Maine... Part the Second.

The day after I entered Maine I hiked through Mahoosuc Notch.  For those of you who don't know, Mahoosuc Notch is a notoriously difficult (or fun, depending on your perspective) stretch of trail lasting 1.3 miles.  It's literally a jumbled boulder field crammed in between two cliffs, complete with a sporadic stream that surfaces and dives below the surface of the boulders.  Approaching Mahoosuc Notch I kept hearing stories of how the Notch ended the hikes for many an aspiring thru-hiker, or at least delayed the finishing date, through a variety of slips, trips, falls, breaks, and sprains.  My time through the Notch was filled with the first three, but thankfully, not the last two (although I did have one terrifying moment where I slipped backwards and briefly got stuck with my leg above my head in a rather uncomfortable position).  It took me 2 hours to carefully negotiate my way across the boulders, through the caves, and down the steep inclines.

 This is the first thing I saw when I got into Mahoosuc Notch.  

Not a very auspicious sign, if you ask me.

Carefully picking my way through a tight spot.

Ditto.

Anyhow, to amuse myself as I slowly picked my way through the boulders, I made up slogans for the Notch.

• Mahoosuc Notch: Don't you wish you were an ultralight backpacker?
• Mahoosuc Notch: Not a good place to encounter a bear.
• Mahoosuc Notch: Don't you wish the last 2,000 miles hadn't sapped all of your upper body strength?
• Mahoosuc Notch: Put on a pair of pants because wearing a dress isn't a good idea. 
• Mahoosuc Notch: Just when you think it can't get any more dangerous, start bouldering over a river!
• Mahoosuc Notch: It's a difficult five mile hike out, so try not to get hurt. Please.

I should mention that despite everything written above, Mahoosuc Notch was tremendously fun.  I'm looking forward to doing that section of trail some time in the future, only this time with a day pack and a pair of pants (as it turns out, dresses don't really provide much protection against scratches from rocks).  It's funny- all the negative hype about the Notch didn't live up to the reality, proving, once again, that I shouldn't listen to over-reacting thru-hikers who like to complain.

Or so I thought.

Maine, as it turns out, has been really hard (which is what I've been hearing all along, but have been choosing to ignore).  It's been a combination of the terrain and the weather, but the last week, Mahoosuc Notch aside, has been SLOW going.  I think that the double combination- not being able to do big mile days because the terrain is challenging, and being soaked to the bone on a regular basis is really making this portion of the trip trying.  I like doing big miles- it makes me feel productive and good about myself.  I mean, at the end of a 25 mile day back in Pennsylvania I remember thinking: 25 miles- that's FANTASTIC!  And here, in Maine, with nearly 2,000 miles behind me, I can barely manage to do 14 mile days.  At my worst moments, I feel like a bit of a failure, and at my best, I wonder what's wrong with me.  (Note to self: I'm doing fine. Stop over thinking.)

As you can imagine, the wet weather hasn't been making the challenging terrain any easier.  Yesterday, when confronted with, literally, a two feet deep river running down the trail, I finally gave up the pretense of trying to keep my feet dry, hiked up my dress, and waded right in.  Oddly enough, this simple act of giving up and letting things be what they were, made me feel quite better (as did the angry teenage boy music I was playing on my ipod). 

This is the trail.  The water is two feet deep.  The 

whole area is flooded, so finding an alternate path

is not an option.

I knew from the start that Maine was going to be wet, but I had thought that it would be limited to river fording, which is what Maine is known for.  I've forded three rivers already- the first two were time consuming affairs, where I took off my shoes and socks, put on my crocs, carefully picked my way across shin deep water, dried off my feet, and put my shoes and socks back on.  This last time, however, because I'd given up trying to keep my feet dry (and because the river was flooding and I knew I'd want the stability of shoes to negotiate the scary-fast current), I just waded right on in.

 Bearbait, fording a rapidly rushing river.  Yup.  Those

are white water rapids you see in the background.

The other day I got into my tent after an appallingly windy and rainy day, feeling mildly hypothermic from sitting outside in the wet to eat dinner, and after snuggling into my (thankfully) dry sleeping bag, got hit on the head with a drop of water from my leaking tent tarp.  Knowing that I couldn't simply ignore the problem (being royally screwed if my sleeping bag were to get wet), I had to get back out of my tent and mess around with it for 5 minutes in the dark (and rain) to get it to stop leaking.  When I got back into my sleeping bag, more damp and cold than before, I realized that there are some things that I'm really looking forward to, once I'm done with the trail:

• Not relying on a thin piece of nylon to keep me dry at night while sleeping.
• Not having to put on wet shoes in the morning.  Ditto wet sock liners, wet socks, and a wet dress.
• Cooking with real food, instead of instant stuff.
• Washing my hands.
• Feeling feminine.
• Sheets.
• Being overly warm.  
• Not wearing the same dress every day for six months.

 But enough complaining.  Maine has been off it's rocker gorgeous, and I've been loving that.  Fall is in the air, and it's been beautiful to see the faintest hints of autumn begin to emerge in the forest.  On Sunday while hiking with friends I came across an abandoned cabin on a pond, and we hung out there for several hours, poking around, and eating lunch.  Eventually we found a leaky canoe nearby, and using boards for oars, we took it for a spin. Learning to take advantage of the small moments is what doing the trail is all about, right?

The leaves are just barely starting to lose their green color.

Speck Pond.

I forget what mountain this is, but it was rocky and bald and a good scramble.

So that's the news from the trail.  I'm doing okay, but am sensing that I'm getting ready to be done.  Six months is a long time to live in the woods.  I've got a direction home, and it's north.  Time to keep on trucking.