The two most challenging experiences of my hiking career happened to happen 24 hours apart from one another. And they also just happened to be my last 2 days in Maine.
The first was Baldpate Mountain. For many other hikers on other days, Baldpate is an uneventful mountain, similar to many others: Steep climb up, good stretch over the top above the treeline, and then a steep downhill. Pretty standard. But, as I mentioned in my last post, it'd been raining the last few days. And I caught Baldpate in some of the worst weather I've experienced so far. Drenching rain, and a white, surrounding fog that made it difficult to see more than a few feet. And, as any hiker knows, the wind gets worse and worse the higher up a mountain you go. As the name indicates, Baldpate has no trees or really any plantlife for over a mile as you crest the top. It's essentially one giant stone rock. I would lose my balance in the wind and the rain with nothing to hold onto (normally there would be trees or boulders along the side of the trail). I'd fall, ad then slide 30, 40, 50 feet down the mountain. Often NOT in the direction I was trying to hike. With the fog I'd lose the trail and waunder around aimlessly, soaked and panicked. I'd try to edge my way up/down the rock cliff, but I'd continue to slip. It was like hikin in roller skates. "Hiking the Appalachian Trail" is less accurate than "Riding down the rocky Appalachian water slide". When I finally got to the lean-to, my hands were so frozen I couldn't untie my shoes. Luckily there were two other miserable people at the shelter.
On a happier side note, they were actually two French Canadian guys. And there are some French Canadians here in the little New Hamphire town I'm writing this. It's fun hearing people speak a foreign language, and I realized with a start that I'm much further away from home than they are (they said it's only a 3-4 hour drive to their hometown of Quebec City).
After a very cold and still mostly wet night, I moved on to the next section, which includes the Mahoosuc Arm, considered by most to contain the single hardest mile on the whole A.T. It was thankfully not raining that day (though still very wet from the day before). The Mahoosuc Arm includes a scramble that goes over, under, in between, and around very large boulders. You'd do your best gymnastics, stretching from one boulder to another. And more accurate than the roller skates reference eariler (since there really was some in the Mahoosuc Arm, despite it being the last week of June) was hiking on ice. There was ice and snow spread through the deep crevices between the rocks. And I'd scramble among them, sort of like James Franco in the opening scenes of 127 hours (alas, without the beautiful pair of women). And we all know how that ended. My lanky body structure actually helped in a way that I could do moves that a vshorter person couldn't. Which actually gave me some false confidence. If Baldpate was terrifying, Mahoosic was exhilarating. And I just so happened to know that all of the other hikers going South or North that day (like the aforementioned French Canadians) were either already through the Mahoosuc Arm or saving it for the next day. So if I lost my grip in certain places, I really would fall several feet to a painful possible death, and no one would be by until at least the next day. And I did slip. A lot. I actually fall at least once a day, and I had a couple bad spills in the Mahoosuc Arm. I scraped up my whole left side at one point. I slipped and managed to keep my footing, and only saved my fall by reaching out with my walking stick and saving the impact at a point when my head was actually lower than my feet on the higher rock. At this point I should remind you that I have 45 lbs on my back and had already hiked over 10 miles that day. Scary recovery. It was some crazy gymnastics through the very rocky and cold Arm. When I finally got back into the trees, my glasses fogged with the sudden temperature change. But the next morning, I crossed into New Hampshire. One state down, 13 to go.
