The Longest Mile

Judy and I are enthralled by the Appalachian Trail.  Every summer for the past four years, we’ve set aside time to hike a section of the Trail, beginning at Monson, Maine and working our way south.  I’ve written about the leadership lessons that I derived from hiking a very challenging section of the trail (during which, at one point, we felt as if we were at risk of being blown off a mountain-top), but neither past experience nor all the reports we read in advance fully prepared us for the challenge of hiking through the famous Mahoosuc Notch.

Often called the longest mile or the most difficult mile of the 2,190 mile long (3,524 km) Appalachian Trail, the Mahoosuc Notch is a glacier-carved gash between two sheer 400-foot granite cliffs, filled at the bottom with a jumble of car-sized boulders that have tumbled down from above over the centuries. Limited sunlight reaches the bottom of the Notch, so ice and snow can be found under the boulders even at the height of summer. Wildflowers like bunchberries which might bloom early in June elsewhere in Maine were at peak flower when we passed through at the end of July.  To add to the drama, streams run underneath the rocks, producing drafts of cool air that serve as natural air-conditioning for the hikers that pass through.

This section of the AT is part trail and part maze. A recommended route through the Notch is laid out with occasional 2×6 inch white blazes, but often we were left to our own devices to determine if the best way forward lay up, around or under the next obstacle.  Yes, under—at times we came across a white arrow pointing down, meaning we had to pass through a keyhole beneath two boulders.  Sometimes, there was no room for a backpack in those tight spots: you had to drag your pack behind you as you crawled through.  Other times, we were forced to climb up and over giant slabs angled at 45 or 50 degrees, using whatever finger and toe holds were available.  We consider ourselves to be more fit than average 60 year-olds but quickly discovered that our lats and quads weren’t up to this challenge.  While traversing the Notch might take a goat-footed experienced thruhiker 45 minutes and on average requires 90 minutes to two hours, Judy and I were stuck in there for almost four hours!

And that wasn’t the end.  Once we had completed our passage through the Notch, we still had to climb five small peaks before settling into our campsite at the end of the day.  It had been 12 hours of intense physical challenge, fuelled by the ecstasy of incredible mountain-top views and inspired by our passion for overcoming obstacles great and small as a husband-and-wife team.

The next morning before we set out on the final leg of our hike—aware of the promise and threat of the day ahead—we paused to pray for safety.  As we stood there on the trail with our packs on our back and our trekking poles in our hands and with the morning sun breaking through the trees, I said “Thank you, God, for this beautiful day” and then began to sob from some place deep within.  For two or three minutes, I was out of control of my emotions but I remained aware of these things: beauty all around, the gifts of physical strength and financial resources that enable us to engage in adventures like this, a close companion to share the experience, and the gurgling of the nearby mountain stream that joined with my sobs in disturbing the quietness of the forest.  The trail had stripped me down physically and emotionally and left me naked before Creator and creation, offering a gift of tears of profound joy.

If you can find a path with no obstacles, it probably doesn’t lead anywhere.

Two days later on our trip back home, we stopped at one of Ontario’s ONroute service centres.  In the men’s washroom (oddly), I found a sign that read, “If you can find a path with no obstacles, it probably doesn’t lead anywhere.” There were many obstacles to pass over or through in the Mahoosuc Notch, but the path led to what I can only describe as an encounter with God.  I wonder what the next difficult stretch of this trail of life will lead me to, and if I will welcome the experience with gratitude.

Unless noted, all text and photos © 2018 Edwin Wilson. Banner photo by Gm206 at Wikipedia, public domain.