🧵 1/7
September 15, 1983: Last night was a memorably cold one, easily topping two very frosty nights I remember from Georgia. Some mornings are so icy you hate to leave your sleeping bag. This morning, I had no choice but to get up and get moving. Having shivered through two final miserable hours, dozing off for brief periods of time, I dragged myself out of the bag’s feeble warmth at 5:30.
#backpacking #hiking #outdoors #landscapephotography #Maine #nature #forest #mountains #AppalachianTrail
2/7
It was still dark, so I went through my morning routine by candlelight and flashlight. My stove functioned poorly in the cold; I had a great deal of difficulty coaxing it to remain lit. Hot instant oatmeal and hot chocolate did little to warm me this morning, although they usually do the trick.
It was tough to psyche myself into removing my wool sweater, hat, and long pants when I set out in the cold, brittle sunlight of 7:00 A.M., but, being a mean and macho guy, I did it.
3/7
After a couple of minutes, I stopped whimpering. I find that hiking in shorts adds about two extra miles to my day compared to hiking in long pants, and I need every mile I can manage in order to reach Stratton before the food runs out. I would like to avoid that long, emergency detour into Rangeley if I can help it. So, I set out in my shorts, tee shirt, and chamois shirt, with a gleam in my eye, a song in my heart, and crystals of frozen mucous in my mustache.
4/7
My first taste of the Appalachian Trail this morning was a steep climb straight uphill for more than a mile. If I ever needed a sadistic ascent, it was today. After a couple of minutes, I stopped shivering. Ten minutes later, I regained the feeling in my feet. Another five minutes passed, and I removed the shirt, resuming the climb in shorts and tee shirt. Amazing how a typical New England climb will warm you up on an icy morning.
5/7
My first view of the day overlooked a massive frozen river of fog in the lower valleys, similar to one I saw on a North Carolina morning an Appalachian Trail lifetime ago. But this time I thought to take out my camera.
6/7
The trail up to Baldpate Ridge was ancient, unimproved New England footpath — an insanely steep mess which predictably had become a gully through years of erosion. In some spots, three to five feet of soil had been washed from the footway — the height of exposed tree roots from the ground. Clouds of vapor streamed from my overheated body.
7/7
By the time I reached the summit of the first knob I was sweating profusely, although the morning remained bracingly cold. The trail leveled off somewhat for a short distance along the ridge crest before the initial climb was duplicated on the nutcracking ascent of Baldpate’s west peak.
From my book Then the Hail Came (A Humorous and Truthful Account of a 1983 #AppalachianTrail Thru-hike). Available in paperback, audiobook and eBook: https://amazon.com/dp/B09QFG4ZR6