To recap: Air Rescue on Mount Katahdin’s Dudley Trail – Sunday, June 22, 2014
Hiking in to spend a night at at Chimney Pond is enough of a treat. The trail starts at Roaring Brook Campground and winds up through the woods, over brooks and streams. Dennis calls it “the longest 3.25 miles you’ll ever hike.” After last summer’s adventure, we know that’s not quite THE longest!
Rocky stairs on the trail to Chimney Pond
Chimney Pond, June 2014
With my stomach turned inside out and with more careful foot placement than ever, we made our way up toward Pamola Peak. The rate of incline up Dudley Trail is so steep, hikers are warned that climbing up is fine, but are strongly discouraged from attempting to climb down. For only my second time to climb Mount Katahdin, this trail was extremely taxing on my body. “Just put one foot in front of the other. Step, step, step.” Dennis’s words churned in my mind, and I added, repeating to myself over and over and over, “I can do this.”
Working our way up Dudley Trail, not even halfway to the top
We reached the peak, took the obligatory photos of each other standing next to the big sign and took a few shots of breathtaking views at every angle. We had lost so much time already. It was after 1:00, and darkness would fall around 9:00. After a brief rest, we struck off descending the Helon Taylor Trail with 3.2 miles left of our journey, and I was never so happy to reach the end of a trail as I was this dreary day.
Already exhausted after climbing nearly straight up the side of Katahdin on Dudley Trail
We needed to descend this stretch before dark, and climbing down generally goes more quickly than climbing up. Hiking down from Chimney Pond takes us three to four hours with a few stops to rest, so we estimated reaching the Jeep around 5:00 – 6:00 p.m. We’d be fine. We began ambling down the rocky slope.
Looking out from Pamola Peak
The trail coming down the top of Helon Taylor was different than the other trails I’d climbed. We were traveling down a rocky spine with some stretches of easy walking on paths of gravel and the occasional hop, skip and jump down big flat boulders. I was relieved at the ease this time, my knees still quite shaky from our morning events. We kept a good, steady pace for quite a while before stopping to rest. I was so ready to end this hike, not many photos were taken.
Helon Taylor Trail leading down from Pamola Peak
Easy flowing gravel pathway on Helon Taylor Trail
“The black flies won’t be an issue when we reach the cooler air on top of the mountain,” he said. Pfft. Wrong. Yes, we plan as best we can for every situation. Plan A: Check your can of bug spray to make sure it has more than a few sprays of protection left in it. I ran out before we got to Chimney Pond the day before, and with my allergy to black flies, lack of a good bug spray is serious business. Plan B: Keep moving!
Dark Eyed Junco on top of Mount Katahdin
Every time we stopped to sit, have a protein bar or drink of water, the bugs attacked with vengeance. They were all over me, on my face, neck and under my hair. It was hot, baking sun reflecting off of the rocks, but I couldn’t risk putting my hair up and exposing even more skin. We had to keep moving. Then, we ran out of water.
Views from Helon Taylor Trail
Packing as light as possible means including only two plastic water bottles. 40 ounces of water for a full day of any outdoor sport isn’t enough, and our last reliable source of water was back at Chimney Pond – nine hours behind us. We looked for water available along our path, and we found a small pool of rain water in the sunken top of a boulder. I was thankful for the short rain shower we’d sat through earlier. We drank it.
Views from Helon Taylor Trail
My legs and knees were in bad shape when we finally made it below the treeline. It seemed we’d been coming down that trail forever already, and looking at the time, we were more and more skeptical of making it out before dark. We had flashlights, but hiking down rocks and over extremely uneven surfaces in the dark was more than my brain could wrap itself around. The tears welled in my eyes again. I was beyond exhausted, hungry and needed water so badly I was looking around every bend for any water source I could find. At that point, I didn’t care that we were below the canopy where the risk of beavers contaminating the streams can’t be ignored. My muscles were mush, I was sorely dehydrated, and my legs were starting to cramp fiercely, my knees nearly giving way with every step I took. Finally, I heard the sound of running water. Praying this was the beginning sounds of Roaring Brook, I sped up as much as I safely could to get to the source of the sound.
Finally settling below the treeline
It was not Roaring Brook, dammit, but it was water. Cold, clear running water. Not clean, not really safe to drink without treatment, but my body wasn’t making it any further without water. So we filled our bottles and drank. Ok, I guzzled. A lot. We still didn’t know what stream we had found or how far we had to go, so we kept moving without a real rest that time.
Darkness fell, and the flashlights came on. The thought that I was going to lay down on a rock somewhere and wait for Dennis to come back with park rangers to carry me out on a stretcher was at the forefront of my mind. I.Could.Not.Take.Another.Step. My knees buckled every time I put my foot to the ground. The path had become fairly level by now, with few step downs off of rocks and only some tree roots to navigate, but I’d already had enough. I was certain I couldn’t go on. Crying again. The severely injured hiker on my mind. Watching my husband’s flashlight bobbing up and down on the path in front of me as he kept moving at a good clip, more and more distance between us…then I heard it. It was the unmistakable roar of Roaring Brook – aptly named.
We rounded the end of the Neverending Helon Taylor Trail, onto the short stretch leading to the parking lot, the Jeep and HOME. That night, I vowed I’d never feel the need to climb the mountain again. I would keep my feet on solid ground with no desire whatsoever to kill myself for the sake of “accomplishment” or “overcoming.” There are much easier paths in life to tread than up and over the mountains. Then again, mountains are made of solid ground.
Till next time…
Maine Outdoors Woman 