The Katahdin gang rides again
Fifteen years ago, five men who shared only one thing in common—their friendship with me—traveled to Millinocket, Maine to climb Mt. Katahdin, the highest peak in the state and the northern terminus of the 2,198 mile Appalachian Trail.
Our crew, most in our late 50s and 60s, were a diverse mix: a naturalist, a forester, a college administrator, a special education professor, and me. Yet our chemistry was seamless.
In researching our hike I consulted my good friend, and Chief Ranger of Baxter State Park, Adirondacker Ben Woodard. He felt we should take the North Basin Trail because it was perfect for us oldsters. On the other hand, my cousin, who’s from Millinocket thought we should take the Chimney Pond Trail, and while it would be more physically challenging, we would appreciate the more direct ascent. We took it.
He wasn’t kidding about the route being direct, but it was made up of endless boulders. The primary difficulty wasn't the steepness, but the boulder climbing. There were no sections of smooth, clear ground. Instead, we were constantly stepping over small rocks, roots, and boulders after boulders—a terrain some hikers compare to "hiking across a field of giant bowling balls."
We made steady progress and before long we reached the summit. After encountering a group celebrating completion of the Appalachian Trail at the cloud-shrouded top we headed down the Knife Edge trail. It is widely considered one of the most visually terrifying and mentally exhausting routes in the Northeast. The descent began from the summit and narrowed to a jagged spine of granite, ranging from 2 to 4 feet wide. The heavy fog at the top gave way to vertigo-inducing views, with drop-offs of 1,500-to-2,000-feet, and when we crossed the ridgeline, any semblance of normal walking disappeared. We dropped down onto our hands and knees, sliding over massive boulders and constantly struggling to maintain our balance. We couldn’t look down at our feet without seeing the massive, empty air of the glacial bowl below.
The most severe mental and physical test happened at the end of the ridge. We had to cross the Chimney, a jagged, near-vertical gap in the mountain spine. We backed down a rock face into a claustrophobic notch. Finding secure footing blindly beneath us required steely composure…which still only got us halfway through the Chimney. Once we reached the floor of the notch, we immediately had to pull our bodies up a steep, semi-technical wall of rock to successfully get back up on the ridge.
Keep in mind that the Knife Edge is an all-or-nothing commitment – there are zero side trails or shortcuts off the ridge. Still, we weren’t done. We had a long, knee-jarring descent down the exposed boulder ridden trail until it leveled out into the softwood forest.
Ranging in age from 45 to 61, we considered ourselves "ambitious old men," but we still treated the five-mile, 3,500-foot ascent and the infamous four-mile descent across the Knife Edge like it was a piece of cake. Looking back now, I realize just how young we actually were.
After the climb, life pulled us in different directions. I still hunted with Greg, worked on St. Regis Mountain projects with Doug, and hosted Mitch and his wife for the 2024 solar eclipse. But while I crossed paths with almost everyone over the years—until recently, the group hadn’t reunited.
Now, everyone except John is retired, our lives center largely on family and grandchildren. But that changed about six months ago when Mitch texted me, suggesting a hiking trip to Acadia National Park. He had enjoyed the park's famous iron-rung trails and knew I’d enjoy them, too. We bounced names back and forth for potential partners for the trip, when a small miracle happened: By the time we arrived in Camden, Maine, the Katahdin band was back together.
We were fifteen years older, now ranging from 60 to 77. A few steps slower, our balance more precarious, overall distance mattered far less than good views and quality time together.
This time my goals were more modest. I’m past the mean age of death in the U.S. (73) and am grateful I’m as active as I am. I find getting motivated harder and as a friend pointed out, it takes more motivation to accomplish less.
We arrived in Camden on Monday, and hiked Bald Mountain. It was an ideal, relatively easy three-mile start to the week. Since it was late October the brown oaks and yellow aspens were just beginning to shed, framing spectacular views of Penobscot Bay.
Tuesday, we drove to Acadia National Park, where we tackled the Beehive, one of Acadia's most thrilling and famous trails. It is described as Maine's version of a via ferrata, it uses iron rungs drilled into the rock face to provide hand and foot holds. Though it was only a mile and a half round-trip, the climb was challenging, short, and exhilarating, rewarding us with stunning ocean vistas.
Our final day back in Camden was a gorgeous autumn trek through the hardwoods of Camden Hills State Park. We completed a three-and-a-half-mile loop up Bald Rock Mountain.
On the trails our pace was easy and we drifted into rotating groups of two or three. Our conversation flowed from identifying local trees and shrubs to sharing stories of our grandchildren, and even debating the strengths and shortcomings of capitalism. We didn’t dwell much on politics, with the exception of lamenting the current state of the nation.
Our evenings featured good food, retelling of the day's highlights, and reminiscences of past adventures. Too soon, it was time to head home. We made tentative plans to gather again next summer, perhaps with our spouses. We certainly can't wait another fifteen years, the odds are against us.
As Clarence Darrow, the greatest lawyer of the 20th century once said: "When we fully understand the brevity of life, its fleeting joys and unavoidable pains... it should bring a closer kinship, a better understanding, and a deeper sympathy for the wayfarers who must live a common life and die a common death."
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