September 18, 2008

The Third: We make it to Maine!

Back again and away we go!

Heading out of Gorham, we struggled over the last of the Whites and spent one more night just within the AMC's grasp (luckily they let you get away with a few free shelters right at the end). The next morning we awoke eager with the knowledge that we were only a few miles from reaching the final leg of our journey - Maine. That long-fabled enigma of a state did in fact exist. And on top of that, our last mountain in New Hampshire was Mt. Success. What a morale boost! Mt. Success! How can you climb it and not feel accomplished?! And as we descended from that physical and mental high, all I could think was "Man, why am I not in Maine already?" Until finally we came across that little, blue, anticlimactic sign, marking our crossing into the home stretch.

In Maine we left the White Mts. and headed into the Mahoosuc Range, but this does not mean that the there was a reprieve from the extreme terrain. If anything, it was even crazier than what we'd experienced in NH. Alternating between scaling sheer, slippery rock faces on the acsent and slip-slide-falling down them on the descent, besides maneuvering across/around mud bogs that will eat your boots whole. We made it about five miles into the state before finally calling it an exhausting day. Plus, lying it wait for us at the bottom of the next mountain was Mahoosuc Notch, known as perhaps the most strenuous and difficult mile on the entire Appalachian Trail - basically a ravine covered with the biggest, baddest boulders, which must be climbed over, under, around, through, or however you can manage. We decided to stop, get a good night's rest, and tackle the demon in the morning on a beautiful day. Unfortunately, meteorology was against us. Sometime during the night the rain started and continued through the morning. Besides the fact that I hate hiking in the rain, I hate the thought of hiking the most arduous part of the entire 2176.2 miles in the rain. So what did we do? What do you think?

We packed up and headed down into the Notch of Doom. Well... at least to the beginning of it. Then we dumped our packs and went weightlessly rock-skipping around for a good 20 minutes or so, before we came back out, grabbed our stuff, and blue-blazed our way out to a road, like sane people. The road was an incredibly desolate gravel road, which eventually connected with a highway, according to our estimations of the map. However, we really had no idea exactly how far down the road we had to travel to get to the highway. Luckily, after a mile or two of walking, a lone car containing two very lost fishermen came to our rescue. With the combined efforts of our rudimentary orienteering and a GPS system we finally made it to pavement and our heroes dropped us in the tiny "town" (more like "building") of Upton. Turns out it would have been quite a long walk, indeed. Our ultimate destination was the slightly larger (but not much) town of Andover, which we discovered was about 15 miles down another remote byway. In fact, a woman who actually lived on the road described it as "desolate." Of course, we really had no other choice, so we got to steppin'. I'm not exactly sure how far we walked down that road, but it was a fair ways. Four cars passed us the whole time - three going in the opposite direction, and one that flew past, I'm pretty sure mocking us. It wasn't the highlight of the day, but where else were we gonna go? Finally, I caught sight of a Jeep pulling onto the road just ahead of us, and flagged him down with all the pathetic arm-flailing I could muster. The driver and his beagle, Baxter, had pity on us and thankfully whisked us away to Andover, where I began this incredibly rambling triology of blogness.

We spent the night in Andover at a quaint little guest house, with several other hikers, including the Gatlinburg kids from Gorham. Movies were watched, food was eaten - a good time all around. On the morrow, we did our hiker errands and once again walk/hitched out of town to a campsite near the trail. That night, as we sat marveling at the fact we were in our sleeping bags at 7pm, I heard the rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs nearby. Peeking outside the tent, I saw a huge bull moose - antlers and all - headed in our direction. It came withing about 20 ft. of our camp before noticing we were even there, upon discovering which, it merely turned around and lumbered back from whence it came. Unfortunately, we didn't get any pictures, due to the dwindling light, but hopefully there will be more sightings of this kind before the end.

Can I just stop for a moment here and comment on how baffled I am that I can write so much about these things? When did that happen?

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