Day 6 – Slackpacking Maine – Summit Katahdin
Hike #6 – Roaring Brook to Chimney Pond to Saddle Trail to Summit Katahdin repeat 5,270 elevation – 10.4 miles – 3,806 ascent – 3,746 decent
The perfect weather and the day we prepared to “Embrace the Suck”.
As we began the day, the trail ascended steadily before us, each step a promise of increasing challenge as we climbed higher. Along the way, we encountered two spirited hikers: Kim, a vibrant soul probably in her twenties, and Cheryl, who was marking her 50th birthday with this ambitious ascent. Their laughter echoed on the steep slopes, a testament to their determination to conquer Katahdin in their own unique rhythms.
As we neared the shelter, the distinct cadence of a New York accent carried across the distance. A few hikers, burdened with colossal packs—one so vast it resembled a gas grill—queried our guides with an eagerness tinged with naivety about the mountain’s rigorous demands.
As the ascent accelerated, the gradient became so steep that I no longer needed my trekking poles and had to use gloved hands to navigate the challenging terrain. Donning knee pads, I embraced the grueling ascent, ’embracing the suck’ as I harnessed myself over and around boulders, each pushing and pulling a battle against gravity.
Time stretched on, measured in the labor of our climb until the treeline parted to reveal the ‘pink slide’—a daunting cascade of pinkish rocks spilling from the mountain’s edge, our next formidable challenge. Undeterred, I pressed on, my path intersecting once more with Cheryl, Kim, and the intrepid New Yorkers.
The ascent was a grueling test of endurance and strength, with the grill-bearer’s humor providing a brief respite amidst the arduous climb. Each of us, perched precariously on boulders, took a moment to regain our breath, contemplating the next leg of the journey. The New Yorkers, embracing a well-deserved break, lounging on the rocks as we continued our trek, transcending the tree line, the day’s brilliance, and the daunting path ahead, momentarily overwhelming.
Determined, I focused solely on the rhythm of my steps, the dislodged stones cascading down the slope a reminder of the mountain’s indifferent challenge. My arms, fortified by prior weight training, proved invaluable as we navigated the treacherous Saddle Slide. A momentary sense of relief followed, reaching its peak, but it soon vanished when it became clear how far it still was from the top. I momentarily recalled Danya warning us about the fake summit.
We came across a lone, elderly man at the top, whose assurance of his well-being belied his worn-out posture as he mustered the resolve to continue forward to meet his wife at the top. The journey resumed, an endless field of smaller pinkish rocks giving way to colossal boulders adorned with lichen, until, at last, the summit loomed within sight. The emotional crescendo upon arrival was palpable, a shared triumph immortalized in photographs beside the iconic Katahdin sign.
Cheryl and Kim, then an older woman, each captured a moment of victory, with the latter’s spouse thrilled to see her husband (the older man) as he climbed to the top. As more summiteers emerged, their successes were met with collective exuberance, the joy indescribable.
In the serenity of the summit, we dined, and the panorama before us was a just reward. The descent beckoned, and with it, the distant chattering from the perspiring New Yorkers. Everyone applauded and cheered for their success in reaching the summit. Cheryl’s offer to take one of their beers, to alleviate their burden, a testament to the camaraderie forged on the mountain’s slopes.
Reflecting on the myriad of faces and stories encountered along the trail, I pondered the summits and sentiments of Swallowtail, Rex, the Doctor, Cookie, Mountain Goat, and others. Their journeys, spanning 5 to 6 months and 2,000+ miles, surely left an indelible mark on their spirits. Yet, as I stood at the precipice of descent, the immediate challenge shifted to navigating the mountain’s more treacherous reverse.
The descent was a stark contrast to the ascent, fraught with peril and demanding the utmost caution. The elderly man’s triumphant reunion with his wife atop the summit served as a beacon of perseverance, inspiring us as we embarked on the downward trek. Christine, despite her sprained wrist, Christie, her swollen knees, Debbie’s, and I (donned in protective gear akin to a Ninja Turtle), began the cautious journey back.
The descent was a slow dance of patience and precision, a blend of sliding on your butt and crab-walking across the boulders. The world seemed to spin with each upright step, my grip on the rocks a lifeline against the vertigo. As time stretched on, each step was a measured dance of endurance, the descent transforming from a cautious boulder hop to a lively tree-swinging escapade. Like a monkey, I danced from rock to rock, my movements a blend of careful calculation and wild abandon, swinging from tree to tree atop the rocks, the forest canopy my stage. The descent, while daunting, became a rhythmic journey through nature’s obstacle course, with each tree a partner in the descent’s intricate choreography.
Chimney Pond marked a milestone, a brief respite before the trail’s darkness enveloped us. Our headlamps pierced the night as we exchanged tales and lessons (nursing, sheep, grandbabies, moving, kids, husbands, and trail gods), the laughter and camaraderie lightening the path. The ranger station at Roaring Brook signaled the end of our odyssey, a 13-hour testament to the day’s trials and triumphs.
The culmination of a six-day trek through Maine’s rugged landscapes was a profound mix of exhaustion, anticipation for a celebratory pizza, and eagerness to have cell service to once again connect to the outside world. I thought about my husband, how he is the most incredible supporter and cheerleader, and how much I appreciate his unwavering support.
The following morning’s visit to the Appalachian Trail Cafe brought more than just a satisfying breakfast; it became a reunion of trail companions. As Swallowtail, Rex, the Doctor, and Mountain Goat entered, the atmosphere transformed into one of jubilation and shared accomplishment. Tears and applause intermingled, each hiker’s triumph resonating through the cafe. It became a feast of inspiration and communal joy, a fitting epilogue to an incredible journey.
It was the most amazing and inspiring breakfast I’d ever had.
