Day 103: foggy with a chance of boulders edition


I woke up around 5:15 and dosed until my alarm went off at 530. I nearly fell back asleep, but I’ve got 14 miles on the agenda, and there’s no telling how long it will take to cover the distance. It poured for a few hours last night, but it didn’t keep me awake the way it usually does. Thanks, mahoosuc notch, for exhausting me enough to sleep through the rain. I did a quick foot and calf massage and then headed to the privy with far less hiker hobble than I expected considering yesterday’s insanity. The sleeping youth group filled the shelter like little ducks in a row. On the way back to my tent, I went into the woods past a the tents of a few late arrivers to retrieve my food bag. Then I had a quiet breakfast in my tent while the rest of the world dozed. I had everything packed and ready to go around 645. I gave the youth group a wave on my way out as they geared up for what I imagine was a protracted breakfast cooking routine.


The morning started with yet another climb, this one towards west baldpate mountain. Someone has done a lot of trail maintenance because over half the ascent consisted of stone stairs. At the top of the mountain, I put on my wool layer and took a break to upload some pictures from yesterday’s craziness to social media. 


It was a foggy morning, which is sad because I imagine the views from this mountain are pretty incredible given the exposed slabs. After 15 minutes of being a phone zombie, I mustered the energy to keep walking. I passed a hiker who had cowboy camped* on top of the mountain last night after arriving at about one in the morning. Apparently, he sat down at Grafton Notch waiting out the rain until 11p and then climbed up in the dark. I don’t get it, but he seemed happy about his choice.

There was a short descent between the east and west baldpate peaks wherein I managed to fall on my right butt cheek because everything was wet. Then came a crazy climb up the east peak. I wondered if a mountain named baldpate would be exposed and the answer is YES. The last half mile to the peak was exposed rock slab that just. kept. going. up.

 The wind whipped the fog around as I traveled from one cairn to the next on a football field of rock slab (top picture is another example). I was grateful for the lack of rain, but the wind really spooked me, sending my fight or flight response into high gear. 


I tried to imagine how different I would feel if I was doing the same climb on a sunny day. That settled me marginally, but I would be lying if I said more thoughts of skipping Maine didn’t pop into my head. Over every rise came more exposed rock slab disappearing into the dense fog. 


I finally reached the wide ridge where there were the usual beautiful alpine plants to admire, including red moss and more red dotted lichen.


I tried to come down from the fright of climbing straight into the air on the side of a mountain. I also tried, with minimal success, not to preemptively freak out about the descent on the other side of the ridge. As I reached the point at which the trail started to go down, I saw a new bird that was ochre colored with a black mask and an orange beak and what might be yellow trim at the bottom of its tail feathers. It didn’t seem very frightened of me as it hung out on a perch about 20 yards away. I stared for a minute trying to memorize what it looked like and then continued down the slab.


As I hit the tree line, the trail devolved into a series of steep, slick rock faces. They weren’t as textured as they have been lately, so I immediately resorted to butt scooching until the rocks and the grade became more manageable. The video is of a particularly useless metal ladder that was more treacherous than sticking to the boulders. It took me about 2.5 hours to go a little over two miles, which felt depressingly slow. The trail eventually moderated to a series of ups and downs. I stopped at the frye notch shelter to get water right as it began to drizzle. I assumed I wouldn’t get out of today without rain because the humidity was out of control. The trail took a sharp uptick after the shelter that left me short of breath and very aware of how tired my legs are today. I also noticed that my lats and pec muscles are sore from all the full-body support I had to do to get through yesterday’s bouldering.

Once I got through the climb, the trail became so mild that I forgot I was in Maine. The rain picked up a notch, so I stopped and put on my raincoat because the temperature was only about 70 (if I had to guess). The forest consisted of dense undergrowth and hardwood trees. With the exception of occasional tricky rock hops and slippery tree roots, the next few miles were easy, albeit soggy walking. Around noon, I passed a good looking log that I momentarily considered using as a lunch spot even though I was dismayed by the meager number of miles I’d covered thus far. I stopped a few feet past the log, turned around and decided to just take advantage of the good seat while it was only sort of raining. I ate lunch and texted my mother to see if she could make a reservation for me at a hostel because I have no clue when I will have enough signal to make phone calls, and I can’t seem to get out of the scarcity mindset of things being booked. The trail continued to be mild for nearly the rest of the day, although I still managed to fall when my left foot hit an especially squishy spot in the mud, and I couldn’t stop my backwards momentum. I landed on my left butt cheek with a laugh. Leave it to me to fall in the simplest of places.

I made it to Dunn cascades sooner than I expected. I heard the falls from a distance, and as I rounded a corner, I saw the water rushing over a steep drop that took a sharp left turn to flow between two cliffs. The twist in the water was mesmerizing and difficult to capture on camera, but here’s my attempt: 


I watched it for a few minutes before heading up the short, but intense climb north of the falls. The trail took me through pines and past several more streams.

 

I stopped to stare at this trio of waterfalls and dictated some of the day’s notes watching a small black and white bird hop from branch to branch on a sapling. Today felt like fall with the low light and wet leaves on the ground. The trail then crossed a road and dropped down to a stream where I stopped to get water because it’s the last official stop until the shelter 5.7 miles away. I walked through more pines that transitioned into a muddy rooty mess reminiscent of Vermont. This section was in dire need of trail maintenance with disintegrating and/or unstable bog boards. Thankfully, it didn’t last long, and soon enough, I returned to more manageable footing.
The trip up Mount Wyman Was barely noticeable until the last two tenths of a mile when it abruptly changed to scaling rock slabs and climbing tree roots. It mellowed out almost as soon as it started. I took a short break at this spot and watched the fog roll through feeling sad that I couldn’t see farther into the distance.

 

At the top of the hill, I ran into a SOBO eating a snack. I laughed and told her I had been doing the same thing just down the way. The trail became narrower and overgrown as I got farther from the summit. The rain started again. I cursed myself for taking the extra break and not being at the shelter yet. I had to slow down for some gnarly roots and slick rocks, but I finally got to the water source just south of the shelter. It was a sad series of puddles with no apparent flow. Two guys came down from the shelter empty handed, which was confusing until I saw them pull beers out of the deepest part of the puddle. That didn’t bode well for getting stuck in the shelter with them. I filtered water that actually wasn’t bad looking. As I put my water away, it started to rain harder, so I raced the last tenth of a mile to the shelter and took the corner farthest away from beer brothers. I had been looking forward to sleeping in my tent, but the sites weren’t that great, and I didn’t feel like setting up in the rain. Instead, I boiled water and set up my macaroni and cheese to cook while I blew up my sleeping pad. A drenched hiker named Bambi Magnet showed up and ate in silence on the front ledge of the shelter. A downpour thundered on the tin roof, and I could hardly hear the beer brothers talking four feet away. They were actually really nice. Wolfie is a NOBO and his friend (name forgotten) came to visit him with beer and good food. Bambi magnet and I talked about his experiences between the PCT and the AT and about moderation. He moved on as the rain slowed because he wanted to get another mile down to a tentsite. I was sad to see him go because he was easy to talk to. Around 7, I went around the corner of the shelter to pee, and when I came back, Action Jackson had arrived. He took up a lot of space physically and interpersonally. I’m finishing this to the sound of rain drumming on the tin roof and Action Jackson discussing mileage and proposed finish dates with the beer brothers. Eavesdropping on their conversation helps me gauge when I might summit Katahdin without having to crunch the numbers. Speaking of which, I misjudged which road I need to use for Rangeley, so I have more miles to cover than I intended between now and monday. No rest for the incorrect.
Mile 1924.9 to mile 1938.9 (14 miles)
Total miles: 935.7
Creature feature: just the new bird I’ve already mentioned, which is possibly a cedar waxwing according to my bird app 
*cowboy camping = sleeping without a shelter of any sort, “under the stars” as they say. could be incredible and could result in a soggy alarm clock. I have yet to do this. 

One Comment

  1. These photos leave me nearly speechless. Such a feeling of isolation with the fog and all the barren rock. I would imagine without a distant point of reference I would feel as if the earth might tilt just enough to slide me off….a pity about missing the view….and the lichen photos! The weaver in me would like to see those colors woven together…..

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