Week Twenty-Five – The Path to Victory: Finding Joy in the Journey

Hey everyone! I know this last blog post is a little late, so I apologize for keeping you all in suspense. Most of you already know that we finished the Appalachian Trail (sorry, spoiler alert!). We are home now and are navigating the re-entry process. I do just want to send out a quick reminder that my fundraiser for Open Hand Ministries (OHM) is still active and will be at least through the end of 2023. Please feel free to check out the “Support OHM” tab in the top of this webpage for links to my online donation page and the OHM web page for more information. Thank so SO MUCH to those of you who have already donated or are planning to donate. If you contacted me previously to set up a pledge, I will be reaching back out to you within the next few days.

And now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for: here’s what happened at the End of All Things!

Day 169: Monday, September 4: All of our camping neighbors had celebrated and enjoyed their holiday weekend much later into the previous night than we had, and when we awoke around 5:30am the campground was silent and dark. We packed up camp quickly, taking the appropriate time to notice that it would be the last time we packed up the tent, and ran to the bathroom with our headlamps on to enjoy the running water. The campground’s continental breakfast wasn’t served until 7:30am, and the park ranger Don had instructed us the previous day that the list for reservations for the Birches Shelter at the base of Katahdin was posted at 7am. We didn’t expect a large crowd of other long-distance hikers to necessarily pack the Birches, but neither of us wanted to leave it up to chance, so around 6:15am we were hiking up the trail to meet Don at his little kiosk just inside the park. The sky was completely clear, and the rising golden light was just getting bright enough to make the dewy condensation on the ground sparkle. We crossed a small footbridge over a stream that marked the boundary of Baxter State Park…we were so close! We stopped on the bridge to admire the view of Katahdin just as the sun rose over the low mountains to the east. We stood to watch the sunrise as the mists that had settled into the low valleys overnight were set aflame, the stream babbling and gurgling below us and crickets and birds chirping around us. I felt like I was floating; it was so hard to believe that we were so close to Katahdin and finishing the task that we set out to do so long ago. I stared at the view for several minutes, feeling grateful once again that we had been given beautiful weather as we finished our journey.

Eventually we tore ourselves away, walking the last few hundred feet to Don the Park Ranger’s Kiosk. It was just after 6:30am and we had arrived in the Pre-Don hour (see what I did there?), so the kiosk was empty. We dumped our packs and waited a short time before we saw him walking up the trail with his daily supplies in hand, including a massive handheld radio and a large shopping bag filled with water and snacks. We spent a few minutes chatting with Don while he settled in. “I’m horrible, I make you wait until 7am for the Birches list!” he said, laughing. Instead, we talked about Don’s quest to hike all of the Appalachian Trail in Maine over the last few years, and he was looking forward to a weekend hiking trip with some of his old buddies. He asked us what our average pack weights were, and told us that he always ends up carrying forty or fifty pounds when he goes backpacking. “I’m the guy who brings extra snacks so I have things to give away, and I have spare gear in case anyone needs anything. You need a spare can of fuel? I can give one away and still have a spare for myself!” And he laughed. Although carrying a fifty-pound backpack on a weekend trip seemed to me like an insane-person thing to do, it was easy to see that Don loved his job and he loved taking care of people. He asked how we cook our food, and was interested in the details on the mylar and plastic bags I had packed our meals in. I had brought a new, empty mylar bag from our last resupply in case one of my Quaker oatmeal packets had burst open, so I opened my pack and gave him the new bag. “This will be great! Now instead of just using a ziploc bag I can use this, rinse it out and reuse it to save on plastic.” Right at 7am, Don opened the Birches Shelter sign-up list and we signed our names. He talked to us briefly about the check-in process at the Birches, saying that we had to stop into the Ranger Station at the Baxter state park campground to check-in and pick up our day passes for the park. He also said we could leave our backpacks with him at the kiosk while we headed back to the campground for our breakfast. “I promise I won’t leave them unattended unless I have to go save someone’s life or there’s a forest fire behind me.” Meadow and I grabbed our fanny packs–the Thru-Hiker equivalent of a wallet–and walked the half mile back to the campground office for breakfast. (As an aside, after carrying a fanny pack for six months, I’ve realized how much better they are than a purse or handbag. Once you go fanny pack, you never go back!). We got back to the office before 7:30am so we walked back to Abol Bridge to take yet another look at Katahdin and the fly fisherman who were already wading into Katahdin Stream.

The campground had a small staff, and they were almost a half hour late opening up for breakfast; by the time the doors opened just before 8am, there was a queue of campers and bleary-eyed kids in pajamas waiting to be let in. Breakfast included biscuits and gravy, bagels, eggs, and hot coffee. Ultra, the woman who we had met at the campground the day before, carried her plate of food over to an empty table next to us. I asked if she wanted to sit with us, and she brought her food over. We talked about our “AT origin stories” and how we ended up on the trail. Ultra was a flip-flop hiker, which meant that after summitting Katahdin the next day, she would go home for a short rest and then head back south to finish out her hike. “I’m definitely jealous of you guys!” she said, smiling. “I can feel myself getting sucked into the joy of ‘finishing’ the trail since I’ll be summitting Katahdin, but I still have so far to go!” She mimed raising her hands in triumph on the Katahdin sign, and then let them fall in mock dismay that she still had more hiking to do. “I’m definitely going to have to go back to hike Katahdin again once I finish the entire trail.” After we had eaten what we wanted, I chugged the rest of my coffee and we cleaned up the table. I stopped into the camp store for a plastic clamshell-container filled with six cinnamon sugar donuts as a treat for our last full day on the AT. We walked back to Don’s Kiosk in the state park, taking a shortcut through a gravel staging area since we had already walked the official route of the Trail once that day. I offered Don a donut, and he stared at them for a few seconds before refusing with that ever-present twinkle in his eye. “Normally I would take one, but I’m trying to be good. Being a bigger guy came in handy while I was a police chief, but now it’s time to get healthy.” I had to stop myself from laughing at the thought that Santa had just turned down a Christmas cookie. We put our fanny packs back in our backpacks and I lovingly tucked the donuts in their plastic forcefield on top of my pack. After a few more minutes talking to Don, we headed up the trail.

We had a total of nine miles to hike for the rest of the day before reaching Katahdin Stream Campground and the Birches shelters. I was happy to have a shorter day to hike, which would allow us to take our time and enjoy the last full day on trail. The weather was pleasant, the sun was shining, and the forests were beautiful. We passed through a fifty-acre area that had been burned by wildfire in 2020. We hiked along the Penobscot River for several miles, enjoying the rush of water as much as the flat terrain.

After hiking about three miles in just over an hour, we decided it was time for our first break. We only had to go nine miles all day, after all! We pulled over off-trail to a beautiful waterfall system. The water was freezing but mostly clear, and we sat down on the smooth rock. Someone else had already done the same, a man with short spiky hair and a slight gap in his front teeth. I greeted him and asked him how his day was going. He held his arms open toward the waterfall below us and the Penobscot River, and said “Really [profanity] good!” laughing. After a few minutes, Ultra joined us for a break as well, and the four of us stayed on the rocks and chatted for almost an hour. The man was a freelance crime journalist by trade, and he was also backpacking through Maine but with a different goal–fishing. He had a compact fly fishing rod on his enormous backpack, and he told us about the differences he has observed in fishing wild salmon and trout as compared to fishing in stocked streams. There were two or three spots on the river upstream from the waterfall where fish were coming to the surface, and he pointed to them. “See the ripples from the fish coming to the surface? That’s a nine inch salmon. And that one over there, that one is an eight inch trout.” I asked how he knew that just from the ripples on the surface of the water, and he laughed. “I got a good look when I caught them all yesterday.” After we had our fill of fish talk, we said goodbye and headed up the trail.

We hiked on, and came to Little Niagara Falls and Great Niagara Falls. We took short side trails to see both, stopping for another break at Great Niagara Falls (more peanut butter crackers–woohoo!). The day had grown warm indeed, and we crowded together in a small patch of shade on a ledge overlooking the falls.

After a few more miles, we came upon a small gravel parking lot for the Daicey Pond Campground. Meadow had stayed here several years ago when she had hiked Katahdin, and we figured it was another good opportunity to check out the pond. We veered off-trail up the gravel road to the campground, and hiked the quarter-mile to the pond. We found the cabin that Meadow had stayed in previously, and wandered around the small area looking at the other cabins. We entered the “Library” cabin to look at the ancient biology and wildlife books and some of the atrociously-wonderful children’s art that was posted on the wall, likely from a previous camping activity. I told Meadow that I didn’t need to see a real moose now that I had seen a drawing of one that looked like a giant hot dog with toothpick legs and wings on its head (artist credit: Tessa, seven years old). Upon seeing a sign that canoe rentals were one dollar per hour, we decided it would be irresponsible to pass up the opportunity. We put a dollar in the drop box and donned our life jackets, selecting wooden paddles over the newer metal and rubber ones. Canoeing was easier than I remembered it being, especially since we didn’t mind much that we weren’t going in a straight line. The sun was hot overhead, but there was a slight wind over the pond’s surface and the water that I could reach with my feet over the side of the canoe was cold and refreshing. We went across the pond and back twice, enjoying the activity just as much as the scenery. When it came time to return to the dock, we executed a perfect parallel-parking job, coming to rest with the bow and port sides of the craft just bumping the shore and the dock so we could get out. After dragging the canoe back up on shore and returning our jackets and paddles to their storage locations, we each had a cinnamon donut and some other snacks. Chili Dog and his girlfriend (who had just received the trail name Chipmunk), and Ultra, were also there, and they played cards and kayaked while we chatted. Eventually we decided to press on, and we said goodbye, or rather see-you-later, to Daicey Pond.

After a few more miles, we came out of the forest onto a gravel road and saw our first sign for the Katahdin Stream Campground. All pretenses gone, we wept with joy and pride. Although a part of me was still in disbelief that we had made it nearly to the end, the rich memories of the entire experience (and the pain in my feet) were reminders of everything we had been through to get to that place in that moment. After a brief moment admiring the sign, we moved into the campground to find the park ranger. He signed us in and gave us each a slip of paper with our hike information on it, tearing off a carbon copy for himself. “It’s very important that you drop your copy off at the gate when you leave Baxter,” he said. “This is how we keep track of who has made it out safely and who is still in the park.” He said he would be stopping by the Birches shelter around 5:30pm to give us and the other hikers a brief talk on logistics, and we left the ranger hut. We stopped by Katahdin Stream to collect and filter water. We filled up all the bottles between us (five liters), and I also filled up our three-liter bladder so we could use what we needed that night and top off in the morning without needing to collect water the next day. It was less than half a mile to the Birches shelter, but carrying almost six liters of water made it feel much longer! We made it to the shelter area and dumped our packs. There were two smaller shelters to choose from, or concentrated tenting options right next to the shelter. We decided to sleep in the shelter instead of setting up the tent, which we would regret later… Within half an hour, we had our sleeping kits set up and had eaten a few snacks, including another cinnamon donut each, and the area had started to fill up with some of the other hikers who had all opted to tent. There were several other thru-hikers as well, including Chili Dog and Chipmunk, as a few folks who had section-hiked the Hundred Mile Wilderness. We chatted with the other hikers as we waited for the Baxter State Park ranger to arrive, the conversation for the first time centered around plans for after the trail was over instead of discussing the trail itself. Eventually the ranger arrived, and we sat in a circle around the empty fire ring while he gave us some basic instructions. “As you all know, the Penobscot Nation has an annual ceremony at Katahdin Stream Campground related to a pilgrimage that they take every year. Some of them run the hundred mile wilderness in two days to be here, some of them paddle one hundred miles up the Penobscot River, and some of them walk here from other places. Mount Katahdin was named by the Penobscot, and it means Great Mountain; this place is sacred to them. And so we ask that you treat this area and the mountain with respect and courtesy.” This involved continuing to follow all Leave No Trace principles, but also being sure to share the summit with other folks. The ranger also gave us some basics on the terrain, the unreliability of water sources, and other useful hiking information, before wishing us well and giving us all a congratulations for finishing the trail. After he left, we all cooked dinner as a group and I tried to pawn some protein bars off on anyone who wanted them. As the sun sunk low in the sky and the light began to fade, I carried our food bags over to the bear cables and hung our food for the last time. As we got ready to climb into our sleeping bags, Meadow let out a horrified gasp…an enormous wolf spider had decided to make itself at home right next to her sleeping bag. We shoo’ed it away and scanned the shelter with the red lights of our headlamps…I was also horrified to see another wolf spider in the back of the shelter. To illustrate how large these spiders were, they were large enough that I could see the reflection of my headlamp in the spiders’ eyes. NO, THANK YOU. I grabbed the nearby broom to shoosh it away, but may have accidentally shooshed it a little to hard so it sort of died. Now that we knew there were at least two wolf spiders in our sleeping quarters, going to sleep was much less appealing. I cinched the top of my sleeping bag liner completely closed, and although it was probably 150 degrees in my liner since I no longer had a breathing hole, it was worth it. Between the massive spiders and the excitement to hike Katahdin the next day, I barely slept at all.

Day 170: Tuesday, September 5: Our alarm went off at 4:15am, and we were ready for it. We both immediately scanned the shelter for more spiders, and my relief at seeing none in the shelter was quickly replaced by panic at seeing one perched on the broom leaning against the inside wall. As I watched, its front two legs moved up and down, and I realized it was in the process of eating a large insect. It slowly made a few revolutions on the broom, turning in circles, apparently performing to be as terrifying as possible as if it knew it was being watched. We packed up our things as quickly as possible in the darkness and left the shelter as soon as possible just to get away from the spiders. We walked the half mile back to the Katahdin Stream ranger station and signed the logbook before posting up in a picnic table pavilion next to the parking lot where our hiking companions would be meeting us. As the sun began to rise, we ate our last breakfast of protein bars, filtered water for the last time, and sorted through our gear, removing anything from our packs that we wouldn’t need for our day hike. Around 7am a car with Pittsburgh Steelers front license plate rolled in, and we knew that our friends and family had arrived! We said hello to Nick, Ben, Will, Kyle, and James and did some last minute re-organizing of snacks before heading up the Hunt Trail, the Baxter State Park designation for the AT path up Katahdin. We stopped at the trailhead to sign in, and we only had 5.2 miles between us and Baxter Peak.

The first few miles of trail before we hit treeline were densely forested. The path wasn’t overly rocky, but there were several sections of rocky steps. We passed a lovely waterfall, and enjoyed talking about the trail and catching up on events from back home.

Once we burst through treeline, the trail instantly became more rocky and technical and we stowed our trekking poles to better allow us to climb. The morning sky was clear of clouds, but a thick haze hung in the air. I applied sunscreen for the first time since North Carolina, hoping to avoid getting burned since we would be exposed for most of the rest of the day. Meadow and I took turns leading throughout the morning, wanting to share the experience of a full view. Once we hit Thoreau Spring, the last mile of trail was much flatter although still quite rocky. The scrubby grasses and alpine plants took on a rusty color and all green faded, giving the summit a more barren appearance. However, in sharp contrast with every other 4,000-foot peak on the AT, there was very little wind. A light breeze gently pushed the short grasses around every now and then, but there was no frigid wind cutting across the mountain peak.

When we got close enough to see the famous sign, tears were shed. Ultra had made it to the summit before us, and when we arrived she was just climbing up for her photograph while laughing and crying. When it was our turn, Meadow and I approached the sign on either side. Counting down from three, we touched the Katahdin sign and completed our Appalachian Trail Thru-Hikes at the same time. The rush of emotions was in many ways just what I thought it would be: joy at being on Mount Katahdin, gratitude for the unbelievable opportunity to achieve something like this, pride in doing something that only 25 percent of aspiring Thru-Hikers are able to do, and an unconditional love of the Trail (spiders and all). I had thought that a part of me would be sad that the AT had come to an end for me, but while I will certainly miss many parts of living on the trail, I could not honestly say that I was sad that it was over. We had lived our AT experience to the full and without regret: instead of sadness, I had an overwhelming sense of peace in knowing that we had finished at the right time and in the right way. The Appalachian Trail is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was also challenging mentally, and of course difficult to be away from loved ones. It was an opportunity to realize and sow a profound gratitude for what I do have, and provide space to notice a few things that could be changed. I learned a lot about myself and experienced the natural world in a way I never have before. We set out to hike the Appalachian Trail, and we came away with so much more than a finisher’s medal…WE HAD DONE IT!!

Getting up on the sign was harder than it looked, and we ascended the sign laughing and crying. We took several photos of us together and with other people, reminding me of wedding photos when taking this side of the family and then that, these folks and a subset of those folks, etc. We moved slightly away from the summit sign before sitting and taking another snack break to allow others access to the sign as well. We spent some time basking in the moment and taking a few photographs for others who had hiked the summit.

We also witnessed an engagement; she said yes and we all cheered. We wandered the summit and looked out across the Knife’s Edge trail down the other side of the mountain. We didn’t have quite enough time to hike across the Knife’s Edge and back, but I’ll be back someday. Eventually we left the summit, realizing just in time that we had almost forgotten to listen to our Appalachian Trail Theme Song: Shania Twain’s “Looks Like We Made It”. After correcting that oversight, we headed back down the Hunt Trail and the Abol Slide trail, aptly named for the giant rockslide heading directly down the mountain that is the trail. The terrain was extremely steep and involved rock scrambling downward, so the goings were slow. The sky was partly cloudy and very hazy, but the sun beat down on the exposed trail and I reapplied some sunscreen. Still, I felt like I was floating. Our group spread out as we all went different paces down the rockslide, meeting up to converge once we re-entered the trees.

We talked and laughed the whole way down the mountain, eventually reaching the Abol Campground where my mom and Frank met us to pick us up since we couldn’t all fit in one car. (They had seen a moose walking up a gravel road in Baxter State Park–how is that fair?!). We all drove back to our enormous cabin-chique lake house we would be staying in for a few days. We ate dinner around a huge table, talking and laughing late into the night. At least it felt late; my bedtime has backed up to around 8pm at this point! We weren’t able to see Shaggy again after we finished, but we are staying in touch and will likely have a reunion in the future. We texted our finisher photo to a few trail friends we made along the way, as they have sent their to us.

The day before we summitted Katahdin, I remembered something that Mack the Georgia trail volunteer had told us back in March before we had started our Thru-Hike. “When your friends and family ask if you’re having fun on the AT, tell them to ask you if you’re having an adventure instead.” I thought about all the times that Meadow and I had laughed in the face of difficulty or abject misery, and I realized that I could confidently say that we had an adventure, but that we actually made it fun, too. The time spent on the Appalachian Trail was such a “full” time, and the experience is in many ways indescribable. The people we met along the way, the things we learned about ourselves, and the memories we made are indelibly written into who we are now. Our “trail selves” will always be with us, and I’m proud to have become Victory along the way. I’m sure I will be thinking about and processing the experience for a long time to come, but I can promise you I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

While we were on the summit of Katahdin, I spent some time thinking about my dad and how he and my mom had hiked Katahdin 43 years ago, and wondered what he would have said when I told him I finished the Appalachian Trail. I’m not actually convinced that he would have let me hike the AT without him–he may have been there right alongside us, finishing his own Thru-Hike at the same time. I missed him more than ever there on the summit of Katahdin, but also felt his presence through the experiences I had on the Appalachian Trail. My dad gave me the confidence to backpack in the first place, and the courage to step out onto the Appalachian Trail. As such, I want to end this blog with an excerpt from the eulogy that I wrote for my dad’s funeral last fall. I had no idea then that I would be hiking the Appalachian Trail this year, but God works in mysterious ways.

“Most of us in this room have learned something from my dad. His default method of teaching was just to lead by example. Be accountable and take pride in your work whatever your work is, but stay humble. Speak softly, but live your life in such a way that people want to listen when you speak anyway. Walk with God, always. Work hard, and play hard. Show up, and just keep showing up. One of my favorite things I learned from my dad was how to backpack. When I was in college my dad took me on my first backpacking trip to the Old Loggers Path in Loyalsock State Forest. He taught me how to light his old Swiss camp stove without blowing myself up, how to use iodine tablets to make stream water safe to drink, and most importantly of all—and I cannot stress this enough—backpacking is supposed to be uncomfortable. (If backpacking is comfortable, you’re probably doing it wrong.) I vaguely remember being exhausted during the trip and the tendonitis I endured afterward—but even more vividly do I remember and cherish the memories of our journey on the Old Loggers Path together: laughing hysterically in the dead of night because my dad farted in his sleep. How we both sprinted in opposite directions after being startled by a giant rattlesnake and then had to find each other again, laughing sheepishly because we got so scared. Seeing the most beautiful stand of old coniferous trees, with their thick, straight trunks emerging from a sea of green ferns that seemed to stretch on for miles. Through backpacking, my dad showed me by example that the hard work and sometimes pain that comes with the trip is worth it, if you can find joy in the journey.”

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I do need to take a moment to say how much I appreciated all of the encouragement that we had over the course of the hike, and before we even left! To all of you who prayed for us, visited us, texted us or sent letters, followed along on the blog, donated to my fundraiser, brought or sent food, housed us or drove us around, or just missed us while we were gone: thank you so incredibly much! We did not hike alone, and your support meant the world to us.

Thank you, thank you, thank you all for reading this blog. I hope you have enjoyed it at least half as much as I have enjoyed writing it! If you have any questions or there’s anything that you wanted to let me know, but don’t want to leave it in the comments on the blog, please feel free to email me directly at heathertreks@gmail.com.

That’s all folks…for now!