#38. Mount Katahdin, ME: 5 July 2023

When taking a test, go with your first instinct. Your first guess is probably your best guess. Unfortunately, I didn’t follow that logic in planning our climb up Katahdin on July 5, 2023.

My fellow hikers were Eva Bazant (whose doctoral dissertation committee I was on at Johns Hopkins in 2008), her husband Rif Coven, and their 15-year-old daughter Giuliana. They are good friends with Catherine Harbour and Rob Mellow, who had climbed Katahdin with me the previous year (see #29). When Eva suggested we connect for some hiking, Katahdin finally emerged as the destination.

A major challenge to climbing Katahdin at the height of the summer season is obtaining a reserved parking spot at one of the trailheads, especially since priority goes to Maine residents. In recent years, I’d climbed the Abol Trail, known as the “elevator to the top,” because it’s the most efficient of the trails (shorter but steeper). We lucked out and got a parking spot at Abol campground for July 5.

We faced two other challenges. I was still nursing the bruised rib that I’d acquired on Mont Blanc two weeks earlier. My primary health care physician in New Orleans – by amazing coincidence, a Maine resident from the next town over  – had not outright vetoed the idea of climbing Katahdin, though she pointed out the risk of further injuring the rib. She wondered if we didn’t want to take the Saddle Trail (longer but easier) instead of Abol. Since I was still feeling some tightness in my chest, I figured I’d give Katahdin a try and turn back if necessary. Eva – having studied the Baxter State Park website – also asked if we should hike the Saddle Trail.

The other challenge was the weather. For the previous week, we’d been watching www.mountain_forecast.com like a hawk. Almost like clockwork, the forecast for July 5 changed daily: from clear to cloudy to rain showers, landing on thundershowers 24 hours before we were supposed to climb. Given our non-refundable reservations at the Big Moose Inn in Millinocket the night before the climb, we stuck with our original plan to head north, fully expecting to get rained out. At lunch that day, Giuliana asked, "Under the most optimistic circumstances, what is the likelihood we can climb the mountain tomorrow?" I answered, “3 percent.” Her dad chimed in, “Zero.” 

It was particularly hard to get up for an early start when there was every reason to believe the climb would be rained out. To our amazement, we awoke on July 5 to bright skies and a new weather forecast: the best possible conditions, without any threat of the usual afternoon thunderstorms. We could barely believe our good fortune!

If things were looking up for the weather, they were not for Giuliana’s state of mind. She came down to breakfast feeling sick and after two bites of French toast, headed back to her room. She talked about staying back at the Inn, and her parents began checking into extending their hotel room by a day. Soon, however, she opted to join us. The fresh air and amazing views of Katahdin helped in speeding her recovery.

The dreadful weather forecast kept other prospective climbers off the mountain. The usual scene at the Togue Pond Gate is two long lines of cars: those on the left with parking reservations, those on the right who would have arrived before 6 am, lined up to claim the spots in case of “no shows.” Instead, when we arrived around 7:30 am, there wasn’t another car in sight. It occurred to me to ask the ranger if we could park at Roaring Brook instead of Abol campground. This type of switching would be entirely out of the question on a day with more hikers, but to my surprise, she said yes. This meant we could take the trail that would lead us past Chimney Pond campground (itself a “destination”) en route to the Saddle Trail and hopefully to the summit, Baxter Peak. No elevator to the top.

We got on the trail shortly after 8:00 am. For the 3.3 miles between Roaring Brook and Chimney Pond, the trail consisted of a gradually ascending rocky path with occasional boulders. The rain from the previous day left puddles and mud that we worked to avoid. Before the hike, Rif had tried to repair a hole in the front of his hiking boots with mink oil and duct tape, but by the second mile, there was no denying the hole in the front of his boot. We stopped to take off sweatshirts, put on sunscreen, drink more water, have a snack, put on repellent, and take photos. Some three hours later, we reached Chimney Pond.

According to the ranger, if it took us 3 hours to get to Chimney Pond, it would take another 3 hours to get to the summit, followed by another 5-6 hours to return to the trailhead at Roaring Brook. At that rate, we’d get back to the car at 9-10 pm. Decision time! Giuliana had gotten into the rhythm of hiking and was ready to charge ahead. Eva suggested we get to the top of the Saddle Trail (where it meets the “tableland” toward the summit), then decide. Rif opted to let the ladies go ahead, while he explored the area around Blueberry Knoll and then headed back down.

After a quick lunch at Chimney Pond, we began a two-hour ascent up the Saddle Trail. “If this is the easy one, I don’t want to see…” The final 200 yards before reaching the tableland were by far the steepest, and we counted our lucky stars that the boulders were dry. Although we had stopped to lather on more bug spray, the black flies were everywhere. We needed one hand to grab onto the boulders, the other to swat away the insects. We began a counting game: how many flies had flown into someone’s eye? (three) Nose? (two)  Ear? (one) Mouth? (three). Being good social scientists, we then had to clarify the interpretation of this measure. We likened it to the Gender Inequality Index: the lower, the better.

When we reached the tableland, Eva fortunately had the wisdom to suggest we’d gone far enough. She was conscious of wanting to get back to the car before dark. (I do not credit myself with similar good judgment when the summit seems “so close” – 1.5 hours up, 1 additional hour down –  but I wanted to follow Eva’s lead on this matter.)

We snapped some photos, swatted more flies, then started down. We managed the tricky part over the large boulders with great aplomb, then edged our way over the medium-sized boulders en route to Chimney Pond. After an obligatory check-in at the Ranger’s station and a snack (carefully observed by a nearby chipmunk), we continued downward. Guiliana sprained her ankle but bravely pushed on. I lent her my trekking poles and provided some Ibuprofen on the final descent. Exactly 11 hours after starting, we straggled into the Roaring Brook parking lot.

Rif met us at the car and we headed back to the Big Moose Inn for dinner, sticky from bug spray and sunscreen. We wolfed down our food and prepared for the 1-hour 45-minute drive back to the Bertrand camp in Holden. As we approached Bangor, a huge yellow-purple man-in-the-moon sat on the horizon. We dragged into the camp at 11:30 pm from a day that had started at 5:30 am.  

The competitive soul that I am, I couldn’t help but feel that my first instinct was the right one. We should have taken the Abol Trail. It isn’t significantly harder than Saddle, and with 11 hours of effort, we almost certainly would have summitted. Katahdin will still be there, should we want to try again another time.

 ************