Maine So Far

*Photos by Mateo Sandate

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Mateo and I have come through the 100 Mile Wilderness. In 8 days we walked 100 miles.

I am pleased to say that Southbounding makes sense. There is a grace to it. You start with the most difficult climb on the entire trail. Weightless, or mostly weight free without your overnight gear, thanks to the kind and thoughtful people of Maine. You climb 5.2 miles up the Hunt’s trail to the summit, Baxter Peak. 

My other two times climbing Katahdin, I thought it was surreal because of what it symbolized along my path; the completion of a walk from Georgia to Maine. Now I understand that it’s surreal because it’s Katahdin. Great Mountain. I’ve never been anywhere like it. And I’m grateful for the yes I was given when I asked its permission to carry myself to it’s peak. We sat there and shivered in the clouds. Occasional glimpses of the surrounding area peeked through the clouds. Lakes in the sky; the mountain view of Maine. 

I once stood there and looked south, thinking what a long way I had come. Now I stand there and look all around. I look in. It has become a wonder to be alive, anywhere. Walking is my honor of celebrating it. 

Next as a southbounder, you add the weight of your backpack and walk flat trails with good footing for a slight while. Then you cross a boundary into the 100 Mile Wilderness, with a sign that says, basically, “Know you’re shit.” It can be a bit intimidating, for how do you know when you know your shit? Most of us who have been doing something for a while are just starting to understand how much we don’t know about something. 

And that’s how I feel about thru hiking today. Like I’ve done enough to know that I am just getting started. That I don’t know as much as I thought I knew, and for that I am truly grateful. That’s the one thing that does feel like I’m getting somewhere. 

The next part of the wilderness adds complicated footing. Bog walks on rotting boardwalks, roots rising up from the earth, mud between slick rock, streams tucked in all the nooks between boulders, and so on. You get to surprise yourself with impressive trips. Some where you belly flop fast and hard on duff-covered surfaces without knowing what got you. Some where your feet slip out from underneath you in a millisecond and you find your bum to be your new baseline. The trail is teaching you how to step. And how to take a fall.

After about fifty miles of those learning lessons, the layer of up and over is added back in. And how. Climbing ascents as steep as 900 feet a mile (with the afore-mentioned tripping agents) to exposed mountain tops. Add a lightning storm and Aha! Now you are hiking the Appalachian Trail. 

I never noticed all these things pealing away as I finished the last two hikes. That layers were stripped as my steps met solid ground. As opener, I felt it all. And I want to say thank you to Maine. Thank you for the wildness. For bogs on mountaintops and carnivorous plants within them. Thank you for the stream we couldn’t cross safely. For the mosquitos that never stopped. The loon calls that go straight to my Minnesota-born heart. Nighthawks. Moose. Beavers. Lady Slippers. Kinglets. Warblers. Toads and frogs. 

Thank you for all the people who are walking here. We bring our essence to the woods. May it be an offering to the things that are. May we walk beside ourselves and next to everyone. For you, dear Maine. And for the Appalachian Trail. A friend. A guide. And a Great Teacher.