E TURNED OFF the Appalachian Trail and down a short side path to a collar of sandy beach. The pond spilled less than a mile across and disappeared around a point of land to our left. A steady wind shoved the water toward us in ripples barely tall enough to lap audibly against the beach. Beyond our strip of sand, the collar became a necklace of rocks wrapped in forest, expanding to distances unseen, an implication of staggering emptiness. To imagine being in the middle of the wilderness here would not be far off the mark at least, not if you go strictly by the numbers. But then, there are also those sticky, esoteric questions to grapple with about the meaning of wilderness. We dropped our backpacks, peeled off sweaty T-shirts and shorts and plunged into the water. Inhibitions seemed like something of another universe here. We had passed just one other backpacker in nearly nine miles on the trail that day. After cooling off, the three of us sat on the beach. The shade of evening fell over us as the days last light narrowed its focus on the far shore. A raucous commotion erupted out on the lake: A pair of loons skimmed the waters surface, beating it with their wings, laughing hysterically. A sunset gradual and spectacular threw yellow brushstrokes across wisps of clouds overhead that reflected off the black water, signaling the days last yawn. A gibbous moon rose from the trees. Later, I awakened to see the moon had set, uncloaking a black dome salted liberally with stars. On that night a year ago, three companions and I were about halfway through backpacking the 100-mile Wilderness, that stretch of the Appalachian Trail which crosses no paved or public roads only logging roads for 99.4 miles, from just outside Monson, Maine, to just outside the southern boundary of Baxter State Park. You carry a lot of weight when backpacking for nine days. But my own load was saddled with the extra burden of a hope that may have imposed an unrealistic load. I wanted to believe maybe too desperately that such a thing as wilderness could still exist in New England. With the Wilderness Act of 1964, the Congress created a legal definition of wilderness and rules for managing designated wilderness areas such as the Pemigewasset Wilderness in the White Mountain National Forest, prohibiting such things as mechanized or motorized forms of transportation. But a purist might take the stricter view that anyplace bearing the imprint of humans falls shy of true wilderness. By that measure, the 100-mile Wilderness is a misnomer. Signs mark every trail junction they even point to scenic viewpoints down side paths. The well-blazed trail virtually leads you by the hand, expropriating the satisfaction of finding your own way. Shelters often fill with backpackers, and tents spring up around them nightly. The feller-bunchers and hauling trucks of logging operations are frequently heard in the distance, as if some Orwellian machinery kept the birds singing and streams flowing and churned out the occasional moose across your path. During a half-hour lunch break on a sunny midday at the Rainbow Ledges, we saw at least 20 other backpackers. On another day, a dog belonging to a pair of backpackers charged up the trail at us, barking aggressively twice surely scaring off any nearby wildlife. Someone expecting an approximation of the Alaskan bush in northern Maine will carry the added weight of disappointment. Over the course of 100 miles, I came instead to measure this wilderness by moments. Crossing Vaughn Stream on rocks above a 20-foot waterfall that plunged into a deep, calm pool. Swimming in fast-moving streams whose currents had buffed smooth flumes out of rock for us to slide down. Taking side paths onto Potaywadjo Ridge and Rainbow Mountain to find bumper crops of ripe blueberries not yet foraged out by other hikers, and some of the best views of the trip. This wilderness manifests itself not in an immediate and overwhelming sense of lonely self-reliance one can still find on some western public lands. Your first and final impressions may vary drastically, the latter creeping up over the miles, gaining credibility on those days when you encounter few people, when you all but run to flee the mosquitoes, scratch at no-see-um bites or lie awake with aching knees and pulsing soles: This would be a bad place to run out of food or break a limb. And that is one measure of wilderness. What I learned in nine days and nights was that New England wilderness is as much concept as place: shifting, fragile, and sometimes as ephemeral as the song of a loon. It can require effort to locate, such as taking the side path, not camping where everyone else does, getting up with the dawn. It is elusive and certainly under siege by the very hordes who seek its solitude. It will demand a greater tenderness of care than we have sometimes given it if it is to survive. Most of all, it is something worth discovering. Toward the end of our trip, we reached the Rainbow Stream lean-to only to find it full of hikers, and tents clustered on the packed dirt around it. We trudged four tired miles farther to the Rainbow Spring tentsites where we would pass yet another night by ourselves. After dinner, the sight of flames through the trees pulled us down to the shore of Rainbow Lake. A sunset torching the sky, the call of loons across the water, had become routine inspirations by this final night of our trip, and we took this last chance to enjoy them. In our tents later, we listened to the distant yipping and howling of a single animal build into a chorus of coyotes. The 100-mile Wilderness stretch of the Appalachian Trail in northern Maine is remote and in many places quite rugged. It is described and covered by maps 1, 2 and 3 in the Map and Guide to the Appalachian Trail in Maine, a set of seven maps and guidebook which costs $19.95, from the Maine Appalachian Trail Club, Box 283, Augusta, ME 04332. Or the Appalachian Trail Conference, P.O. Box 807, Harpers Ferry, WV 25425; (304) 535-6331. The multi-day trek is also described in detail in New England Hiking, a guidebook by Michael Lanza available in area stores or from Foghorn Press (800-FOGHORN).
Michael Lanza writes a syndicated weekly outdoor column about New
England, and he is author of New England Hiking, a guidebook from Foghorn Press (800-FOGHORN). His column appears in: The Springfield (Mass.) Union-News, The Quincy (Mass.) Patriot-Ledger, The Lawrence (Mass.) Eagle-Tribune, The Sunday Morning Sentinel/Kennebec Journal (Augusta/Waterville, Maine), The New Haven (Conn.) Register, The Manchester (Conn.) Journal-Inquirer, The Meriden (Conn.) Record-Journal, The Waterbury (Conn.) Republican-American, The Nashua (N.H.) Telegraph, The Concord (N.H.) Monitor, The Keene (N.H.) Sentinel and The Valley News (Lebanon, N.H./White River Junction, Vt.). E-mail can be sent to michael.a.lanza@valley.net.
