Maine: The Final Frontier

That's right. State 14 of 14. I actually made it. Yippee doo!

Of course, I still have over 200 miles of trail left. But that's irrelevant, right? For the last six months my polite exchanges with strangers have gone something like this:

"Where ya headed?"

"To Maine."

And here I am. I did not tell a lie. What's that you say? I've come this far, I have to finish, I have to get to that Big K? Well... okay. Just because I love you so much, I shall soldier on.

Now that that's all settled, let me quickly fill you in on all the ridiculous escapades of the continuing saga of Twinkletoes and Voodoo.

Way on back in Lincoln, NH we spent a couple more nights at Chet's Place, to wait for the weather to clear and because it was awesome. There we reconnected with Voodoo's former hiking buddy, Last Minute, who had just returned to the trail after heading home for a few weeks to battle a case of mononucelosis. Again dragging ourselves away from the comforts of civilization, we dove headlong into the big bad White Mountains. First up was Franconia Ridge. The weather did not seem ideal (at least to me), as it was fairly wet from previous rain and the treeless mountaintops were mostly in cloud cover. But when those clouds parted the views were everything they had been made out to be. Spectacular, in a word. And made all the more dramatic by the opening and closing of foggy curtains. We topped some hefty mountains - Little Haystack, Lincoln, Lafayette - in some seriously gusty winds, before climbing a whole mile back down just to get to Greenleaf Hut. Many props to Last Minute for conquering the terrain after such a big hiatus. They killed me without having any breaks (basically), much less illness.

In my last post, I mentioned that I'm not particularly fond of the Appalachian Mountain Club, or AMC. The Whites are particularly popular mountains to hike (for very good reasons), and the AMC had all the foresight to reap the monetary benefits of this popularity. Throughout the Whites, the choices for overnight stay are limited exclusively to AMC-run campsites, for a cost of $8, or "huts" (read "really big cabins"), for a cost of about $90-$100 per night. However, the AMC has decided that during a certain season every year when they are, for some reason, overrun with these "through hikers", they will be oh so gracious and accommodating as to allow two AT hikers to eat some leftovers and sleep on the dining room floor in exchange for a couple of chores around the hut. Now on the one hand, this is in fact very helpful of them, because if we couldn't stay at the huts, then there would hardly be a place to stay at all, and Lord knows that hikers are far too poor to afford their prices. On the other hand, you would think that, being the stewards of these precious natural wonders called mountains, the AMC might have a little more regard for people who have willingly chosen to fully experience these wonders for the last six months or so. You know, enough to at least offer a bunk. Even the leftovers I can forgive, 'cause honestly the food is really good and they shouldn't have to make extra when they don't even know who's coming.

Greenleaf Hut really wasn't bad. The "croo" was amiable, the work was light, and they even made us some pancakes for breakfast. Our second night at Zealand Falls Hut, though, left us feeling slightly more outcast. In a hut that houses close to 40 guests, there were a total of seven, yet we were still asked to sit outside in the chill wind and oncoming dark until the rich folks finished their dinner. As we scraped together what was left of some burritos (still delicious), we were told we could share half of an eclair for dessert - you know, just in case someone else wanted to eat another one. Our chore was a little more strenous - cleaning the stove - but that's not really even an issue; at least it's something to pass the time. However, after another night on the floor in a nearly empty bunkhouse, we were told (not asked) by the same guy who was stingy with the pastries, that we would get to wash some dishes before we left. Fortunately, a more level-headed crew member informed him we had done our fair share and we escaped (without any pancakes).

All this excitement is far too much to be contained in one blog. The gripping conclusion in yet another two-parter...