain had stopped and I took off
my soaking rain jacket to begin the drying/warming up process. As I was getting
changed at the car and organized for the trip back, a thru hiker waltzed down
the road and I offered him a ride into Stratton.
While I admired his and every ATer’s ability to withstand
such cold, rainy days on the trail, I have to admit I was glad I didn’t have to
camp in the wetness. For once, I was happy to be down in the valley, heading
back to my home base in New Hampshire.
My legs agreed.
FINAL NUMBERS FROM MAINE 2012
Miles hiked: 55.3
4,000-footers: 9
Mountains ascended: 12
Water consumed (at least on the trail): 252 ounces
People seen: 69
Times I muttered things to myself: Too high a number to
count
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment