My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking

by Carol Wellman

  Back in the howling winds, we climb a half-mile to the summit of Mt. Madison. The hiking is reduced to hand over hand, ducking down between boulders, hanging on in the gusts of nearly 70 mph. I shorten my hiking poles, snag the wrist straps over my left hand, and crawl, on hands and knees, dragging my poles. On the top, I feel overwhelmed, and sympathize with the fly on the windshield of a car hurling down the highway at 70 mph. Greenbean, slender and tall, her pack catching the wind, and she is falling, struggling. Phoenix is repeatedly blown several feet off trail, picked up like some toy soldier. And all the while, Papa Geezer is leading us, waiting patiently, fighting against the wind. He was the sanity of our Moses through the wilderness.

  By 4 p.m. we finally reach the trees, with only 5 miles left to Pinkham Notch. We arrive there at 6:30, reserve some rooms, and go for supper. We are late, but the cook sends out excellent food for us, family style. Other thru-hikers come over to our table to exchange reports. They had hiked out earlier this morning, arriving at the Washington summit, and were stranded. There they had waited for hours and finally hitched rides down the mountain with tourists who were happy for the extra weight in their cars. Tomorrow each thru-hiker will make a decision whether to go back up, or wait out yet another day of storm. A woman had broken her leg up there today, was carried by stretcher to the summit, where the train transported her down.

  We left Pinkham Notch early next morning in the rain. The other thru-hikers, holed up at the Pinkham Notch bunkhouse, elected to rest, and just take a zero day. Hopefully, tomorrow would be better.

  Wildcat Mountain offered some great views, once the rain quit. After a day of hiking in the challenging terrain, we camped at Imp Campground, which had bear warnings posted. We pitched our solo shelters, and discussed the situation. I decided to sleep with my food, and when they hung their food bags directly above my tent, I told them I’d rather they wouldn’t do that. They rehung their bags out of camp, and no one lost any food during the night.

  From New Hampshire Hwy.16, we hitched into Gorham, resupplied at the CVS drug store, and had lunch. I called Rainmaker’s cell phone, leaving a voice mail message. I listened to his message to me, missing him incredibly. He was doing well on the Long Trail; and I yearned to be reunited. It seemed he carried my heart with him.

  Stepping Into Maine

  Phoenix and I stopped a moment to take photos when we crossed into Maine on August 1. Maine is indeed a rugged state, but I am told it evens out after 80 miles.

  The next day, we hiked through Mahoosuc Notch. It took us 2 hours to get through that one-mile boulder field, with hidden streams flowing underneath. Climbing over huge boulders, weaving through narrow cracks, and ducking under massive ledges, we scraped skin and gear all along the single worst mile of the Appalachian Trail.

  The ascent out of the notch, up Mahoosuc Arm, was a scramble over smooth-faced, slippery, near vertical rock.

  We then went up and over Baldpate Mountain to reach Frye Notch Lean-to, a 15.5-mile day. Every muscle hurt, but I slept soundly.

  We resupplied in Rangeley after an easy hitch into town. Phoenix and I went to the Laundromat after buying trail food and some lunch from the nearby grocery store. We washed clothes, ate our sub sandwiches and repackaged the foodstuff. He picked up some carburetor cleaner fluid to use as fuel, which although it says “flammable”, burns sooty and reluctantly. After those chores were done, we got back on trail and camped at Piazza Rock Lean-to. The young caretaker was very friendly, and boys who were eager to climb the Piazza Rocks filled the campsite.

  The Saddlebacks, Lone Mountain and Spaulding were marvelous. We decided to hike half-mile up to the Sugarloaf Mt. Ski Shelter. This place has windows all around, with a 360-degree view of the surrounding mountains. We slept on the picnic tables inside, and used the microwave to our heart’s content. Earlier that day while crossing the Saddlebacks, I pulled a muscle in my right thigh. Every step caused excruciating pain. It wasn’t my knee, but Phoenix insisted I wear his knee brace. I was taking 2 Ibuprofen every 3 hours, and it didn’t touch the pain.

  My thigh muscle continued to ache incredibly. The 3,000 ft. ascent next morning, in spite of an Ibuprofen tablet every 2 hours, reactivated the agony. But, a thru-hike is about pain. Just before the rains began we called a halt for the day at Horns Pond Lean-to. I gave the knee brace back to Phoenix.

  The next morning my thigh felt good until I started rushing to catch up with Phoenix near Little Bigelow. It was time for us to part company. I am a soloist, and slowly but surely we were getting on each other’s nerves. I met some section hikers who stopped to chat, and encouraged me with news of smooth trail along the lake, which was just to the north. It became an exceptionally pleasant day of solo hiking, with beautiful lakeside views all the way to Pierce Pond Lean-to. A man and his son welcomed me to the shelter when I arrived. Later, southbounding thru-hikers came and we exchanged information about upcoming trail.

  Even though the ferry doesn’t run across the Kennebec River until 9 a.m., just 3.7 miles away, force of habit, and some unknown urge drew me to the trail by 6 a.m. I planned to sit, drink instant coffee and watch the river. It is a very dangerous ford; hikers are instructed to take the free canoe ride across.

  I enjoyed the lovely morning hike to the river, set my pack down, sat on the stump and looked across. Southbounders would stop there, and together we would wait for the ferryman. About 15 minutes after arriving, someone waved to me from the opposite shore. I smiled and waved back. Thissouth bounder and I would have a long wait, and conversation would be difficult such a distance apart. I started messing around with my pack, and then looked up again.

  “Carol?” he called.

  I stood up, shading my eyes against the morning glare of the river. Who is this? Who could know my real name?

  “It's David,” he called across the river.

  Rainmaker! I can’t believe it. I put on my pack. “Can I cross?” I asked.

  “No, wait for the ferry.”

  A woman drowned in front of her husband a few years back, trying to wade across. David went for coffee at a nearby restaurant, and I made mine with my little stove using river water, wondering if I had seen a mirage. The ferryman arrived on time, put in the canoe, and paddled across. He handed me the release form to fill out and sign. David had returned, and watched from the opposite river bank, while I put on the life jacket, climbed in front and helped paddle across.

  Rainmaker and I embraced a long time, looking each other over for signs of wear. Then we went to the Rivers and Trails Cabins, close to Caratunk, Maine, and rented a cabin complete with stove, refrigerator, and shower. He told me about his hike, the storm he had gone through and bad fall. I was so happy to see him back alive, although visibly worn and thinner.

  There is a hiker box in the store, and plenty of good food on their shelves. I asked Lion Heart, a hiker working at the Rivers and Trails, if anyone had ever done the 37 miles between Caratunk and Monson in a day. He said yes, a girl had just done it. It took her 12 hours. I have never slack packed before, but thought this might be a good time to check it out. He brought out the profile maps and showed me first two mountains, then relatively smooth trail all the way to Monson. Totally do-able.

  Early the next morning, just as the white blazes became visible, I headed north to Monson. Kissing Rainmaker good-bye, I told him, see you tonight. I carried one water bottle, snacks and a rain jacket. There were 15 hours of daylight, so I never felt it was risky. I didn't take any breaks, climbed the two mountains before lunch, and averaged almost 3 miles per hour. There was plenty of water all along, so I could stay well hydrated without carrying water more than half an hour, just enough time for the chlorine to work its purification process. The trail was well maintained, and the fords were easy. Just after 6:00 p.m. I arrived at Hwy 15. Moments later, Rainmaker drove up. He took me to resupply at the small and very adequate grocery store, then we spent the night together at the Pie Lady’s house. I felt tired, elated, strong and healthy.
37 miles!

  I have no idea why The Wilderness causes anyone consternation or fear. It is beautiful northern trail, very popular and well traveled. There are 13 shelters spaced evenly within these 100 miles, and plenty of water. There is vehicle access, and food available at the midway point, White’s Landing. Slack packing within the wilderness has been made available by vendors in Monson. Cars drive by every once in awhile on the many logging and gravel roads that dissect this area. Some thru-hikers expressed their deep disappointment. I admit the same feelings.

  Packing out 4 days of food, I was so ready to finish this trail. It has been great, but I was ready to go home to the mountains of Georgia. Yesterday's hike did not affect an early start today; David drove me back to the trailhead by 7 a.m. Southbounders were greeting me regularly, and I chuckled at the 3-gallon kettle strapped to a young boy’s pack when I passed a group of scouts. Apparently, he was cook's helper for the day. The 26 miles to Chairback Gap Lean-to went over some mountains I hadn’t even noticed on the data sheet. Oopsey, what’s this? Barren Mountain? Fourth Mountain? Third Mountain? I arrived about 6:30, and to my great pleasure, finally met Ram Bunny, a woman on her third Appalachian Trail thru-hike. The Spaniard, Million Miler and some section hikers were there as well.

  On trail at first light, I realized there were just a few more days of hiking left and one thing was still lacking: so far I hadn’t seen any moose. Today, while hiking 28.8 miles to Cooper Brook Falls Lean-to, I caught up to the Mass 4, a group of three guys and one girl. They had hiked together, cooked and ate out of one pot, and remained friends this entire trail. The guys were definitely wilder, with long hair and beards. Molly remained as feminine as ever. They did the half-gallon ice cream challenge while I watched at Pine Grove Furnace State Park, carried and shared one guitar, Devin giving lessons as needed. Some section hikers were in the shelter when I arrived. A woman gave me a fantastic foot rub while her grandsons asked many questions. We shared loads of trail talk.

  Katahdin was the lone focus now. At last I saw my first moose: a mother and calf just barely off the trail. Truly enormous animals, they lumbered away quietly as Smoky and I passed them. After 21.5 miles, early in the afternoon, my eyes were so sleepy they were missing obvious things on the trail, like the sign for the spring, and a trail intersection. It was definitely time to get a nap. I pulled into the Wadleigh Stream Lean-to and there sat Christopher Robin and Viking. The scary thing was that I was so exhausted that I didn’t even recognize them. They decided to hike further, so I took my nap before others arrived.

  That night the shelter and the tenting area filled up with hikers. We stayed up past dark, the section hikers worrying aloud about porcupines coming to get them. One couple hung a 10-pound sack of food, which included bacon, on a mouse hanger in the shelter, then went to sleep in their tent. We shelter dwellers felt no obligation to defend this sack. It dawned on me that this would be the last night that I’d sleep on the trail. It seemed very fitting to have it be an adventure. Small creature noises were heard during the night, but no food was lost.

  As prearranged, on the fourth day after I’d left Monson, I hiked to Abol Bridge for a rendezvous with Rainmaker. It was very hot and muggy, nearly 90 degrees. Smoky caught up to me at the Rainbow Stream Campground. From the ceiling beam hung 20 power bars, cracker packs, and snacks in gallon size zip lock bags. We praised the trail angels and took several. I caught up to three older women who were day hiking, two miles south of Abol Bridge. With a brief exchange of questions and answers, they learned that I intended to summit tomorrow, and proceeded to warn me it was too far. Couldn’t be done. Where have I heard this before? These warnings have followed me all the way up the trail. And, I always doubt myself. Why is this? I told them I had now finished the Wilderness in 4 days, and they expressed amazement. “You have done in 4 days what most take 10 to do,” one remarked. Maybe they just haven’t met many thru-hikers.

  Upon arriving at the road to Abol Bridge it looks like a mistake. Anticipation of some great store with beer, ice cream, supplies, and a campground just conjures up this image of folks, pavement, and Stuff. I saw some trucks hauling logs, a lot of dust, a big bridge east of the trail, and some guy walking away from the bridge. As I neared the store, a few hikers could be seen at a picnic table. Viking! Virgin! Christopher Robin, and most importantly, Rainmaker. “I got a good room with air conditioning, pool, hot tub, and TV in Millinocket, ” he smiled. My friends declined a ride to town, so I told them, “see you in the morning” and off we drove to the decadence of a well-appointed motel room.

  Rainmaker willingly got up at 3:30 a.m. and drove me to the trail so I could begin my last day in the grayness of early morning. Twenty miles of trail remained between home and me, and I intended to do them with pure focus and energy. The weather forecast called for another hot and humid day. The climb up Katahdin, to 5,268 feet, needed to be done before the heat of the day.

  I had no idea how smooth and sweet that first 10 miles would be. By 8:15 I stashed my poles at the Ranger Station and signed in. A ranger working outside came over to warn me about the heat and lack of water. Supposedly, Thoreau Spring was just a trickle, and one could not get water at the summit. I carried capacity of 48 ounces, had been hydrating all morning, and told him so. He still looked concerned, so I told him I had hiked the Pacific Crest trail last year, through the desert and that I knew how to ration water.

  Heading up the mountain, just past the last camper, hung another sign-in sheet. Others were ahead of me. I am late, I thought. Up to Katahdin Falls, the grade is easy. The falls are cold and sweet, a good place to wet the bandana and cool off. There is even a privy just off trail, with toilet paper, too. The trail steepens and I begin to catch up with others. A man with three young daughters. An older couple, taking their time. A group of teenage girls and their leaders. Now we come to little corner rods fastened in the rocks. The blazes just mark the general route, you get over them the best you can. I catch up to a young woman and her boyfriend, then a man who is bagging peaks. He is focused on the task at hand, and I hike with him. He asks many thoughtful questions, making the miles go by. You are not expected to step on the blazes. Some lead past a red rope, some down and around, some on top of an enormous rock. I keep climbing; we top the first level spot. Not quite to Thoreau Spring, we have just 1.6 miles to go.

  The spring is running fine; fine enough for any PCT hiker. Now it is hand over hand, and I am glad that I left my poles behind. All the paint had been scraped off the poles when I went over Mt. Madison; they are etched with past endeavors. Only my body will have the scrapes of Katahdin. We reach the sign that marks the end of my journey, but so many day hikers mill around that I just want my photos. The peak-bagger does so graciously, several high-five me, congratulations abound. I have held in my emotions all day, and now it seems non climatic. I head down, meeting Jumpstart, and her husband Balu. She is weeping openly and we embrace. Embraces all around. By god, we did it. Emotions must wait; I just want to go home now. It is 11:30, and pleasant breezes are blowing.

  Mainframe is heading up, we shake hands, and he tells me he is tired of this shit. I laugh. A true purist, we have followed the rules. We are ready to go home.

  The peak bagger catches up to me again, and I follow him down. It’s not nearly as hard following someone, letting them help find a sensible path down insensible rocks. We reach the campground at 2:30. I still have water. Shaking hands, and best of luck, we part. That is the way of the trail. You meet great people, enjoy their company, and never see them again. Rainmaker, freshly shaven, looking young and handsome, is waiting at a picnic shelter; enjoying a new CD he bought. Life is so good. “Congratulations! Let’s go home,” he smiles.

  August 15th and 16th were spent driving back to Georgia. I recognized on the road signs the names of the places I had resupplied: Cheshire, Mass. Pine Grove Furnace State Park, Pennsylvania, Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia, Perrisburg, Virginia. Last time I headed south on I-81, there was unfinished busi
ness. Now, there is no unfinished business. I am done. I am a thru-hiker. I started to cry as that fact finally sank in. My emotions could no longer be contained. David understood. He, too, is a thru-hiker, and knows what it took, what it cost in soul and spirit.

  Reflections

  The things we believed would never fade have already been abandoned by your memory-- found in a magazine on top of Sugarloaf Mountain.

  The only lasting memories will be of the humor, stubbornness, strength, and friendships. The pain, loneliness, fear, and worry, at one time so overwhelming, have already been abandoned. Did those bad things ever really happen? There will never be a doubt about the wonder, amazement, resolve and growth.

  Thoreau said, “A man generally attains what he aims for, therefore, though at first he fail, he ought to aim high.” I accepted nothing less than a pure thru-hike for myself.

  And finally the quote I found in a rare PCT water cache register “In the end you find that no one wins, and that the race was only with yourself”. It matters not who finished before or after me, but that I finished at all.

  My Resupply Points for the Appalachian Trail

  I don't like to hitch hike, and town stops take extra time and money. For these reasons, I chose to hike more miles between resupply points. Because of the season, and time of day, sometimes I was able to buy food at concession stands, which supplemented my food supplies. Those places are noted in this list. Whenever possible, I obtained information from southbounders and section hikers of upcoming trail resources.

  Neel’s Gap, GA-Trail goes right past the store. They hold drop boxes for hikers and charge $2 for this service. Some food is sold at the store, but it's expensive. There was a hostel right next door in 2002, where many hikers stayed overnight. A coin operated washer and dryer were also available.