The Sixth Blaze: The Hard Made It Great

Date: July 31

Exploration: Appalachian Trail southbound from Reddington Stream Campsite to Saddleback Mountain, Maine

Station: 14 Bethel Outdoor Adventure & Campground, Bethel

Meet Roger – Adventurous Cane

Our trail itinerary – White Blazes

Read Part I – Awaiting Inchworms

Part II – Rain, Privacy and Messes

Part III – Farther than Possible

Part IV – The Bare Expanse

Part V – Electrolytes

Abby on the summit of The Horn

There was an aroma in the tent as the earliest rays of light brightened the ceiling. It was the scent of armpit, feet, mildew, and earth. I could have used a ruler to measure the length of my leg hair, my ponytail must have taken a motor oil dunk, and my nails may have cuddled moles. My body was gross, but my heart was cleansed—this was the pigsty of a becoming backpacker.

When I hoisted my pack over my shoulders, I felt eagerness and adrenaline to reach summit air. I recognized that feeling, but I now felt it as a backpacker, and Saddleback Mountain had my name on it. Well, maybe just my fumes, but I was ready to be there.

As we climbed out of the woods and back onto the steep granite, I felt like I was finally ready for the test. I put my upper body forward, keeping my pace swift like a Clydesdale putting its weight into a harness. With the cramps eased from my feet and eliminated from my stomach, I had the desire to go again. I wanted it—I didn’t dread it—and desire can make the weakest muscles strong.

This time, I reached the summit of The Horn with my companions, Paul and Roger, and we high-fived for the first victory. And this time when I saw our next mountain, Saddleback, I still felt eagerness not dread.

The summit of The Horn with Saddleback Mountain in the background

That was until I stood at the base of a huge boulder wondering how the white blazes could go from my feet to way up there. Paul even looked around trying to determine the safest. He found it, and showed Roger, who fearlessly ascended in the same steps. This would be the hardest of the climbing I’d encountered, especially because we were on an exposed mountainside with views as far as the eye could see making potential falls seem scarier. Maybe the trees weren’t so bad, I thought.

Paul leaned over the rock and pointed to where I should put my feet and hands. I didn’t like it, so I looked around trying to determine a more Abby-friendly route, but pussyfooting until I found another way seemed more exhausting than climbing where Paul directed. I put my feet and hands right where he pointed, and soon I was on the boulder with him and Roger.

I could have felt the dread again when we needed to make a three-foot boulder hop. I could have seen down in between the boulders, just like I had at Pedestal Rocks, but as Paul put out his hand, I took it without question—I just hopped. Soon it became apperent just how much energy I’d wasted over the years worrying about where to step instead of just stepping.

Maybe it was bravery and maybe it was mental fatigue, but I was finally finding my feet on this tough trail. I remembered Jennifer Pharr Davis’ words at her talk: “Maine prides itself on being the hardest state on the Appalachian Trail.” On Saddleback Junior, I could have cussed at Maine’s cockiness, but now I felt proud that this was my home state, that I was hiking through its toughest section, that I was hiking across the summit of Saddleback Mountain.

Roger and Paul on Saddleback Mountain, the photograph that validated carrying my DSLR camera (But next backpacking trip, that heavy thing stays home!)

From the summit of Saddleback Mountain, it seemed like I could have seen both ends of the Appalachian Trail, Katahdin to the north and Springer to the south in Georgia. I could see the dream again of backpacking from end to end. Every moment to get there seemed worth it—soaked in a rain storm, sick on the trail, ripping my pants, the pains in my feet and knees, even tracking disgust into my tent. Jennifer was right: The hard makes it great.

Looking northbound on the Appalachian Trail at the mountains we climbed

Just then, two hikers dropped their packs near mine. I looked up to see their beards and greasy complexion. They were thru-hikers, I’d learn, and they performed a victory dance and gave each other high-fives. I thought of the hiker I’d met on the first day, how fatigued and cranky he appeared. Maybe it was the mountain high, but these hikers were thrilled, not beat down. I realized I could relate to each of them. I saw how difficult the trail was, how it made me struggle and rethink why I was there; and I also felt the mountain high, elation from completion. I couldn’t relate to what it was like to backpack that many miles, but I knew for sure that I wanted to backpack again.

Wait—what was in my head? Again? Had my memory and know-better fallen off Saddleback? Yes, I did: I wanted to backpack again.

Hike the Appalachian Trail with 1,000 Miles: A.T. tags

Thank you for exploring America with 1,000 MILES!

Follow 1,000 Miles:

Facebook  -  Google+  -  Flickr  - YouTube

© Abigail Austin 2011-2013

All rights reserved

Rangeley on Dwellable