While Maine may not have bridges spanning all of the rivers and streams, that cross the AT, it does offer plenty of log bridges. This is a photo of a relatively new log bridge construction, note the duel planks, lack of moss on the walking surface and considerably level nature of the platform. This walkway went on for approximately an 1/8 of a mile before plopping hikers back onto more solid terra firma.
Without these log bridges the trail would be impassable in places, especially the bogs. Big Ooh recently pressed his hiking pole into the muck, to a depth of over three feet, and still didn't touch the bottom. This makes it pretty important to keep one's balance when traversing the log. This can be made much more challenging with the presence of moss growth, broken planks, single log bridge construction (of which there are many) or washed out underpinnings which cause the bridge to sway, rock and sometimes pop up like a teeter-totter.
Not all log bridges span bogs ... some simply provide a pathway over notoriously muddy sections of trail, which the beautiful state of Maine has plenty of. In fact, Maine seems to have more mud diversity than I've had the pleasure of experiencing anywhere else in my life's travels. There's sticky mud, slippery mud, watery mud, hard mud, deep mud, quicksand style mud, stinky mud and, of course, dried mud (which isn't just regular old dirt, since it retains foot, hoof and paw prints ... which are pretty cool).
Yes, mud is part of a hiker's daily existence up here. Ahhhh Maine. Thanks for the mud memories...
Rollin on,
Yahtzee
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One benefit of flip flopping is the opportunity to reconnect with people who I haven't seen in months. Today (8/26/10) I was taking a short break on the peak of Spaulding Mountain and who walks up? Chopsticks (aka: snakebite). He's a super nice guy who is hiking to raise funds and awareness for abused children. We met way back down south and got to know each other due to the fact that, back then, he would take zero days ... which would allow slower hikers, such as myself, to catch up. Since Chopsticks can hike 30+ miles a day it didn't take too long before he put in more mileage than I could make up.
He said he met up with Boston Dan, in Boston, and the two of them went to the racetrack. No surprise since Dan used to discuss his love of all things racing, especially cars. According to Chopsticks, Boston Dan might actually do a section of the Whites this year so who knows ... I might run into him too.
Well, back to the trail. I've achieved my planned stopping point for the day but it's too early to stop so I'm going to press on. Another three miles should get met to a better stopping point.
Rolling on,
Yahtzee
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The view from the top of Avery Peak wasn't much to write about. The winds were sustained at 30MPH and were gusting anywhere between 40-50MPH. I stopped to put my fleece on (which I held onto for dear life) and snap a couple shots before heading back down the other side to the scrubby treeline where there was a windbreak.
As I walked across the open expanse I noticed Big Ooh taking video with his camera. If we can figure out a way to post it I'll put it up. There was some leaning going on to stay upright...
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Hello from Stratton, Maine! Yesterday Koopa, Big Ooh and I hiked from Safford Notch Campsite to Maine Highway 27. It was "only" ten miles but it was a challenging ten miles nonetheless. The picture above is of the elevation profile for that section of trail.
Our first two miles went straight up the side of Bigelow Mountain, a 2,000 foot climb to Avery Peak.
We then descended to Bigelow Col. Thank goodness for that, since it provided a brief rest from the bone chilling cold. That said, it was our first real "down" and with the previous night's rain everything was slippery. Oy vey! Slow going...
Next was West Peak, more steep, slippery rock and high winds. Good times. After a few more quick photos on top we descended down West Peak, about 650 feet, to a rocky, rooty ridge walk.
The weather remained somewhat cold but it only threatened rain. My internal mantra of "sunny skies, dry trail" seemed to be unrealized but at least the clouds held the water fast and off of us. We climbed the South Horn and descended to Horns Pond, where we met the summer caretaker who was doing a bit of trail maintenance.
After that we climbed up and over another bump of mountain to start our 2,200 foot descent to Maine Highway 27. The going was slow during the first two miles down. The afore mentioned wet rocks, mixed with mud, slick roots and rock scrambling (actual climbing) put us somewhere around one mile per hour, a painfully slow pace.
Fast forwarding to our eventual arrival at the highway I stuck out my thumb and was surprised to get a hitch from the very first truck that drove by. Koopa, Big Ooh and I hopped in the back sweaty, tired and chilled but grateful for the ride. Dennis, our driver, opened the split window and, from the cab, offered us ice cold beers which were in a cooler in the bed of the truck. Since riding in the open bed of a pickup is questionable already, we decided to pass on the offer and save ourselves from a visit to the town jail. Then we smelled it ... hummmmm is that pot? We all looked at each other and then into the cab of the truck, where we saw Dennis drinking a beer and smoking a bowl. At the excessive speed of 75 miles per hour we made it into town in no time. Dropped safely at our destination Dennis wouldn't take no for an answer and drove away with each of us holding an ice cold Geary Maine brew. I almost kissed the ground.
Another day done. Another ten miles accomplished ... good food, hot showers and dry beds called.
Rollin in,
Yahtzee
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Just as cold and windy as Avery, here I am on top of West Peak. Thanks to Big Ooh for snapping this pic.
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This is what Avery Peak looked like from the top of West Peak.
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This picture is of the wind blowing the clouds over Avery Peak. That's water below...
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This photo taken of Avery Peak (the right peak on the map) was taken after hiking a mile up the mountain. Still a looooong way to go to make it to the first summit of the day.
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I took this picture yesterday morning (8/21/10). It's of two tarp tents housing approximately 8 people each.
After a 16 mile day, Big Ooh, Koopa and I walked into our intended campsite only to find it swarming with at least 40 other people. Turns out there was a program teaching college age folks how to serve as back country group leaders ... and they were all traveling together. Additionally, there was a large group of French Canadian campers who I won't even get into. Aside from the fact that large groups are a stress on the environment, they're tough on fellow back country travelers, since they take up a lot of space (especially the coveted, flat, campsite space that we all seek out for a good night's rest).
Luckily Big Ooh and Koopa scored the last tent platform (there were only two to begin with) and they were very kind to share it with me. Squeezing two tents onto one platform wasn't easy but we made it happen.
While we were cooking our dinner the college students (from Harvard) began to string long lines from tree to tree. Tube tents? Tarp tents? I wondered to myself if that's what they had in mind.
The wind had already picked up and it was threatening rain. They finished their, now confirmed, tarp tent construction and rolled out their sleeping pads and bags. "Yeesh," I thought, "what exactly are they trying to teach these kids ... the most effective way to freeze your butt off in the back country?"
One girl literally glared at me while I blew up my ultralight NeoAir ThermaRest sleeping pad and placed it in my tent.
Their monstrous tarp construction blocked the blue blazed access trail to the water source, so French Canadians marched through their camp several times. It was a site to behold, if not inwardly laugh at. They talked and laughed well past "hiker midnight" (AKA 8:00pm) and I'll admit I was annoyed by their lack of courtesy.
Still I drifted off to sleep, cozy and dry in my tent. A few hours later I awoke to a torrent of rain falling on my rain fly. I'll admit, I'm not in love with my tent (it has it's issues) but I was so thankful to have it at that moment. Still plenty dry I went back to sleep.
The next morning I cooked breakfast in the vestibule of my tent since it was still drizzling and water dropped from the trees with the slightest breeze. It was very early, since we had a large day planned and I tried my best to be quiet.
By 6:45am we were packed and about ready to hit the trail. It was then that I took my first good look at the collegiate campers "tented" below us. Their sleeping positions had all shifted towards the middle, kinda resembling a dog pile celebration at the end of a baseball game. The poor souls on the ends had undoubtedly bore the brunt of the rain. Soggy is about the only word that describes the scene. I felt pretty sorry for them all and hoped their gear would dry enough for them to salvage some enjoyment during their six day sojourn.
We hit the trail. It was our day to climb the Bigalows and, if we pressed hard, to make it into town. Any opportunity to eat, dry gear and get out of the weather is always a strong incentive.
Rolling On,
Yahtzee
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It's painted on the canoe floor, making this boat ride the official Appalachian Trail!
I crossed the river yesterday, August 20th.
Rollin on,
Yahtzee
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