I had reasonable success as a kicker in high school, so when a friend suggested I walk-on at Purdue, it seemed like it would be a cool thing to do. I’m not sure at the time I really believed I would make it through the tryouts, let alone that I would ever play, but I had never failed at anything and was just naïve enough at age 17 to give it a shot. I also had nothing better to do, and once I decided to tryout for the football team, it also occurred to me that I should enroll in school.

I made the team as a walk-on (non-scholarship player) and somehow stuck it out for three years until the stars aligned and I became the starter for the ’91 season. Up until our final game, I was 6/10 in field goals, not great, but one of those six was a game-winner at Northwestern, so not all bad. Still, it was a mediocre-at-best season in my mind. It wasn’t much better for us as a team either. We would not be invited to a bowl game that year so everyone looked forward to the final game at Indiana where, if we won, we would knock Indiana out of bowl eligibility and at least salvage some goodness from a lot of hard work and dedication.

It was a cold and rainy November day in southern Indiana… It was a miserable day.

At the end of the first half, we were down 24-6. I wish I could say that those 6 points of ours were two of my filed goals, but in reality I had missed an extra point after a touchdown…as well as two field goals. Perfection was always my expectation. (I’ve never met a kicker with a different expectation.) The score should have been, at worst, 24-13.

In the second half, the situation improved a little as I made a field goal and we scored a couple of touchdowns. So although I missed yet another kick, we stormed back to bring the game to 24-22. And then there were 30 seconds remaining in the game…and the ball was in our possession resting on Indiana’s 17-yard line…and I was sent out to attempt a 34-yard field goal that would win the game, erase the three previous misses, bring warmth and comfort to an otherwise cold and uncomfortable day, shine some light on a mediocre season, and send most of our seniors into the rest of their lives with a triumphant ending to their football careers.

There was nowhere in the world I wanted to be more than on that field with a chance to beat the Indiana Hoosiers with a game-ending field goal. The snap from center was perfect, the hold was perfect…and then my desire to be in that place at that time changed quite suddenly as I watched my kick sail to the right and miss.

I missed four field goals and an extra point that day – 13 points. That loss was on my shoulders. Twenty years later I’m still haunted by every kick I ever missed, but none more than that final attempt at Indiana. It was in that moment and during the month that followed that I came to understand the shame that comes with a very public failure. I was beyond embarrassed. I avoided people. I didn’t go to class except to take my final exams. I was prepared to decline my fifth year of eligibility, to quit football and even to quit school. The weight, the pressure – the load – was too heavy. The pain, too painful.

And then two interesting things happened. My brother reached his limit for tolerating my pathetic emotional state and confronted me with some tough love – something similar to but more passionate than “get your head out of your ass” – that I could not ignore or deny. Then my father took me for a walk and after addressing a series of topics relating my experience to the trials and tribulations of being human, he said quite simply, “Hey…it happens.”

Somehow that’s what I needed. At that point I stopped feeling alone and ashamed. I took responsibility – I owned the fact that up to that point I had been incompetent as a kicker at the college level; that I had simply been in over my head because I entered the situation without a high level of personal conviction. Once I owned that, something strengthened inside of me, and the failure started to transform into a catalyst for a rare opportunity.

I decided I would come back for my fifth year. I went to winter conditioning workouts and ran until I was vomiting alongside 300-pound giants. I was not daunted by the fact that during the off-season Purdue recruited and gave a scholarship to one of the nation’s top high school kickers. It did not bother me that my name wasn’t even listed in the pre-season football magazines. What other people were planning and doing had no bearing on me. I had become focused and committed to a goal. I was on purpose. To a certain degree, I knew the rest of my life was at stake.

Still a walk-on, I was there on my own terms. I worked three jobs in the summer, busted my ass in the weight room, and practiced alone. And I got better. Better enough to win back the starting job. Better enough to make my first field goal attempt of the season from 35 yards out – roughly the same distance I had missed my last one the season before. Better enough to set the all-time Purdue record for most consecutive field goals without a miss (12); better enough to be nominated as an All-American and to be named a finalist for the first annual Lou Groza award given to the nation’s top kicker; better enough to be getting NFL tryout letters in the mail. And during our end of the season banquet – after my football career was over – Coach Jim Colletto surprised me with a scholarship for my final semester in school.

So, not a bad ending, and as Bill Cosby once said, “I told you all of that to tell you this:”

Life doesn’t always present clear opportunities to overcome adversity, and even when it does, we don’t always have the wherewithal to take advantage.

17 years later, during the year of my divorce, I found myself again overwhelmed with pain and embarrassment. I felt angry, alone, betrayed and ashamed, and my mind was burdened with the uncertainties of a future that was not under my control.

My brother reached his limit again with my emotional state and again, in no uncertain terms, told me to get my head out of my ass. My father shared his wisdom about being human and said to me again, “it happens.” Again, they were both right. For several years I had my head so far up my ass hiding from my pain and confusion that I had no realistic perception of or any sense of control over what was happening around me. I was not managing well at all and it was crippling. Pain and confusion became my masters and, as a result, I was not in my power making things happen – things were happening TO me.

Shit was happening to me.

When my two sons are behaving in ways that do not suit them or serve them, my response typically starts with a simple message saying, “this is not okay,” and together we work toward more healthy behavior.

It took me a while, but I finally reached my limit with my own behavior. How I was managing my pain and confusion was no longer okay with me. And I had to start sorting my shit out and get back to living on purpose.

Shit: it’s a funny thing. It happens to us all in a variety of ways, especially when being passive. (Accidental, but appropriate pun.) In fact, I would argue that the more passive you are in your life, the more shit will happen TO YOU. “Shit happens” is a passive thing to say. You throw your arms up or shrug your shoulders and then do nothing. For a long time I passively let shit happen to me and it is not okay anymore. It’s way more fun to make shit happen. Good shit. Shit so good you want to thank God for it.

“Holy Sh!t.”

Holy Sh!t is an entirely different animal. It is a response to something extraordinary. It makes your heart jump. The good kind of Holy Sh!t inspires high fives and spirited hugs. I would prefer not to be on someone’s shit list, for example, but I would love to be on the good side of someone’s Holy Sh!t list. In fact, I intend to be on mine, but to get there – to truly make Holy Sh!t happen in the best ways possible – I had to first get my shit together and reclaim full mastership of my personal domain.

When I became clear that I was ready to take back control of my life, an interesting thing happened: ways started to appear. Call it coincidence. Call it luck. Call it serendipity. Pine the old saying that the universe helps those who help themselves. Or liken it to what you’d undoubtedly experience hiking on the Appalachian Trail: the path before you will change when you’re in motion.

In 2009, I was referred to a company that provides life coaching and professional training. They were looking for help in developing some creative marketing concepts and strategies. Jones Associates had so far been in business for eight years building a model for personal and professional transformation. Leslie Jones and Dr. Martin “Doc” Kettlehut wanted to rename their company and create a brand that could stand on its own and grow beyond them. They spoke of human transformation like it was a science, which at the time I thought was a little bold, but I liked them and their story was interesting, and focusing my mind on work was consistently a good way for me to be in motion.

I immersed myself into their business and philosophies. I learned about the process of helping people understand how their life structures determine their realities. “Your life is structured to get you exactly the results you’re getting,” Leslie would say, “If you want different results, you need to create different structures.”

Leslie and Doc created a system that is the basis for what Doc calls the Science of Human Transformation. It focuses on four key domains from which we all structure our lives, which I touched on in a previous post.

Self Care: how you care for yourself – physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually.
Space: how you interact with your spatial environments – home, work, car, nature, etc.
Time: how you choose to spend your minutes, hours, days, etc.
Relationship: the company you keep.

I learned about these domains and far more from them. I met their clients and I witnessed a sort of Magic, which Doc defined as “the power to manifest the things you want in your own timeframe with ease.” We renamed their company and we created new programs, and along the way I developed a level of respect for the coaching industry that I had not previously possessed.

So here I had supposedly been doing my work on them, and before long I realized that they were quite naturally and with ease doing their work on me. Like magic. I had already been awakened by the demise of my marriage and was developing greater awareness around who I was being and what was not okay about my life. Over time I began to understand how the four domains fit into the context of daily living. I was benefiting by listening and learning and thinking critically, but I still had to do the work.

For me, doing the work started with a list. I wanted to make holy sh!t happen, but I first needed to get my shit together, so I built a list to start taking a hard look at my daily life.  I utilized the four domains and added one more that felt important for me to address: Money.

More to come.

As I continued checking in on the idea, it kept sticking, and before long I didn’t need to check in on it anymore because it started checking in on me…and it didn’t just stick, it grew. So it seemed that maybe I was on to something…and maybe it was worth writing down to see where it might go. So I did..and it indeed got juicy, but…

Says The Wiser Amuser:
Sometimes not knowing what you’re getting into
Will give you the chance to get through
What you wouldn’t if you only knew
All the crap it’ll make you do.

Man-oh-man have I been forced through some crap.

Destination: enlightenment, or some form of it at least, initially to overcome my despair, but ultimately to raise the quality of my character and life experience. I’m in the middle of it all now looking intently and deeply into the following domains:

• Self Care
• Time
• Space
• Money
• Relationship

Will share more on each of those areas in future posts.

So far it is has been a godsend that my stronger tendency toward optimism blinded me from some of the realities I would encounter on this path, because it is running my entire being through a grinder. It works me to tears at times and I don’t shed those easily. I am, however, experiencing the magic that keeps one attentive, engaged, and committed to such things.

The path started with awareness. Plain and simple it would seem, but when you’ve employed denial as a primary survival tool for so many years, you might be astonished at the habits and patterns that need breaking. I’m not proud to admit that that’s been the case for me, but looking back I can see how denial kept me moving when I knew I was lost. I’ve come out of that and there’s no going back, but it’s still only a beginning.

The difference is that I can no longer pretend that everything will just work out. And it’s painful to face and have to fix the realities that I either unconsciously created or allowed someone else to create. The areas that most need my attention are getting it, but I’m still trudging through the thickness of the slow, rocky tunnel.

With awareness comes pain, but also a sense of empowerment. Onward.

But it’s just something I’m thinking about right now so I happen to be very well-dressed and properly prepared, and my audience is particularly ideal: smart, attentive, easily amused, and very attractive.

All is well, but still, I’m a little nervous, so I’m working on becoming more comfortable.

Doing a little research this morning I came across an old de-jitterbugging tactic. It suggests you imagine that your audience is naked and, therefore, more uncomfortable than you. So I give this a little projection and I start my speech and all is going well until I begin to realize a potential problem: a room full of naked people and my tendency toward A.D.D.

Now I say tendency because I only experience about 80% of the common symptoms of A.D.D. A psychologist friend recently informed me that if I exhibited the other 20% it would mean that I am also bipolar, but those PhD-types, always diagnosing the glass half-empty because they’d be jobless if everybody was normal like me.

Anyway, the great thing about A.D.D. is that it consistently drives the mind to the coolest and most interesting places, which can make for a very rich life experience. There’s another side of A.D.D., though, that can be less beneficial if hey did I mention that the people in my audience are really attractive? Women and men both: attractive, naked, intelligent and very much into what I have to say. Several approach me after my speech, in fact, to exchange contact information. Seems they want to join me for a hike sometime…then hang out and drink wine to, you know, take the conversation deeper and to learn more about what I think about. Pretty cool.

(I love you, too. All of you, I do.)

I should get back to working on that speech topic.

In time, if you’re open and paying attention, pain can go from being, well, painful, to being something like a messenger. Pain signifies either a threat, indicating a weakness or sickness; or as a strength, indicating growth or health.

When I started hiking the Appalachian Trail in 1997 I felt pain all over my body everyday. Knee pain, for example, came and went during the first few months of my hike. Thankfully I managed it well and over time my knee got stronger, and the periodic pain from my weaknesses eventually just went away for good.

Pain was an important resource. More than a messenger. Almost like a friend, but not quite. More like a compass or a guide. More like an objective coach. It pushed me and resisted me and I did not always like what it had to say, but I knew it was grounded in a wisdom deeper than my experience.

I walked 2,160+ miles on purpose and pain kept me in check. It forced discipline upon me and helped me set good boundaries.

During my divorce, my experience with pain was very different. It was largely emotional and it didn’t feel like a messenger or a coach, it felt like a bully.

For a long time I was either in denial that my marriage was failing or I felt powerless to fix what was failing. I was convinced that I just had to hold on, that soon my wife would come around. That she would choose me again and surrender to my lead and THEN we could simplify and THEN everything would be okay and we could be happy again.

As I held on, I made concessions thinking that “giving” was the way. Giving felt like virtue to me. “Don’t be right,” came the voice, “do the right thing.” At the time, giving seemed like the right thing to do. And to give was to accommodate. I decided self-sacrifice was going to be my way. But over time self-sacrifice didn’t fulfill me, it emptied me. So when I accommodated I merely gave away my power. At the time I thought that giving everything was good and the right thing to do, but eventually I had sacrificed so much of myself that emptiness was all I had left to give.

And it wasn’t just in my marriage. My professional life suffered, I grew distant with friends, I didn’t feel like I was being the father I wanted to be, and it took a toll on my family who consistently provided so much support.

In these relationship scenarios I was trying to be something I wasn’t, something more than I was, and I ruined good opportunities and good relationships as a result. I also sacrificed many of my personal passions, like hiking and kayaking, and replaced them with shoulds and focused on working for whatever paycheck would feed an over-sized home on a golf course.

Because at the time I lacked both the knowledge and the courage to believe in my creative side, setting all my “little projects” aside in boxes and into storage seemed like the right thing to do.  Poems, children’s stories, screenplays, song lyrics, beer commercials, and a variety of business ideas. All things that woke me up in the morning and kept me energized into the night. I put it all away so I could focus on what I should, and I served others without serving myself. I relinquished control. I was no longer the master of my domain. The emotional pain only grew and rather than taking control, I just ached and hoped to be set free from it.

I fell from my own personal grace, not because of what was happening to me, but because I was not making things happen and, therefore, not getting meaningful results. I was loaded down with bad energy. By waiting for what I wanted to happen to happen, I was weakening, kicking my soul out of my body, and my entire being was suffering.

That lasted for far longer than I am comfortable admitting and while, intellectually, I knew all along that I was the only one who could fix it, I had some emotional-awareness catching-up to do.

So I did what made the most sense to me, I started walking in the woods again…a lot.

Author Richard Louv, in his book Last Child in the Woods (2005) presents a condition called Nature-deficit disorder to describe the problems people face as a result of being disconnected with nature.

“By its broadest interpretation, nature-deficit disorder is an atrophied awareness, a diminished ability to find meaning in the life that surrounds us.”

In his June 2011 article in Outside titled “Get Your Mind Dirty,” Louv further discussed how much of an effect the disconnect with nature has on all of us, children and adults alike.

“When we think of the nature deficit, we usually think of kids spending too much time indoors plugged into an outlet or computer screen. But after the book’s publication, I heard adults speak with heartfelt emotion, even anger, about their own sense of loss.”

This is extremely important and I’ll just let the article speak for itself. Read the Outside Mag article.

“I am on a drug. It’s called Charlie Sheen. It’s not available because if you try it you will die. Your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body.”

Call me strange, but I am loving Charlie Sheen right now, not because I’m interested in promoting his way of life, but because of the way he has me thinking about my way of life. As interesting as every word coming out of his mouth is right now, perhaps even more interesting is the way people are responding to him. From what I can tell, most in the media are shaking their heads, calling him sick and saying he needs help. While that may have merit, there’s another side to this that I think is valuable to see.

I posted the above quote on my Facebook status, some of the comments included:

• “An instant classic!”
• “wired for sound…possibly delusional, too…hate to see him on something.”
• “…this guy has become my hero.”
• “He has seriously lost it.”

The line between being lost and being found can be a very fine one…and Charlie Sheen is walking it, to be sure. Either way, I never liked Charlie Sheen until now.

Whether you like him or believe him or think he’s delusional, you cannot deny that Sheen has removed an enormous weight from his own shoulders and is experiencing a freedom within himself that has been dying to get out for a long time. Some are saying that this is the beginning of his final demise, I would argue that this is his best chance for survival. His best chance at seeing his children become adults, and their best chance at having a father who is at least present and engaged in the world.

I don’t question whether or not Charlie Sheen is an addict. He says he has quit drugs and alcohol and has test results to prove it. He has clearly not quit women and, personally, I can’t fault him for that. But none of that really matters so much to me. I do not condone many of his lifestyle choices nor much of his general behavior, but I’m really drawn to what appears to be his new addiction, what I would call “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth according to Charlie Sheen.”

The commitment to expressing your own truth with courage and without apology is a key milestone on the path to personal liberation. And while the line between beneficial and detrimental outcomes can be a fine one for some, if the truth is delivered from a foundation of awareness and personal accountability, it is an addiction we should all be so bold to exercise.

It is now October 5th, 1997, and I am sitting at a table surrounded by French speaking travelers in a hostel in Rivierre Du Loup, Quebec.

I completed the Appalachian Trail a week ago.

Out of Millinocket, Paka Bear, Redwood, and I joined Easy Walker in his van to the coast of Maine. We explored Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park for a few days before dropping Paka at the airport.

Then we drove North, crossed the border into Canada, and spent a couple of days in Old Quebec City where I shaved off my six-month-old beard.

We plan to spend a day or two here in Riviere Du Loup, then to Montreal, then down into Vermont for some hiking and a visit to the Ben & Jerry’s factory, and finally ending the road trip in Hanover, NH for The Gathering: a hiker festival sponsored by The Appalachian Long Distance Hiking Association (ALDHA).

In the past week I’ve had some time to reflect a bit and to think about what I’m going to do next. By no means have I sorted out a life plan and I don’t expect to anytime soon. Confusion is a little more prevalent than clarity, which is frustrating, and I’ve been experiencing a bit of what I think is depression. I did expect these feelings to some degree and I anticipate they will subside soon.

I’m ready to go home. Ready to spend some time with my family. I plan to catch up on some reading; listen to lots of music; run a marathon next month; explore going back to school for a degree in something interesting; wear jeans and cotton clothing; and, oh yeah, get a job or ten.

I do not know if this trip has changed me as a person but it has enhanced the way I see the world. My appreciation for Mother Nature is still profound and my faith in Human Nature is at an all time high.

It is my opinion that an Appalachian Trail Thru-hike is not a true “wilderness experience” for most people. All of nature’s elements are available, but, ultimately, the Trail experience is a traveling community of characters following similar physical paths, yet widely varied spiritual paths, each one extraordinarily unique.

As fulfilling and enjoyable as it is, an AT thru-hike is NOT for everyone. For some, the commitment and sacrifices required are simply unreasonable. But for those with the true desire to make it happen, I’ll say this: There is more good in those 2,160+ miles than you can shake a stick at.

If and when you find yourself standing on top of one those mountains in Maine or Georgia (hopefully on a sunny day), you will understand how real and important that little voice is inside your heart that tells you to do what most people consider “crazy.” You will not regret listening to that voice. And you will not feel the least bit crazy.

I’m grateful to everyone who helped make my trip all that it was and who have helped make my life all that it is.

Thanks to Dan Bruce of Trail Place, who was the catalyst in helping me get this journal produced, and to Patty Wilkins who converted all of my original chicken-scratch to type.

Thanks and love most especially to my Mother, who kept me fed, connected, and even at times, funded.

Keep your load light. Happy Trails.

Joe “Aquaholic” O’Leary

I slept surprisingly well despite the excitement of finally arriving at the base of THE final climb on the Northern route of the Appalachian Trail.

Redwood, Achilles, Chewy, and I walked over to the Ranger Station and emptied our packs of everything but a little bit of food and some warm clothing. Mahatma (Achilles‘ Dad) arrived from New York to join us for the climb. Great to see him again.

Cosmo, Spice, Paka, and Easy Walker actually arrived from Daicey Pond Campground a little after 7 a.m. We were worried we might not see them this morning after leaving them at Abol Bridge yesterday.

Cosmo: “Well, we bought some beer and started drinking before noon for no good reason…again.”

Needless to say, we were happy to see them.

Weather forecast: 100% chance of showers. High 40-45 degrees.

“Maybe it’ll hold off,” pined Easy Walker.

A little over 5 miles to Baxter Peak, Mt Katahdin and the official end of this six-month rollercoaster ride. The toughest climb on the entire Trail in my opinion. Steep UP the whole way requiring all four limbs; climbing, scrambling, stumbling…

The high winds started as soon as we ascended above tree-line. At times, the gusts were so strong you could only hope to stand your ground. But I was knocked to the ground several times despite my efforts to the contrary. Rain and fog soon arrived to join us for the rest of the day.

We reached the 5,267 foot summit cold and wet with, at best, about ten feet of visibility. Fortunately, the accomplishment of reaching the summit temporarily overshadowed the danger we were in, and the celebration was free of worry and full of joy.

Then, Chewy spoke: “Ok, Congratulations and everything guys. Now hurry up and take a picture so we can get the f#ck off this mountain!”

No irony or humor was lost on the fact that we spent over six months trying to get to this point and the weather allowed us to enjoy it for only a few very intense minutes. I suppose we were lucky to enjoy it at all.

Despite periodically being blown to the ground by the wind, everyone got their shot next to the sign. True to form, Paka arrived last, but with news that Achilles and Mahatma had turned around due to the poor conditions, about which I was extremely bummed. (We would later find out, however, that they quickly changed their minds and summited about 15 minutes after we headed down.)

Chewie had been informed of an alternate route down the mountain following a blue-blaze trail called the Saddle Trail, which takes you over the back side. At this point, we were looking for the “safest” route, which we defined as the route that took us below treeline the fastest, and we understood that to be the Saddle Trail.

Easy Walker and I stayed up for a few extra minutes to help Paka get his pictures while the rest of the gang started down. (It is very possible that, due to the fog, none of our pictures will turn out.)

Initially, the descent was reasonably easy with only intermittent gusts knocking us off balance, but after about a half-mile, the trail fell into a very steep, very narrow valley with winds we estimated to be around 70 mph or more, blowing UP the mountain. Rain turned to ice in the cold wind tunnel. My hands were as busy as my feet: one on the ground as a third point of balance, the other holding the hood of my jacket down to keep the ice from hitting my face. Wearing shorts, my legs were exposed to the elements, numb from the cold and a deep shade of pink and stinging from the icy rain. Thankfully, I was able to enjoy the experience despite the intensity of the conditions, and we made it down to treeline in about 45 minutes where the wind ceased and the ice turned back to rain.

Our destination was Roaring Brook Campground on the North side of Baxter State Park. We encountered a large Moose on the way down, which passed only a few feet away from us near Chimney Pond. Also encountered some weekenders who congratulated us with shots of Rum “to warm the insides.”

We arrived at Roaring Brook without further incident and quickly caught a ride in the back of a pick-up truck 16 slow miles around the mountain and back to Katahdin Stream Campground. In the early stages of hypothermia, I was happy to be out of the back of the truck.

We all grabbed our gear from the Ranger Station and signed-OUT!

Achilles and Mahatma made it safely coming back down on the AT about the same time we arrived and I hopped in with them for the ride into Millinocket, Maine. Others rode with well known Trail Angel, Kampfire, whose objective is to “give every Thru-hiker a ride out of Baxter State Park who needs one.”

I was dropped off at the Appalachian Trail Lodge where I was greeted by Lodge owner, Don, and shown to my room. Few places on the Trail have I felt so welcome and acknowledged. A long, happy, hot shower was followed by dinner with Chewy and his brother, Dean, Spice, Cosmo, Paka, Redwood, Easy Walker, Achilles, Mahatma, Baltimore Jack (finished on the 28th), Meant-2-B (also finished on the 28th), and Trail Angels Dizzy B & Kampfire.

We then made our way over to the bar at Pamola Hotel where the final celebration ensued…

As it happens, the Appalachian Trail Lodge has a stiff 11:00 p.m. curfew, which Paka and I missed by about five hours. We made sure Achilles got back to his room safely, and, for some reason, still chose to walk across town back to the AT Lodge. After unsuccessfully trying to wake up Redwood and Chewie by throwing rocks at their windows (we would later learn that young Redwood was passed out next to the toilet. Chewy, on the other hand, probably heard us, saw us, had a good chuckle, and went back to sleep…), we walked over and found cover in a small storage shed located in a neighboring back yard. Paka found the ground pretty easily and I ended up on an old wooden box in which we found a couple of blankets and some old clothes for warmth, thank you.

A rather fitting end to this long, strange, wonderful trip.

Aquaholic

Woke up early and watched the sun rise. I hiked alone the eight miles to the Penobscot River and Abol Bridge Campstore. Cosmo and Spice were there relaxing. Again, I found Paka‘s trash in my pack. I was ashamed for letting him get away with it. Plus, I forgot to stash the Bible in Achilles‘ pack before I left this morning, so I carried that, too.

Out of food, I unapologetically pigged out at the Abol Bridge campstore. Easy Walker showed up with bad news: Landshark hurt his knee in the 100-Mile Wilderness a couple of days back and had to slow down, so if we summit tomorrow, he won’t be with us. Nor will Huff and Puff. Bummer.

I left Abol Bridge with a very lightweight but important piece of Paka‘s pack, and followed streams the whole way to Daicey Pond.

I felt fortunate to be able to sit and chat with Park Rangers Marcia and Gabriel. An easy-going couple with a calming presence. The kind of people you want to be like. I relaxed there by Daicey Pond for a bit, enjoying the view of Katahdin, until Achilles, Chewy, and Redwood showed up.

We made our way another 2.5 miles to Katahdin Stream Campground, where we had reserved a Lean-to away from the crowds, thankfully. I’ve been curious about how Paka is doing without the hip belt to his backpack. Wonder if he’s mad?

Weather report for tomorrow: 90% chance of rain.

Aquahoiic

P.S. Spice, Cosmo, Paka, and Easy Walker were last seen heading down to the Penobscot riverside after buying more beer at the Abol Bridge camp store…