Guru Hikes

Intro

Appalachian Trail thru-hikers, if asked to determine the toughest 200-mile section of trail, would no doubt, overwhelmingly choose the section from the Whites into the first 100 miles of Maine. Or, in my case, vice versa. Middle Maine was the most challenging portion of the Appalachian Trail for me, but since it was so early in my hike, I accepted that this was how the rest of the Trail would be. My logic was, that if it was going to continue to be this beautiful, then the hard miles were worth it. Luckily, and unbeknownst to me at the time time, for SOBOS, the Trail tends to be easier the further south one hikes.

This section was chock-full of stories, and I took a bountiful amount of photos. So please bear with the length of this post, as not all of the upcoming posts will be this lengthy.

Also, I am a trained Ornothologist. Please don’t go about picking up birds on your hikes. (This will make more sense later.)

Middle Maine

After some pretty relaxed days, I came upon what I remember to be the hardest climb of the Trail. After already climbing around 6,000 feet of elevation in the day, I came to Sugarloaf Mountain. The Trail up Sugarloaf started with over a mile of climbing at a rate of over 1,000 feet per mile. This was one of the only climbs on the Trail that I remember having to take a beak multiple times on the way up. As with a few other climbs in Maine, the hike up the mountain also included a few sheer rock faces that were almost vertical.

The trail leveled out after with a few ups and downs, as well as one small final mountain, and by the time I got to the shelter I completed around 8,000 feet of elevation gain for the day. The most of my entire time on the AT. I ate two boxes of Annie’s mac and cheese that night and a large protein bar that night.

That night I met Stumbles. She already took some time off of the trail from being injured and was just getting back on the trail. She was wrapped up in her sleeping bag, cooking inside the shelter when I arrived (something that is frowned upon, as food particles can easily fall and attract mice and other scavengers into the shelter).

As I was unpacking my sleeping gear, I heard a scream and turned around to what seemed to be a chicken exploding in the shelter. Feathers everywhere. She had gotten her sleeping bag too close to the burner of her stove, it caught fire, and feathers were careening about. The flame was out before I turned around, but the damage to the sleeping bag was already done. I helped her gather up some of the feathers, and we put as many as we could back through the hole in the bag. A nice piece of duct tape, and the bag was at least useable for a little while longer.

Tough Miles and Finishing Maine

To say the next ~100 miles of the AT were very rugged is an understatement. Steep climbs, rocky and rooty trail, mud, great views, and solitude are the dear memories I hold of Maine. Here are a few quick stories and photos from that time before we move on to New Hampshire!

I took a break at a lake in the middle of nowhere. A canoe was left there for thru-hikers to relax on the water, and of course, I took a paddle.

I came upon a Spruce Grouse and her many chicks on the Trail, and they didn’t mind me a tall. She walked right by me with her procession, so close that as she passed I scooped up one of her chicks. It made a few peeps but was otherwise undisturbed. Mamma grouse waited patiently for me to put her baby back down, and when I did, she turned and went on her way with her chick line in tow.

I got my first major Trail Magic complete with a grill and seats to relax, eat, and chat.

I completed Mahoosuc Notch in thirty-four minutes. Known as “The Hardest Mile on the AT,” I had a blast rock hopping, crawling, and climbing through the massive boulder field. Look for the blazes in the next two photos to see how fun the trail finding for this section was!

Finally, as I was running out of food, I came to my last descent before crossing my first state border. I watched a rainstorm over the Wildcats head toward me as I hiked down and made it across the state line and into Gorham before getting soaked.

Gorham and The Huts

After finishing Maine in less than three weeks, I took a few days off in Gorham. After resupplying, I took myself out to the Chinese Buffet, where dinner consisted of four plates of food and a bowl of ice cream. In the hostel, I briefly met Scuba, a fellow SOBO who I would spend hundreds of miles with later on down the Trail.

Returning to the Trail, I hiked the Wildcats and got stuck in a downpour. I popped my head into one of the AMC huts after the storm, and it changed how I hiked the rest of the way through the Whites. I learned that you could work for food/stay in the huts, and I made it my mission to stop by as many huts as possible. The accommodation was a spot on the floor, and the food was usually leftovers, but to have four walls and a full belly was heaven while hiking. The work involved was usually washing dishes and sweeping floors, an easy payoff for the heavenly setup it allowed. I even learned the trick of offering to clean the refrigerators/freezers in exchange for a highly coveted beer that the staff kept secretly stashed away, as alcohol was “prohibited” in the huts!

After the rainstorm in the Wildcats, I hitchhiked a different road back into Gorham for the night. The next day, hitching back to the Trail, I was picked up by the AMC Trail Crew. They took me to their lodge and fed me a second breakfast of eggs and vegan sausage before I headed out into a rainstorm. The storm made many of the small creeks much harder to pass, and I set up camp during a thunderstorm that evening.

A Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

The next day I put on a running jacket and short shorts, as all my other clothing was soaked from the previous day. Hiking up Mount Madison, I passed a group of NOBOs who told me it was not worth trying to get over the mountain today as the wind was blowing so badly. Where we were in the tree line, it wasn’t windy at all, so I didn’t heed the warning and kept on hiking up the mountain. When I hit the tree line I understood what they meant.

Hiking the ridge, the wind was so strong coming up the mountain that it wrenched me sideways as my backpack acted as a sail. A little after tree line, I met an eighteen-year-old named Fuego and an older bearded man named Chicken Wing. They were discussing whether to turn around or try to make it to the next hut, which was only a mile away. We all decided to go together but to hunker down and almost crawl across the mountain to make it safer. As we were shortening our hiking poles, one of Fuego’s poles was wrenched from his hands and flew off the side of the mountain and into the mist!

We walked/crawled with our shortened poles in what I can only describe as Yoda walking across Mt. Madison. We made one stop nearly halfway through where the wind was particularly bad to discuss if we should keep going and in the end decided to push through. It took almost three hours to get from tree-line to Madison Hut. It was 1.5 miles.

I later found out that the winds were hitting gusts of seventy-five miles an hour that day on Mt. Maddison and were over 100 miles an hour on Mt. Washington. I was wearing short shorts and a running jacket. It was 29°F that morning on Mt. Madison degrees that day, but the adrenaline and the constant movement kept me warm enough and alive.

Only the group of three NOBOS and seven SOBOS made it over Mt. Madison that day. No one hiked over Mt. Washington. Scuba was one of the SOBOs that made it across, hiking in solo a few hours after us, and we connected over the traumatizing experience. You will notice there are no pictures in this section, as photography was the last thing on my mind that day. Even after multiple other thru-hikes, this was the hardest day I ever had on trail.

Misty Mornings and A New Trail Friend

The next day I left Madison Hut in the misty morning hours, and the fog turned to ice on my clothing. In a stark contrast from the day before, there was almost no wind. I uneventfully made it to Mt. Washington, had a warm meal at the cafeteria, and dried all of my gear and clothing out in the hiker area in the basement. Scuba was there as well and we chatted about upcoming miles.

Scuba and I ended up hiking together for a few days in the Whites and we found out that we shared a connection in that his best friend was married to one of my ex-girlfriends (with whom I am still on good terms) and we were both planning on staying with in Virginia as they lived close to the Trail! He ended up having to fly to get off the trail for a week at Zealand Hut to go to an interview, but that was not the last I would be seeing of Scuba.

A Couple More Stories from The Whites

I’ll end this lengthy post with three more stories from the Whites:

I had a whimsical start to a day with a bird in my tent. I woke up to noises under my vestibule, which was not an overly uncommon occurrence, but when I opened the screen zipper, a tiny Golden-crowned Kinglet flew into my tent! In the 30 seconds of me sining an impromptu song about the unexpected current event while trying to catch the bird, it pooped all over the interior of the tent. When I did finally catch it, I snapped a quick photo, and freed it from its morning confinement. After cleaning up the tent, I began one of the most miraculous days of Trail.

If you couldn’t tell already, I was not very aware of the significant parts of the Trail or the major landmarks along the way. This made my coming my day at Franconia Notch magical. Arriving at a view of the Notch made me feel like I was in the Scottish Highlands. Having never been to the Highlands, I can only guess that this is what they would be like, but that is the way that I felt. The Notch is a dreamy landscape, and it made me feel like being transported into a different time and place. I was so thankful to have a sunny and beautiful day on Franconia, as the weather in the Whites is never predictable. I even saw a raven loops off of the top of a signpost! The walk across the ridge very idyllic and made for one of my top five days on the AT.

Finally, I just wanted to show what the trail was like sometimes. Quite often in the Whites, as in middle Mainehe terrain was anything but dirt. Rocks, roots, mud, and even just plain water. These are the times you just have to grin and hike it.

Finishing up

After a pretty rough trail angel “hostel” stay in North Woodstock, I hitched a ride with two other hikers back to the Trail. One of them was Mamma Duck, who we will see a few more times down the trail. Mt. Moosilauke was a fun last sendoff from the Whites, and at 400 miles into the AT. I ended up visiting every hut along the AT except Greenleaf–that was a mile off trail, and am so thankful for everything the AMC does for hikers! And after a wonderful time in Maine and New Hampshire, that’s where we’ll end for now!

What’s Next

Up next, tragedy strikes, muddy Vermont, and a stay with the Yellow Deli! Thanks for reading and see you next time!