In Which I Would Walk 1,680 Miles (and I Would Walk 500 More)

The trail seemed interminable and suddenly, a few days ago, I walked up to a tree bearing a very humble sign reading “Katahdin 500.” At its base was a cooler full of icy cold Cokes and Mountain Dews compliments of a trail angel named Mad Hatter. I sat in the sun with four or five other hikers and jubilantly partook of the trail magic, and Katahdin didn’t seem so far away. Since then the miles seem to have flown, even with a couple of short days due to torrential rain. This past Friday I hiked down to the Inn at the Long Trail, which offers free camping, and had a delicious Reuben sandwich and masterfully poured Guinnesses. The next night I stayed at an abandoned cabin with a shaky lookout perched on the roof, offering views of the Adirondack high peaks to the west, the Whites to the east, and the Green Mountains all around.

My hat had an adventure. My second night back on the trail, I stayed at Big Branch Shelter, which faces a cheerfully babbling stream. I woke up early, feeling energized, and quickly packed and started hiking. I stopped for a snack at another shelter several miles down the trail, and then kept hiking until I came to a place in a hemlock grove where hikers built dozens of cairns and rock sculptures. I stopped to photograph some, shot the breeze with some hikers–and then realized my hat wasn’t on my head. My hat is a British Marine boonie hat my brother brought back from Afghanistan, which he traded for at the largest Marine base–half American, half British–in the country. He gave it to me when he hiked a section in May, and I am quite fond if it. There are many things I wouldn’t backtrack six miles for, but after quickly riffling through my pack to make sure my hat was really gone, I quickly shouldered my pack and started heading south. Happily, after a mile of hiking I met a hiker named Boom who’d stayed with me at Big Branch, and dangling from the back of his pack was my hat! He knew it was mine and so was carrying it north in hopes of returning it to me. I’ve done the same for other hikers–I carried Bunyan’s hat for two or three days, and Whoop!’s tarp for a week–so it wasn’t surprising, but I was still very grateful. Some might call it good karma…but it’s not that. It’s that hikers look out for each other, simple as that, and that is something I love about this trail.

(By the way, Boom got his name because he carried a full bottle of denatured alcohol onto an airplane in his carry-on bag at Logan. What, pray tell, is the purpose of the nakee body imaging machines if hikers are getting away with such unintentional shenanigans?)

I actually only have 441 miles to go now, and I’ve made it to New Hampshire, the penultimate state. Affordable lodging is scarce in these parts, but some hiker friends and I got lucky and happened upon the phone number of a trail angel who takes in hikers FOR FREE! Tonight we get showers, laundry, kitchen privelages, and the opportunity to sleep under four walls and a roof. That’s not too shabby, especially since we’ve been slogging through rain and mud for the past two days. The sun’s out now, though, and we’ll hike out tomorrow ready to tackle the Whites, the 100 Mile Wilderness, and Katahdin.