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I’ve never been much of a hiker. I did quite a bit of walking through the woods and mountains in my younger days, and still do, but usually after parking my vehicle off some unnamed tote road and heading off with a rod in my pack to find a secluded trout pond. I don’t mind a leisurely walk now and again, but strapping on a backpack and hiking a mountain for no other reason than to see the view from the top just isn’t me.
But I have had my moments on the trail, some with a fly rod and some without. I didn’t particularly enjoy the trek to Speck Pond via the Speck Pond Trail. The trail climbs 2,000 feet in about three miles. For some it might be a walk in the park, but it convinced me I would never be a true hiker.
My most memorable hikes without a rod took place in Baxter State Park. I started camping and fishing the park’s remote trout ponds right after high school, many of which called for easy, generally flat hikes of various lengths to access. During those visits I was well aware of Mount Katahdin, which dominates the southern end of the park, and whenever I caught a glimpse of Baxter Peak from some vantage point or break in the trees I swore I would climb it one day.
I eventually did.
I don’t remember the year, but I do recall it was late July and the trout fishing was hit or miss. I drove through the Togue Pond Gatehouse late in the afternoon, continued on to the campground at Roaring Brook and settled into a lean-to. With plenty of daylight left, I made the short trek to Sandy Stream Pond in hopes of seeing a moose, without success, and returned to camp planning to hit the sleeping bag early.
That night a storm rolled in from the west and I vividly recall thunder echoing off Katahdin like clashing cymbals, loud enough to wake me from sleep. I’ve never heard anything quite like it since.
The next morning I rose early and started my hike. From Roaring Brook Campground, it was just over a three-mile hike to the summit of Pamola Peak, a rock- and root-infested climb until you get above treeline. At that point it became a stairway of boulders that revealed and tested muscles I never knew I had.
At the top I rested before descending the Chimney, a 30-foot rock chute that must be navigated down into a crevice and back up again to reach the Knife Edge, a one-mile, harrowing trek over rocks and boulders just a few feet wide in places with steep drops on both sides.
At one point I looked down and saw Chimney Pond sitting far below in its basin. It looked like a puddle in the middle of a road.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I later read that more than 60 people have died on Katahdin since 1933, many on the Knife Edge.
Looking back, I found the trek across the Knife Edge thrilling. Some might call it exhilarating. I’m not sure I would go that far, but I’m glad I did it, if for no other reason than to check it off my bucket list and take in the views, which are stunning under a bluebird sky.
But upon reaching Baxter Peak, I didn’t see myself ever doing it again.
But I would years later, though not before ascending Baxter Peak from another direction.
My parents were alive then and after hearing about my hike my dad mentioned several times he’d like to climb Katahdin.
My dad was a heavy smoker, in his early 50s and in no way a hiker, and I questioned whether he could make the climb. But he was game, so thinking it would be the easiest route I booked a campsite at Katahdin Stream Campground with plans to ascend the Hunt Trail.
There are several things I remember about that hike, not the least of which is that my dad made it to the top, although we had to stop at several points along the way to “catch our breath.”
One of those stops came just before we ascended to the Tablelands, where I took one of two photos of him I still have today. I don’t know if it’s still the case, but back then the trees opened up to offer a narrow but panoramic view.
I took a picture of my dad leaning against a fir tree as he took in the scene.
The other photo was taken at the summit as my dad stood next to the rock cairn marking the peak. My dad stood a little over 5 feet tall in boots with 2-inch heels, and the pile of rocks towered over him by several feet.
But at that moment atop Maine’s highest mountain, he looked like the biggest man in the world to me, and I had never seen him more pleased or happy.
Those two photos sit on a shelf in our dining room among a host of other family pictures. They remain two of my favorite photos of my dad and two of my favorite Katahdin memories.
My last climb to Baxter Peak took place in 2008. My wife, Diane, was into hiking in a big way then. Me, not so much. I hadn’t done any serious hiking in years unless a trout pond was involved, but she wanted to climb it.
Specifically, she wanted to cross the Knife Edge.
Although I had no real desire to climb Pamola Peak and cross the Knife Edge a second time, I relented to go “one last time.”
In July we made the trip north. The campground at Roaring Brook was full for the weekend we wanted, so we booked a site in the Bear Brook group area. Initially I would have preferred Roaring Brook because it was familiar and closer to the trails that retraced the route I took nearly four decades earlier, but we actually found Bear Brook more than accommodating.
We also liked that the group sites are set well off the road, offering some privacy. Although we could still hear cars in the early morning as they rushed by, we didn’t get inundated with the road dust that often kicks up during the July heat.
One of the biggest challenges I recall was finding a parking spot at Roaring Brook, but a car was pulling out as we pulled in, so we got lucky.
After signing the hike register at the ranger station, we started toward the summit of Pamola via the Helen Taylor Trail, which would take us across the Knife Edge and on to Baxter Peak. We planned to return via the Cathedral and Chimney Pond trails.
On the climb to Pamola Peak, the trail didn’t appear to have changed much in 40 years, perhaps more worn in places, but I had.
By the time we reached treeline and started the boulder climb I was feeling my age and found myself stopping more often to take in the view, or at least that was my excuse.
The rest atop the summit was longer than before as well.
I followed Diane across the Knife Edge and when we reached Baxter Peak I asked her if I was worth the hike.
“Every step,” she replied, “but I think once might be enough.”
I don’t know if I was supposed to, but as the group sat atop Baxter Peak enjoying their energy drinks and protein snacks, I pulled out the Pocket Rocket backpacking stove I bought years before for those moments when I want a cup of coffee while fishing or hunting, along with a small isobutane canister and my old metal cup, items that are always in my pack.
Using a spare bottle of water, I boiled a cup of coffee.
It was one of those instant coffee singles in a tea bag, not exactly my first choice in coffee, but at 5,269 feet you can’t complain, and the view more than made up for the lack of flavor.
We’ve been back to Baxter State Park numerous times since that last trip. We try to make the trek into the trout ponds in the southwest corner at least once every couple of years, booking a cabin at Kidney Pond or Daicey Pond depending on what’s available and which ponds we want to fish.
We’ve also camped at South Branch Pond on the north end several times. I went fishing while others in the group climbed The Traveler. I had, and still have, no interest.
I’ve climbed Maine’s highest mountain three times, am grateful for the gift that is Katahdin and believe every Mainer capable of doing so should make the climb at least once.
It is, after all, your mountain.
The view from the summit puts everything in a different perspective.
But as for me, I’m more than happy these days to admire the mountain from a distance, especially while sitting in a canoe with a fly rod in my hand.
