The Appalachian Trail in Maine is extremely wild and scenic. Although there are dozens of river and stream fords in Maine on the Appalachian trail, there is one crossing, that of the Kennebec River, that for most back packers will require a boat to ferry them across. The most isolated area of the entire Appalachian Trail is in Maine, which is known as the Hundred Mile Wilderness. I entered the wilderness from outside of Baxter State park just south of Abol Bridge.

The tallest mountain in Maine is Katahdin which lies at the northern terminus of the trail in Baxter state park. Many people continue to call this nearly mile high mountain, Mount Katahdin, but they would be incorrect in use the word mount in front of the name for this mountain.

The reason that they use the prefix Mount is because of a little know fact about this name and where it came from. Katahdin, pronounced Ke-tad-n by English speaking people is a native American word from the Abenaki tribe who pronounce it Ka-ta-din and to the Abenake, the word translate to English as Mighty Mountain.

So, to ignorantly call this monolith Mount Katahdin is equivalent to saying Mount Mighty Mountain which is utterly redundant.

Number of Days Afoot: 21 days

Total Distance in 1978-1979: 280.0 miles (450.5 km)

Distance in 1978: 148.7 miles (239.2 km) Day 111 AT - Day 121 AT

Distance in 1979: 131.3 miles (211.3 km) Day 155 AT - Day 164 AT

Katahdin 5267 feet, summited on Sunday, 20 August 1978 using Abol Trail.

Coming in as the fourth highest mountain on the Appalachian Trail.

13. 28 August 1978, Monson, ME  Day 118 AT   Total Miles Afoot: 1490.8

19. 27 July 1979, Carratunk, ME    Day 164 AT   Total Miles Afoot: 2058.6 Final

Baxter State Park

This was most formidable ford on the AT during my 2000 miles afoot and here today, this river would be totally impossible to ford and require a ferry across.

After two days of camping, I leave for the northern terminus.

Excerpts from pages 339 - 341

I awake before sunrise in the predawn sunglow and see that the moon is now high, Venus is only now rising and Mars is in between them. In the cold air on this mountain summit I sit up in my bag to watch the dawn unfold into a new day as first the stars and then the planets fade into the waxing light of the Sun.

I eat a small breakfast while watching as the sun rises and soon after begin taking steps on the AT. In less than three kilos, I arrive at the crossing of the very last state line of this journey.

If I were to have a regret about this state, then I would likely say, I wish the time upon the White Mountains could have been twice as long to provide much more time above the treeline while enjoying that wonderful high place. Nevertheless, my short time here in New Hampshire has been thoroughly gratifying.

AT LAST I HAVE RETURNED TO MAINE, the final state of my march across the AT fourteen. Once across the state line, we stop in Carlo Col, a small box canyon to rest, read ahead in the Maine guide book, write in my journal and organize my thoughts about my plans after crossing the Kennebec River. This is proving to be an extremely difficult thing for me to do, that is deciding what will be done upon this journey′s end.

Already, what appears to confront me is culture shock from the though of not having a white blaze to guide my steps, a mail stop to walk to, a summit to peer down from, a rushing stream to cool my aching feet, or a starry night as my canopy to sleep under and yet, my steps continue toward this inevitable cessation.

Excerpts from page 273 - 274

As the logs on the council fire disintegrate into embers and begins to slowly smolder, the scouts retire one by one each to his tent. While this troop sleeps in this northernmost forest, Katahdin is aglow from the near full moon sailing through a sea of stars.

For myself, the wait is only until the morrow whereupon my return to the AT will have my direction now set southbound. ‘Tis a rare day indeed! Sleep comes quickly.

At about seven, the bustling campsite finally causes me to rise. Joining the adults for coffee and while sipping the steamy liquid, I contemplate the abundance of exceptional treats received here in this camp with my fraternal hosts. Then, the troop marches off to climb the Mighty one.

I too am ready and after leaving my coins in the depression made from my nights berth, move west out of camp on the Nesowadnehunk Tote Road. There is no traffic and go afoot for the three kilos to the AT. Here, my steps turn left off of the park road and winds alongside three ponds. As the Mighty One begins to fade slowly behind me, I stop by one pond to sit upon the forest carpet and breathe in the energy I perceive emanating here.

The AT follows along the tote road next to Nesowadnehunk Stream (An Abenaki people word meaning swift stream between mountains) passing several waterfalls to where it joins the Penobscot (Abenaki word meaning rocky river) and crosses the river at th Abol Stream bridge before beginning the long climb up out of the low river valley.

Soon after leaving the valley, I come upon a sign having an ominous warning to any and all who would pass this way.

A smile came onto my face as I stride pass the sign without a moment′s hesitation. Yes, this truly is my home!