One Hundred Mile Wilderness

A zillion years ago .. Another lifetime ..

A group of us were sitting around a camp fire drinking cold beers after a day hiking in the White Mountains. Somebody was talking about a hike they dreamed of making. 'The One Hundred Mile Wilderness' it was called. The last 100 miles of the Appalachian Trail through the back woods of Maine. The longest stretch of the entire AT without passing through a town or even crossing a paved road. We all agreed it sounded awesome. A month later 2 of us were on it!

My friend Tom made all the arrangements. We took the subway from my apartment in Somerville to South Station, then a bus to Portland, and then an arranged ride to a little town called Monson. I remember feeling silly carrying a fully loaded backback onto the T. It weighed 45 pounds, but it felt more like 100.

There was a boarding house in Monson that accomodated AT hikers. They provided a comfortable bed, a hot shower and terrific meals. Plus we got to meet the real hikers; the guys who had started 2100 miles away in Georgia, months before, and were on the final leg of their journey - to the AT trail terminus on the summit of Mount Katahdin. Those guys had a million stories to tell!


The One Hundred Mile Wilderness passes through a beautiful New England forest, across pristine rivers and streams, and over uncrowded mountains with terrific views. It is well marked and maintained, superbly so when you consider how inaccessible it is. It really is a beautiful place.
  

Tom had detailed maps and he'd planned well. There are lean-to's every 10 miles or so. We'd try to spend the nights in or around these shelters. There would be a river, creek or spring nearby; and other hikers. We didn't have the best gear, but we had what we needed. We had made arrangements to meet friends in Baxter State Park, at the other end of the trail, for our ride home. It was late summer. Our chances of success were good.

The first couple days were rough. The pack was SO heavy. And I wasn't in the best of shape. I had serious doubts about walking the full 100 miles and began thinking about bailing out at the lumber road we'd cross half way in. Tom complained less but had a bigger problem. His feet were blistering. And, after a day of walking in the rain, developed a nasty rash. But he toughed it out. As we progressed north, the packs got lighter, the hills became more gentle and we got used to it.
It became fun.

What else do I remember of my long ago hike? I remember being tired. On top of the walking, we needed to filter our water, prepare our meals, set up tents, bathe, and be cafeful to keep our critical gear dry. I remember enjoying the feeling of getting far away from everything. I remember standing atop a nameless mountain, looking for miles over green forest and seeing no sign of civilization. I remember walking for a mile behind a giant moose. I remember sitting along a river bank in the middle of nowhere watching beavers swim and play. I remember talking to complete strangers who were genuinely happy to see another person. I remember spending 8 days with a good friend. And I remember the wonderful sense of accomplishment from completing a great journey!