YING AWAKE in our sleeping bags under a small grove of evergreens, Ann and I anxiously await the first light of dawn. Shortly after 5 a.m., we hurriedly eat breakfast, pack, and start the final hike of our 2,100-mile journey.
YING AWAKE in our sleeping bags under a small grove of evergreens, Ann and I anxiously await the first light of dawn. Shortly after 5 a.m., we hurriedly eat breakfast, pack, and start the final hike of our 2,100-mile journey.The haunting cry of a loon breaks the morning silence. A light mist floats over the surface of Daicey Pond. We reach the crest of a small hill. There before us stands Mount Katahdin, the most beautiful mountain on the trail. A few small clouds, outlined in red in the early morning sun, hang above the 5,267-foot summit, the official end of the Appalachian Trail. We carefully ford the Elbow Pond outlet stream then another stream just below a beaver dam, hoping to avoid a wet spill into the cold waters on our last day. Our first day was also cold when we climbed Springer Mountain in Georgia nearly six months ago. Living outside in rain and snow, record-breaking heat and sub-freezing cold, neither Ann nor I have been sick a single day. Our last week was spent hiking the 100-mile wilderness, the most remote stretch of the Appalachian Trail. Signs warn hikers to carry a minimum of 10 days food. Wanting to finish on my birthday, we carried only 6 days food and got through in 5, hiking two 23-mile days, our longest of the trip. Leaving our packs at the Katahdin Stream Ranger Station, we start up the summit trail — 4,000 feet elevation gain in 5 miles. Without the weight of our packs there is a spring in our step. Later, scaling rocks on the steep trail, we feel the weariness in our legs from months of overuse and abuse. People of all ages pass us. By the time we reach the summit, a large crowd of day hikers is already there, enjoying the rare good weather on top. After shedding a few tears, we take pictures, exchanging photographer duties with a young couple who hiked up to become engaged. Finding a private spot overlooking a valley and lake far below, Ann produces a small cake and candles. We quietly celebrate my birthday. Fewer than 40 thru-hikers have finished the trail so far this year. Yet, without our backpacks, no one up here knows of our achievement. We start down. A group of boys and their leader are resting, sitting on rocks beside the trail. “Look at their calf muscles,” one says. “I bet they have climbed a lot of mountains.” “Well, actually, we have,” Ann replies, “since Georgia.” Suddenly we are heroes again. People all around congratulate us. Then we meet the real hero. We recognize him from the video of his hike and the pictures in his book. With his seeing-eye dog, Orient, and his friend Cindy, Bill Irwin comes up the trail. He is climbing Katahdin as he did several years ago when he hiked the entire trail. Cindy is obviously scared by the heights and worried about Bill. He tells her to go ahead, then helps Orient scramble up the steep rocks. Introducing ourselves as thru-hikers, we are instant friends. Originally from Birmingham, he recognizes our Alabama accent. I tell him how many of our friends on the trail were inspired by his hike. He replies in that traditional Southern manner, “God bless you.” Thank you, Bill. As my mother always says, “We are...so blessed.”
