I reached the top of Mount Katahdin. And now what?

On October 2, 2025, I reached the summit of Mount Katahdin. I’ll leave sharing my story of that epic day for another time. For now I want to talk about ✨feelings✨.

THE END OF PATH PATH

The days leading up to my summit day were absolutely lovely. The second half of the 100 Mile Wilderness, the final stretch of trail before reaching Baxter State Park, home of Mount Katahdin, felt like a gift explicitly designed to make NOBOs reflect on the rest of their hike. There’s relatively low elevation gain, abundant ponds and lakes, vast open skies dotted with stars and crisscrossed by the Milky Way, and views of Katahdin that zoomed in and out, paralleling my growing anticipation of my ever-closer final day on the trail. If you do it right, you’ll find yourself enveloped in a kaleidoscopic tapestry of leaves that stop producing chlorophyll during the year. The drought, while still devastating farmers and drying up wells across the state, combined with mild temperatures to create ideal weather conditions. There was everything I needed to make the last few days an introspective walk.

I am grateful to have been fortunate enough to spend that time with equally introspective friends. Our mornings were slow and rich in coffee and conversation. Our daily mileage was relatively low, allowing us room to stop and take it all in. As I had done for most of my walk, I spent the time walking in my head, forgoing other voices or music in my headphones for my company. We would meet again at camp for dinner and talk about our days and how we were feeling. We talked about our connection to those who previously walked that sacred path along the oldest of mountain ranges, what we learned from our vast experience, our hopes of applying those lessons in the “real world” (a phrase I really dislike), and how we wished we could bottle the feelings we had and take them with us. They were conversations that reminded me of those I had in art school: nostalgia for a past before our time and dreaming of what is to come. I miss him. There was a calm, a peace, a oneness with the world around me that is difficult to describe.

Wrapped in color

RETURN HOME

It’s been over 3 weeks and I still haven’t regained my balance. My first week back was really hard. I had bouts of depression, irritability, impatience and insomnia. My biggest challenges have been navigating Atlanta traffic and shopping. Along the way, I grew accustomed to regularly encountering people at their best: a community of hikers, lodge owners, and trail angels who are generally willing to help each other without expecting anything in return. People in traffic are not always at their best. I have been surprised by my irritability and lack of patience. In some ways I hoped to emerge from the forest as some kind of Zen master, immune to the annoying and frivolous inconveniences of everyday life. That was not the case.

It’s getting better though. An additional 40 mile hike over 5 days from Greyson Highlands and Damascus with my partner, Andrea, really helped. With the exception of rain and a broken water filter the first night, the trip was amazing and just what I needed. I hadn’t been to Virginia since the oppressive heat wave we had in the summer, and the green tunnel was starting to look more like the trees I left in Maine. Temperatures were cool at night and pleasant during the day. The company and conversation were top notch. I felt like my new old self again.

The famous ponies of Greyson Highlands

I took that feeling home, recharged and more ready to reintegrate into what my friend Munk calls “the paved kingdom.” Then we went to Costco. My impatience shined through when cars in traffic went too fast or too slow, the line of people waiting to find parking increased my anxiety, and navigating through the crowds of people filling their carts with stuff It just made me angry. Zen Master, clearly he was not.

Driving home from Damascus is better than driving to Costco

ANXIETY

Although I’m better now, there are many things that make me anxious these days. Do I still fit in in the city I’ve lived in for the past 17 years? How can I find or build a community that makes me feel as safe and connected as the one I had on the road? Am I a giant phony who doesn’t deserve to celebrate my achievement because there’s a gaping 400 mile hole in the middle of my hike? There are so many things I want to do, but am I going to let myself down again and let my dreams stop at that? I left the road in the best shape of my life. Am I going to take advantage of that or just waste the opportunity and lose my form? At 40, am I too old to make significant changes in my life?

There is also the question of money and work. Now that I don’t walk every day, that old, familiar feeling of anxiety is creeping up on me. I have been self-employed for over a decade and hope to be self-employed for the rest of my life. There is a freedom there not unlike what I felt on the road. There’s also the pressure of having to rely on myself to get things done. I’ve been very lucky in my career, but that won’t last.

What anxiety feels like sometimes

MOVING FORWARD

I’m learning though. I’m learning what my needs are. Being in a reset period, developing good habits and practices is crucial. Progress is not linear and my anxieties are just thoughts in my head. They do not dictate or predict the path of my life. I am learning to be patient with myself before I can be patient with others. Pacing myself is really important. Attending a small farewell gathering for a climbing friend was much more manageable than trying to shop at a giant department store full of strangers. I have the opportunity to lay the foundation that the rest of my life will continue to be built on, and I am doing everything I can to calm my anxieties and create routines that help me move toward my goals.

In the short term, I’m developing a daily writing practice. Mornings are when my brain is most in that mode, so I get up early to make sure I have time to do it, both journaling and blogging. I kept daily notes from my walk that I hope to read and translate into blog posts. There are over 11,000 photographs that I can pore over to find the gems I want to add to my print. (Writing and editing photos really help me process my time in the woods.) I also schedule time to exercise; In addition to climbing, trail running is a nice addition to my life that helps me spend some time outdoors.

Looking ahead, I plan to take a class next year to support my professional development. I’m slowly starting to reach out to the people I want in my circle and trying to stay connected with friends who know a little about what I’m going through. I long for that sense of community I had and I want to foster it in my life off the slopes. It’s a community that reinforced in me the notion that experiences are best shared with the people I love. It’s a feeling I’ll keep in mind for months or years to come as I plan my hikes to complete the remaining 400 miles of trail. As I move into this next phase of life, my hope is to take with me some of the lessons I learned from my time in the woods and proceed with intentionality, patience, gratitude, and love.

Sunrise over Pemadumcook Lake

This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any products or services you purchase using links in articles or advertisements. The buyer pays the same price they would otherwise pay, and their purchase helps support The Trek’s ongoing goal of bringing you quality backpacking information and advice. Thank you for your support!

For more information, visit the About page of this site.