LAST DROP, LAST TOWN, LAST 100 MILES

Hi from Monson, Maine a tiny hamlet in the middle of the northern Maine forest, mile 2060-ish. This is the end! I got in yesterday with friends and found a full circus of hikers in town, all stacking up while the rainy remnants of a tropical storm move through. Us hardier types were happy to brave the weather for the last few days - the trail up here is insanely beautiful now that we've hiked into the peak foliage and no rain can disturb that. If anything, the leaves are even more intense without sunshine to compete with. At times, its like walking under a huge stained glass ceiling, with the light streaming down in yellow or orange. Plus, the rain makes for adventurous river crossings - we've forded big streams each of the last two days, with water above my knees both times. The good thing about fording is that once the shoes are wet from that experience, there's no problem walking through other puddles and mud pits anymore. When we arrived yesterday, there was no space left in either of the hostels here, and I was a little salty with some of the hikers who I know yellow-blazed up to Monson to avoid the rain. But, luckily, space was found at the Lakeshore House, which also houses the only bar in town - how convenient! You can image the scene last night was pretty raucous - two dozen or more hikers enjoying their final town stop before completing this long adventure. There's lots of friends here whom I haven't seen since Central Virginia, and even thruers I've never met before. Amazing to think I'm still meeting new people that started within a week of me back in Georgia. We are hoping everyone moves on early today now that the weather has broken. Unfortunately, Elizabeth's final mail drop hasn't arrived in time, and so I will have to decide whether I leave later today or early tomorrow. I did receive notes from other family members - thank you all so much. Monson is the start of the famous 100-Mile Wilderness, a stretch of Maine woodlands without any serious roads until Abol Bridge, near Mt. Katahdin. Once you enter, its very difficult to get out since there is no cell reception and the one or two logging roads in there carry no traffic. It means a huge carry of food, and the trail through this part is known for being boggy and host to waist-deep river crossings. It should be a grand way to approach Katahdin, which will loom over us towards the end. The forest should be spectacularly colorful throughout the wilderness, and its possible we may even get some snow at the higher elevations. Oh boy! At the end of the Wilderness is Abol Bridge, a tiny convenience store. Hopefully they have champagne there, because its only a brief hike from there into Baxter State Park to the base of Katahdin. Baxter is a neat place - a former governor of Maine bought the land and donated it for preservation as a wilderness park. This is the park's primary mission, and human needs are secondary to resource protection. There are only one or two campgrounds, and they are kept small and remote. Climbing Katahdin can be tricky - we climb more than 4000 feet to its 5200-foot summit, making it the largest single climb on the AT. Save the best for last! The peak is well above treeline, which is around 2500 feet here, and the summit can be blasted by winds. If Baxter's rangers feel its unsafe weather to climb, they will close the trails until the situation improves - all northbounders have had in the back of their heads October 15th, the date when the park closes its gates because historically the weather is too bad for climbing past then. I have attempted to climb Katahdin once before, in July of 2004, and was forced to turn around. I reached Pamola Peak, one of the three summits, and was about to head out onto the Knife Edge, a thin, rocky slice with thousands of feet of drop on either side, that connects Pamola with the true summit, Baxter Peak. A storm was supposed to arrive hours later in the day, but as I started out, the wind picked up suddenly, rain began to fall, and the temperature dropped into the low 40s. Being an inexperienced day-hiker, I only had a thin coat as protection, but I knew enough to get down as quickly as possible. Hopefully, Katahdin will accept my 2176 miles of penance and grant me a summit this time. If all goes well, the weather will hold and I will summit next Wednesday and Elizabeth will meet me when I come down the mountain. At that point, we will head to nearby Millinocket to rest and catch the others who summitted. From there I will try calling parents and such. Afterwards, Zen and Elizabeth and I plan to drive north, following the route of the International Appalachian Trail to its end at the tip of the Gaspe Peninsula in Quebec. This is where the Appalachians drop off into the Atlantic, a fitting end to a half year's walk. Obviously, the end is on everyone's mind these days, despite the partying going on in town last night. Most hikers are feeling ready to be done, especially with the recent wet weather. Myself, I'm ready to do something different too - six months is a long time to spend walking around the mountains. I don't think I would want to do this or any other long-distance thru-hike again. (Elizabeth says I'm not allowed to anyway.) At the same time, it is such a beautiful life out here and I'm not ready to leave the simplicity and freedom that exists on the trail. Re-entry into the normal world is going to be tough. I talked to a friend named Banjo, who summitted last week. She says it was very scary coming down from Katahdin, no longer a thru-hiker. Friends she knew deeply for months were suddenly whisked away by relatives, and within 24 hours, she was back in her home, overwhelmed by the stimulation and not sure what to do without a white blaze pointing the way. I can already feel the emotions welling up, and expect to be a blubbery mess on that final day. The road trip to Gaspe is intended to ease the transition, and I plan to take a few weeks at home to work on some overdue house projects as a way to move on from the trail. But there will be plenty of time to post about how the aftermath goes. For now, there is still 115 miles left that require my attention. Into the Wilderness and beyond!