|
Sept
9 , 1983 Friday (156.6 mtg) From
Gonzo!s Appalachian Trail journal
No
hurry getting up this morning since breakfast wasn't until 7:30
am. We packed up and went a little early, hoping to induce the owner
into serving a little earlier - no luck. We all sat down to eat
and had some juice to occupy us while they made the pancakes. Some
hikers ordered eggs as well. I ordered six pancakes, while others
went for the stack of fifteen. With the pancakes that the others
did not seem to be able to get down, I ended up eating sixteen pancakes.
While
we were eating, the owner had gotten on the ham radio that he had
in the dining room and contacted someone he knew down by the Kennebec
River. The volume was turned up intentionally so we could hear the
response. He asked how the river was this morning. He told the unknown
man that he had five people eating and were wondering about the
river conditions for crossing. I believe that this was a game between
the two men and us, the hikers, as the reply came back stating,
" The dams are open, and the river is rising…..................but
I think they can make it." Well, the clock showed almost
nine already, and we still had just under four miles to get to the
Kennebec! The adrenalin began to flow as we departed from the camp
and rushed down the trail. I was in such a hurry that I seemed to
have to pull the others along as they struggled to keep up with
my blistering pace. I did not want to cross alone.
Along the way I began searching for a pole to brace myself against
the current and give me extra stability during the crossing. I selected
a nice seven or eight feet long tree limb, actually the whole trunk
of a straight pine tree, and began breaking off the extraneous limbs
in an effort to produce the perfect pole to assist me if needed.
I worked on the tree as I continued to hike toward the river. Some
of the others followed my lead and selected their own poles. Eventually
we rounded a bend to the left and the river came into view. Wow!
We have to cross that? This is a real river - with no bridge! Wilderness
and adventure are what Maine is all about. I was psyched, and ready
to cross. As soon as I reached the riverbank, I sat down and took
off my boots, and put on my spare pair that I carried just for this
occasion. Once the boots were switched, I decided that where I was
at was not really the place to cross, and moved upstream a hundred
yards or so to the area where three gravel bars could be seen. I
remembered hearing somewhere that the shallowest crossing was in
the area where the three sandbars are located. If you could not
see three sandbars, DO NOT CROSS! The others followed me, almost
cheering me on to be the first to test the waters for them. The
river was 150 - 200 yards wide and the entire bottom was covered
with softball sized and larger rocks that were rounded and slick
after years of smoothing erosion from water-flow over them. I stepped
in and held my pole so the end was lodged in the stones downstream
and then took a few steps as the cold water rushed around my calf
muscles. I moved the pole forward for the next set of steps and
continued this process with what seemed to be no problem. I reached
the first gravelbar and turned around to watch the others as they
began their crossing. I set out for the second gravelbar and the
water began to get deeper. At times the water was rushing past with
such force that without the pole, I surely would have gone down.
With a full pack, the results could definitely be disastrous. I
began the crossing by unlatching my waist strap, thinking that if
I did fall in I could get out of my pack a lot easier. Suddenly
my foot slipped off one of the submerged rocks and I almost fell
to my knees. The water rushed around me, but with the pole that
I had lodged downstream and the force of the current behind me,
I immediately popped back up. I would have been a "goner"
had it not been for the pole. Behind me I heard Nick shout "Go
back in! I gotta get a picture." I just laughed and continued
on to the other side. Upon reaching the safety of the other bank
I dropped my pack, extracted my camera from its pouch and turned
to record the group during this historic event. Nick was traveling
with his camera in his hands! I could see the water rise around
the thighs of the hikers in the deeper sections. I did not notice
the amount of time that it took to cross, but it was the most exciting
event on the trail so far. Once on the other side, "the Maximus"
knelt down and kissed the ground. He was so happy to have made it
across.
I replaced my soaked boots with the dry ones and walked up the stony
bank to highway US 201 just beyond. The trail followed the road
for a short distance then turned left onto another side road which
lead to the town of Caratunk just a quarter mile down the road.
I stole a couple of green apples from a tree just by the side of
the road and munched the small, tart fruit down. Not quite ripe
yet. At the post office, I received my old boots, the ones I had
started with. Mom had them resoled and now they were back to finish
the trip. I also received some slide film.
Suddenly we saw Lan walking up the street and were surprised. She
had not crossed the river with us, where did she come from? She
relayed the story of how she had attempted to cross the river yesterday,
had fallen in, gotten soaked, and was hauled to Monson to dry out
and recouperate. Mr. Shaw had driven her back this morning to resume
her journey once again. There was a long roadwalk out of Caratunk,
the relocation taking the trail off of the roads was not quite finished
yet, even though the guide and maps showed the trail in the new
location. I enjoyed the country road none-the-less as it led us
past the west shore of Pleasant Pond and some cottages that were
located there. The trail followed a gravel road leading to the right,
off of the main road, which had become a gravel road itself. This
side road brought us right to Pleasant Pond Shelter situated directly
beside the road. As a matter of fact, the road ran directly in front
of the shelter. Pleasant Pond could not be seen from the shelter,
but was within a few hundred yards. We followed a path down to the
shore and explored the area. Someone had parked a car nearby, so
imagining the possibilities presented we left a note on the windshield
asking if they could take someone to town, but later when the owner
came by, he said he could not oblige us. Later that evening we entertained
ourselves at the pond by watching the waves. The wind produced nice
waves as it blew directly toward us. We threw a branch into the
pond and each person predicted where the floating branch would wash
up on shore. We also watched a water bug in a struggle for survival
as it ran from the shore to the water and was pushed back again
by the waves, only to try once again, over and over again.
Ron and Cathy, Nick, Max and I all stayed at the shelter that night,
but Lan was in a hurry to finish her trip and decided to push on
for a few more miles that afternoon. Less than nine miles today.
We are turning into softies.
Gonzo!
Appalachian Trail Journals ©1983
|
