"...Occasionally, when the windy columns broke in to me, I caught sight of a dark, damp crag to the right or left; the mist driving ceaselessly between it and me. It reminded me of the creations of the old epic and dramatic poets, of Atlas, Vulcan, the Cyclops, and Prometheus. Such was Caucasus and the rock where Prometheus was bound. Æschylus had no doubt visited such scenery as this. It was vast, Titanic, and such as man never inhabits. Some part of the beholder, even some vital part, seems to escape through the loose grating of his ribs as he ascends. He is more lone than you can imagine. There is less of substantial thought and fair understanding in him, than in the plains where men inhabit. His reason is dispersed and shadowy, more thin and subtle, like the air. Vast, Titanic, inhuman Nature has got him at disadvantage, caught him alone, and pilfers him of some of his divine faculty. She does not smile on him as in the plains. She seems to say sternly, why came ye here before your time? This ground is not prepared for you..."
This passage is a quote from my favorite Thoreau essay, titled "Ktaadn." Mount Katahdin (as we spell it today) was named long ago by the Native Americans that called the Maine woods home. Loosely translated, it means "the great mountain." As Maine's tallest mountain, it stands alone, over five thousand two hundred feet tall, with its ghostly, rocky crags looming over the verdant landscape. Representing the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail, it is said (at least by some) to be the toughest mountain on the trail.
When he climbed Katahdin back in 1846, Thoreau walked in a world that probably felt like a different planet. With no trails to follow, no LL Bean Hiking boots, bug dope, filtered water, or trail mix, I would imagine the mountain felt twice as tall as it appeared. Subsisting on raw pork, hard biscuit, spring water, and some trout that he and his traveling companions caught, Henry fought his way through endless, seemingly impenetrable brush, swatting at endless clouds of mosquitoes, black flies, and no see - ums, with only his compass and heart to guide him. He was one tough, thoughtful fellow.
His trek up the mountain was the culmination of a long, difficult trip through the Maine wilds. In those days, there were no roads leading directly to Katahdin. He spent a great deal of time traveling by land and river before he even came remotely close to Katahdin. What could possibly have motivated him? Why did he do this?
A simple quote from renowned alpinist George Mallory probably sums it up. When asked why he wanted to climb Everest, Mallory replied, "Because it is there." This simple, yet powerful desire to conquer obstacles is what has driven humans forward since they first learned to walk many thousands of years ago. For some reason, humans are born with a desire to test their limits. We all do this in different ways. Such action does not always result in a positive outcome. Many have died in pursuit of that basic desire that George Mallory articulated so well. And yet, climbers and hikers continue heading for the peaks, driven by that same basic human need that drove Mallory and Thoreau so many years ago.
Like Thoreau, I could feel Katahdin calling me. I had felt it ever since first ascending it with my father and uncle back in 2003. We took an easier route, called the Saddle Trail. The day we climbed, Katahdin was sheathed in rain and fog. When we summited, there was nothing to see but barren rock and an opaque, milky sky. A lone crow perched on a rock. The mountain dropped away into the clouds. We had heard stories of great views from the top, but like Thoreau (who actually didn't reach the peak), we saw none of it. From that day on, I swore I would return to that peak, and by god, I'd inhale that great view for all it was worth.
The summers came and went. Wrapped up in summer jobs and earning money, I always had to back - burner those dreams of Katahdin. I'd make it back some day, I said. Just not this summer. Stick to the golf course for now.
This year, though, I knew something was different. I was not in school any more. With a full - time office job at the Nantucket Historical Association, I had been forced to adjust to the rigors of professional life, spending my hours in front of a computer screen, occasionally stealing a glance at the framed shot of Katahdin on my office wall. My father gave me that photo as a birthday gift. He told me "put it in your office." This was before I had an office job, mind you. It was as if he knew I needed something to keep me attached to the Maine woods I knew and loved back home. Nantucket, although a beautiful place, is choked with tourists and seasonal residents in the summer months. And crowds, as we all know, bring STRESS. Endless lines at the take-out - joints, rowdy drunken preppies stumbling out of bars to barf in the streets, and countless young people, running from boutique to boutique, buying $200.00 polo shirts on Mommy and Daddy's credit card without a second thought.
By June, I needed to get away.
Luckily, it just so happened that life afforded me the opportunity I sought. Having worked many extra hours, I had roughly 40 hours of comp. time on the books, enough for a week's vacation. Also, my little sister was graduating from High School! It was a perfect opportunity to escape. So, without hesitating, l loaded up the truck, booked a ferry reservation, cleared my desk, and trekked home. Maine again! Katahdin didn't feel so far away any more.
On my way home, I stopped at LL Bean and invested in a new pair of hiking boots. I would need them for this trip. This act was also designed to serve as an additional motivator. After dropping $100 on a pair of boots, I knew I'd feel like a total idiot if I didn't follow through and climb Katahdin. Eventually, after Kirstie's wonderful graduation, I knew time was wasting. I had less than a week. If I was going to climb Katahdin, I had to do it soon. So, on Monday night, June 11th, I announced my intentions to my parents. They were mildly surprised, slightly nervous, but nonetheless encouraging. They knew I had wanted to do this for a long time. Perhaps they were nervous because they knew I was going to climb the mountain solo. Many people hike Katahdin, but it can still be a dangerous mountain. Twenty-two people have died up there since 1926, and who knows how many others perished before that. I imagine there are at least several old Native American ghosts among the boulders up there. It is not a mountain to be taken lightly.
As I loaded up my truck with gear, I looked at my mom, and said, very simply, "I won't do anything stupid, and I promise, if I ever feel really unsure of myself with anything up there, I won't do it." I do not wish to sound melodramatic or self - serving here. Indeed, I bet some veteran hikers would scoff at such a comment. It isn’t Everest. However, I felt I owed it to mom to make that promise. I would be alone in a landscape that, at times, could be unforgiving. I needed to be careful. Most of all, I didn't want her to worry any more than she normally would. Although not yet a parent myself, I imagine that there are few feelings worse in life than knowing that, somewhere out there, your child is in a place where you cannot easily locate or contact them. Cell reception isn't very good up there.
With a truck full of camping and hiking gear, food, and some maps, I headed north at about 2 PM Tuesday afternoon, destined for Hidden Spring Campground in Millinocket, Maine. Millinocket is the closest town to Katahdin. It is roughly three hours north, or about 180 miles, from my family's home in Woolwich. The mountain is indeed much more accessible than it was in Henry David's day. I wonder if he would have enjoyed a seat in my truck with some Paul Simon CD's to keep him occupied. He probably wouldn't like it very much, but it's fun to imagine nonetheless. I also took a copy of his essay, "Kataadn," with me. I intended to experience his essay in the very land that bore it. As I drove north, I wondered if I could really touch it. Could I really reach out and touch the mountain and feel what Thoreau felt? Or would modern civilization render his essay as little more than a distant relic of a time long since passed? I didn't know, but I was anxious to find out!
