The End! (part two) **FINALLY!**

(Hmm... so where was I?  Oh, yes!  Now I remember...)


We'd been struggling through inclement weather for the past week in the ruggedness of central Maine...

For a solid five days at least, as we all *inched* our way (or so it seemed) up the muddy river of a Trail to Katahdin, I'd preached to whomever would listen (mostly just Velvet) about how we'd soon see the return of this mystical entity I liked to call "The Blue".  And I'd say it with a whispered sort of awe.  Of course, this "Blue" I professed to have once seen was the sky... the blue sky, which for so, so long had been a rainy gray.  But, no one really believed in it anymore, even when a yellow ray of sun would burst through a thin part of the drab  cloud-mass, or the black silhouette of our star was -for a happy moment- imprinted above our heads as a cruel reminder of its existence.    

But on the morning we awoke at White House Landing (where we'd taken respite from the drizzle we could no longer tolerate) there was a change in the sky... and *could it be!?* as we ate a pancake breakfast in the rustic dining cabin our heads were turned to the windows in GLEE!  The clouds were no longer gray, but fluffy, white, and furiously moving across the sky... revealing on the horizon a color that, as the day progressed, we knew would become The Blue!  How our spirits were lifted!  Quick checks of the weather forecast ensued with those who owned iPhones- apparently the weather had broken and a clear three or four days was expected.  Biscuit, Bumblebee, Velvet, BC and I made our plans then and there to summit Katahdin in three days from the current.  After breakfast we were shuttled by boat across the lake back to the Trail and began the last true leg of our nearly 7-month hike.

Walking away from White House Landing.

If, in reading this entry, it seems to you that the events of the last few days of my hike are blurry, or flow together unrealistically, it is not that my memory has faded- it's just that that's the way things seemed even as they occurred.  Those last three days of walking to the foot of our long-fabled end were mostly simple and beautiful, in that a feeling of elation pretty much carried us (or me at least) over the Trail, so that I remember no rough spots or aches or pains. 

What I do remember is this:

The day we left White House Landing, it was frigid.  Absolutely freezing.  I remember thinking "It can't be higher than 37-degrees right now..." and, sure enough, upon checking the weather later on at the shelter the high had only been 36.  That's even with the sun shining behind the beautiful soft blue of the sky that finally showed itself around 10am. 

We all came upon a pretty tricky river crossing just a few minutes after we left the lake.  It seemed that because of the heavy rains of that season, it was not possible to ford the stream, so a *hilariously unstable* make-shift bridge had been built (probably by hikers as a last-ditch effort) across the waters out of rotten logs.  Note to anyone who has never walked on rotten logs: they do not make good bridges!  As we usually did at sketchy river crossings, we all searched for alternative methods of fording.  None were found.  I then swore to whomever would listen that I was NOT crossing those logs.  Several of our party then went across the logs... one upright, the others crawling.  I then had no choice... if they had made it safely, then I was expected to follow.  That's just the stupid and universal rule of hiking in a group, I guess.  I got down and crawled across the logs, of course... and cursed aloud the entire way (which was only probably 8 or 10 feet).  It was only when I got across and stood upright again that I noticed my jacket pocket was unzipped, and my camera was sticking out of it!  If it had fallen out of my pocket while I crawled across the bridge (which I'm amazed it didn't) it would have been just my typical luck, with thousands of AT pictures washing away down that anonymous Maine river.  Needless to say I was breathing many sighs of relief, not only for my safe passage, but my camera's as well. 

Scarier than it looks! 

BC and I both hit one of our knees on a limb while crawling across, so we limped a little behind the others.  That's okay, though... it was usual of us to hang back a little and gain some distance from the group.  I don't remember much more of that day's hike, other than the river crossing and the fact that that we didn't go on very much longer.  The next shelter we reached looked good enough to us, and after figuring mileage for the next day and next, our collective group concluded that we could just stay here for the night and make a short day of it.  Short days are fun days, and there were really never enough of them.  We continued in good spirits for the rest of the day, and started on a fire immediately... not only for the warmth, but for something to do.  BC and I hung out in our tents, making hot food and drink, while the rest of the group filled up the shelter only a few feet away.  The clouds kept passing over us in such a pattern that the sun would get blocked out for minutes at a time, and the temperature would drop so noticeably that we'd only get out of our tents again once the clouds had cleared.  I think at one time the clouds even brought us some small hale. 

Frigid day at our last shelter.  The fire helped somewhat.

That night was one of the coldest we'd had in months, and so was the next morning.  I had on every piece of clothing I owned (including my ridiculously huge toboggan) as BC and I broke camp before the others.  This day was going to be special, as we knew that we got a straight 17-mile-line-of-sight view of Katahdin upon climbing the day's first and largest uphill. The climb was beautiful and relatively easy, with the trail winding through a gorgeous sparse spruce and fir forest strewn with huge moss-covered boulders.  BC and I both jokingly concluded that, should we ever need to hide out from the law, or wait out a foreign invasion of our own country, this hill would be the one place that no one would ever find us... that's how remote it felt!  And, it was upon the tip-top of that hill, with the winds blowing all their 40-mph gusts in my face, that I walked through the trees and out onto an open boulder and stared across (what seemed then) a very small distance to Katahdin itself.  For the first time.  And it was AMAZING.  Between the mountain and I stretched 17 miles, as the crow flies, filled up by a huge metallic-blue lake covered in patterned white ripples created by the unceasing winds.  Then forest behind that, a mix of reds and greens of all shades.  Katahdin rose above this forest with no foothills, just gray rock shooting up from the ground.  And, beautifully and unexpectedly, its top was covered in snow.  And what did I think?  There it was... the end of all our wandering.  To make things easier (and more realistic) I'd long ago learned to not even think of the end... just hike your miles for the day and be glad you made it another 24 hours on the Trail.  So what now?  Here was the end... and I could see it.  But it was not sad.  Neither was I jumping up and down, ecstatic.  I guess I just took a few minutes, smiled at the total beauty and awe of what I was approaching, and just accepted that the end was near.  I don't know what was going through BC's mind at that moment either.  He was mostly quiet, as usual.  He spent a lot of those last few days just reflecting on the entire journey.  And, staring at this mountain, everything suddenly came rushing back and you couldn't help but reflect on all we'd been through.  I know one thing for sure, I was immensely glad to see what I was seeing.  And proud.  I think sometimes people are shy to admit that they're proud of themselves, because I think (for some reason) our society looks down on self-pride.  But I see nothing wrong with it, as long as there's no gloating.  So, yes, at that moment I was proud.  And proud and grateful that my friends would also be there with me at the end... especially BC.  It never stopped being amusing that a boy who grew up and lived his whole life in one of the flattest states was able to hike all those mountains better than many men and women who were familiar with higher elevations.

My first sight of Katahdin.  Photos do not do justice.

 

Again, the rest of that day is mostly a blur.  We hiked near several large lakes, tracing their outlines while remaining deep in the woods.. .only catching small glimpses here and there between the trees of the water that lie beyond. We heard loons on those lakes, which was always a beautiful thing to have as a background noise while hiking.  I also remember crossing a couple gravel roads, and stopping for breaks on the rocks of each one, turning my back to soak up the sun and never wanting to get up because I was so happy and warm.  We crossed paths with a group of older individuals near one of these roads, who were all in possession of very nice cameras, and we guessed accurately that it was a photography class.  By and by we decided that we'd had enough hiking for the day, and BC and I set up a stealth-camp near the edge of that lake.  Biscuit, Bumblebee and Velvet approached just as night was falling and fell in next to us.  It was our last camp in the woods, as the next night we'd be in Baxter State Park at a campground set aside exclusively for thru-hikers. 

In the morning I awoke with sunlight streaming through my tent- the sun had risen directly above the lake, beautiful and warm.  I walked to the edge of the lake and stood on some rocks a few feet in, collecting water and washing my face.  I got out of camp a lot earlier than the others, though I tried and tried to call them out of their tents to accompany me.  They were all awake, but it was just too cold!  So I walked on alone towards Abol Bridge and the nearby store, which were located at the doorstep of Baxter State Park.  I knew I'd break at the store and wait for the others there.

The hike to Abol was beautiful... up a small incline which again afforded me a gorgeous (and much closer) view of Katahdin- still snow-capped!  I remember the area around me on top of that hill was so gorgeous that it looked manicured, like a Japanese rock garden.  I would love some day to return there during warmer weather and just wander around taking pictures.  But I had only time enough then to snap a few as I walked...

After an hour or two I found myself at a large logging road.  Following it to the right I came right to Abol Bridge.  It's funny, and this happened countless times on the trip, but I've read about these places all over the AT that I finally come to myself- and are nothing like what I thought they would be... which isn't necessarily a bad thing.  Take Abol Bridge, for example.  I've seen numerous pictures of Katahdin taken from the bridge, and imagined the bridge to be a large, sturdy structure built by the State Park to handle throngs of eager hikers and tourists.  Well, the bridge is not so large, and I really don't know how sturdy, either.  :)  It's just a normal-looking road bridge built to let the never-ending flow of logging trucks pass over the Penobscot River.  It's not in the State Park.  But the view!  It was so much better than any photo will let you in on.  I stood in awe of Katahdin once again.  Then I walked to the store (which much to my joy also had a short-order grill) got a grilled cheese, Red Bull, and Reese's Cups, and sat myself down on the bridge and stared at the "Big Mountain" as I ate my lunch.  In fact, there were tourists, just a couple and their dogs, who snapped a couple pictures then carried on their way.  Then Velvet came... and of course was "Whoooo!-ing" at the sight of Katahdin, as is his style whenever he encountered anything grand or beautiful or summited any peak. He headed to the store with the news that BC was shortly behind... and so, of course, I waited for my hiking partner just so I could see his face at the sight of Katahdin.  And I wasn't disappointed when, a few minutes later, BC came trekking over the bridge and I saw he was beaming with one of his genuine and too-rare smiles. 

Gorgeous view of Katahdin from the bridge.

Such a tiny little outpost! 

We took about an hour break at the store.  I bought supplies for the next day: more Reese's, more Red Bull, more grilled cheese.  Plus a pair of earrings that were surprisingly attractive.  Superfluous purchase, I know, but I hadn't worn earrings going on 7 months and decided that since tomorrow was (obviously) a special occasion I should go ahead and get them.  Both Velvet and BC later complimented me later on my ability to -who would have guessed?- look surprisingly like a girl.  While we hung out at the store, more and more hikers arrived, both by foot, but mostly by car!  Many people, it seemed, wanted to make sure they climbed Katahdin while they still could (as the park would be closing on October 15th).  Tomorrow was the 8th, so the deadline was fast approaching.  And since it was going to be a sunny day, many hikers who were behind on the Trail were jumping ahead to summit Katahdin, then going back to finish the rest they passed up.  Not a bad tactic if you feel you have to, but I was sooo glad that I'd not done that, that I'd hiked the entirety of the Trail in one straight line, neither bouncing forward or backwards or skipping any part (save for those 4 or 5 pesky miles at the end of the Whites that we couldn't access do to a flooded river).

Thinking we needed to get to camp fast while there was still time, BC, Velvet and I got out of the store and back on the Trail.  The Abol Bridge store was the official end of the 100-mile wilderness, and so now here we were back in "society" again, trekking an easy 10 more miles through Baxter State Park.  I say "society", but we really saw no one past the store save for hikers and park employees.  That is, until we got to the campgrounds.  Katahdin is the highest point in Maine, and an extremely popular and challenging spot to day hike, not only for Mainers but for people all over the country (and nearby Canada, too).  At at the campground I was greeted by such a strange sight: a mass of shadow visible through the trees that I could only assume was the base of Katahdin.  How imposing it looked from the ground.  No longer was I standing atop a far-off hill and gazing with childlike reverence at its silhouette... here it was, the real thing, and now it commanded fear and respect.

We set up at the lean-tos available for thru-hikers.  And though there was adequate space within the wooden structures, as usual, I preferred the comfiness of my own tent.  Our last meal was eaten same as any other.  Maybe an extra hot chocolate or Ramen packet was consumed... the only celebration we knew how to do at that time.  What else did we have?!  I went to bed early, but slept little.  I awoke in the middle of the night and, finally feeling the butterflies of excitement, was unable to sleep until about 3am. 

Our last dinner together on the Trail.

We packed up in the morning, each on our own, though I did tiptoe over to BCs tent and wake him as we wanted to climb Katahdin together.  Biscuit left first, wanting to get an early start as he does not go quickly up a mountain.  BC and I followed, along with Bumblebee.  Hikers are encouraged by the Park to leave their packs at the ranger station and take a day-pack instead.  They want to minimize injuries, I suppose.  Besides, why carry gear you don't need up an incredibly hard peak if you're only going to return before dark?  Well, the thing is, some hikers grow attached to their packs, as it was with BC and I.  I could not have gone without my trusty backpack, and so instead I just took my tent, cookware, and other unnecessary items out of my pack and left them at the station.  My pack then contained my sleeping back and extra food.  BC did the same.  Our packs were light as feathers, relatively, and I anticipated we'd have a much easier climb. 

Many tears were being shed at the ranger station.  Bumblebee had met up with two female hikers and was crying at the joy and end of it all.  I can't really pin-point and tell you why hikers cry at Katahdin or before Katahdin, but I suppose you understand.  We'd been hiking for almost as long as a pregnant mother carries a child.  The hike was our pregnancy, in so many ways.  And today we prepare to see our child for the first time. An odd comparison, maybe, but it feels right in saying it. 

We each signed in with the ranger on duty, and wrote in the last trail log.  I remember reading Biscuit's entry, who had just left minutes before us.  His was an ode to his deceased father, a poetic and poignant entry that brought tears to my eyes.  (Biscuit: do you have a copy of what you said?)  And then BC and I left the station and headed out towards the trail that would take us up the mountain.  We, as is required, signed in at the trail-head... it was around 7:45am I believe.  A warm day, and sunny... but a Class 2 day on Katahdin due to strong winds (which we couldn't feel yet from the ground).  And then we were off!  Literally... we flew up the trail for the first mile, making it in 15 minutes.  The terrain was just a gradual uphill... something we'd done thousands of times before, something our bodies were literally designed to do now.  And with our light packs, we felt free to run... so we pretty much did.  The next mile was much the same, only more incline and more boulders.  I was a little in front of BC, maybe 5 minutes, and ended up passing many day hikers.  And by "many" I mean all of them.  :)  Soon we'd pulled ahead of everyone else on Katahdin save for the thru-hikers who'd set out before us.  I remember the terrain at this point was getting rougher: just huge boulder after huge boulder that were only mountable by finding a smidgen of a foot-hold and pushing your entire body weight up with only a few centimeters of shoe gripping the rock.  But I kept on forward, as had been the trend for several months now. I think Velvet came up behind me at this point.  I don't know where he had been (!), but he was smiling (as usual) and breathing heavy and had blood smeared on his face.  Not uncommon!  We continued on a way together, I believe.  That was around the time we finally got above tree line. 

Velvet makes his way up the boulders... blood and all.

Let me paint this picture: you're climbing a very hard mountain on a very hard trail through the trees.  You get above the trees.  You can now see for certain what lies ahead of you.  You suddenly realize that everything you've done up to that point has been what you will then refer to as "the easy part".  Ha!  It was also then that I could feel the full force of the winds.  It was windier than Mt. Washington.  It was windier than any other mountain I met on the Trail.  Hell, it was probably some of the worst winds I have experienced in my life.  So we climbed bare boulders in the 60mph wind gusts, and (I'm not lying) there were several times I had to hold on with all four appendages just so I didn't blow over.  All I could hear was the wind.  All I could see was the entire state of Maine dropped out below me.  Above, all that existed was more rock, and scattered here and there little white blazes that (comically, it seemed) told us at which point to position ourselves under the boulders that would make it MOST impossible to climb them!  But, no, the blazes were always right.  And somehow I did not fall or fail to grip the rocks that would take me further upwards.  BC picked up speed at this point and caught up with Velvet and I.  BC, as he said, did not find Katahdin as difficult as everyone else.  It figures!  I remember at one point, though, where I crested a boulder that took me into a gap of boulders that created a natural wind-tunnel.  I paused, at the entrance to this tunnel, and contemplated the possibility of not going through- of turning around!  I actually thought of this for a second.  It just felt too dangerous.  I braced myself against the rock and let the intense gust run its course. In the lull, I (of course) forgot any notion of turning around and went forth.  At this point, to make things harder, there was no natural way up the rock face, and so maintainers had positioned rebar as a grip and a step up the rock.  I think it was at this spot that I recognized Katahdin for what it was- the hardest climb on the entire Trail.  But we were all having so much fun!  Whenever we'd catch up to the other, or wait for a friend to catch us, we'd have smiles plastered to our faces and wide eyes expressing what the wind wouldn't let us do with words: "Can you believe how hard this is?!  Can you believe that we're here?!  Can you believe that we're making it?!" And the other's smile would mean "yes" and "no" at the same time. 

Getting ready for the "fun stuff"!

Typical Katahdin boulders. 

We continued up the bouldered spine of the mountain to the summit, passing various day hikers who must have set out hours before us.  And then it happened that we climbed a boulder, popped our head up the top, and saw that there was no more climbing- we'd finally reached the long stretch before the summit known as the Tablelands (obviously due to the flatness).  It was so like the surface of Mars, or the moon!  Or, at least, it was to me.  Casually, it seemed, we walked the rocky trail over the Tablelands, being careful to stay on the path as to not crush the ever-present "fragile alpine vegetation", which in this case was just bare mosses and lichen, and some patchy grasses.  Other hikers from other trails were now converging with us as we all funneled towards the peak we could see approaching.  About a half-mile away we caught sight of the sign... there it was!  The End.  The real End.  And then you just walk dazedly for that last half-mile as you see the sign grow closer and closer, and you see the little congregation of thru-hikers who are waiting there, sitting, celebrating.

Tablelands.  Look how F L A T...

BC and Velvet got there steps before I did, with Velvet bellowing above the roar of the wind.  We were all smiles.  The other hikers howled in celebration as we reached out and touched the sign; hugged each other.  I think I stared at it like a god for a few seconds.  Such a sturdy, worn sign... just plain but so special, nonetheless.  And directly behind the sign- you see the rest of the state of Maine!  Standing on the tops of mountains felt so natural at that point.... I am wondering now if it will ever be foreign to me. 

Velvet and BC at the summit.

We all took our turns taking pictures.  I made sure I captured the moment of opening the special can of Rolling Rock I bought in Monson (100-miles ago) and had carried for 70 straight miles up to the peak of Katahdin to open in victory.  Rolling Rock was my favorite beer for many years, and as it turns out was my grandpa's favorite as well- so it was one of the most meaningful (or perhaps only meaningful) beers I've ever tasted.  I shook it up and sprayed it out... and the wind took the spray and blew it right back onto me! 

Delicious beer...

Next I asked Velvet to take a picture with my phone, so that I could text my family that I'd made it.  It was just after 11am.  It had taken us 3 hours to climb the 5 miles up Katahdin's ridge.  I sent the photo but got no reply, so I was hoping my family got it at that very moment but had no way to be sure.  In the meanwhile, I took the pebble that my friends Windsor and Casey had picked out for me in Amicalola State Park, Georgia (that I'd carried all that way) and set it on the very top of Katahdin, in a large cairn that had been constructed and was now filled with little Georgian pebbles, as is the tradition.  More sitting around in awe, more drinking celebratory beverages, more hugging friends.  Biscuit (who we'd passed on the ridge) and Bumblebee came up a few minutes later... Bumblebee crying her eyes out!  We cheered them on and hugged them as they reached us.  Oh, Bumblebee!  She just cried and cried as she stood back and looked at the sign.  She didn't even approach it for several seconds.  It had been a dream of hers for so many years to hike the Trail.  I guess too many people had told her she couldn't do it- wasn't capable.  Well, this was the year she didn't listen to any of them, and now here she stood- in awe of what she had done. 

The photo I sent my family from the summit.  LOVE
how the wind is blowing my hair VERTICAL.

For an hour we celebrated with everyone.  A day-hiker father and his sons struck up conversation with me, and one of his sons proudly asked if he could have his picture with me.  Of course I said "yes", and so now some kid who's name I don't even know has a picture of us on top of the sign.  He's the same kid I saw "peek" at a female thru-hiker who stood by the sign (asking everyone to close their eyes) as she mooned the camera for her summit picture.  People do crazy things at high elevations... :)

Such great friends- so happy to make it together.

And a little after 12, with the winds still strong but no longer debilitating, it just hit us collectively that we'd like to go down now, thank you very much.  BC, Velvet, Biscuit, Bumblebee and I gathered our things and happily, almost merrily, turned and walked the way we'd come.  And how many day hikers we passed then!  A throng of them, with intermingled thru-hikers thrown in as well.  We were glad to have beaten the crowds. 

We really flew down the mountain.  It was quite fun to hurl ourselves over those same nasty boulders that were so difficult to go up.  But even then, we found ourselves hurting after a couple hours.  Limping.  Ready for the rest that we knew would be coming soon.  How weird it was, still, to take those last few steps on the Appalachian Trail.  I made BC come near to me, and I took his arm in mine, and we took our final steps on the Trail together, arm in arm, with our free hands raised in celebration.  And then that was it.  We were done.  And, of course, it was not going to sink in for quite some time... though I do remember feeling an overwhelming sense of completion and exhaustion all at once.

Velvet captured our last steps on the Trail.

The next few days we spent in Millinocket, about 15 miles east of Katahdin, and then BC and Velvet and I found ourselves in a rented car driving across Maine (with a stop at Stephen King's home) to the coast, and Acadia National Park (our 3rd national park in 7 months).  We spent the night on the beautiful coast, drove down the coastline the next day, and ended up in Boston, where we bid adieu to Velvet.  BC and I hopped the Amtrak to Chicago- a sleepy ride in which we got to revel in the beauty of the fall foliage that was still at its peak in the lower states.  From Chicago we made our way by train to Cincinnati, my "home"!  How wonderful and surreal it felt to be back.  It still does.

In all those months hiking, whenever asked, I would say "HELL NO! You've got to be crazy!" when asked if I'd do it again.  I was in pain everyday.  I was too hot, too cold. I was always wet and smelly.  There was always an uphill in my immediate future.  There were too many miles to go left in the day.  But a strange thing happened immediately following Katahdin: I forgot all of those negatives.  "Forgot" them in a sense that I knew they happened, but I forgot the reality of what they actually meant, so that now all I'm left with is a collective sense that the Trail was something gorgeously good that happened to me.  And I miss it.  And to answer that question if posed to me now, "Hell yes I'd hike the Trail again!".  And I really mean it. 

Time moved so much slower when I was on it.  A day was satisfyingly long.  Perhaps that's the real length of a day, and in the "real world" it just goes by too fast.  A day was long enough that three days was enough time elapsed to start forgetting what happened on that day.  And a week?  Forget it!  That was a lifetime ago!  I think that's a better way to spend your life- feeling like there's too much time in a day.   

Snippets of "trail life" keep coming back to me at random times.  I remembered just last week that I used to know (not that long ago, actually) what sound a group of grouse will make before they blast out from under your feet in evasive flight:  A sort-of soft little peeping sound.  But it was only a millisecond before the blast, and it was as if they knew not what to do and were talking amongst themselves about last-resort measures (which, of course, was always to burst out and fly quickly away, scaring the poop out of the poor hiker who stumbled upon them). 

And at random times throughout the day a picture will pop into my head, quite unasked, of a certain place I'd been on the Trail at a certain time.  Places I thought I'd forgotten- should have forgotten!- will come back in all their detail and just hit me at the oddest moment.  And I'll say "Hmmm... I do remember that field in Virginia where we stopped and ate that weird-looking berry and the cows were mooing down in the valley" (or something like that). 

I've been asked if the transition was hard, from trail-life back to society.  For me, the transition was barely noticeable.  I think one of the reasons I actually made it was because I've always been wonderful at handling change- I even seek it out, to some degree.  So, no, there has been no rough transition.  Plus, the Trail still seems to be a part of my life in a way: I talk about it constantly because everyone seems to want to know about it, I've been interviewed by the local paper, I've made posters and slideshows, etc.  And it's all wonderful... and I know I'm not done with the Trail yet.  Whether I hike it all again one day, or just go back and do little sections with a good friend and a camera, I know I haven't seen my last field or valley or mountaintop. 

I'd like to add something that I thought many, many times while wandering out in the woods over the last year: that it really wound't have been possible for me to do this if it was not for the help and support of my family and close friends.  Honestly, you guys.... it meant the world to me to know that you were eager and thinking of me from home.  I know that got me through some rough times out there.  Many people were also so generous with their financial support, either in giving me money early on in my preparation or sending me food when I needed it on the Trail, to just helping me out when I finally made it home. This is true especially of my grandparents, Gene and Margaret, and parents Dave, Patty, and Becky, who were AMAZING in their support and enthusiasm for my adventure.  I can't go without acknowledging Stewart, either.  We did so much planning and preparation together.  I regret that I couldn't tell you then what I know now, thinking that perhaps I could have saved you some pain by getting rid of the needless things we were carrying in our packs in the beginning.  But experience can only come with time, and I know you will one day be back to hike again. To all my friends who gave money or time or love to me on my way: Thank you so much!  I have grown as a person thanks to what you helped me accomplish.  I owe you more than I can ever give. 


And with that I think I'll finish this entry, though I'm not entirely sure that this is the end of the blog altogether.
So, until next time...