Just This Rock —A Mt. Katahdin Story

Mt. Katahdin. What were we thinking? My 20-year-old son, Calvin, and I arrived at the campsite at 9 PM due to traffic, just in time for the clouds to open up. We were soaked, the tent was soaked, inside and out, as we scrambled to get the fly on. Thank goodness for the cots as we waded across the floor to bed. We spent the first day exploring the area, canoeing on Millinocket Lake and the next day, with a parking pass in hand, we lined up at the southern gate of Baxter State Park at 5:30 AM for the thrill of a lifetime. Little did we know.

We were assigned parking at the Hunt Trail trailhead. This 10.9-mile trail (out and back) marks the northern terminus of the Appalachian National Scenic Trail (known as the A.T.). Katahdin, which translates to "Greatest Mountain" in Penobscot, is the highest mountain in Maine reaching 5,269 feet.

Sure, we did Mt. Marcy - the highest peak in the Adirondacks, and Mt. Washington - the highest peak in New England in crazy weather - but neither prepared us for Katahdin. In this case, it's better to know less than too much. Thankfully I had forgotten all about the story of a woman who hiked the A.T. with her boyfriend (against her will), and in climbing Katahdin, she was terrified and had met her final challenge.

Is it doable? Yes. Depends on your joints too. Have I ever done so many vertical lunges in my life? No. Have I ever had to do foot-over-hand climbing - like literally - CLIMB a mountain before? No. Did this require climbing gear? No. But it did require core strength and all four limbs, and time and again we noted how being tall is an advantage as we splayed our bodies like a starfish for the crevice and foothold.

Here's what I said to myself - "Push. Pull. Push. Pull." After a few deadlifts, my body learned how to rock back to push from the foot and pull up the same time, taking advantage of momentum over gravity. It's amazing how the body figures things out all on its own — body wisdom. The foot finds its place and so does the hand, as if they each have little brains inside them. I suppose this is called flow. And it's truly magical when it starts to happen. Even after all my years of sports and activity, I am still impressed with the body's way to find itself in space and move in rhythm with the task required.

What really got me was the big Aha! moment of "Just this rock. Just this rock. Just this rock." There was no looking ahead. The scale of vertical blocks was daunting. Really, the brain could not even comprehend what it was seeing, and that tiny, tiny, tiny, red dash up there - that's a human in a red shirt. And don't look back. The hint of vertigo, the instant imbalance, the eyes not sure where to land, takes perspective for a sway on an invisible limb. Come back. Just this rock.

And that is life in the present moment. Just this, just this, just this. Mindfulness practice at its best. In this case, a life and death affair. But you don't think about the risk, you come back to the rock. The anchor. Just this.

A few times I did have to stop and use the brain mounted on my shoulders; like the time I wasn't sure how I was going to get my body to hold onto the metal bar above and clear my legs over it.  When I stepped down to reassess, a sweet little bird flew in and kept me company. I was touched, we hung out together in my contemplation, and also, I was hoping it wasn't a calling to heaven. Calvin waited on the rock above me, full of patience and calm, scouting ahead to see if it would get any better...or worse. He reported there were more metal holds ahead. I tried not to think about it. 

I'm a swimmer, not a climber. I’m skilled to meet waves in open water, not rocks on an open mountain face. I never thought I'd do anything like this — certainly not at 51. But here I was, here we were.

Long story short, we made it to the top where we witnessed a few hikers celebrating their completion of the A.T. trail. I cannot tell you how much this filled my heart with joy for them. It was like the extra fireworks, the congratulatory confetti that dropped from clouds. Here's what I learned. They each get a trail name along the way. Frodo, who showed us his missing finger, think Lord of the Rings, said it took him 37 years to complete! The joy on his face was so deep I really can't put it into words. Another, Riverrunner, held on to the dream of the A.T. for 47 years. He began in March and completed it in 5 months. Not bad for a 67-year-old! And another, Wood, whose whole body was wobbly with relief, even disbelief, ecstatic and teary, said it took him 21 years to reach the top. He kept walking around in circles telling everyone. I love that.

The best part though, and the part I was most scared about, was the descent. Ok, I got up. Can I get down? Will my legs stay strong and steady? Can I hold my footing?

Standing at the edge of the Thoreau Spring plateau, a near-sheer drop off of rock, there was nothing in front of you but sky, similar to feeling perched at the top of a rollercoaster. Much to my surprise, Riverrunner and Wood came ambling along. We all stopped to put our poles away and ready ourselves for the descent.

Having not descended something like this before, I'm not the one to follow. I gave them the polite go-ahead motion with my hand - "After you." Climbing down proved to be a combination of reaching, jumping, sliding, and swinging the legs through as I braced my body between two rocks. Did I mention a little praying too? Even that I wouldn’t split my running tights as I slid down rock?

By the time we got to the tree line, our close-knit pack began to fall into an ebb and flow of coming together and apart as one would stop for water, to tie a shoe, use the facilitrees, but not Riverrunner, he stopped for nothing and no one. In the words of Wood, "He's a machine."

Riverrunner and Wood met up 118 miles ago for the famed One Hundred Mile Wilderness, which Riverrunner described as being nothing but root over mud and should be renamed as the “extreme tactical obstacle course,” or something along those lines. In other words, they had plenty to bond over before reaching Katahdin.

As the four us hiked along, there are all these bits and pieces of conversation that you collect along the way that you never get the full story on, like when Wood said he had a photo of his ex-wife in his pocket, whom he started this with 21 years ago. They made it all the way to New England together. But I don’t know anything more than that. Did I even remember that correctly? There's that too. Bits and pieces.

As we each found our way to the home stretch, Wood was behind us and I wasn’t sure if I’d see Riverrunner again. He was way out in front. Much to our surprise, we caught up and met him at the kiosk where we all signed in for this journey. Turns out our names were in sequence with each other in the journal. We unknowingly started together and here we were finishing together.  He gave us a knuckle bump or equivalent high-five, and was pleased to see us, asking where Wood was. Wood soon emerged from the trail, tattered shirt, scraped legs and all — proof in the making. In that moment, we were like family reunited. We got our picture together and exchanged numbers. Who knows if we’ll meet again?

What I do know, is that Riverrunner and Wood, aside from completing the A.T., are no ordinary people. Riverrunner served in the Coast Guard for 30 years and I’m sure he did much more after that, remaining humble about it. I just have that hunch. As we made our way to the parking lot, I asked Wood about his interests and what he does in the world. Somehow this never came up. With enthusiasm, he raised his hands in the air to say he’s a journalist who covers international affairs — not domestic politics, to be clear. “Do you write for someone?” I asked. Then he dropped the name of a big newspaper. What! Riverrunner laughed and jokingly encouraged us to get his autograph. Turns out he’s quite well known, traveling with U.S. Secretaries of State and a few Presidents. His work even inspired a film. But to us, on that day, he was a fellow companion on the trail.

I’m sure Calvin will hold tight to the insights Riverrunner shared with him about what’s important in life and how to approach pursuits. It was sweet to witness their exchange, an elder and the next generation, each finding their way down the mountain. And I’ll never forget the many times Wood turned around to give us a reassuring smile and thumbs up as we navigated the puzzle of rock.

So, what made the descent so special? Sure, it was an honor to descend with two guys who just completed the A.T., but what made it special was the spontaneous friendship that grew along the way. In just those 5 hours, not one of us will ever forget the other.

I can't think of Katahdin without thinking about Riverrunner and Wood.

I can't think of Katahdin without thinking about Calvin, as he traverses his own struggles in life as a young adult, some of which he carried the weight of up the mountain.

I can't think of Katahdin without thinking about ... just this rock.

Resilience, determination, struggle, perseverance, and the human journey. Katahdin will be here long after all of us. I can only hope Mama K has enjoyed our company, as we have long stood proud to climb. Humbled in the majesty of her shadow, our celebration and tears marking what it is to have a human life.

May we know that part of us that is the mountain. The mountain within. Steady and stable. The mountain that watches the weather go by. The mountain that faces the fiercest storms and (still) offers the softest ground for friendships to root.

Katahdin is held sacred by the Maliseet, Micmac, Passamaquoddy, and Penobscot nations and the geology within and around the monument is central to oral histories, traditions, and cultural practices for each tribal community. (source)