A Hop, Skip and a Jump





The real world is chasing us and we can hear it breathing heavy as it closes in.  There are now 114 miles between us and the northern terminus of this trail.  We are in Monson, Maine.  This is the last town.  Leaving here we enter the 100 mile wilderness and our last week in the woods.  There is no civilization until Baxter State Park. 

 

It has gotten cold.  I guess is does that this time of year at these latitudes.  It never ceases to amaze us that it was cold in Georgia when we started, we saw 100+ degree days this summer and now it is cold again.  When you walk through the seasons, the change is subtle.

 

Monson is a small town "in the middle of nowhere".  There are two hostels here.  Both are full of hikers striding to finish before the big freeze.  We know almost all of them, however, we have recently run into a few hikers on the trail whom we hadn't met yet.  After almost 6 months on the same path, that seems odd.  There are those hikers who knew they wouldn't make it to Mt. Katahdin before the mountain closes for safety reasons, usually Oct. 15th.  Many have chosen to "flip-flop".  This is when you leave the trail and head north, hike up Katahdin then south back to where you left off.  Some folks just hike slower, others needed to make some more money to continue, there were injuries that needed to heal and weddings to celebrate.  In any case, this flip-flopping has given us a chance to pass some old friends we hadn't seen in perhaps a thousand miles or more!

 

In the early days of the AT here in Maine, 1930's and 40's, it was set up for day hikers and those on shorter vacations.  It was never intended to be a trail to "through-hike" in a single season.  Silly.  Instead of going directly over the big peaks, it wound its way from fishing camp to fishing camp.  Hikers carried a bucket lunch and fly rod and arrived at log lodges where there awaited hot baths, beds and meals.  Oh how things have changed!  We ate breakfast the other day at one of the original camps.  It is just off the trail at Pierce Pond.  There is a hiker Lean-to (not called shelters in ME) at Pierce Pond as well.  To eat breakfast, hikers need to make a reservation the night before.  We mosied over, past the waterfall and across the hand-hewn cedar log bridge and signed up.  It consisted of 12 pancakes filled with blueberries, raspberries and apples, eggs, sausage, coffee and juice.  The real deal!  We were the only two there so Tim, the proprietor/cook/everything else, sat and ate with us and shared some of the history of the place.  The leaves are changing color now and the view from the dining room was lovely.  You don't find breakfast spots like this on Main St.

 

We have memories of hanging out around campfires in the Smoky Mountains, or scenic vistas in the hills of Virginia with new friends.  Though it seems so long ago, we have done nothing but continue going about our days in the same manner.  We have been living the dream.  It is coming to an end. It is bittersweet.

 

 

 

 

Clouds rolling in...

A couple of ladders.  Their sketchiness cannot be fully conveyed.

You can't miss this trail junction.

spongy

Ok, almost to the clouds!

A shore lunch, but without fish.

Bogs.  Thank goodness for boards.

Red bellied wood snake.

The trail changes color too!

Another fungus among us.