Baxter State Park 9/28-30/07

[McRat]

I expected a new hike, not a new personal hero; but Percival Baxter has proven worthy of any veneration I could provide.

I had toyed with making the trip to Baxter State Park for the last couple of years, but every time I would review the registration process my eyes would glaze over and laziness would prevail. It wasn’t until Windy had suggested handling the logistics that the prospect of hiking Katahdin seemed likely. Windy not only booked the entirety of Foster Field, but had done so near peak foliage. After repeated begging, all was cleared at home. I called Gary and said, “We’re going to Baxter!”

From this moment, my mind immediately leapt from my head and took residence in Baxter State Park leaving my body useless at all but the most routine activities. By the time I had loaded up the car and left the driveway, I could imagine how geese feel in the spring. I was heading north and it felt deeply satisfying and necessary to continue.

This was nice as I-95 is a goodly stretch of road to Millinocket. I enjoyed the foliage and tunes as the hours and miles passed to exit two hundred forty something, where I turned off to enjoy the sights and smells of a mill town.

All this time, I had been looking ahead wondering where Katahdin was. Something that size should be visible from the road, and just as I turned away from downtown Millinocket, it jumped into view.

Impressive. No wonder my mind went there. I followed the road, photographed the painted rock, and arrived at the gatehouse. I had arrived.

The slow ride down the tote road was beautiful as the leaves tumbled in the air, the wheel twitching over the bumpier sections. I began to wonder how far away Foster Field was, and decided to pull over and check the map by Stump Pond where some photographers pointed my attention to a cow moose at the other end of the pond. My tent isn’t even out of the car, and I’ve already seen a moose. I was really starting to like this place.

Just after Kindey Pond, Foster Field appears right on either side of the road. I set up camp, caught up with old friends, and celebrated being reunited with myself over a few beers by the fire. I went to bed thinking, “I haven’t hiked further than the outhouse, and this place is already amazing.”

 

[McRat]

The next morning, I woke up excited about the hike but unsure if I could actually tag all 6 NEHH peaks and still enjoy the process. Secretly, I told myself that I probably would skip Fort and save my legs for Katahdin on Sunday. I even went so far as to remove my ‘Cotton Kills’ brand hiking jeans out of my pack. I assumed that I wouldn’t mind coming back this way later, but hoped for the best.

Before long, we unloaded the car at the Marston Trailhead, signed in, and headed towards Coe with our host Windy, GetawayGirl, TrailTrotter, and Meri.
Soon I discovered I was being much quieter than my reputation demands. Thanks a lot, Brian. “Hey, in your trip reports, I heard you are nonstop with the jokes,” one asked. One would think putting an extrovert on the spot would go smoother, but I managed to drop a couple of duds and reminded them that I could stop.

Part of the problem is in knowing your audience. Making NewHampshire laugh is fairly easy, and I appreciate that. Living up to the image he’s created for me seems to be a bit more challenging.

The walk out to the Coe slide was fairly easy going, and before long we arrived at something of a sandpit with views to the Coe slide in the clouds. As we looked back, Doubletop was dressed in foliage colors and bathed in sunlight, in contrast to much of the surrounding area. In fact, almost every time I looked towards Doubletop, it was in this condition. Probably just to taunt MichaelJ, Marc, and Gary after their previous days socked-in traverse.

The slide was a bit wet in places, and I found myself taking baby steps across some slippery slab, but overall we managed pretty well. We stopped a couple of times for snacks and photos, and soon found our way to the summit of Coe. Visibility had improved somewhat and we could see our remaining objectives, though Katahdin remained draped in the clouds.

After a somewhat steep descent, the walk to the S. Brother spur was a fairly flat walk through pleasant woods, a good section for chatting and getting to know one another. I even felt a little less awkward, and could even pull off some better received jokes and anecdotes.

At the S. Brother spur we had the pleasure of meting Paradox from VFTT, who looked nothing like his avatar photo. According to the sign, it was 3/10ths of a mile to the summit. According to my feet, the sign is full of it. Even if we made decent time getting there, it certainly feels like a half mile before we emerged above treeline to the howling winds and slightly improved views.

We returned to the spur cutoff, enjoyed lunch, and discussed a longing fondness for cheese that was quickly satisfied before we headed on to the Marston trail junction.

The trail from here up to N. Brother had some interesting scrambles and a section eroded to thigh depth on our way to the treeline and summit. The wind was pretty strong and we hunkered down while Fort stood temptingly within reach. What the heck, how bad can a herd path be?

I brought along my GPS, which had stopped working during a lightning storm on the Moosilauke summit, but which seemed fine once I put in new batteries. The plan was to leave some digital breadcrumbs in case I lost the herd path. Before long I had 4 satellites tracked and my GPS informed me that I was likely somewhere in the state of Maine, and at an elevation of 24,500 feet. I suppose in a pinch I could have smashed it against a rock and left pieces along the trail, but otherwise it was little more than pack ballast.

We followed the cairns off the summit, and I took the lead. As we reached the krumholtz, I began to regret leaving the jeans in the car. Each little twig and hidden deadfall was easy for the people following me to locate. Just be careful wherever I was cursing or yelping.

For all my complaints my legs were generating, the herd path to Fort would have otherwise been a pleasant trail, as I’m sure it was at one time. After we passed the col, we noticed faded blazes and arrows carved onto blowdowns. Soon we were out of the trees and met Paradox again. I hung my bandana to mark the start of the herd path and went on to the summit on the left.

The summit appears almost exactly the same height as the one on the right, and we wandered over to tag it just in case some better instruments prove us wrong. Lists are for obsessives, and we obsessives enjoy the satisfaction of being right.

We headed back to N. Brother, and I did lose the herd path a few times. Usually I caught myself before I went too far off the path, but with 3 more sets of eyes, it was easier to find. Soon we were back at North Brother and (at last) Baxter peak was out of the clouds, and quite a sight to see.

We went down to the Marston Trail junction to meet up with GetAwayGirl, but she had already headed down the trail before we got back. At least we hoped. The message written in the dirt had been walked on and merely said “Mars ---->” We considered the possibility of alien abduction, and headed down the trail before they returned.

The Marston trail seems to begin the descent by going up gently for a surprising distance, and then turns and begins a reasonably steep descent down to a lovely pond. I looked back up, but only had to consult my knees to know how far we’d come down.

They say the stronger hikers are easier to spot at the end of the day, and from here on this proved true. Trail Trotter and Meri seemed to fly down the trail, and I pushed along trying to keep up with Windy. In the last half mile, we caught up with GetawayGirl who pointed out a moose in the trees. At first, I wondered where - but could then see several trees bowing away, making it apparent even in the twilight. It was probably no more than 30 feet from the trail.

It was great hiking with all of them, and I look forward to sharing some miles with them again somewhere down the trail.

We arrived back to the campground just after dark, and Gary kept the burgers coming. Had a great time staying by the fire but I had Sunday hiking plans and decided the prudent thing was to get to bed around 11:30. After all we had to be up at Four AM.

 

[McRat]

No pictures - here's a 1000 words on Katahdin

It’s hard to sleep when you are excited, and I slept poorly. Everytime the wind hit the rainfly, I would wake and say, “Gary? Is it already 4:00?” On one occasion, something that was definitely NOT Gary snorted in reply and trudged off. Kind of neat and spooky at the same time.

When it was actually 4:00 we scurried around in the 31°F darkness, and began the hour- long drive to Roaring Brook – making it by the gatehouse just minutes before opening. It was here I discovered my camera was missing and began ransacking the car looking for it. Eventually I gave up disgusted, and headed up the trail around 6:15.

The Chimney Pond is fairly flat, but the amount of rocks on the trail seems to multiply as you go. We enjoyed a quick break by the basin lookout, before switching to the North Basin Cutoff to negotiate our way through the tangle of roots to the Hamlin Ridge trail.

We stopped for a moment and met one of the rangers off for a ‘bear count’. After a brief and friendly discussion about our itinerary, he wished us well and headed off.

The Hamlin Ridge trail rises over 2000’ in 1.3 miles, and it certainly feels that way. The beauty of this trail is that after the first couple hundred feet of elevation gain, it is all above treeline. Every time we would stop to catch our breath before another scramble, we would turn around and be blown away by the view. This is possibly my favorite trail to date. Imagine the trip from Galehead to South Twin, except longer and with 300 degree views most of the way.

We arrived to find someone at the summit of Hamlin, the second person we’d seen since leaving the Chimney Pond trail. He was nice enough to snap our picture and we stood there awhile, soaking in the views on this clear and almost windless day.

If I had a camera, I’d be apologizing for the picture not capturing the moment. I could, as you know, easily put out a thousand words – but that would not add up. In an effort to be as terse and comprehensive as possible I will say this:

I can’t tell you what it looked like. I can tell you how it felt.

Remember where you were when you first became hooked on hiking – that day when you first fell in love with the trail… that sense that your eyes are seeing for the very first time a world so terribly beautiful you can almost feel time stop.

… And it felt like the entire trip to Baxter.

Until we reached the junction for the Saddle trail, we were the only other people on the trail. Gary and I commented on how we really didn’t miss church this Sunday, we just went to a nicer one. I thanked God for every step, and even the ability to do so.

On the summit of Baxter, we enjoyed a long snack, and upon surveying the Knife Edge, decided it would be better enjoyed on fresh legs. We snapped some photos, met some people, and headed back down the Saddle trail.

The descent from the table down to Chimney Pond, involved some steep downhill scrambling which would have been unnerving if wet for the first 600 vertical feet, and then settled down to a fairly flat rock hop. Occasionally we would hit a soft patch of dirt. I would turn around and walk it again, just because it felt great on the feet. Gary would comment, “We should tell the ranger that they need more rocks here,” but I doubt he told them.

We had another snack and enjoyed a good sit down at Chimney Pond as the light became subdued behind the ridge and a very vocal red squirrel serenaded us.

We met up with half of a foursome of hikers who let me use their camera on the summit when we were about a mile and a half from the trailhead. Both were complaining about knee troubles and after that descent, I could understand why. We offered some Tylenol, and Gary walked just ahead of them, while I ran back the last mile to let their friends now the situation.

Yup, I ran back. My treadmill time has been paying off. While my first real attempt at trail-running would have been admittedly comical to look at, it got me back over the last mile in a little under 18 minutes – which for a fat desk jockey after all that hiking – I was impressed.

We drove back in the dark, and near Katahdin Stream, the largest Bull Moose I have ever seen walked in front of the car. While Gary reached back for the camera I turned on the light bar and lit up the road like Fenway Park. Another car coming the other way, hit his breaks and the moose ran off into the woods. I stood there in awe for a moment, until I realized with no moose to spotlight, all I was doing was blinding the oncoming traffic with six lights. We killed the light bar, waved in apology and rode on.

At Stump Pond, I took a quick hop out of the heated car and went to check for moose activity. By the time I got back to the car, I was shivering uncontrollably. I cranked the heat and headed back to Foster Field.

No sooner had we arrived and got into warmer clothes did HikerBob, Kaboose, and HikerAmiga served us a feast of tasty leftovers. Steak, spinach ravioli, potato salad, cheddar burgers, and garlic bread. I can not thank them enough for that pleasant surprise for us weary wanderers.

We enjoyed a more sedate night around the campfire under clear skies, with HikerBob sharing some amusing tales of the trail and the village he grew up in. I highly recommend his description of ‘Four Jacks’, which would probably merit its own trip report.

 

[McRat]

Many people on this trip haven’t written a trip report, and I can understand why. The report doesn’t do it justice, but I have written a small mountain of words about so many other trips, that I couldn’t stand the thought of not attempting to record this one.

In some aspects this TR is a failure. But I hope that one day, when I may be unable to get out on the trail – that I will be able to reread this report and have it jog my memory enough to make me smile at the details – but I don’t think I’ll ever forget the view from Mt. Katahdin that Sunday.

Thanks to everyone who made this my most memorable trip ever, and thanks to my longsuffering readers. Someday, I will write a short TR. I promise.

Someday…

 

[sapblatt]

Not sure how this TR is a failure - your words were great and it sounds like you all had a great time in BSP - cannot wait to go there!

 

[Paradox]

Pleasure to meet you folks on the trail.