Andrew's Journal!

Ok Guys, I'm going to start transposing from my daily journal and keep on typing 'till I get tired and have to go to sleep. As Lysandra explained in her post, she rolled her ankle and we came off the trail. This will be our third night in the youth hostel in Monson, ME (one more night than we expected :)) and tomorrow morning we'll be hitching a ride back into the wilderness to make up the miles we missed!
   ... and now for the journal:

Day 1: Baxter State Park - Katahdin Steam Campground to Baxter Peak and back: 10 miles round trip and 4,100' up, then down again (should I write 4,100' elevation gain? or 8,200' elevation change? Anyone, anyone? Beuller... Beuller?)

   Woke up this morning at the 'A.T. Lodge' and ate a 5:30am breakfast at the 'A.T. Cafe.' Coincidence? I wonder, but nor for long. As we're being shuttled from Millinocket to Mt. Katahdin, our driver/ the owner of the hostel tells us..well, lots of things. One of them is that he bought the cafe same time he bought the lodge and that's how he can offer a giant breakfast as part of the 'Southbound Special.' Sadly, because we haven't yet developed our 'hiker appetites' (more on that later), this means we waste food even AFTER asking the (somewhat shocked) waitress to leave an item or two off our plates.

   Met a guy in hostel named Jon: 22yo, coast guard 4.5 years, decided to hike the AT last-minute. Says he's open to this becoming a through-hike, but we've learned enough already to suspect that his means he probably won't walk to GA. He has an enameled-steel pot hanging from the outside of his pack like some sidekick in a Wild West movie, or Johnny Appleseed wannabe. But criticisms aside, Jon's a nice guy. What he lacks in savvy, he redeems with enthusiasm. He has no water filter and no stove. He plans on boiling his drinking water over a fire... in August. He wants to live this romantic dream before taking Jewelry design classes and inheriting the family jewelry business. But even as I type this he's probably prepping for a late-admit class. Jon was surprised we had rented a storage unit. He's still paying rent in a downtown Philly apartment: $1,300 a month! ...and I considered driving my stuff to Dad's to avoid a $50/mo storage bill :)

   Hiking Katahdin: After a few miles we reach treeline and the wind picks up, carrying my heartbeat with it. It's the first time I've been above treeline and it's exhilarating. No surprise when Lyss decides to turn back. Not worth injury on her first day, not to mention that if even I can recognize my anxiety about the wind speed, she's probably second-guessing this entire trip. So she heads back and I pick up my speed... for about ten minutes. Then I run into a lady we met yesterday on the bus into Millinocket. 'Melody' (trail name) is turning 63 today (!!) and is starting the second half of her flip-flop thru-hike.

Definition: Flip-flopping is when someone does all 2,175 miles of the trail in a non-linear fashion. Typical flip-floppers do one half, then the other, whether for seasonal reasons or for whatever-else-I-can't-think-of-'cause-I'm-too-tired reasons.

   When I catch up to Melody, we've reached the part of the trail that's less 'hiking' and more 'bouldering.' Sure, she's hiked 1,000 miles (about 995 more than I have) but she's 63!! And besides, she's a much better conversationalist than I am and I'm always looking for practice.

   All in all it took 5 hours to get to the peak, where I encountered random day-hikers, weekend campers, and groups of summer-camp teenagers. I was asked to take a photo for a group from camp Walden, then ate lunch, then took my leave to get back down to camp. I decided to hurry a bit, partly for fun, partly because Lyss has been backpacking for a sum total of 1 night before in her life and I kind of want to check on her, but even I was surprised when my 5 hour climb took me 2 hours to decend.

   Back at camp Lyss & I make dinner while Jon eats dry M.R.E. packets and tries to make a fire to boil water. We're all getting along -- laughing and joking; Jon drying wet shorts over his fire -- when John freezes, staring past us with a glazed look in his eyes. When I turn, I see a sizable black bear not fifteen feet from where we're standing. I assume it's the lentils/rice cooking in veggie broth that brought him sniffing. Jon is petrified, so I walk over to the bear, shouting and clapping, not making eye contact, and the bear moves away (about 10 feet), turns back toward us and sits on it's haunches, waiting. I try again with the same result, but now the bear is 20' out of camp and seems harmless enough, so I turn my attention back to the others. This is when Jon realizes that where he WAS holding a brand new pair of hiking shorts (drying over the fire), now he's holding a not so stylish elastic belt, adorned underneath with burnt/melted fringe strips. "Dang, I just paid $60 for these!"

   When the bear comes back, not 5 minutes later, Jon starts asking if he should get out his gun.
   "You brought a GUN?" we ask.
   "Yeah, my mom wouldn't let me come out here without it."
   Despite the dubious nature of this response, coming from a bona fide member of the U.S. Coast Guard, we assure him that the gun won't be needed, as bear hunting is illegal in Baxter State Park. I head off to the ranger station, to let someone know this is going on, but nobody's home, so I go back to camp & the bear has wandered off.... but not too far.
   We saw him a few more times that night and two different rangers stop by, of their own accord, later on. One says we can put our food in the ranger station and, appreciatively, we do.

{sidenote: when we got of the plane the previous day, one of those slips had been put in my pack that indicated a security check. I don't think much of it until the morning after 'The not-so-Great Bear Incident' 2012. More on that later.}

   At 3:30am I'm having a strange dream: It's just a bunch of Velcro being pulled apart... or maybe boxes being opened... No. Wait. I'm awake, lying in a tent, and that's the sound of a bear ripping through silnylon: the same fabric that composes the brand new lightweight rain cover I put on my backpack (because, even though there were no clouds, I'm trying to model the cautious, 'better-safe-than-sorry' mentality that Lysandra (and I) will need to get through the next six months.) SHOOT! I sit bolt upright and clap twice, loudly. "Where's the headlamp‽" I whisper, clumsily pulling myself out of my sleeping bag. Lyss grunts, and suddenly I have a headlamp in my hand and am rushing out of the tent. When I get out there my brand new pack cover is ripped to shreds and there's there bear, standing conspicuously at the edge of camp, as if he too had heard the noise and come to check it out. But now I'm not laughing. This is no longer cute. I rush to pick up a few rocks and pelt him, hard, with my first throw. Poof. The bear is gone.
   Grumbling, I grab both packs and put them under the rain fly of the tent, not thinking too much about the possibility that the bear will come back. I just want to get back to sleep.

   When I woke up in the morning I assess the damage. The rain cover was toast and there was oil EVERYWHERE!! Sardine oil... It takes me a while to stop calling myself stupid for forgetting a can of sardines in the brain of m pack. I don't even remember putting it there! Then it dawns on me: a security check slip in my bag after the airport; the one food item packed in an oddly-shaped metal can mysteriously not in my food bag, but in an easily accessible exterior pocket. Grrrr... The only thing I can't figure out is how that bear coordinated with airport security... Friends reading this: I'm open to feedback.

   Anyway, Day 2: I clean the stuff I can with baby wipes and bag the things I can't (including the brain of my pack) to wash later. Delayed by the unexpected cleanup, we leave late for our 10.5 mile hike out of Baxter State Park. A bigger day than we'd prefer this early in the game, but Baxter is obligatory pay-for-stay and all the sites are expensive. Exhausted, we arrive at a state site just outside Baxter: $4 for Maine residents; $8 for non-residents. The pay-method is envelopes. You're supposed to put your money in one and slip it in a slot cut into cylindrical metal deposit box. Wondering how the park ranger is supposed to get these envelopes out, I look around back of the box and there's an open hole near the ground with a bunch of sealed envelopes inside. So we put money in an envelope, all the while feeling like suckers and glancing around for the homeless guy waiting in the bushes for his daily paycheck, and drop it in the box.
   The campsite is beautiful. A shelter on the side of a huge river. Some other, car-camping families in sight. None of this matters because we're both exhausted. We're in bed before nightfall.