Mount Katahdin – The Hike

On a Tuesday, July 22, I reached the summit of Mount Katahdin and completed the Appalachian Trail.

My day started no different than any other. At 6:30, the alarm went off and I quickly hit snooze, intending to give myself a few more minutes of rest before the next alarm woke me up a moment later. I turn off the alarm that rings, cancel the next three that I have set. I slowly unwrap myself from my quilt and exit my tent, groggily put on my sandals and proceed to crawl the 100 meters to the cables hanging from the bear to retrieve my bag of food.

I return to my tent and slide my quilt over my legs and up to my chest as I sit upright as I begin to “prepare” my breakfast in the lobby of my tent. Even though I got tired of the mixture of instant oatmeal, cold water, and granola, the food is somehow still edible after almost 2,200 miles, but I’m excited to be able to have a hot breakfast at home tomorrow morning.

After eating, I break camp for the last time.

Once this is done, I put my backpack on my shoulder and start walking along the dirt road to the access. It’s strange to see all the RVers making breakfast or breaking down their camps, just as it was strange to see day hikers flooding the trail on Memorial Day weekend and RVers all over Shenandoah as we briefly shared the same trail, but with wildly different perceptions of it.

I head to the Katahdin Stream campground and see the ranger who checked me into the park the day before. We exchanged small talk and congratulations before giving me the expected conditions for the day: sunny with medium winds, temperatures in the 60s. I have managed to secure another almost perfect day. Although I have had my fair share of thunderstorms and stretches of rain, my weather window has been more than I could have asked for as conditions for most of the Smokies, Shennies, and Presidential Traverse were incredible. My start date, March 22, was the day after the last major freeze period in Georgia, and I managed to get ahead of the unbearable mid-Atlantic summer heat wave.

The park ranger takes some pictures of me next to the Hunt Trail and Baxter sign. I thank him and we shake hands before starting to finish the walk.

I didn’t sleep very well since the night before.

A combination of general restlessness and awareness of the end. Still somewhat dazed, I slowly begin the slope toward the top, each white flash seeming bolder and more noticeable, perhaps because I know they are about to end. I see a trail sign indicating four miles to the top. I know these last four won’t be easy, but it feels surreal knowing that after over 2,190 miles I’m now only four away. I think about how many times I told myself just four more miles to lunch and forced myself to finish the last four at camp despite how much I wanted to finish the day. The number of times I walked the four miles to get to a city because I couldn’t get any trouble or justify a transfer.

All that’s left is four miles.

The rocks start to get bigger and bigger until I’m climbing over the rocks, and I’m grateful for how light my pack is as I balance on the side of some pretty awkward lines. From time to time, I run into some day hikers, maybe because of the chips, sandwich, and chocolate bars I have for lunch, or because I know I’ll be sleeping in my own bed tonight, but this day feels like a day hike in itself, even though I’ve been on the trail for exactly four months.

I am now fully awake and warmed up, but feel remarkably calm. I anticipated there would have been a lot more emotion or sadness, but mostly I find myself taking in Katahdin. YoI’ve only been to Baxter once when I was younger and only had vague memories of heavy rain. I’m surprised by what’s around me, perhaps because the area around Baxter Park is so flat, but Katahdin seems huge and untamed, a marvel for the East Coast.

Breaking through the tree line, the trail transitioned from scrambling to climbing before a long climb to Gateway, which marks the last mile of the AT and the beginning of the Tablelands, a huge flat expanse near the summit. Finally, I arrive at the Tablelands and take a moment to take in the enormous views of the surrounding area, pointing out sections of the 100 Mile Wilderness I traveled through days earlier.

Many hikers tell stories of tears or shouts of victory at the summit, but I didn’t feel much emotion as I approached the final stretch. I had a lot of time to process the end of my hike in the 100 Mile Wilderness. The reality of the end began to sink in once the trail signs began to include Katahdin and Baxter State Park in their list of distances and the end was physically in sight as Katahdin was visible from multiple lakes and mountaintops. I had my last resupply and lodge stay at Shaw’s and got my last trace of magic at Katahdin Iron Works Road, something completely unexpected, but incredibly appreciated. The days were ending, soon I would no longer introduce myself by the name of my trail, but could call myself a hiker.

I could clearly see the summit sign,

As King, a hiker I met the day before, approached the summit, he exclaimed, “It’s so close yet so far!” to which I responded, «What do you mean? This is the closest it’s been since Georgia!» when I started running towards him with 200 meters left. I finally reached the famous summit sign and marked it as I ran a few meters beyond it, just as I had crossed every cross-country or track race finish line in the past. There were no screaming crowds cheering us on to the finish line, just a few day hikers taking in the view or taking photos. No confetti or champagne, no massive celebrations, no tears or even a rush of adrenaline or endorphins, but now I was a hiker.

He had done something he had dreamed of since he was little.

I did what years ago I had told all my college friends that I wanted to do after I graduated. I did what I stopped doing and spent years saving and planning.

Photos followed and I chatted with some day hikers, savoring the latest questions they asked me as a hiker on the trail. King and I sat and admired the view while eating stories about trade trails for lunch. Despite meeting only 15 hours earlier, there was a powerful connection of mutual understanding and respect for what it took to get here.

I never thought about leaving it. It didn’t matter how cold, wet, hot, exhausted, swarming with bugs, lack of sleep, food fatigue, frustration, or loneliness. I would make it.

Thank you to family, friends, hikers, and trail angels for all the support and for making the trail what it was.

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