When we failed to summit with Eva Bazant and her family in early July 2023, I blamed myself for not getting 15-year-old Giuliana to the summit of Mt Katahdin. But I told myself it didn’t matter that I hadn’t made it.
Apparently, I was wrong. Within 48 hours of returning home, I was back on the Baxter State Park website looking to reserve a parking space – without which climbing Katahdin can be much more difficult. The weekend dates were already taken, but there was a Friday when I’d still be in Maine – July 28 – and I grabbed it.
The next challenge was finding someone who might want to climb Katahdin. Several people who had earlier expressed interest either weren’t available or weren’t as serious as I’d understood them to be. I then emailed Charlotte Stetson, best friend from second grade and fellow hiker on the Franconia Ridge in 2022. Her initial reply was very tentative. “About Katahdin……so tempting, but I’m rather doubtful about my ability to get up and down the Abol Trail in a day!” I seized on the word “tempting” and continued the email exchange until Charlotte agreed. I assured her, “it’s not important that we summit; I just want to get in some more solid hiking this summer before returning to New Orleans.” (Another lie: Once on the mountain, that too would change.)
We decided to take the luxury option of staying at the Big Moose Inn the night before and the night of the hike. The Inn itself – while charming – is hardly luxurious. The luxury was not having to drive the 2½-3 hours back to our respective residences after we finished hiking.
Charlotte is a veteran hiker who recognizes the need for an early start, especially on Katahdin. She was down in the breakfast room 10 minutes before it opened, preparing her sandwich for the trail. We gulped down our breakfast and coffee before heading to the toll gate at Togue Pond. As we passed Camp Natarswi en route, we reminisced about the happy summers we’d spend at the camp. The main activities at Natarswi – a wilderness camp – were hiking, canoeing, and swimming. There’s no question where we both got our love for the mountains and for THIS mountain in particular. It looms majestically as the background to Togue Pond – the backdrop for every swimming class we ever had.
The weather forecast showed clear skies in the morning with a threat of thundershowers in the afternoon, all the more reason to get an early start. Yet, as we approached the mountain, it was barely visible through the clouds. We were among the first to reach the Abol Campground parking lot. Starting around the same time was a party of 10: three moms, one dad, and six girls around 10-15. We checked in at the ranger station together, but soon they were far ahead of us.
The Abol Trail, often dubbed the elevator to the top, is 4.4 miles from the trailhead to the summit and consists of three sections. The first 2.6 miles are below tree line. Because of the heavy rainfall the previous day, parts of the trail were more like a brook, running in rivulets down the mountain. By the second mile, we’d left the water behind but now had to contend with the tedium of small boulders and an increasingly steep trail. Charlotte and I found no lack of topics to discuss on the trail. She mentioned how on recent hikes in Scotland, she and her fellow hikers would go separate ways if not everyone felt up to summiting. She also expressed her doubts that her legs would hold up the whole way up Katahdin. Both of us knew that the second and most strenuous section still awaited us.
Emerging above the tree line, we immediately confronted the mile of the trail winding through a field of boulders: some medium size that just required concentration, others that were dauntingly large. We slowed down the pace and strategized how to make it from one to the next. When our aging knees and hips weren’t up to the task, we’d use our hands and arms to haul ourselves up over these boulders.
Partway up this section, we reached the marker that reads “PLEASE STAY ON TRAIL.” Part of the old Abol Trail was on a rockslide, which shifted during a small earthquake. When the new Abol Trail was opened, the sign was installed to keep hikers on the path.
As we paused at the marker, Charlotte said wistfully: “This is where my cousin John Stetson fell to his death.” I had known about her cousin – an experienced hiker who with permission from the Park service climbed Katahdin each winter with a childhood friend. In 2017, the friend couldn’t do the hike, but waited at the campground while his son took his place on the hike. John slipped at this spot, tried to grab the signpost, couldn’t get a good grip on it, and slid down the snowy, icy Abol slide to his death. The son had the horrific task of contacting Baxter State Park officials about the emergency and waiting for their arrival on the scene.
Both Charlotte and I knew that the boulder section got harder and harder the higher we went. We were dreading a particular spot that Charlotte described as “sending my heart into my throat.” But it never appeared! Somehow, we took an alternative route at that point. In less than an hour after we’d started the steep boulder section, we suddenly found ourselves on the nearly flat Tableland and at Thoreau Spring. We looked at each other in disbelief. We’d finished it with far less anguish than either of us had expected. Charlotte had clearly gotten a second wind on the boulders.
As we started the third section of the hike – from Thoreau Spring to Baxter Peak – we were entirely socked in by fog. We felt sorry for the people who were climbing Katahdin for the first time and wouldn’t be rewarded with the magnificent 360-degree views at the summit. Rather, we congratulated ourselves on having chosen a day when we didn’t have the scorching sun beating down on us the entire time. We’d both seen those panoramic views multiple times before and were happy to exchange them for the refreshing mist from the fog. Charlotte complained of the humidity, but I reminded her that for someone from Louisiana, when it was 60° outside, the humidity seemed bearable.
As we started the final section to the top, something got into me and I shot ahead. Was it the fervent desire to summit now that we were so close – a mere mile away? The fear that the grey skies would turn to thunderstorms that would force us to retreat? The earlier conversation with Charlotte that she and her hiking companions didn’t necessarily stay together on the trail? The fact that the trail was well marked and much easier? My determination not to be denied the summit on my second trip up Katahdin in a month?
Some 10 minutes later, I stopped to see how far back Charlotte was. To my dismay, I couldn’t see her through the heavy blanket of fog that had engulfed the Tableland. Although I wasn’t truly worried, I did momentarily panic and ask myself what kind of friend bolted off to the top of the mountain when visibility was so poor. I cooled my jets, and in a few minutes, Charlotte emerged from the fog. For some reason her legs, which had held up so well when scrambling over the boulders, had “reacted” when she transitioned to the far easier section. However, she had rallied and was doing better. We continued up the trail together.
As we moved up the Tableland, Charlotte stopped to greet a guy – probably in his mid-60s – heading back down with a light pack and his hiking stick. Was it his gaunt appearance that prompted her to ask if he had just finished the Appalachian Trail? With whatever energy he still had after 4+ months on the AT, he grinned shyly and allowed that he had. “And they took my photo at the top!” How many pounds had he lost on the hike l queried. “21” was his answer. “That’s nothing. I met a guy who’d lost 78!”
Five hours and 45 minutes after we started, we reached Baxter Peak.
Possibly because of the fog or bad weather the previous day, the summit crowd was smaller than usual. We were munching our almond butter and jelly sandwiches, when we heard a burst of clapping and cheering erupt near the iconic wooden marker at the summit, As we turned to look, a guy was on bended knee, proposing to his girlfriend! As the tears rolled down from under her baseball cap, they kissed and she said “yes!” She flashed an impressive ring for all to see, a bit incongruous with her sweaty hiking clothes. They kissed a few more times, took some photos, and started down the trail hand-in-hand.
Next up on the wooden stand was a young woman in her 30s who had hiked up with a couple of friends. From her backpack she pulled out a Barbie doll and jumped up onto the stand, doing a little dance number and flailing Barbie in the air as she sang. For the previous two weeks, the release of the Barbie movie had dominated the news, having grossed over $300 million. Barbie has been a doctor, an astronaut, President of the United States, and now she’d summited Katahdin!
Charlotte wandered around the summit, trying to snap a few photos of the scenery during the rare moments when the clouds lifted.
Knowing that we had five hours ahead of us, we didn’t linger at the top. We retraced our steps over the relatively easy section on the Tableland, where we ran into the parents hiking with the six girls. “Who is 12 years old?” I asked. A few hands shot up. I continued, “Well, I’m here climbing with my best friend from second grade, and we first climbed Katahdin together when we were 12. So, consider who you’ll be climbing it with again when you’re 74.”
We approached the steep section with the boulders with some trepidation. By now multiple parties have passed us on the trail, many with words of encouragement and others silently wondering what these two gray-haired ladies were doing on Katahdin. We took our time, and the descent through the boulder field was mercifully uneventful.
As we reached the final 2.2 miles below the tree line, we were ready to be done. Still, the late afternoon sunlight was exquisite as it shone through the leafy canopy on the final mile back to Abol campground.
We’d done it! Just under 11 hours after starting, we reached the Abol Campground and found a camper willing to take our picture. From there it was back to the Big Moose Inn, a hot shower, and a delicious meal with celebratory libations. We congratulated ourselves on the decision we’d made to stay a second night in the Big Moose Inn. We were in no condition to drive home.
During the course of the hike, we’d tried to remember how many times we’d hiked Katahdin together, not counting the many more times we’d hiked it with other people. We concluded that at a minimum, we’d done it together at ages 12, 13, 14, 55, and now 74. Charlotte opined that she might want to try it one more time at age 75 before deciding there might be a limit to summiting Katahdin as a senior citizen. We were both deliriously happy that we’d made it to the top and back without any major issues. And as for summiting in 2024 at age 75, there was unspoken agreement that we’d leave that conversation for another day.
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