5.2 conclusive miles today. Marathon was up at 5:30ish and his excitement denied my attempted sleeping in, although my own excitement was pushing me out of bed, too. Packed up and took the first of my last steps.
The way to Katahdin offered me plenty of views of its awesomeness and profoundness. The 4500′ climb had been looming over me for months, but now it was finally here. For many mountain ascents on the Trail, I had sometimes dreaded the laborious climbs – a 2500′ climb was always a task against which I had to push my tired body up. Today, though, was different. Katahdin was no job, no struggle, but rather a playground of sorts.
The climb consumed perhaps 3 hours but felt timeless. Never did the thought, “How much farther?” cross my mind. Scrambling up and around the boulders was pure joy and Life. The wind tried to steal my hat, but Katahdin caught it for me.
After the intial 3-4 miles of climbing, there is a “flat” stretch called teh Tablelands. It’s essentially a plateaued area of the mountain below the peaks. In the far distance I saw what I thought to be Baxter Peak-the end of the Trail. I tried to avoid thinkingh of the struggles and times that would all soon converge at the summit – thoughts like these brought tears to my eyes.
So I skipped through the Tablelands, jumping from rock to rock with a wanton abandon. I passed Thoreau Spring, named for H.D. Thoreau, who had himself summited Katahdin and was overwhelmed by the vastness and wilderness surrounding him, thereby causing him to weep and write something about it (which was on a plaque on the mountain). The sign at the spring called for one more mile – the final mile of my A.T.
With excitement I hopped from rock to rock, pausing occasionally to look at what I thought was the top. But then I saw it. The famous Katahdin sign was just ahead. The welled up emotion finally burst as I wept; moments from the journey appeared in my mind – moments of grinding through roots, rocks, and mud, moments of dreary soaking rains, moments of mosquito swarms and black fly attacks, moments of early morning wake ups, but also moments of sunrises and sunsets, moments of surreal views, moments of mountaintop serentiy and peace, moments of Trail friends and shared campfires, shelters and food. The final piece of this A.T. puzzle was nearly locked in place; this living journey was soon to be a complete picture – no longer alive and growing, but rather a completion like a finished painting hanging on the wall. So I cried partly in sorrow for the end, partly as a celebration upon completion, but mostly for the enduring confidence this journey has bestowed me with – an understanding of the fruits of determination and tenacity coupled with the realization that I was capable of accomplishing such feats. I have grown in some way that these words cannot capture.
After composing myself, I finished the last 100 feet. Two women were at the top. “Where’d you come from?” they asked me (meaning to ask which trail I had ascended by; there are eight trails up the mountain). I let out a sniffled, “Springer Mountain.” “Oh, wow! All the way? This is a celebration for you!” But I didn’t feel like celebrating; I felt like hugging the sign longer, so I stood behind it with my arms crossed over it and head down. After this 10 minute hug, I let out a roaring “Yeeeeeaaaaaah!” Marathon, who was still climbing through the Tablelands, said it was the most triumphant sound he’d ever heard.
I climbed behind some rocks to give Marathon his turn with the sign and his reflections on the trip, then we celebrated and talked about how it felt to finish. Did the photo shott and hung out for an hour or two meeting dayhikers and lounging on the rocks, soaking up the view and the sun, letting the ripples of excitement subside before climbing across the Knife’s Edge and down the mountain.
I wrote about how at first, entering towns was like taking a breath, and re-entering the Trail was like holding my breath. The it switched, and the Trail became my air and town the suffocating water. Now it’s different once more. I can “breath” in either – feel comfortable and at home no matter where I’m at. The Trail can teach as much as you’d like to learn, but the lessons aren’t written on signs along the way – they’re found in the fight. I can read about how determination adn dedication are indisposable to achieving a goal, but it has almost no value unless I get my hands (feet) dirty and practice or do them. That, in itself, is a realization the Trail’s bestowed upon me – I’ve learned how I must learn.
I suppose I could fill pages with Trail experiences and their respective lessons, but based on my learning how to learn, I suppose that would be wasted paper. Ex-thru-hikers along the way kept saying how the Trail will change you, but none ever stated said changes. Now I see why – they’re personal (different for each) and beyond words, as all realizations must be.
Thanks for keeping up with me, everyone, and I think and hope that you enjoyed reading about the walk. I encourage you, though, to not just look at others’ paintings, but to create your own. The power, strength, and creativity to do so is already waiting inside you – simply uncover it.
