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Moving up in the world: Climbing Mt. Rainier

Sun, 05 Jun 2011 20:38:00 GMT

Preface

An elemental part of me has always been attracted to mountains. To me the sight of a snow-capped peak symbolizes a certain level of wildness and commitment to adventure that other environments rarely provide. Last spring I hiked an extended section of the Appalachian Trail in Maine. Preparing for the trek gave me focus and a desire to progress forward. Months after I completed my walk in the wilds of Maine, I began to sense a void in my life. I had nothing that I was moving toward. My success on the trail inflated my ambition and I was soon pondering a more committing, audacious adventure. I wanted to move up in the world and test myself on a true mountain. Something with glaciers, bulk, and formidable size. This eliminated anything in the east, and I eventually ended up throwing caution to the wind and focusing on the most glaciated peak in the contiguous United States: Mount Rainier.

Last December I received a note from an old high school friend who invited me to go skiing. I obliged, and it took less than 15 minutes for me to blurt out the details of my next adventure. The excitement was likely apparent as I outlined my intentions, and there was evidently enough energy behind my descriptions to convince Matthew to join me. Up until this point, I had been operating under the pretense that I would be pursuing this objective alone. A majority of my friends lack interest in such activities, or cannot afford them. Matt was the rare case that didn't fall into both categories.

With a new goal in mind, I began to prepare. It took many months to schedule everything, purchase necessary gear, and physically train for the climb. As a somewhat excessively detail-oriented individual, I tracked all expenses, purchases, and dates with the utmost care. I can tell you exactly how much I paid for the entire trip, to rent gear, or to purchase food. This is a process that I go through so as to not mask the true cost of such adventures. It's easy to lose sight of the expenses these trips incur since the costs are distributed over long periods of time. Organization pays off in other ways as well. I returned and exchanged many items that I purchased, and the organization of receipts and tags made this a smooth process.

Training was considerably more rigorous than my plan for my wilderness trek. I ran 3-4 times a week, sometimes for an hour. I also began to do more technical climbing in a nearby bouldering gym to work on core and upper-body strength. I dislike going into any activity entirely blind, so I arranged to take two mountaineering courses through Eastern Mountain Sports (EMS) that also included an ascent of Mt. Washington in February. I learned all of the basic mountaineering skills and felt much more confident about all the technical aspects of the larger climb to come. Once the time came to leave for Seattle, I was in the best shape of my life. My scrawny 130lb body had bulged to almost 150lbs.

To prepare, I took a few mountaineering classes and climbed Mt. Washington in February

Our flight departed from Cincinnati around 9:30AM, and we landed at a mere 10:42AM in Seattle due to the three hour time change. We were shuttled to and from the airport by Luis and Mike (respectively) who both work for the Bellevue branch of the company that I work for. This saved us the monetary hit of renting a car, but it severely limited us in terms of mobility once in Ashford. After checking into the bunk room at Whittaker's Bunkhouse, we began our first stretch of boredom. We had flown in with a day to spare, since I had planned on one buffer day on each side of the trip. We learned to play a card game named Cuarenta (forty), and even made our own variation of it. Even so, the next few days dragged on forever. After we picked up our rental gear I remember looking at one another and then Matt saying “Let's just go up! We have all the gear!”. Every hour or so we would go outside to scan the horizon and look for any signs of The Mountain, but it never revealed itself among the ever-present blanket of clouds that brought such unpredictable weather to Ashford.

Back to school

When participating in a Rainier Mountaineering (RMI) guided program, it consists of an orientation, a snow school, and the climb itself. At the orientation, the guides give an introduction to the program and verify that the team participants have the necessary gear. Each participant also introduces themselves to the group. The experience of individuals varied, but I was happy to find that I didn't identify anyone that I was concerned about. Numerous participants were marathon (and ultra-marathon, mind you) runners, and a handful had prior climbing experience as well. After everyones gear was thoroughly inspected and approved, we all retreated to our rooms and anxiously waited for the following morning to come when we would finally get on the lower slopes of the mountain.

Before RMI lets you haplessly wander up the mountain, they require that program participants complete a one day snow school that covers the basics of mountaineering. This considerably lowers the liability that clients my pose to guides and themselves once they are roped up on the more dangerous slopes and glaciers found on the upper reaches of the mountain. I enjoyed the training day, and the only new skills were those involved in rope travel. During the training we got our first glimpse of the upper mountain through a break in the clouds. It elicited both excitement and apprehension.

Snow school with Thomas (pictured) and JJ

Our group appeared strong. The amount of praise being distributed to our two teams was seemingly excessive, but I agreed that we all seemed focused and dialed in to our objective. The day ended by walking down to the parking lot in crampons. After the days conclusion, there were some final words from our guides before we were released to relax and mentally prepare for the next two grueling days. I opted to consume the majority of a pizza on my own, where I saw the somewhat famous Peter Whittaker. He seemed occupied, so I stayed focused on my food while he drove off in what I believe was a Chevy Cruze.

The climb

Still yet to fully adjust to the time change, I was up well before it was necessary to be on the first day of the climb. I took my time packing and eating then relaxed for a short while before gearing up and heading out. The weather was looking bleak in Ashford. I had let go of the annoying concept of using garbage bags for my gear, but a small fear of moisture grabbed hold of me as the guides seemed to advocate the use of a garbage bag. I grabbed one but never used it. The drive up to Paradise yielded ever-improving conditions until we were free of any precipitation. We left the parking lot with low visibility. After only an hour, the heat was oppressive and everyone was down to their base layer and climbing pant. As the morning turned to the early afternoon we progressed upwards by placing one foot in front of the other thousands of times. Each step up revealed more of the mountain, and the skies cleared to give us a clear look at our objective. Eventually, Camp Muir was visible and it seemed to be mere minutes away. At such a large scale, and with few reference points, the distance was misleading. It took over a half an hour to reach the small cluster of buildings that seemed so close.

The peaks of the Tatoosh range often pierced the veil of clouds

Our first full-featured view of Mt. Rainier while hiking up to Camp Muir

Resting between pushes up to Camp Muir

Our team was moving like a well-oiled machine

Taking one of our final breaks before reaching Camp Muir

The first hour at Camp Muir was somewhat confusing. Part of you wants nothing more than to drop your pack, lay down, and rest. Not necessarily because you are tired, but because you know that you've just done the easy part and every bit of energy you can conserve will improve your performance for the climb through the night. On the other hand, you want to drink lots of water, eat food, unpack your backpack, make a claim of where you will “sleep”, go over what gear you'll need, re-pack your backpack, choose your snacks, dry your socks, and so many other little things. Being the near obsessive compulsive individual that I am, I kept busy by making lists and shifting my packing strategies to accommodate the oncoming summit attempt.

The stone buildings of Camp Muir

My choice for dinner was macaroni and cheese. I should have stuck with my more standard ramen noodles with a bagel. Either way, there was the issue of what to do with the extra liquids from my meal. The hardcore way is to drink any excess from your food preparation. After some repeated gagging I had most of my hyper-diluted, orange-tinted, now cold cheese water out of the picture. I should have utilized my cooking system from Maine wherein I simply cooked in a thick quart-sized plastic bag and ate out of it. Any remains you did not want were simply stored in the re-sealed bag. I'm not sure what prompted the sudden change. Luckily, I had brought a peanut butter bagel which I enjoyed thoroughly.

Early after arriving at Camp Muir I had made my bedding claim to the least accessible bottom bunk space that was closest to the door. I had foolishly brought a rather aggressively rated sleeping bag and was concerned I was going to fry given the small volume of the bunk house. It was hard to access, but I could still get in and out without stepping on someone. I also had plenty of extra room to dump gear I deemed impossible to leave outside. I did as much as I could to prepare for the final leg of the climb, and once 6pm rolled around everyone began the desperate process of trying to gain some strength by attempting to sleep. Most of us had drank an unearthly amount of water to re-hydrate and combat the effects of the altitude. It came as no surprise that every five to ten minutes the door to the bunk house would open and drag across the iced entrance floor. While there was no true sleep, there were stretches of time that I could not account for where I was in some ill-defined no man's land between consciousness and sleep.

The door flew open and the sound of numerous pairs of hard mountaineering boots alerted everyone that this wasn't a weary sleep-deprived climber returning from one of the now standard restroom breaks. It was a bit after midnight and the time had come. I was not feeling fantastic, but I felt well considering I seemed to have shaken the headache I was grappling with when I first arrived at Camp Muir. I managed to consume a dual serving of oatmeal in the hut, though it wasn't easy. I stepped outside into the dark. The flurry of motion was evident in the gleaming white LED-powered beams that were darting from side to side as climbers prepared their backpacks and roped up. A little past 1AM all of the teams began their march upwards.

The ground danced with headlamp beams as we all readied to climb through the night

The first hours went by with disturbing haste. At night and in the dark, my world was reduced to a small sphere illuminated by my headlamp. Every so often I would power it up to it's maximum capacity only to have the light swallowed by an unmentionable void. Our team would verbally reassure each other sporadically, though we seldom communicated. Only when some hazard posed a threat to climbers behind us was the silence broken. It became colder and colder, and soon I was regretting my decision to deviate from my original plan to use a mid-weight pant base layer on summit day.

A weary climber (me) side-stepping up a moderate slope in the darkness of night (Photo by Kel Rossiter)

Dawn eventually came and brought some much-desired warmth to some chilled climbers (Photo by Kel Rossiter)

There's only one place to go: up! Me with Little Tahoma featured in the background (Photo by Kel Rossiter)

Eventually, the darkness yielded to dawn. The ambient light seemed to change hue and intensity by the minute as the bleached white landscape shifted between shades of blue, gray, and soft orange. My world steadily grew until the sun was above the horizon and I could see the grand scale of the mountain. We had progressed upward further than any other team in the past week had managed. Without an established route past approximately 12,000ft, the teams in the lead were required to kick steps to establish a safe path to move upwards on. Forced to take our high break early by a sizable crevasse above 13,000ft, we sat down for what would become a rather extended break. The snow bridge that had provided the safest crossing was decaying rapidly as climbers worked their way up it.

We take a rest at high break (me on the left) (Photo by Kel Rossiter)

While sitting down during our extended break, I was suddenly overcome by a short episode of nausea. My body had been performing up until this point, and I was somewhat surprised at its complaint. I began to feel cold as we waited for our turn to cross and climb the crevasse. Many other climbing teams began to enter the queue from other guiding agencies. Jokes likening the scene to the Hillary Step on Everest began to circulate. At one point I decided to put my hard shell pants on, which proved to be a mistake as the effort it took and the body contortion required to put them on ended up reviving the feeling of nausea that I had quelled earlier. Then our turn came on the crevasse. When I received the signal I made my first attempt to make the initial high step onto the bottom of the other side of the crevasse. The foot hold disintegrated as I placed weight on it. For my second attempt, I wrapped my arm around the fixed line that had been placed, which ended with a newer foot hold disappearing. My glasses had now fogged and I could hardly distinguish details in the white in front of me. My hard shell pants had sagged down below my waste and I suddenly felt less than comfortable.

Another wave of nausea came over me. I began to worry about my condition. I was confident that I could drag myself up the slope to the top, but at what cost? My body seemed to be screaming no, and I considered the situation in more detail. There were clouds coming in, dozens of climbers and teams that would have to get both up and down this part of the route, my health seemed questionable, and my position was currently precarious. I had to make a decision. With a forced hand, I conceded and was escorted down from the crevasse by another guide. Without a doubt, I could have continued on in spite of these difficulties. To do so would have been selfish and not in the best interest of the safety of myself or the team. It would be easy to characterize my choice as a defeat, but I saw it as more of a necessity to maintain an acceptable level of safety. I learned that I had company with another climber who had made a similar decision.

This is what the large crevasse above 13,000ft looked like (Photo by Kel Rossiter)

I watched the rest of my rope team proceed safely across and up the obstacle as I was transferred in, out of, and between prusiks, lines and anchors in order to be brought back down to safety. I had brought only one locking carabiner, which turned out to be a regrettable decision on more than just this occasion. In only moments I had to shift my mindset from moving up to moving down. My addition to the rope team heading down did provide for a larger margin of error. With three of us on the rope, the degree of safety was undoubtedly higher than with only two climbers on the rope. While going down, I was given the lead for some time, but once the terrain became more varied and broken I was relieved from the lead and placed in the back as anchor. As we weaved down the Ingraham Glacier, I could finally see the dangers that were invisible during the dark hours of the early morning. I had been somewhat relaxed about moving down until I mentally acknowledged the threat that these posed to our small rope team.

The cloud deck was following us down and it wasn't long before the radio crackled. All of the teams had turned back only a few hundred feet above the difficult crevasse crossing due to poor visibility. Details were sparse, but we also learned that another climber had punched through the surface into a crevasse. Their high point was around 13,800ft. Our small team continued down until we got to one of the sketchier portions of the route that involved a running belay. As I brought up the rear I had to unclip the rope from the snow stake and stow the carabiner. I found myself somewhat dissatisfied with the fact that I had to use both hands to remove the rope from the carabiner, which required I let go of my only protection (my ice axe driven into the slope). If I had a short sling or runner I could have quickly girth hitched my belay loop and given myself that extra sense of protection by using the ice axe as an anchor.

For the most part, our descent was without incident and the rope team arrived back in Camp Muir after getting blasted by some moderate winds just prior to passing through Cathedral Gap and onto the Cowlitz Glacier. Knowing that the rest of the climbers would soon arrive at Camp Muir , I focused on re-hydrating and preparing my gear for the descent down to Paradise. We learned that they were in very reduced visibility and high winds. Their descent took hours longer than ours, even though they had only proceeded an extra few hundred vertical feet. Despite no one tagging the top, the mood seemed positive. Everyone was safe, and no one could say that their trip was without adventure. The descent down to Paradise was quick, only taking a bit over two hours.

The shuttle took us back to Ashford where there was a ceremonious presentation of certificates to everyone who had participated. Then it was over. All the planning, effort, and training I had focused on in the past months had coalesced into what happened over the past 30 or so hours. We would pass the remaining time in Ashford slowly as we waited for our ride back to Seattle for our red eye flight the next day.

Afterthoughts

Most important to me is what I would do differently based on what I learned from this climb. The easiest way to organize these changes is in bulleted form. I would...

Purchase a buff for $20 (it just seems too versatile to not have)
Bring my own tent to relax and sleep in (as crazy as that sounds)
Use another insulating layer such as a light primaloft jacket in place of the soft shell
Return to my now-standard food plan and cook in disposable bags to make trash/waste management easier
Stick with the normal fatty/salty options that I have utilized in the past for snacks
Schedule the flights with less buffer time
Bring more things to occupy free time
Utilize dry bags for any important items that couldn't get wet and ditch the garbage bag concept entirely
Add a bit more to my rack such as a a few extra lockers and slings
Use water bottle insulators to keep the liquids from turning to slush (which made it hard to stay hydrated)
Consider bringing a mid-weight base layer pant

Most of my outdoor experiences have been in the company of only myself or few others. I was taken aback by the number of people moving up and down the mountain. Camp Muir was busier than a city bus stop. One of the primary reasons I go outdoors is to feel distant from everything normal and safe in everyday life. Increasing my distance from people, work, and the comforts of modern life leads to a simplification unlike any other I have found. Unfortunately, the brevity of the climb and the proximity to others detracted significantly from these feelings I have come to seek over the past years. This isn't to say that I was in any way disappointed with the experience, nor is it saying that I would not pursue anything similar again.

To me, climbing is about learning. Whether it's a single pitch sport route or a week long expedition to a craggy peak. From a distance, it may appear that physical strength forms the basis of a good climber. The truth, I believe, is that the game is more of a mental exercise than anything else. Planning, preparing, and progressing forward requires mental resolve above all. I didn't make it to the top, and neither did any of the other climbers that day. It would be rash to say it was a waste of time when considering what was achieved. Early on, after I made the decision to climb Rainier, I resolved that I would much rather have an unsuccessful climb that was adventurous and challenging than a stairway to the summit, and I am happy to have received just that.

Goodbye, Mt. Rainier!

If you enjoyed my account of climbing Mt. Rainier and have copious amounts of free time consider reading my entries about my hike of the 100 mile wilderness in Maine. Many of the pictures I used in this log were taken by Kel Rossiter of Adventure Spirit Guides. Guide Jeff "JJ" Justman also used a GoPro helmet cam to capture some of the climb, view it on his facebook page here.

JVC Everio GZ-MS110, Ubuntu 10.04 and AviDemux

Wed, 09 Feb 2011 22:33:00 GMT

Last summer I purchased a webcam from Best Buy and quickly found myself generally appalled at the quality. I wish I had known then, but the best bet nowadays for creating quick videos is likely a camcorder. Once I had come to realize this, I started keeping an eye out for cheap camcorders. I lost interest until recently, when I decided that I would need one to enter a contest that involves the submission of a two minute video. After a week of research I had gotten nowhere. Every camera I would find would have the same average weighted rating which fell somewhere between amazing and desperately inadequate. I gave up and just decided to choose a camera that had the features I needed and go from there. I'm not making the next Avatar here.

I eventually found a JVC Everio GZ-MS110 that was on sale for $130. It had the basic feature set that I wanted including a time lapse function and the ability to swap out SD cards. I purchased it at a local HHGregg (first item I ever purchased from this store -- I have no complaints). I'm not going to thoroughly review this camera, but I do want to go over a few tricks to get better video output from these cheap camcorders on Linux (though the same techniques should apply to other operating systems).

It's not much to look at, but it's as compact and light as they come

The most annoying aspect of nearly all camcorders that aren't HD ready is that they will, almost without doubt, not support recording progressive scan video. Deinterlacing becomes a must when dealing with video from these sources. The second peeve I have is that they can't seem to use logical storage formats and containers. JVC cameras create MOD and TOD files which are truly MPEG2 data with AAC audio, but a lot of lesser video players struggle with them. It appears that the way their header data is stored all but hides the aspect ratio the file was recorded with (with the GZ-MS110 you can choose 4:3 or 16:9) which causes many players to display the file incorrectly. Luckily, most media programs on Linux have some relation to ffmpeg or gstreamer, both of which seem to read these files properly. I had no issue transferring these files. I tested the mini-USB port on the camera and Ubuntu 10.04 recognized the device as a MSC controller giving me access to the files. I also was able to simply remove the SD card and read the data that way. I enjoy devices that work simply like this, which is why I also enjoy my Creative Zen X-FI 2.

Rather than go through the motions of explaining how I process the video from this camcorder with long ffmpeg commands, I thought I'd show how to do it using AviDemux. This is useful if your goal is to put these videos onto sharing sites like Facebook, YouTube, or Vimeo as well as if you are looking to do some basic editing with the output. If you're on Ubuntu, you can get it through the software, if you're on a Debian-based distribution you can likely get it using the following in a terminal:

$ sudo apt-get install avidemux

Quick overview of some settings to get clear output from AviDemux

AviDemux will read the MOD files and build an index of the frames (click yes when it asks). For my purposes, I plan to edit the clips on my computer and have chosen to use a lossless video codec (Huffyuv). Unfortunately, AviDemux does not currently have FLAC support which would be my choice for audio. I lowered myself to use a very high quality MP3 since it's very compatible with most programs. You could choose to use a PCM waveform as well. If you need the file size to be smaller, I suggest using an XviD or H.264 profile. The important part happens with the filters. The order of these are important. The first filter I use is the yadif filter (Yet Another DeInterlace Filter), followed by a sharpen, and then a resize down to 640x360. This resize is not necessary and many would say that I am degrading the quality by doing so. I find that the bilinear re-sampling actually removes a lot of noise from the output.

Uncompressed versions for comparison: original afterwards.

I am satisfied with the results. For only twice as much as I paid for a webcam I have made leaps and bounds in terms of quality. Not to mention it's a lot easier to interface with. Other comments on the camera: The sound recording on it is better than I anticipated and it handled loud music in a car easily -- this camera may be a good investment for concert filmers. The battery on it lasts only an hour, despite claims of lasting up to two. I have lowered the LCD brightness as much as possible with little gain in recording time. Some quick research showed that an extra battery was -- at the cheapest -- $60! That's nearly half the price of the camera. In conclusion, the JVC Everio GZ-MS110 is definitely a budget standard definition camera, but I can't see why most users wouldn't find it a good deal for the prices it is available for. If you don't need zoom and time lapse capabilities, the Flip Ultra HD is by far one of the best camcorders for online socialites interested in posting videos onto YouTube and Facebook.

Suunto Core Extreme Edition Silver

Sun, 09 Jan 2011 13:33:00 GMT

This post marks the first post in a new category that I am calling gear reviews. While I'm calling it "reviews" I expect most of it will merely be considerations, impressions, and comments. Two months ago I purchased a Suunto Core Extreme Edition Silver ABC (an altimeter, barometer and compass). When I was hiking in Maine this last summer I found myself pouring over the trail maps constantly attempting to assess my current location more accurately. I realized that without knowing an approximate elevation that my guess was that and only that -- a guess.

There are two methods of electronic measurement that can provide elevation estimates. The least expensive and more popular method is that of the ABC which uses barometric pressure to approximate altitude. One positive aspect of this method is that you also end up carrying around a miniature weather station that can provide ample warning of incoming low pressure systems which can potentially care precipitation. Conversely, these same changes in pressure that occur due to large air masses flowing over the landscape can cause the altimeter and barometer readings to be largely inaccurate. It is because of this that an accurate altitude reading depends greatly on the frequency and consistency of calibration. Many GPS-based watches provide an altitude reading, but these are often intentionally scrambled for safety precautions and are often less accurate than ABC devices. The most advanced devices use both a pressure sensor and GPS to constantly calibrate and approximate elevation.

Most wrist-based altimeters have an enormous face

Suunto has made an plethora of different varieties of it's Core model. The first ABC I purchased was a HighGear Alterra from Campmor. Not only was it sent to me with a dead battery, but the altimeter and barometer did not even work! I was sent a dead watch. From the appearance of the box, it looked like it had been relaxing in a warehouse for years. I decided that I had to take my game to the next level. If I have learned one thing from spending oodles of money on outdoor gear it's that you must make price not an objective. It's better to search for gear that you like, or that is of high quality, then worry about finding a good deal on it.

With that in mind, I began to scope out deals on Suunto Core watches. I eventually made a purchase of an all-black military design with a negative display. The watch performed and worked wonderfully, but it was terribly hard to read in most lighting scenarios. It was for this reason that I exchanged it for the Suunto Core Extreme Edition Silver. This watch has a much more modest face that is a bit less thick than the normal core edition and lacks most of the distractions of the normal Core face. Setting up the Core is so easy. I didn't even have to read the manual. It has a limited set of functions, but they are all intuitive and easy to use. Some of the reset actions are not as intuitive as the normal user interface browsing, but all in all it's a terrific interface. Contrast this with the interface on the Alterra which had far too many features to ever be easy to use. Extra ski chronometers and excessive alarms further complicates setup on the Alterra.

The major pros of the Suunto Core include a disturbingly accurate altimeter and barometer, an easy to read face, the storm alarm, and the directional compass. I am never more than 1hPa off from the measurements made at the nearby airport and the altimeter accuracy of 1m typically leads to results within 5-10ft of the true elevation. The storm alarm has successfully beeped at me before more than three quarters of most significant snowfalls here in Kentucky. Using the directional compass assisted me in some field work I had to do for a project that I recently finished focusing on landslides in the region. Cons are few and far between. The primary downside to this timepiece is it's enormous face. This is common amongst ABC watches, though. I would like to see a dual-alarm setup that would allow for both a morning and afternoon alarm, as well.

Bottom line: I can't wait until I get to try this thing out on a few real trips. I've been adding significantly to my winter gear collection and hope to do a few winter trips this year along with a few other "big" trips which are still coming together. Suunto did a wonderful job on this upgrade to their already successful Core line.

No, that's not a real piano

Sun, 05 Dec 2010 22:04:00 GMT

Over ten years ago the Internet was more of a playground for me than anything else. I would spend time downloading small games (often less than a megabyte), cool pictures, and, of course, music. Since audio compression technology had quite a way to come before we could fool users into thinking that a 3MB audio file was just as acceptable as a lossless waveform and the majority of users were entering the information superhighway using a dial up connection, MIDI files were prolific. I collected them, often searching for one where someone had merged just the right kinds of fake instrument sounds to give it somewhat of a semblance to the original song. People were making MIDI files of everything from the Pokemon theme song to "Tearin' Up My Heart" by *Nsync. It was exciting at the time.

MIDI files had one huge downside: they depended almost entirely on your sound card and your soundfont. Getting a new sound card or a new computer would make your MIDI files sound different. It surely made for an interesting time when your favorite MIDI file suddenly sounded less awesome. MIDI has been around a long time and it's an amazing protocol but it was simply never meant to be used to share songs. The real purpose of MIDI is to provide a standard transport protocol for musical data. This most often applies to digital keyboards, though other instruments often utilize MIDI as well.

Most mid to high-end digital keyboards have a MIDI connection (either a classic connection or the now more favored USB pass through). The major downside to most affordable digital pianos is that they just do not sound like a piano. In order to provide a more affordable alternative to purchasing that Steinway D, massive sample-based virtual instruments began to appear on the market. When I say massive, I mean huge. Absolutely huge. 10+ DVD huge. Often, publishers of the software recommend a dedicated hard disk. The amount of disk reads that are initiated by such software can be taxing as well. There are sample libraries available for a range of instruments. Two popular sample libraries that are at least moderately affordable are Alicia's Keys and Synthogy Ivory.

I had become somewhat disappointed with the provided pianos on my Casio Privia PX575-R and began to consider a purchase of a sample library. Unfortunately, all of the available sample libraries are Mac and Windows based and offer no Linux friendly alternative. Research led me to an interesting piece of software known as Pianoteq. After a remarkably quick download of their trial software I just looked at the executable. My desktop was populated with a 10MB executable. What I had neglected to read before I hastily downloaded the trial was that Pianoteq was different. Rather than providing a massive sample library, Pianoteq aims to model a piano. There are no pre-existing sounds in the program at all. I was impressed by the sounds of the grand pianos and the processor usage remained quite low. I had little issues with latency since I already sport a JACK-ready setup with realtime scheduling support.

10MB piano?

After being annoyed with the trial and its disabling of certain keys (along with a 20 minute time limit) I thought it was a sign that enough was enough so I forked over the cash for the program. It's about $100USD which I consider to be highly affordable for such software. I think the biggest implication of such software is that it allows those searching for a keyboard to buy simply on the feel of the keyboard (action, keys, etc) rather than the sound of the keyboard. I wish I had known of this possibility since it may have altered my purchase slightly to a Privia PX-3 or PX-130.

I came across a song called "River Flows In Yoi" by Yiruma on Youtube while perusing some piano playlists at work and found myself attracted to it. It's not the simplest song to play, but it does have a remarkably simple structure resembling that of many pop-rock songs. After I had already spent quite a bit of time teaching myself, I came to realize that this song must be more popular than 99% of the music I listen to. There literally must be an upload an hour of someone playing this song on Youtube. Somehow the song was associated with the Twilight series and I imagine that a lot of this interest surrounds this accidental association with the vampiric teen hit. Despite all of this, I still like it. It was a good test for Pianoteq, at the least.

Without doubt, it is more enjoyable to play a piano that sounds more realistic. It's more expressive and responds to the player just as much as the player responds to the piano. While there may be a few people who would be fooled by a modeled piano, I think that a real piano still cannot be replaced. Sample-based software surely has a more realistic sound, but the modeled pianos have many more interaction paths and each note can affect each other note in a way that sample-based libraries can never replicate. We've come a long way since 8-bit music on Super Mario Brothers and MIDI files of the Backstreet Boys latest hit, but I don't expect to fool many listeners with a modeled piano yet.

Music is what feelings sound like

Sun, 29 Aug 2010 22:53:00 GMT

In the home I grew up in music was everywhere. Both my mother and my father are musically gifted and both pursued their love of music when they attended college. Four years was, evidently, not enough for my father and he completed a graduate degree in music composition. As a young child I spent many hours sitting on a piano bench making compositions of my own. For some reason, my two sisters and I had a different relationship with music than our parents. All of us participated in band for a minimum of three years and learned to play instruments and read music. For all three of us, this three year internment was the extent of our formal musical journeys. My younger sister dabbled in piano lessons but for a decidedly brief period of time. Despite our choices to veer away from a life invested in the study of music, I believe that all of us still have a special relationship with it in some form or another.

Ever since I can remember, I would occasionally spend time sitting in front of our old, out of tune, and poorly maintained piano. As a young child I would even throw together sequences of notes that I would then repeat and modify to form somewhat of a pseudo-composition. For whatever reason, I always refused formal lessons. I simply didn't want the act of playing the piano to become a chore or a burden. Once I grew older, I shifted my focus toward movie scores and themes. To this day, I could probably play the chorus for a handful of movie themes off the top of my head. Playing the piano was simply a way to pass some time and provide myself with a sense of accomplishment.

Music has always captivated and affected me in a way that I feel few others experience. I find it nearly impossible to listen to an album from start to finish. I am far more likely to become enamored with the dynamics and sounds of a single song, or, in extreme circumstances, a section of a song. Take, for example, Dream Theater's “Home” from Metropolis Pt. 2: Scenes From A Memory. Few songs in my library can approach this song when comparing total plays. This obsession I develop leads to days, perhaps even weeks, where I find myself listening to the same few songs repeatedly until I know them intimately. Whether it be Jimmy Eat World's “For Me This Is Heaven”, Death Cab For Cutie's “Brother's on a Hotel Bed”, or one of many versions of “The Ponytail Parades” by Emery, there were times when I probably had the song on repeat for the better part of a week. It surely drives anyone around me insane, but for me each time the song plays I gain a better understanding of it. It is rare for this to lead to song exhaustion and it is even more unlikely for me to ever “retire” a song.

More than once I have entertained the idea of providing myself with the means to become a bit closer to music. While hiking through the wilderness of Maine I decided to give in and satisfy my curiosity. Those who know me well know that I am, at times, obsessively frugal. To make a long story short, it's hard to part me from my hard earned paycheck. Fortunately, I had already made a decision and I began to research digital pianos and electric keyboards. It quickly became obvious that I would settle for no less than weighted hammer-action keys. My hands had spent far too much time on a real piano and the disgusting feel of spring-loaded keys were more than enough to convince me that it was worth it to spend the extra money for great feeling, responsive keys. Through online research I had found that the (now discontinued) Casio Privia PX-575R's were available from multiple outlets (Guitar Center, Sam Ash) as factory refurbished models that were more than affordable. After testing one in person I was quite sure that it was the best keyboard for the money I was willing to spend. Last week I finally bit the bullet and found myself shoving a coffin-sized box into my rather small 1992 Toyota Celica. As I drove home with the gargantuan box blocking my passenger side rear view mirror I had a handful of moments where I wondered what exactly I was doing.

Isn't it pretty?

So, why the piano? I could have bought a guitar, or a set of drums, or a variety of other instruments. For me, it was a simple decision. I always felt more comfortable on the piano. I played trombone for a time and it just didn't do much for me. The piano is adaptable and can take on a variety of different sounds that convey a spectrum of emotions. Many of my favorite songs feature a piano to some degree. “Existentialism on Prom Night” by Straylight Run, “Agaetis Byrjun” by Sigur Ros, or “Forever” by Amber Pacific are all examples of this. The digital piano also gives me the options to generate over 700 unique sounds supported by over 100 rhythms.

Once I had it all setup I had to engage in a small battle with ALSA (Advanced Linux Sound Architecture) which resulted in proper piping of audio output through my computer thanks to the amazing longevity of my Audigy 2 ZS. I received the sound card as a graduation gift from high school. For computer hardware, it's age is akin to that of a gray-haired retiree living in Florida. Despite being old, the Audigy 2 ZS has been nothing short of astounding since the first day I used it. It continues to satisfy my needs and allows me to do a much cleaner recording than with a microphone or a standard line in that is found on most sound cards. Audacity works quite well for audio capture and simple tracking and I have found that using the command line based alsamixer utility is more than adequate for my needs. Having the audio piped through a workstation is very beneficial. I can record, track, play songs in the background, and have access to a much cleaner capture quality.

I love my Audigy 2 ZS!

I decided to work on learning a song and I chose the main theme from the new series “The Pacific”. I wasn't impressed with the series itself, but the main theme captivated me. The series has a beautiful score. I know my version doesn't do it justice, so be sure to check out the version by CalikoCat.

So far, I have enjoyed my investment quite a bit and I look forward to learning to play it better.

Walking 100 miles in Maine

Tue, 24 Aug 2010 00:10:00 GMT

Now that the series is complete I thought it necessary to create somewhat of a master post that aggregated all of the entries more effectively. Also included are some new photographs.

Trip planning for the 100 mile wilderness (2010-06-07 @ 22:25)
The final countdown (2010-06-13)
Trip report #1: The beginning through Day 2 (2010-06-28 @ 18:32)
Trip report #2: Day 3 through Day 5 (2010-07-04 @ 15:46)
Trip Report #3: Day 6 through Day 8 (2010-07-17 @ 00:33)
Trip report #4: Afterward and Final Thoughts (2010-08-08 @ 23:04)

1. Trip planning for the 100 mile wilderness (2010-06-07 @ 22:25)

The series begins with an overview of gear and the trip itself. Nearly every item is catalogued and the choice to bring it is rationalized.

2. The final countdown (2010-06-13

Hours before leaving, this final post documents some last minute decisions and briefly discusses the strange mixed sensation of apprehension and anticipation.

3. Trip report #1: The beginning through Day 2 (2010-06-28 @ 18:32)

Chronicles the drive up to Maine which included a stop in Connecticut, and the first two days of the hike. Notable media includes videos and photographs taken during the flight from the northern end of the wilderness to our starting point at it's extreme southern end. By the end of the second day we realize that we are not progressing at the speed which we had counted on and had underestimated the difficulty of the trail.

Right after gaining a bit of altitude as the plane left the water

A smaller waterfall hidden behind some thick vegetation

4. Trip report #2: Day 3 through Day 5 (2010-07-04 @ 15:46)

Zach's condition deteriorates as we continue to face the rough terrain in the Barren-Chairback range. I leave Zach alone on the morning of the fourth day to face the rest of the hike alone. Spectacular photographs from White Cap Mountain and its surrounding peaks. The fifth day includes 19 miles and five peaks which inflicts damage to my already damaged feet.

Awe-inspiring sunset from the top of Barren Mountain

One of many smaller peaks in the Barren-Chairback range

5. Trip Report #3: Day 6 through Day 8 (2010-07-17 @ 00:33)

I pay a visit to an infamous wilderness camp known as White House Landing. After leaving the camp, I aim to finish the remainder of the trip in two days. Without doubt, these were the most mentally challenging hiking days I have ever experienced. After eight days in the wilderness I emerge from the woods to find myself at Abol Bridge.

Maine: Lakes, mountains, and trees

Sunset over a quaint pond

The ethereal mist encountered on the final day of the hike

6. Trip report #4: Afterward and Final Thoughts (2010-08-08 @ 23:04)

After more than a month has passed since the completion of the hike I wrote this final post that reflects on the events of the trip. Originally intended to be a gear assessment, I decided to make it much more story-driven and reflective of things I experienced on the trip. Completes the series.

No skittles here

Trip report #4: Afterward and Final Thoughts

Sun, 08 Aug 2010 23:04:00 GMT

More than a month has passed since I completed my hike of the 100 mile wilderness section of the Appalachian Trail (AT) in Maine. I intentionally delayed the writing of this final report to allow myself extra time to more fully appreciate the experience I had and to contemplate both the positive and negative highlights of the trip. The most pressing question I have experienced from interested parties has been one of curiosity about whether or not I intend to pursue another trip of the same magnitude or challenge. At the moment, the answer is that I do not. While it is unlikely that I will never feel the urge to wander off into the woods and leave behind the stresses that linger around everyday life again, it must be recognized that trips of such lengths require immense planning and the investment of considerable amounts of money and time. One of the most difficult aspects of the 100 mile wilderness was resupplying (more accurately, the complete lack of) and I do not intend to ever carry eight to ten days of food again.

The first sign you see when entering the wilderness (Photo by Zach)

While the hike was a mixed bag of experiences, at the core of it was a 100 mile stretch of difficult terrain that separated two ends of a largely unpopulated area that is the most forested region of the eastern United States. This distance turned out to be about 30 miles and three days beyond my comfort zone. In todays world of hyper-civilized suburban bliss it is difficult to imagine eight days that lack some simple material objects that are often taken for granted. Detach yourself from the comfort of your current condition for a brief moment in time. Remove the roof above your head, the climate controlled temperature around you, the chair you are sitting on, and the clean clothes on your back. Instead of waking up to the sound of an alarm clock that signals the beginning of the morning commute, you arise each day when your body summons you to begin walking for no other purpose than to move from one place to another. The end of each day yields no soft cotton sheets draped over a cushioned mattress, no faucet from which to obtain seemingly infinite quantities of water, and no fridge or pantry stocked with a cornucopia of nourishing foods. After all of the struggle of the day, you cannot reward yourself by collapsing onto a lavishly upholstered sofa and submitting to mindless television programs displayed on a gratuitously large high definition flat panel. Most integral to the experience is to imagine that every step taken forward must be completed, at some point, with the added weight of whatever items you deemed impossible to leave behind.

Typical view from atop peaks along the AT in Maine

Let us switch gears for a moment. The hike was difficult. Without doubt, it tested me and, in the end, this was my intention. I can't possibly convey how such a simple object as a chair, a cotton sheet, or a favorite drink or food can come to mean to someone who is deprived of them for any measurable length of time. Part of the experience was the difficulty and the hardship and I wouldn't have it any other way. Having the comforts and safety of civilization stripped away forces a re-examination of what is truly necessary and important. What if everything that you owned had to be carried everywhere you ever went? It's a heavy question – at least in terms of its philosophical implications and the weight of such items as your car, wardrobe, and CD collection. If attachment truly is pain, then being deeply inseparable from your material possessions would be nothing short of suicide.

I manage to close my eyes for a majority of photographs (Photo by Zach)

Assessing my gear choices was a relatively simple process. If I didn't use it through the whole hike it was entirely useless. If I used it less than three times the whole trip it was expendable. If I was annoyed with it, it should be replaced or changed. My choice to not purchase a new backpack led me to use a much older backpack that I was more comfortable with but it came with the expense of being slightly heavier than the alternatives. I was proud of my initial weigh out of approximately 37lbs, but it was still about 17lbs beyond what I think I really need to aim for if I desire any degree of comfort while on an extended hike. The MSR Hubba HP tent was a phenomenal performer, withstood adverse conditions, and was adaptable for a variety of situations. Despite this versatility, the realization that shelter hopping is the most viable option on most long distance trails has led me to consider an ultra-lightweight tarp as an emergency shelter rather than carrying around two pounds of tent that gets used so seldomly for its intended purpose. My decision to acquire Zach's extra hiking pole for the hike proved to be a wise one. I no longer can imagine doing any serious hiking without a good trekking pole and I will, without doubt, be investing in some lightweight trekking poles. The only item that I am still torn on is the MSR SweetWater purification system. I absolutely love the fact that I can get clean water that is both filtered and treated from nearly any water source but the field maintenance on this item was excessive and it required constant attention. Choosing to use tablet purification could potentially save another 16oz of weight at the expense of guaranteed clean water.

On numerous occasions I have been asked how much I spent on this adventure. The answer is hard to pinpoint with any kind of considerable precision since a majority of the investment was done over an extended period of time. I will say that I made a fair contribution to the rural economy of northwestern Maine. It became clear to me that there are people who make their livelihoods off of the hikers that stagger off the trail to find refuge in the rural towns of Millinocket and Monson. Don't be fooled, though. The largest industry in this region of Maine is logging. It dwarfs any other activities in the region in terms of its importance to the economy. Trees are a resource and they can be managed wisely, but it still hurts at some kind of primitive level to see truck after truck exiting the forest with loads of timber. The particular region of Maine that I was hiking through has been logged nearly completely over three times and vast tracts have been devastated by wildfires in certain areas. To my surprise, there was no evidence of tension over the activities of the loggers and the willingness of many logging companies to sell land to the MATC to form a protected corridor around the trail is heartening. Throughout the 1950's and 1960's the trail in Maine winded through the forest and passed numerous wilderness camps that were owned and operated by logging companies. AT hikers were allowed to use them for decades before the wilderness camps slowly began to disappear and fall into disrepair. White House Landing is simply a remnant of what once was a continuous network of camps along the trail.

Jim, our pilot, along with a view inside the small cockpit of the float plane (Photo by Zach)

Go anywhere in the country and you are bound to find a town, city, hamlet, or region that claims to define what hospitality truly means. Lore had indicated to me that many hikers found the residents of rural Maine to be of the most exceptional quality when it comes to being hospitable and kind. At first examination I assigned this claim to the fact that the weary hiker, having slogged thousands of miles from Georgia to Monson, would have a decidedly altered view of the world and the people who occupy it. Anyone willing to help them, provide them with a place to sleep, or cook them up a hearty breakfast would be no less than an angel in their eyes. To my surprise, the legends were beyond true. I encountered no people who were anything short of courteous and all of the places I stayed provided exceptional service. The true nature of how kind the residents of rural Maine are to strangers is evident in their actions which go above and beyond the call. Zach, after getting sick, was taken out by fishermen that we had just met moments prior to asking them for assistance. He was driven back to Monson where he stayed indoors (Dawn at Shaw's refused to let him stay outside since he was sick), and was even invited to be the grill master at a cookout. Everyone I met from Monson to Millinocket was helpful and it was only younger teenagers who seemed to glare at hikers with a certain sense of judgment evident in their facial expressions.

Preparing physically for the hike was a task in itself. Early on I resolved to push aside the complacency of believing that I would simply make my way through it with brute force. For a twenty-something year old male this is harder than it sounds. Leading up to the trip I ran two to three miles at least three times a week (often four), and went on two test hikes that included distances of ten miles and twenty miles. I could have done more. Running for twenty minutes is a much different experience than climbing five mountains and covering 19 miles in a day. I was strong, but my endurance often left me taking breaks at intervals that seemed to grow closer and closer together as the day dwindled onward. It is difficult to prepare for such a hike since the activity is very dissimilar to many other activities that are readily accessible. The rocks and roots, the scrambles up loose earth, and the extra weight on your back are all aspects of a challenging hike that aren't usually replicated during preparation. Most miraculous was my ability to maintain a body weight. Upon departing Connecticut, I weighed myself at 145lbs. For me, this is quite a feat when one considers that I spent the better part of my late teens weighing 128-132lbs. Thanks to my rabid metabolism, it is difficult for me to gain and maintain weight. It is beyond me how I still weighed 145lbs when I arrived back in Cincinnati. “How could that be?!” I thought to myself. I spent the better part of each day during the hike obsessing over what I would let myself eat that night and most days ended with feelings of weakness and hunger. Either I estimated caloric intake much more accurately than I had thought or the extra weight was a result of building up muscle mass. I may never truly know. Since returning home I have steadily lost weight and am now weighing in at a solid 137lbs.

A rare photograph of me with my eyes open and a slight smile (Photo by Zach)

Hikers often desperately seek companionship to alleviate some of the difficulties of dealing with struggles that they are faced with while hiking the trail. I was no different. Zach was someone I knew would be crazy enough to agree to attempt such a feat with me, and I was more than glad that we were in it together. His absence changed the experience dramatically for me. There's a certain familiarity that comes with hiking with someone you know. It is comforting to be around a person that you trust and he or she can often correct your personal errors or provide input if an important decision has to be made. While alone, the amount of self-reliance that a hike of this distance requires is forcibly brought forward and is no longer masked by the safety of having a companion around to defer to. You are made both free and captive by your own thoughts. At times, I would catch myself speaking as if I was talking to two different halves of myself. The mix of solitude and loneliness was nothing short of confusing and frightening and I often debated with myself which emotion I was feeling at any given moment.

While hiking alone I was left with excessive amounts of time to spend with nothing more than my own thoughts and the variety and strangeness of the emotions that I experienced was daunting. At times, I would find myself having traveled an unknown distance along a path I did not remember for a length of time I could not recall. Then there were moments where nothing existed except a simple happiness that came with the resolution to change something about my life or to do something out of the ordinary. After completing the hike and returning home, I followed up on most of my self-created commitments and resolutions, despite the difficulty that was associated with some of them. I was driven by the recollection of how strongly I felt about them while alone in the wilderness. For some reason, it feels as if the thoughts that surfaced while alone in Maine were somehow more pure and true than those that present themselves on an everyday basis.

Ending the last trip report is a task that I had not looked forward to. I have chosen to end it abruptly with one last nugget of text. It is something that I find difficult to do, so I have chosen to end this series by repeating it in an attempt to remind myself of its importance.

"It is far more difficult to find happiness in the things that you do have than it is to believe that happiness lies in something that you do not have."

Trip Report #3: Day 6 through Day 8

Sat, 17 Jul 2010 00:33:00 GMT

Day 6: Monday, June 21 (Cooper Brook Falls Leanto to White House Landing) 14.1mi (+1.2mi)

Early on in the hike I came to the conclusion that aiming to spend an evening at White House Landing (WHL) would be a good way to help me mentally and physically cope with the rigors of the hike. WHL is a well-known wilderness camp that willingly accommodates hikers. After the abuse of the previous day, I woke up determined to reward myself with some comforts at WHL. Dinner ended at 6PM which meant I would have to arrive prior to that time to enjoy a proper meal, a roof over my head, a much needed shower, and a hearty breakfast. My trip planning did not involve any resupply at WHL so it was not a necessity in that respect. Nonetheless, I had convinced myself that it would do my body well to have half a day of true relief. The morning had revealed blisters on nearly every toe and both heels and my feet cried as I slipped on my hiking shoes in spite of the immense care I took to loosen them. The hardest part of dealing with blisters on the trail is that they rarely improve. I had to continue knowing that the condition of my feet would worsen.

Throughout the day I encountered numerous southbound hikers who all shared a similar story. “We just started and we're going to Georgia!” they all exclaimed with enthusiasm. During my crossing of the Barren-Chairback range I saw an average of two to three hikers a day. Suddenly I was running into hikers (typically in pairs or groups) every hour. It did not take me long to surmise that the onslaught of southbound thru-hikers had begun. I had scheduled my northbound hike of the wilderness at a time when vast numbers of optimistic hikers were starting their southbound thru-hikes. This new volume of hikers increased throughout the last three days of the trip and it changed the experience of the hike dramatically for me.

With my mind set on reaching WHL I had to mentally negotiate a middle-ground of mile-crunching and enjoyment. I settled on building in time for an extended stop at lower Jo-Mary Lake which turned out to be very beneficial. There was a beautiful sand beach which almost appeared to be a small tropical paradise as I stepped out from the dense vegetation that surrounded the lake. I threw off my shoes and shirt and enjoyed a cool swim in the near-frigid lake. With the heat in the low-lying lake land I would dry in less than an hour anyways. Extra time was spent letting my feet breath and relax in the cool water. Blisters were now a huge issue and required constant attention and care. As I was tending to them, a short, gray-headed man emerged from the forest. He had a striking resemblance to a professor I had in college and appeared to handle himself in a similar fashion. We talked for a little bit and I gleaned a bit more information on how to find my way to WHL along with a demonstration of how he used birch bark to brace his shoe which was causing awful blisters on the back of his feet. I left him to enjoy the beach alone and disappeared back into the sun-speckled foliage of the trail.

My little tropical paradise in Maine found on lower Jo Mary Lake

Unfortunately, my break at the beach had consumed more time than I had originally planned for which led me to quicken my pace considerably. My mind raced and I began to experience the hike in a much different way. Unlike the previous days where I was concerned with foot placement, what mile I was on, where I would next find water, and how far the next shelter was, my mind began to automate these concerns and I began to think much more deeply about issues unrelated to the trail. I questioned why I wanted to attempt the hike, how it was that I had found myself alone again, whether or not I'd want to finish the hike after reaching WHL, and other questions that really had no answers. It became common for me to comment on things to myself. If I misplaced a step and slipped on a root I'd say “Whoa, easy there...” as if someone else was there and I had been watching them. I began to make numerous resolutions and decisions about what I would do when I completed the hike. I decided that I would try to pursue these thoughts and feelings when I returned since they seemed to come up with immediate importance even when the current situation had no bearing on them whatsoever.

There were numerous views of Katahdin from the shores of lakes

All of the sudden I found myself at the Mahar Tote Road. On the trail it is marked as an arrow pointing towards Mahar Landing. It was not even 5PM, but I knew that there was still another 1.2 miles of hiking to be done in order to reach the dock where I could call for a ferry across the lake. On the 2009 MATC maps this is actually marked by a state campsite indicator. The side trail that leads to WHL ended up being the most obsessively marked trail I have ever encountered. It seemed to wind on forever down the shore of Pemadumcook Lake before I reached the dock. At the dock is an air horn and instructions to blow one short blast in order for a boat to come pick you up. After blowing the horn I rested on the dock as I watched a man come over in a speedboat to fetch me after only five or so minutes. I said hello to Bill and he took me back to WHL. I never imagined that things like grass, a glass window, and buildings would look so foreign. He led me into the dining area where I was presented with the important decision of what I wanted for dinner. I explained that I was a vegetarian and he promptly pointed out that they provide Boca burgers. I settled on two Boca burgers that were topped with anything they could find. I became the first person to ever eat a double Boca deluxe and I am quite confident I could have consumed a third.

White House Landing from across Lake Pemadumcook

While in the dining area I met the others who were currently staying at the wilderness camp. My blister-covered toes and feet were wrapped in blood-stained tape and I caught most of the guests giving them a strong stare at some point during my Boca binge. There was a group of three which included a father, son, and the sons friend. The father initiated a conversation with me and after some time revealed that he had lived in Cincinnati as a child. We exchanged stories about the local sports teams and chili parlors (it's a big deal in Cincinnati). He was quite talkative and revealed that this was his second time attempting the wilderness. The previous year he had to be evacuated from Potaywadjo Leanto due to an infection that started in a huge blister on his foot. It eventually spread up his leg and got so severe that he now brandishes a scar on his leg that appears similar to an area of freshly sunburned skin. The only two others were a couple from Texas that were recently married. Their southbound hike was cut short when the young woman received a call from a potential employer in Houston about an interview. I was quite confused with the couple. They appeared amazingly unscathed from their first 32 miles in the wilderness and both were well-groomed and neither even remotely fit the hiker stereotype. They had taken a leisurely four days to complete the first 32 miles which is neither challenging nor strenuous compared to the next 70 they would have to complete. I would definitely have felt concern if they had been continuing southbound.

Linda (Bill's Wife) kindly called Shaw's in Monson for me where I was able to speak with Zach for the first time since we had said goodbye at West Chairback Pond. I was glad to learn that he was safe and feeling much better. He congratulated me on reaching WHL and gave some encouraging words for the rest of the hike. It was nice to speak with him again – it was the only familiar voice I had heard in quite some time. Linda spoke with Dawn at Shaw's for a bit and then showed me the restrooms, shower, and bunkhouse. Upon entering the bunkhouse I chose a ragged old mattress and pillow and immediately sought a much needed shower. The water at WHL is all pumped from the lake and there is no electricity. Showers are thus limited to 5 minutes of hot water. All of the buildings are lit by gas lanterns. Some extremists claim that a visit to WHL dilutes the wilderness experience but I would argue that it only enhances it. It's not like you're returning to civilization at all.

The inside of the bunkhouse at White House Landing

For the first time in days I had an evening of rest after I finished enjoying the brief shower. I got to know my other three bunkmates as we all relaxed watching the sun set over the lake. My blister routine was interrupted by the father who furnished me with an entire blister kit complete with medical tools I can't even name. I decided that calling him “Mr. Blister” was only appropriate. The kit sported various tools, ointments, pads, tapes, and bandages. He shared his knowledge of the world of blisters and provided me with some useful moleskin patches and advice on how to cope with the constant threat of blisters. After following his prescriptions the largest blisters on my heels were never a problem again. After the son and his friend finished a game of chess a discussion began about the book that the son had picked up upon arriving at WHL. It was written by a Russian author and I immediately commented that it was probably a somewhat depressing tale of a tortured soul. The son defended his choice and handed it to me where I read the back cover which described the novel as an enthralling tale of suffering, hardship, and a man forced to confront his largest fears. I felt my diagnosis was accurate. After some small talk, the three went to sleep and I watched the last minutes of twilight disappear before crawling onto the mattress which showed its age by squeaking and moaning obnoxiously with even the smallest shift in body position.

Earlier on in the evening looking out over the lake at White House Landing

Day 7: Tuesday, June 22 (White House Landing to Rainbow Stream Leanto) 15.8mi (+0.2mi)

My body at this point had been trained to rise early. I woke up at 6:30AM, packed my gear, and walked over to the dining house where Bill was cooking up a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. I was somehow the last to arrive at breakfast and ended up cleaning out the remaining eggs and juice and followed it up with four pancakes. The father and son group were being driven to Millinocket where they would catch a bus to Bangor to fly home to Florida while the cute couple were utilizing Katahdin Air to get to Bangor and to fly to Houston. I would be resuming the trail alone once again. As a side note I will mention that along the trail I met hikers who spoke of the extortionist prices at WHL but I find that claim to be relatively baseless. One night includes breakfast and is only $39. Dinner costs extra, but my total bill did not add up to $60 for my entire stay. It was entirely worth it.

Bill discussed with me how many hikers are taken out from WHL each year and explained that it was not abnormal to have those staying the night end up seeking an exit from the wilderness. Last year was particularly harsh due to record rainfalls. We then hopped back into the boat and he took me to within .2 miles of the trail which saved me an entire mile of walking to start the day. I thanked him and he wished me luck before turning the boat around to head back to the wilderness camp.

Nahmakanta stream

My Roclite GTX 312 shoes were showing some serious wear and tear

Following Nahmakanta stream northward, I started my hike motivated by the fact that I would soon be entering the third and final map of the hike. Nothing screams progress like seeing a new unstained map. Invigorated by my stay at WHL, I sped through the trail stopping to take relaxing breaks by the stream until I walked into a clearing to find Wadleigh Stream Leanto. Throughout the wilderness it is not uncommon to find discarded items that hikers have discarded in desperate attempts to lighten their packs. Now that I was close to the northern end of the wilderness and there was a large influx of southbound hikers the occasional item changed into entire shelves full of unwanted items that once added weight to a burgeoning pack. The side of the trail was littered with cotton sweatshirts and jeans while the shelters had items such as nail polish, CD players, climbing rope, and entire fishing tackle kits. I amused myself by observing a courageous chipmunk who coaxed me into feeding him some of my Powerbar until a rather large man emerged from the trail. He had completed a thru-hike in 1995 and returns each year to hike the wilderness. After initial introductions, he described Springer Mountain in Georgia in March (southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail) as being an emporium of gear littered along the trail. Before I pushed on we compared gear and pack weight. He had started with 17lbs of gear for the entire wilderness and intended on completing in only four or five days.

Some of the abandoned items at Wadleigh Stream Leanto

A fearless chipmunk who has probably been fed way too many energy bars

View from another quaint lake along the trail leading up to Nesuntabunt Mountain

Nesuntabunt Mountain was the only remaining challenge for the day and is a relatively unrewarding climb sparing the rock cliff that provides views of Katahdin which is now the dominant feature of the landscape. Having watched it grow in the past three days had been an encouraging sign of my progress. The trail on Nesuntabunt was less than enjoyable due to its very strange placement, lack of clear blazes, and lack of management. At this point of the hike I was becoming somewhat discontent and irritable as the trail winded back and forth and oscillated direction in such a fashion that I was never sure which way I was truly heading. There were multiple times where I swore I was walking backwards since the path of the trail more closely resembled the scribbles of a toddler than a hiking trail. After finishing Nesuntabunt, the terrain became increasingly boggy and muddy as I entered the last miles of the hike. The trail, which was already dominated by roots and rock, became a single mass of root and large rock fragments which tortured my feet in a way like they had not experienced previously. In locations where a break from the roots and rock was offered my feet suffered from the ever-present moisture. It was evident to me that the last day of the hike would be the hardest on my feet yet.

View of Katahdin from a rock cliff near the summit of Nesuntabunt Mountain

Battling the roots and rocks eventually led me to Rainbow Stream Leanto where there was a single occupant. I debated for 10-15 minutes on whether or not I should push on to the Rainbow Spring Campsite which would make my final day of hiking shorter and more friendly towards my feet which were deteriorating rapidly. Throughout the day it had been spitting rain and I decided that the comfort of the shelter was worth taking advantage of. I occupied the shelter and met the other occupant who had been napping in his tent which was cleverly placed in the shelter much like I had been utilizing the MSR Hubba HP inner wall. He had just graduated from Cornell University in the spring and had amassed $200,000 in debt while pursuing an engineering degree. Throughout the evening we talked and it was clear that we understood one another well and we both appreciated the same kind of sarcastic humor which is common in my generation. He was keen to find out about some of my strategies and asked many questions about the trail, cooking, food, and foot care.

I had seen more southbound hikers than any previous day and all of their stories were the same. They were mostly couples or groups and all had the same story. I ceased the ritual of asking each person where they started and where they were going since their stories were all the same. “We're going to Georgia!” they would all exclaim with such enthusiasm and optimism that it was almost nauseating at times. My shelter mate was no exception, though he was clearly more prepared and was commencing a solo hike. For him, hiking the entire Appalachian Trail was a better option than immediately confronting the massive debt that awaited him back home. While I always wished each hiker the best, the obvious lack of preparation that many of them exhibited was both worrisome and disappointing. It was their discarded gear that would continue to litter the shelters and the trail.

As I tended to my feet the other shelter occupant cringed as I exposed tender skin by unwrapping bloodied bandages. He winced as I drained the larger blisters and I assured him he'd find himself in my position before too long. Before bedding down for the night I had to consider what my plan of attack would be fore the final day of the hike. I desperately wanted to complete the hike the next day, but the issue was complicated by a folly that I committed on the morning of the fourth day. When Zach had departed, I left him with the key to the car which was parked at Abol Bridge under the belief that he would find his way there at some point. He had been shuttled back to Monson and had opted to be shuttled to Abol Bridge on Thursday (a day after I would be finishing) with a group to save money where he would then finally get access to the car. The first option was to stay at Hurd Brook Leanto which was only 3mi away from Abol Bridge. I had no intention of taking this option at this point. The second option was to finish the hike then stay at a campground near Abol Bridge and wait for Zach. This seemed realistic at the time, but I had honestly had enough of the outdoors and had quite a burning desire for a proper bed, sheets, a shower, and a few good meals. This led me to opt for the third option which was to hike to Abol Bridge then call for a shuttle into Millinocket to stay at a hiker lodge.

I slept well until the rain began to fall with an intensity like I hadn't seen before in Maine. It continued throughout the night and into the morning where I knew it would be ongoing throughout the last day of the hike.

Day 8: Wednesday, June 23 (Rainbow Stream Leanto to Abol Bridge) 15.0mi

Sporadic rain the previous day had given way to showers during the night and neither I nor my shelter mate had any desire to trudge out onto the muddy trail. At least I had the luxury of it being the last day of my hike. The rain did not cease for the rest of the day and eventually infiltrated my waterproof hiking shoes from the top down. Moisture opened up a new door of pain for my feet and each step eventually required a teeth-clenching effort. My left pinkie toe was in the worst condition and the blister swelled enough by midday that it was pressing upwards against the toenail. I was at risk of losing the toenail and each wrong step I made that wrongly placed pressure onto the toe sent a painful reminder of its condition. Any bandages I placed on the feet were rendered useless by the inundated shoes. I managed to shift my thoughts off of the pouring rain and the poor condition of my feet by focusing on completing the hike. I resolved to buy a cold soda and some skittles (I love them) at the Abol Bridge store as a reward for completing the hike.

The surreal landscape altered by a wildfire decades ago

The most rewarding experience of the last two days was slowly walking the top of a few small bulges of the landscape which had been devastated by a forest fire around fifty years ago. The rain and mist combined with the songs of birds to provide me with an almost surreal experience. I must have spent over half an hour just sitting on the open rocks trying to understand what made it so attractive and unreal. I forced myself to consume a logan bread bar before continuing on. My mind had turned its attention toward what I would do after the hike and I, once again, began to make resolutions. The walk toward Hurd Brook was a blur.

It was easy to just sit, listen, and relax

Not 100 yards before arriving at Hurd Brook Leanto you are required to cross Hurd Brook which is listed as a ford but actually can be done with some careful boulder hopping. Too focused on the shelter, I jackknifed my foot in a crevice which led me to yelp in pain which caught the attention of the overpopulated shelter. I must have looked absolutely wretched as I limped up to the shelter in the downpour leaning on my hiking pole for support. The occupants were all young, male, and had the same optimism that the other southbound thru-hikers all shared. They were only three miles into the wilderness and their enthusiasm was drowned by the onslaught of two days of rain. While I removed my feet and tended to the blisters they all watched intently – it was the only entertainment to be had. I wished them all luck and gave them a few warnings about the trail ahead before beginning the final miles of the hike.

The last push to Abol was uneventful. I was weary, wet, and tired, but the thought of the end led me onward unfailingly. Closing in on the end of the trail yielded louder and louder sounds of logging trucks barreling across Abol Bridge. As I broke out of the forest and onto the road I finally felt relief and was warmed by a feeling of accomplishment. It was, curiously, not a particularly powerful experience. I suppose that it truly is about the journey and not the destination. I waddled toward my car (which I could not get into) then dragged my soaked body into the camp store where I, disappointingly, found no skittles. I drank a cream soda and ate some chili cheese Fritos.

What I looked like waiting in the rain after over 100 miles of hiking and 8 days in the wilderness

After relaxing a bit I had to decide on a plan of action. I had over 14 hours until Zach would arrive and provide access to the car. I ended up calling Zach in Monson to have him talk to Dawn about what my best option was. She recommended I stay at the AT lodge in Millinocket and I called Paul Renaud who owns and operates the lodge and cafe. He never answered his phone and the pay phone was an annoying contraption that was actually a cell phone. I wasted over $2 attempting to contact him. When he finally picked me up he explained that he can never make out what people say when they use the pay cell phone since the service is so poor. I was picked up at 7:30PM which was quite late and prevented me from getting a proper meal in town. I was so worn and fatigued that I scrapped the whole evening and laid down on the first fresh sheets I had seen since Monson, ME after a long shower. I planned on getting up for a huge breakfast at the AT cafe. I had the entire lodge to myself except for a short, older man who was hiking Katahdin tomorrow to begin his hike to Damascus, VA. He had flip-flopped there when he injured himself and needed surgery during the previous year.

I fell asleep content that I had proved to myself that I could push myself physically and mentally to levels I was not aware I was capable of. A deep longing to return home and to see things that were familiar to me surfaced. I romanticized my return and thought about my cats, my own bed, my family, my friends, and even the predictability and security of my job. I made note of many of the resolutions I made during the last three days of my hike and still felt determined to see some of them through. They had become important to me and an integral part of the experience. I clung to the cotton sheets that had been used and enjoyed by countless battered hikers before me and could not bring myself to use the pillow which now felt uncomfortable to me after over a week of sleeping in the absence of one.

Thursday, June 24

I woke up early and headed to the AT cafe where I ordered an enormous omelet, English muffins, home fries, a fruit cup, and juice. I hadn't eaten for quite some time and gorged myself on the heaping breakfast. I found a small store in town and finally purchased the pack of skittles which I had rightfully earned the previous day. I had no idea when Zach would be arriving at the AT lodge to pick me up so I ate my skittles while completing a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle I found under a stairwell in the lower floor of the lodge. I finished it in just over three and a half hours moments before Zach arrived. We began the long journey home and made sure to stop at a Chipotle in Massachusetts for me to do some much-needed calorie binging. We drove straight through and took turns at the wheel for nearly 21 hours. Zach had stories about interesting hikers he met at Shaw's while I shared tales of the wilderness. As we arrived back at our homes I'm sure we both felt a comforting wave of relief to be reunited with what was familiar and safe.

I will be making one last post of afterthoughts and final words along with a discussion on things that I would change if making the trip again. I am also encouraging Zach to write up an entry about his experience.

Trip report #2: Day 3 through Day 5

Sun, 04 Jul 2010 15:46:00 GMT

Day 3: Friday, June 18 (Cloud Pond Leanto to West Chairback Pond) 5.2mi (+0.3mi)

It was a chilly, windy night at Cloud Pond Leanto and Zach described his struggle to sleep the following morning over breakfast. He had opted to leave behind a sleeping bag to save weight and experienced a chilling breeze all night while exposed in the windward facing shelter. We had woken up around 7AM and I immediately set to work filtering water, packing up gear, and eating breakfast. My mind was hard set on making miles and I was aiming for the cleanest start possible. Zach had considerable difficulty the day before and had spent a night exposed to the elements and I could see that his physical condition had not improved. What I had attributed to general tiredness was looking more and more like serious fatigue. It was now that I began to worry about his condition. Much to his credit, he went through his morning routine and we set out at our earliest time yet after saying goodbye to James.

After making our way back up the winding side trail that led to Cloud Pond Leanto we once again set off northward on the Appalachian Trail. While there was no downpour overnight, the rocks and roots were still glossed over with moss and morning moisture. After no more than twenty minutes of hiking I heard a body hit the ground and plants rustle followed by a scream and reversed my direction until I found Zach who had taken a fall while moving down a cluster of jagged bedrock. He scraped his leg and was shaken up but had miraculously avoided serious injury. Exposed branches were only inches from critical points on his body. Later in the day he pulled out a sharp stick which had punctured his backpack only inches behind his head. This was not a positive start to the day and the rest of the day was a pair of struggles up Fourth Mountain (2,383ft) and Third Mountain (2,061ft). As Zach summited Fourth Mountain he was shivering in a cold sweat and even the rich, creamy taste of Gouda cheese was not enough to re-energize him. I can only imagine the struggle (both mental and physical) that he was experiencing at this point. His condition was worsening, we still had the White Cap Range to cross, and a trip that had been planned for over three months was slipping away. The only option he had was to continue. There was no easy way out at this point along the trail and the nearest emergency extraction point was outside of the Barren-Chairback Range.

View from the ledge near the summit of Fourth Mountain

The trekking pole I borrowed from Zach had a monopod camera mount

Getting a bit artsy with the camera

As I arrived at the side trail that led to West Chairback Pond I left my pack and began to filter water from West Chairback Stream while waiting for Zach to arrive. At this point, I had the sense that Zach could go no further. We ended up finding a few quaint looking tent sites only a few hundred yards from the pond and set up camp for the night. Zach gave himself an ultimatum before turning in for the night. He resolved to drink a few liters of water, eat the largest dinner he could handle, and sleep without restrictions. If his condition had not improved dramatically by the morning then we would have to start exploring extraction options. I provided him with an antihistamine in hopes that it would assist him in sleeping soundly.

There was plenty of time in the evening due to our early stop and I spent the rest of the evening cleaning gear, eating dinner, tending to my feet after a long soak in the pond, and going over maps. West Chairback Pond was a popular fishing destination and there were fisherman on the lake who walked past our tent sites (Fosters beer cans in hand, of course) as the sun set. They wished me luck after saying they would be back in the morning to continue fishing. I spent the rest of the evening considering possible scenarios for the next day. If Zach felt well enough to continue, what would our mileage goal be for the day? We were falling behind schedule drastically and it was a serious supply concern for me. Conversely, I had to accept the reality that Zach may have to end his trip prematurely. I never had any doubt about my own continuation, but I had to consider Zach's safety and if that meant taking responsibility for contacting someone for extraction and helping him get to the extraction point then I would have to invest a day or two assisting him. I went to sleep feeling uneasy about the future and the lack of control I had of it.

Day 4: Saturday, June 19 (West Chairback Pond to Carl A. Newhall Leanto) 11.6mi

While being as quiet as possible, my early morning rise of 5:30AM left me with quite a bit of time to once again tend to my feet and gear. I re-assessed my packing strategy since the volume of food I was carrying had changed measurably. My curiosity about Zach's condition went unsatisfied for around an hour and a half until he stumbled out of his tent. He looked markedly more pale and weak than he had been the previous day and described a night of vivid dreams and drenching sweat. Something was clearly not right and it was at this point that we both made a mutual decision that his continuation of the trail posed a considerable risk to his health. Hiking the trail while healthy is difficult enough, the added pressure of dealing with feelings of sickness is a lot to deal with at once. At this point he had been at odds against a body that felt as if it was run over by a truck for two days.

The fisherman who I met the previous night made true to their word and returned in the morning. After discussing extraction points with Zach, we decided consulting the local fisherman would be a wise maneuver. A sharp yell across the pond garnered the attention of four fisherman who, after paddling over in their metal canoes, kindly offered to take Zach out to a gatehouse where he could call Shaw's for an extraction. With this settled I knew the remaining 72 miles of the hike would be a solo hike. I made sure to filter some extra water to leave with Zach since we had no idea when the fisherman would break for the afternoon or for the day. I left him alone after he managed to break down camp and watched as he force-fed himself some pop-tarts for breakfast. We said goodbye and wished each other good luck.

While studying the maps the previous night I saw that hiking to Sydney Tappan Campsite would give me the best possible position to tackle the White Cap Range. After passing by Chairback Gap Leanto where I met a ragged looking man in his early thirties who spoke nothing but complaints about the water, bugs, and his lack of food, I began the descent out of the Barren-Chairback range which involved a few challenging boulder field traverses. Knowing that I was now alone caused me to adopt a much more careful approach to descents at the expense of speed and time. The trail leveled off and I knew I was approaching the West Branch of the Pleasant River. This river requires a ford but it is extremely easy and enjoyable. My feet appreciated the chance to breathe in the middle of the day and I rewarded them with another soaking and an extended lunch break after fording the river. I was glad to finally be looking at the second of three maps that would be required for this hike.

The West Branch of the Pleasant River (an easy ford)

There were lots of butterflies near the river

The trail at this location is the primary access route to the Gulf Hagas region which is known for its beautiful scenery which consists of multitudes of streams and tight canyons. While I hiked past locals heading to Gulf Hagas for a day hike wearing sandals I received numerous stares. At this point of the hike I'm sure I already had acquired a relatively grizzly appearance and a rugged demeanor.

A beautiful looking Gulf Hagas Stream from the trail

After crossing the West Branch of the Pleasant River, the trail begins a gradual ascent toward White Cap Mountain. It is certainly not steep, but miles and miles of constant uphill imposes a similar physical toll. Despite the difficulty, my stamina held strong and my endurance surprised me. I was passed by a few northbound hikers who were too occupied with trying to make time to stop for a meaningful conversation. I could see their packs were obviously half the size of my own. There were numerous beautiful views of Gulf Hagas Stream since the trail parallels it all the way up to Carl A. Newhall Leanto. I arrived at the leanto with over two hours of daylight remaining and decided to take a break and consider my options. My original intentions were to push on to Sydney Tappan Campsite, and I surely had the energy to do so. As I relaxed by the stream I began to notice signs that inclement weather was imminent. Carl A. Newhall Leanto was clean, bug free, unoccupied, and had an amazing water source nearby. Most importantly, it would give me adequate protection against any rain or storms that blew through overnight. I decided to take the safe option and stay at the leanto.

Deciding to stay was a wise decision. I had a lot of time to relax before attempting the largest climb of the hike and I was alone for the first time in a shelter while in the wilderness. After a double serving of macaroni and cheese I spent the rest of the evening watching rodents attempt to gain access to my food bag. There was also a large rabbit who was feeding on a nearby tree stump. I decided that tomorrow would be a make-or-break day for me. I knew I had to summit White Cap Mountain and numerous other peaks and that these were the last difficult climbs before the trail flattened out in the low-lying lake country. I went to sleep in the shelter with the inner wall of my Hubba HP setup with the side open. After an hour I heard the rain begin pattering on the roof of the shelter, zipped up the tent and fell back asleep.

Day 5: Sunday June 20 (Carl A. Newhall Leanto to Cooper Brook Falls Leanto) 18.9mi

My desire to be in the best condition possible for the difficult task of climbing over the entire White Cap Range led me to sleep until 7:30AM and take extra time in the morning before departing. To my surprise, many of the ascents and descents of the peaks in the White Cap Range had sections of stone stairs. These were a welcomed dose of assistance that were nonexistent in the Barren-Chairback range. I only met two hikers until the summit of White Cap Mountain. It was an older man and a seemingly young woman with a German shepherd. The first peak I had to tackle was Gulf Hagas Mountain (2,683ft) which was a steep but manageable climb. After descending into the gap between Gulf Hagas Mountain and West Peak I passed through Sydney Tappan Campsite. I was once again glad that I had chosen to stay at Carl A. Newhall Leanto the previous night. The campsites were a mess and the water source was of disturbingly poor quality.

Some of the peaks that must be crossed to gain access to White Cap Mountain

Before gaining access to White Cap Mountain it is necessary to climb West Peak (3,178ft) and Hay Peak (3,244ft). Both of these peaks are wooded summits with minimal views of the surroundings. Its almost as if something is being hidden from you as you close in on the open peak of White Cap Mountain. I was rained on sporadically during the morning while I grew closer to the summit of White Cap Mountain but there was a clearing in the weather just as I reached the summit (3,654ft) which provided me with limited but spectacular views. There were two other hikers who were resting and enjoying the cool breeze blowing in. We explored the summit as a group and managed to locate the weather station that I had spotted from the air when we flew over five days ago. I managed to send a few texts out to my family and to Zach to let them know that I was alright, but I didn't receive any texts back until days later.

One of the only clear views I received upon reaching the summit of White Cap Mountain

I love how the landscape and vegetation changes with altitude

The storm was certainly ominous

Views from the summit were hampered after the storm blew in

Looking beneath the storm clouds

Looking down into a valley while walking down the treeless summit of White Cap Mountain

Views of Katahdin were nonexistent due to the inclement weather and the small clearing of rain quickly disappeared as a storm blew in. Experiencing a storm while on an exposed summit was a combination of frightening and inspiring. The other hikers sought refuge by continuing down to the wooded slopes of West Peak while I had a half mile hike on the exposed face of White Cap Mountain as the storm blew in. I continued to rest after putting on my Whitaker Mountaineering Storm Shell which provided protection from the wind and rain but the temperature soon plummeted and my hands began to become quite cool. I decided that it was time to leave, and my descent led me through different layers of the storm as I lost altitude. At one point, the weather cleared briefly and I could see Katahdin looming far off in the distance for the first time on the hike.

The weather cleared and I received my first proper glimpse of Katahdin

Revitalized by my success so early in the day (it was not even 1PM yet), I hastily descended until I found myself at Logan Brook Leanto which was already packed with hikers. They all knew each other and it was the most motley crew I encountered during my entire hike. There was a Rastafarian (dreadlocks and all), a German woman in her 60's, an older man with an epic beard who was cooking in a homemade Heineken pot, and another older man who had a decidedly redneck-looking appearance which was reinforced by his large hiking staff that sported an American flag tied to the top. From the limited conversation that I heard I deduced that the group was leanto hopping together. The trail can change the way many people interact and I often find that many barriers are torn down after a few days of mutual hardship. It was not but 3:30PM and the group was calling it a day. I suppose that it would have been unrealistic for them to cross the White Cap Range so late in the day in inclement weather, but one would assume that they would have timed their days a bit more conveniently.

East Branch Leanto was my goal for the day and I, once again, made it there at breakneck speed. While I was relaxing I formulated a plan fueled by my ego which had grown due to my success throughout the day. I still had over two hours of daylight left and at least an hour of twilight. If I could make it to Cooper Brook Falls Leanto tonight I had the chance of making it to White House Landing (WHL) for an early dinner and a proper nights sleep the next day. I couldn't help myself and decided to push on. I encountered difficulty as my speed suffered immensely when I had to, once again, summit a mountain. While small, I had been worn down by the previous peaks and Little Boardman Mountain (2,017ft) posed a formidable challenge for my sore calves and blistered feet. Views of the sun setting over numerous ponds and lakes lined the trail down to Cooper Brook Falls Leanto and made some of the difficulty of the last bit of the day worth the effort. The final push wrecked my feet and I never fully recovered from the blisters that were created on this extremely challenging and lengthy day.

One of the benefits of hiking in the evening is the chance to witness beautiful sunsets

I was in terrible shape as I arrived at Cooper Brook Falls leanto. I had to hike in the dark for around 45 minutes and was worried I would miss the sign pointing out the leanto. I had completed a 19 mile day involving five summits and my feet were the primary sufferers. There was an older woman already asleep and I attempted to be as covert as possible about my setup and dinner preparations. I now believe that the woman was the infamous “Mother Goose” who was the first woman to complete a yo-yo which is a dual thru-hike that alternates direction. I never got to see her or talk to her as she was gone by 5:30AM the following morning. The feeling of knowing that I was deep into the second map of the hike and would soon be entering the last map was a reward in itself. As I went to sleep, my thoughts were occupied by the attraction of a proper hot meal at WHL and I was glad to know that I had set myself up within striking distance.

Trip report #1: The beginning through Day 2

Mon, 28 Jun 2010 18:32:00 GMT

Monday, June 14 (Cincinnati, OH to Groton, CT)

In order to properly time our arrival in Connecticut, we started our drive northeast at around 4AM. I surely didn't manage any meaningful sleep and I doubt Zach did either. We wanted to break the drive up to Maine into two sections in order to preserve our strength as much as possible. Luckily, the parents of one of Zach's friends (Nate) live in Connecticut and were more than willing to accommodate us for a night before our final push toward Maine. While it had been explained to me that Nate's parents are definitely top contenders in the running for the “nicest people ever” I was still surprised at their hospitality. I wish Nate could have gone on the trip with us but he was preoccupied with summer courses while working toward a graduate degree at the University of Louisville. We were welcomed in like family and given a proper New England dinner (which I, of course, could barely participate in due to my choice of being a vegetarian). After dinner we were treated to views of the Atlantic and the end of a car show on the beach. Dessert was a homemade Oreo ice cream cake that contained enough chocolate and sugar to make anyone salivate.

After all of the activities Zach and I spent the rest of the evening going over gear, honing our packing strategies, and making decisions on what we needed and what we could leave behind. I chose to use the MSR Pocket Rocket and to bring the Lafuma Warm n' Light 600 sleeping bag. My total weight was an amazing 37.5lbs. I was honestly ecstatic that I had achieved this low a weight. We went to bed for a good nights sleep and woke up to find numerous breakfast delights laid out for us in the kitchen. Danishes, fruit, breads, cakes, juice – you name it. We ate what we could handle (we each had an ultra-healthy piece of the Oreo ice cream cake, too) and took some treats with us to comply with the note that had been left instructing us to do so. After throwing all of our gear back into the car we headed north toward Monson, ME.

Tuesday, June 15 (Groton, CT to Monson, ME)

It is easy to misinterpret Maine's geographic location. One often forgets just how far north and east the state is. Driving toward Monson was relatively uneventful. We made sure to drive past Monson on ME-15 to catch a glimpse of the Appalachian Trail (AT) trailhead going into the 100 mile wilderness. After that we headed back into Monson to locate the infamous hiker lodge known as Shaw's. We had yet to decide what our plans were for the last night prior to beginning our hike at this point, and we were treated well by Dawn at Shaw's who kindly went over the maps with me to carefully point out extraction points that we should be aware of in case something went wrong. We were quite hungry and some of the only food in town to be had is at the Lakeshore House. Tuesday happens to be $4 pizza day so I treated myself to a pizza and salad for a bargain price. After eating we headed to the only gas station in town to fill up and decide what our plans were for the night.

The outside of Shaw's (photo by Zach)

This was an important decision. We had to be at the Katahdin Air (KA) flight base at 9:30AM and it was approximately a two hour drive from Monson. We could either head up to Millinocket and try to wrangle a place to stay for the night or stay in Monson and wake up early in order to make it up to KA in time. Since Dawn at Shaw's had offered extraction services I argued that it would be wise to at least stay the night and eat breakfast there in case we did need to use the service. Zach concurred and we stayed the night at the infamous hiker hostel.

Despite the fact that we were only at Shaw's for a single night we were given a significant glimpse of AT culture. Other hikers at Shaw's included a father, son, and friend who had just completed the wilderness. They told tales of abandoning gear in desperate attempts to lighten their packs. Their goal is to get to Harper's Ferry before the two recent high school graduates begin college. What amazed me most was the sheer size of the son. He was clearly overweight and possibly obese. I have a lot of respect for him. Completing the 100 mile hike for him was, without doubt, difficult. To his credit, he also resisted consuming an enormous breakfast the next morning. There were two other recent college graduates that had also just come out of the wilderness. They were prepared and had clearly planned their trip carefully. One of them consumed a truly disturbing breakfast consisting of 5 pancakes, 5 sausages, 5 strips of bacon, 5 eggs, and 3 potatoes worth of home fries. Thru-hiker calorie binging at its finest.

The most memorable character was definitely an older man from Minnesota who I now believe to be known as “suicidal”. Like the others, he had completed the wilderness and was staying in Monson to recuperate. My first encounter with him was at 9pm when he was shuttled in from the trailhead with the most swollen feet I had ever laid eyes on. Removing his boots was an epic battle and his cringing face conveyed the pain with unhindered precision. He expressed repeated concern and disappointment in himself for giving up the trail and we all acted to alleviate his guilt citing his extraordinary foot problems. Zach and I offered him an apple danish to lift his spirits and he obliged and inhaled the sugar-laden delight. His pack was quite large and after some discussion I ended up giving him an alcohol stove in hopes that he may look into lightening his load if he ever attempts an extended hike again. I would later get to follow his story through the registers left at the leanto's where he had become a character of notoriety with other southbound hikers. His experience in the wilderness was one of struggle and pain and his notes contained a wide spectrum of emotions that ranged from anger to humor. According to Zach he woke up at 5AM to leave and catch a series of 17 different shuttles, buses, trains, and other forms of transportation to get back to his home in Minnesota.

We enjoyed our last night of sleep in a bed with proper sheets until we both lunged forward at 5:30AM in fears that we had overslept. We both estimated it to be around 9AM, but we had forgot to account for the geographic location of Maine that causes the sun to rise at around 4:20AM.

The last sheets I touched until Whitehouse Landing (photo by Zach)

Day 1: Wednesday, June 16 (Spectacle Pond to Wilson Valley Leanto) 10.4mi

The first day started off with a large breakfast at Shaw's followed by a two hour drive up to the KA base near Abol Bridge. The roads in rural Maine are poorly maintained and tend to have extremely conservative speed limits. What would take 45 minutes in Kentucky took us almost two hours. We anticipated this and left ourselves an appreciable amount of time as a buffer which we ended up taking advantage of. After checking in at the KA base and leaving our packs to be loaded onto the float plane we drove to Abol Bridge, left our car there, and were shuttled back to the KA base. Our shuttle driver was a toothless man who, despite his appearance and almost inaudible speech, was extremely friendly and helpful. He knew the road intimately and skipped around every pothole in his huge GMC truck with 10-ply tires.

Yes, everything fits in it

Once back at the KA base we met Jim who would be our pilot. It only took moments before we were loading our gear into the compact float plane. His flying was very natural and his knowledge of the region was vast. He made sure to point out locations along the trail to us that we should be wary of or be sure to see. He also made sure to mention that the 20 minute flight would cover approximately 40 linear miles while our hike would cover closer to 100 miles. We began to appreciate this statement more as he continued to point out landmarks along the trail that seemed to alternate between being on the left and right side of the plane. The landing on Spectacle Pond was the smoothest flight landing I had ever experienced.

Looking forward after gaining altitude

Some of the remote logging roads

Lakes and mountains

Coming in for landing

After the landing we were told we would have to wade to shore so we quickly stripped down to our bare feet. It was an easy wade since Jim was careful to place us in water that was not even knee deep. He took our photo and immediately fired up the engine and disappeared after the plane lifted from the pond. The flight had been exhilarating but brief and once the plane disappeared we both had to take a moment to sit down and come to terms with the fact that we now had a 100 mile walk to get back to our vehicle at Abol Bridge. Unfortunately, it was noon before we began to cover some miles on the trail. Not 100 yards in we had our first trail encounter and it was to the sound of banjo strumming. We had heard stories of the banjo carrying man and we awkwardly said hello and continued past him shoving any flashes from the movie “Deliverance” out of our mind.

Beautiful photograph from the first day (photo by Zach)

Me standing in front of Little Wilson Falls

We encountered a few other hikers finishing the wilderness, but the first notable encounter was when a hiker known as “road runner” sped past us in a bog while intricately balancing his steps from log to log. He expressed his intent to make it to Cloud Pond Leanto. I later calculated that this put him at a minimum of 22 miles for the day, and he had over 16 miles to go from when he met us and our encounter was in mid-afternoon. His aim was to finish in the top nine thru-hikers for this northbound season and he was currently in 10th place which explained his motivation to push on to Cloud Pond Leanto. A lot of the trail talk was centered around “trek” who was completing his 8th consecutive thru-hike this year. If he completes a thru-hike next year he will be the new record holder for consecutive thru-hikes. All I learned about Trek was that he is ex-military and specialized in building MRE's and other ration kits for field use. He also hikes the Long Trail in Vermont each year.

Looking down the first stream we had to ford

As night approached, we were clearly falling short of our goal of Long Pond Stream Leanto which was over 15 miles from our starting position. After a small debate and Zach expressing that he was done for the day (DFTD) we agreed to aim for Wilson Valley Leanto and to make up the miles in the next few days. After spying the shelter as dusk arrived we rested for a short period before being joined by three colorful male hikers who carried nothing less than a department store in each of their packs. Two of them quite clearly invest a lot of their time in the art of smoking pot and even went so far as to offer us some (which we both kindly refused). The leader of the group was clearly Nate who made sure to point out that he was an Eagle Scout. He seemed to make most of the important decisions and was the only one in the group who was not attempting a thru-hike. He would be attending graduate school in Seattle for molecular biology in the fall. His two weed-filled friends had lesser aspirations and intended to hike the trail until they weren't enjoying themselves anymore.

There are lots of small ponds to accompany the larger lakes

They were respectful of us and we entertained each other until rain arrived and made cooking dinner a bit difficult. After that, Zach and I decided to place our tents away from the weed-filled shelter and get to sleep for an early start tomorrow. Our first day had been shorter than anticipated, but our first stream ford had gone well and we were in good spirits. Unfortunately, the rain never stopped and there were periods of extremely strong downpours throughout the night. My new MSR Hubba HP handled the conditions with flying colors, but Zach's tent never truly dried.

A sunny day is a rare day in Maine

Day 2: Thursday, June 17 (Wilson Valley Leanto to Cloud Pond Leanto) 9.7mi (+0.3mi)

Our intentions to get an early start were thwarted by the unrelenting rain. We wanted to use the shelter for a staging area to dry off some gear and change our packing strategy to make sure important things stayed dry. The group using the shelter took their time and our start was once again delayed considerably. We watched as their 85L packs swallowed pound upon pound of gear including amenities such as an LED lantern and mosquito coils. The humorous sight of a hiker with an 85L pack wearing a poncho was too much to pass up and Zach snapped a photo of one of them as they departed. All in all, it was 11AM before we truly started the day.

Sunglasses, walking stick, a straw hat, and a huge pack

After the rain the trail had become a much more dangerous place. Zach and I both took spills on slippery rocks and roots, but we managed to avoid serious injury. The day was characterized by the struggle to summit Barren Mountain (2,670ft) which took much longer than we had anticipated. The challenge was great, but the views from the summit provided a more than adequate reward. It was on the summit of Barren that I first noticed that Zach was struggling. I attributed it primarily to the weight of his pack and that it was only the second day hiking. We enjoyed some cheese and bagels before setting out again.

I took a spill on these large slippery boulders before snapping this photo

Zach demonstrating the stream ford routine

If my shirt was less neon I might have disappeared in the background

Another beautiful mountain stream

Looking westward from Barren Slide

A view of the sun getting ready to set from the summit of Barren Mtn

We once again ended up falling short of our intended mileage and had to settle on staying at Cloud Pond Leanto. A majority of the leanto's are located immediately adjacent to the trail, but Cloud Pond is another 0.3 mile hike off the trail and it is a relatively difficult side trail. This didn't make either of us happy hikers. I arrived at the leanto and was greeted by a man named James who was already turning in for the night. James was retired from the military and had worked for the postal service for some time before his wife got a high-security job in Washington, DC. He was very nice and despite the age difference connected with us very well. He told of his intentions to meet up with his wife near Harper's Ferry for a canoe trip when he made it that far along the trail. He also discussed things like MMORPG's and was clearly a multi-faceted individual.

It was hard to get a good angle to photograph this small canyon

I tended to my first blister that had formed in the latter half of the day and was provided a cotton ball by James to help deal with it in the morning. The water source for this Leanto was Cloud Pond itself which turned out to be relatively filthy. It clogged the water filter twice and I had to improvise a cleaning kit out of some shoe string left at the shelter since I had neglected to bring the field maintenance kit for the filter. As Zach pointed out, necessity is truly the mother of invention.

Zach and I realized that our pace was not turning out to be anywhere near what we had expected and we attributed it to the late starts and the difficult terrain. We resolved to push ourselves harder the next few days and to aim for an early start the next day to try to get out of the Barren-Chairback range which was slowing our progress considerably.