Wednesday--May 31, 2000
Trail Day--8
Trail Mile--116
Location--Mont Saint-Pierre Motel, Charlotte Auclair and Raymond Boily, proprietors, Mont Saint-Pierre, Quebec Province
 
Today will be our final, short day on the roadwalk west along the St. Lawrence.  As I hike, enjoying the cool, prevailing breeze from the sea, and the soul-calming scenic beauty of these timeless mountains as they meet the restless waves, I hearken back to a day not unlike this day, the day in '98 when I completed this very roadwalk at its eastern extent at Fox River.  This time, however, it seems the time has passed so fast.  Perhaps it's because back then I had been on the trail so long by myself, and this time I've had the luxury of pleasant company the whole way.  Isn't it always the more fun, and doesn't the time go the faster when one's joy is shared with others!

By early afternoon I arrive at the motel in Mont Saint-Pierre, to be greeted enthusiastically by my dear friends, Raymond and Charlotte.  When they see me, that grand ear-to-ear Canadian smile lights both their faces.  Raymond and I relax, catching up on events of the past two years.  From the comfortable sitting room at the Mont Saint-Pierre Motel, Raymond points out an Orcas Whale casually negotiating the harbor.  As I sit here surrounded by all this natural beauty, I wonder at the grandness of it all.  The snowmelt is in full tilt now, creating the most remarkable waterfall erupting from the very brink of the western bay escarpment.  This tumultuous cataract must be in total free-fall for nearly 400 feet before careening from the angular rock face to plunge again to the rocks and boulders below.  The unparalleled grandeur, the joy-filled, beautiful Canadian people with their romantic and fascinating language; it is all so inspiring, making this little niche by the corner of the sea in Quebec one of the most spellbinding places on earth.

Tomorrow we will depart this place for Matapedia, Quebec, to hike south from there on the SIA/IAT into New Brunswick.  We will not be able to complete the grand traverse over the tundra of Jacques Cartier, Xalibu, Mont Albert and Mont Logan until the 24th of June.  We will return then, once again, to this magic place by the sea to complete the traverse.

Thursday--June 1,2000
Trail Day--9
Trail mile--116
Location--Restigouche Hotel, Matapedia, Quebec Province, Pete Dube, proprietor
 
Today will be a zero-mile day, a bus and train ride from Gaspé to Matapedia.  John O and I are served a fine breakfast, prepared by Charlotte and brought to our table by Raymond.  Here at Mont Saint-Pierre Motel, we have been provided the most kind Canadian hospitality.  These generous folks would accept no payment for our room or for the services and fine meals provided us.  Rather, they seemed most content in their obvious pleasure of just having us as their guests.  It’s been such a joy sharing their company.  Raymond and Charlotte, thank you for your generosity and kindness, you're Canada to the core, the finest example of your country's kind and generous people.  I will remain in your debt.

The bus ride back to Gaspé seems so short compared to the roadwalk.  It is fun looking for little things again along the way, things one would only see while walking, like how the door is shaped and built on one of the neat little dwellings by the sea, or a special little drive leading to the mountains.  Soon we reach Gaspé, and are immediately offered a ride to the train station way across the bridge.  Ever since I found out there was a passenger train still running up here, I've wanted to take a ride on it.  There's something about trains.  It’s the old fashioned coming out in me, I guess, the nostalgia of it.  A few passenger trains are still running in the states, aside from Amtrak, but those few are little more than a novelty.  Up here there is actually a need for the train, there are folks that depend on this service.
 
And what a joy this ride turns out to be!  As the train lurches, pitches, squeaks and moans out of Gaspé, comes flooding back sweet memories of my childhood, when Mom would take sis and me back east to visit our grandparents.  Grandpa worked as a stationmaster for the Pennsylvania Railroad for as long as I could remember, and every summer or so he would send us tickets for the Missouri Pacific and the Pennsylvania Railroads-for the train ride to visit them.  Those were grand times.  Sitting in this old passenger car now with my eyes closed, I can recall those times so vividly.

The trip today takes us past Percé Rock, then along the bluffs of the Gaspé coast to pass through a most impressive tunnel before finally arriving at Matapedia around 9:30 p.m.  Pete kindly greets us and has a room all set for us.  This has been a grand zero-mile day.

Friday--June 2, 2000
Trail Day--10
Trail Mile--116
Location--Restigouche Hotel, Matapedia, Quebec Province
 
This day is spent in much-needed rest.  We are late getting up and to the restaurant where Bruno Robert, one of my friends here in Matapedia, greets us. This is a day for working on journal entries and sorting equipment, organizing provisions and preparing for our hike on to Squaw Cap and the canyon of the Restigouche.

Pete Dube has been a member of the Life Extension Foundation for many years and is a strong proponent for a number of their natural health products. He and many of his friends have been taking them for years.  Pete is sixty now and guides regularly for black bear and Atlantic salmon.  A good friend of his, and now of mine, Richard Adams, is in his nineties.  Richard is a legend, for he has been guiding on the Matapedia, Kedgwick and Restigouche Rivers for Atlantic salmon for over 75 years!  One of the natural products, available and now provided by one of my sponsors, was first recommended to me by Pete.  The natural product that I am now taking is made by Sundown Corporation, a subsidiary of Rexall Drugs.  The product is Osteo-Bi-Flex.  This is a combination of Glucosamine HCL (1500 mg) and Chondroitin Sulfate (1200 mg).  It promotes healthy joints and restores and rebuilds connective tissue--like in the knees!  This product on its own, I truly believe, has kept me on the trail at near age 62.

In the evening, John O and I hosted the evening meal and a delightful get-together attended by Pete, Bruno and girlfriend Carole, David LeBlanc and girlfriend Sally, with their new baby, India.  Also present was David's brother Phil.

Saturday--June 3, 2000
Trail Day--11
Trail Mile--138
Location--Glenwood Park near Dawsonville, New Brunswick Province
 
This day will be totally a roadwalk as we cross the Restigouche River from Quebec into New Brunswick, where we will be hiking for the next couple of weeks.  If plans work out, we should be somewhere near the US/Canada border about time to return to Mont Saint-Pierre, Quebec, to complete the hike there across the tundra.  Immediately ahead of us is an uninterrupted stretch of trail the most demanding and technically difficult of any along the entire Appalachian range--the Restigouche Canyon.  Then it's on to the two highest peaks in New Brunswick: Mount Carleton and Sagamook.  From there we'll follow the Tobique Valley to the St. John River, then around the Aroostook River to the border.

Before beginning our hike back on the 24th, we had stopped in to meet Francois Boulanger, Director, Parc de la Gaspesié, at the Provincial Park offices in Saint-Anne des Monts.  He requested that we delay our entry into the Chic Chocs until the 24th of June due to the ice conditions on the tundra and the Caribou calving season; thus our plans at present and the reasoning.

Except for a few minutes walking through hail, the roadwalk today is uneventful, which is always nice for any roadwalk. In '98, part of this hike involved a climb over the third highest peak in New Brunswick, Squaw Cap.  However, due to continued timbering in the area, we were urged to take the alternate roadwalk route instead, so it has turned out to be a hammer-the-road day.

The friendly people of Canada have offered me many rides today.  The expressions are always humorous as the kind, perplexed folks drive away after I politely decline their offer.  We are also offered much welcome and enjoyable conversation and water bottle refills along as we meet people out working their yards on this beautiful Saturday.

By early evening we arrive at Glenwood Park. Glenwood was the first Provincial Park in New Brunswick but has been closed for a number of years.  The entrance is barred, weeds and brush have taken over, and the whole place looks pretty well neglected.  In the rear of the park remain a couple of buildings, one an old woodshed.  I rearrange the place to make room for my bedroll while John O sets up under one of the old picnic table pavilions.  This has been an enjoyable hiking day.

Sunday--June 4, 2000
Trail Day--12
Trail Mile--149
Location--Near the park bench, Restigouche Canyon overlook, New Brunswick Province
 
The trail leads out of Glenwood Park to the mighty Restigouche Canyon. This day is a warm-up with a few ups and down to get us prepared for the rollercoaster that will greet us during the next few days as we hike south.  The narrow, near-vertical cuts that interrupt the canyon rim are called gulches, and we are introduced to a few today.  It is through these gulches that the joyful brooks cascade to join the Restigouche, with the trail following along, straight down the gulch wall to the brook, across and just as abruptly straight back up the next, to continue on interminably.

Today we manage 11 miles. John O and I are both exhausted, so, as we reach the main canyon overlook, complete with park bench, we decide to call it a day.  Near the canyon but back from the wind, and with the aid of birch bark, we manage a fine warming and cooking fire.  It will be “buckle the seatbelts” tomorrow.

Monday--June 5, 2000
Trail Day--13
Trail Mile--153
Location--Ridge above Upper Grindstone Brook, New Brunswick Province
 
Today we begin our hike through the canyon of the Restigouche, a remote, distant place, isolated except by boat to all those except the most footloose and daring adventurer.  This is indeed an enchanted land.  For the next thirty miles, the SIA/IAT follows the broken and interrupted rim of the canyon of the Restigouche. The mountains here along are not formidable by any standard, but the trail through this precipitous landscape follows the most rugged path that I have ever experienced.  The strongest, fittest hiker cannot endure long without stopping to rest and to wonder, to rest the spinning head from spinning free, and to stop the pack-driven body from pitching straight down the next gulch wall.  And to wonder* ahh yes, to wonder--to wonder at the majesty, the rugged untamed beauty of it all, and to wonder if there'll ever be an end.  Begins now the grand and indescribable challenge, for during the next three or four days we will have scant moments of rest from the rigors of near-vertical ascents and descents.  Interspersed, and just for variety, will be mixed ice cold fords and gulch wall sideslabbing.  Each and every foot placement will be undertaken with total deliberation, for the risk of falling out of control to the gulch below will remain a real and ever-present danger.

Bear scat and moose droppings appear along the trail today, but we see neither of these grand creatures.  We’ve been blessed with beautiful weather again, hiking from 8:30 this morning until shortly after 4:00 this afternoon, with only a few brief breaks to rest and to regain our strength.  Certainly it will seem incredible but it is true, for during this seven and one-half hours we have managed only 6,700 meters, a scant four miles. Through here today, as Bruce Otto would surely say, "A man can stand straight up and might-nigh bite the dirt."

Tuesday--June 6, 2000
Trail Day--14
Trail Mile--161
Location--Woods road near Gilmore Brook, New Brunswick Province
 
We are greeted by gloom, but by mid-morning the mush burns away to reveal a beautiful warm day-and blackflies and skeeters for real!
The trail continues along the rim of the Restigouche Canyon.  Over the countless millions of years, this river has cut out an amazing ditch all through these mountains.  Where the mountains come to the canyon, they abruptly end, their ridgelines plunging to the canyon floor.  Into each gulch goes the canyon wall, creating precipitous cuts.  And here goes the trail, up, down and through.  Today again the bone-numbing climbing continues, with some welcome interruption as the ridges widen some.  But the gulches and ice-cold fords keep coming.

The old Nomad was the first to hike the canyon of the Restigouche.  That was in the fall of '98.  It appears that there has been very little traffic through here since.  As I hike along today I think of how this treadway must be much the same as was the treadway of another trail some fifty years ago.  In Walking With Spring, Earl Shaffer’s delightful book about his ’48 thru-hike o’er the Appalachian Trail, Earl laments as to having to literally walk on wildflowers--wildflowers growing directly in the trail!  Much the same do I find this trail today, as was the Appalachian Trail fifty years ago, for it is impossible to hike the treadway here without stepping on the flowers and ferns, the beautiful and varicolored trillium and fiddleheads.  So it’s climb, climb, climb, trample, trample, trample; for it is impossible, as there is just no way to avoid stepping on these fragile, happy plants.

The two days of rest at Pete's luxurious Restigouche Hotel have been a blessing to my shin splints.  Oh yes, I’ve had problems.  I was prepared for some very tough going through this section of trail, but the ankle swelling is settling down, and the shin pain has lessened.

Well, it seems that today is the day to get lost. We are unable to follow the trail through Gilmore Brook.  At first the treadway becomes very sketchy and difficult to follow, with many blowdowns and scant flagging.  As we search ahead, following the occasional blue and white survey taped trees, we arrive at what appears a worker's maintenance trail, which leads to a nearby access road.  Here the flagging ends.  Backtracking, we're able to locate another flagged trail leading west toward the gulch, but after a little over a kilometer, and after climbing through countless blowdowns, and down and up another gulch, the flags end in an impenetrable wall of brush.  So it’s backtracking again to the woods road for a long, circuitous hike around.  After a mile or so of this, we find a flat grassy spot and call it a day.

Wednesday--June 7, 2000
Trail Day--15
Trail Mile--169
Location--Grassy woods road by Upper Thorn Point Brook, New Brunswick Province
 
We are greeted again to an overcast morning, this one more persistently stubborn.  It is late morning before the sun manages to push some of the local clutter aside.  We continue on the old logging road that tends to be tacking north-northwest. The river and its tributary brooks are trending generally south-southwest, so we are hiking with the confidence that we will soon intersect the river and the trail again.  We can see the open vastness and blue haze of the canyon off to our right, so this plan is working.  Soon we pick up the familiar blue and white flagging, indicating we’re once more on the SIA/IAT.  I immediately recognize this spot; for it was here that I lost the trail in '98 and was unable to continue without taking the same detour around.  Now I know why so much of the detour route looked so familiar--I had hiked the same route, bumbling my way around, miraculously, the same way two years ago.  It's just hard to remember a few steps out of ten million.

Since '98, the trail along the Restigouche has been marked to a great extent with the new metal blue and white SIA/IAT blazes.  These have been nailed to untreated dimensional eight-foot length, 2x4 spruce studs that have been pointed and driven into the ground as best can be driven at strategic points along the trail.  The original flagging in blue and white has survived amazingly well, and some sections have also been blazed with the white paint blazes much like the venerable AT.

Do you ever have sort of a funk of a day?  Oh yes, looks like this might be one of those days for me, for the cold and haze are hanging tight.  Much as I hate to admit, I'm reverting to my old, familiar thought patterns this morning--negative thought patterns.  I'm thinking about the fact that this Restigouche section of trail now bypasses one of the most incredibly beautiful views anywhere along the trail in Canada, the view across and onto the sheer rock bluffs that form the Restigouche oxbow at Cross Point.  In '98 it loomed forbidding and gray in the stark, mist-driven swirl of that morning, and I recall my thought being that I must forgive it this unwelcome gesture, as it must surely be a pleasant and grand place in the comforting rays of a warm, radiating sun.  But alas, even as the sky is clearing and the day turns most pleasant, this much anticipated vantage never comes, as I find this section has now been bypassed for the sake of saving a kilometer or two and eliminating one of the gulch pops.  I don't understand this, I just don't understand.

Thursday--June 8, 2000
Trail Day--16
Trail Mile--184
Location--NB Trail, km243,  near Saint-Jean-Baptiste-de-Restigouche, New Brunswick Province
 
A good hiking day appears in order.  The night was cold, but I kept warm and slept well.  I really like the luxury of the room in my Wanderlust Gear Nomad tent provided by another of my very kind sponsors, Kurt Russell, from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.  The tent was designed and built by Kurt in order to fill a void in the lightweight gear market.  At well under two pounds, it is by far the lightest and roomiest one-person backpacking tent on the market.  Thanks, Kurt, for providing me your great product for "Odyssey 2000," and thank you for your friendship.

We don't get far today until the trail wanders into a large clearcut.  Here, there are no blazes and no flagging. We manage to beat around the brush in the clearcut and find a couple of flags which seem to indicate the direction the trail once went, but when we check all along the clearcut border for over an hour and a half, we are unable to locate where the trail goes back into the woods.  Reluctantly, we finally turn to the logging road and follow it to the little village of Saint-Jean-Baptiste-de-Restigouche.  From here, we pick up the NB Trail and head for Kedgwick, where there are many dear friends.  The Restigouche hike is now history.  There have been many memorable moments and we are through safely.

Friday--June 9, 2000
Trail Day--17
Trail Mile--193
Location--Home of Maurice Simon and Anne Marie Pallot, Kedgwick, New Brunswick Province
 
The NB Trail is an old rails-to-trail running across New Brunswick.  We picked it up yesterday at Saint-Jean-Baptiste-de-Restigouche and followed it to Kedgwick, pitching for the evening by a little stream near a lovely meadow.  We'll be hiking this very same NB Trail as it is shared with the SIA/IAT through part of the Tobique Valley.
We hike out with the rain this morning, but it isn't long until the wind and sun drive it away to reveal a delightfully pleasant day.  The rail grade soon crosses NB17 as it cuts the long side of a right triangle on a beeline to Kedgwick, so we stick right with it.  At this crossing, however, there is a little homemade sign pointing to a building nearby.  It reads, “Mom's Bed & Breakfast.” Oh yes, we'll make this little side trip.  An SUV is parked in front with a New York tag and a big luggage bin on top; so it looks like Mom is open for business.  Through the front window, I see three hunters at the breakfast table.  So far, so good!  I open the door and one of the hunters motions me in.  Mom hears the door open and comes from the kitchen to see me standing with pack still on.  "Would you like some coffee?" is her hello!  Looks like I'm in as I answer with an enthusiastic, "Yes."  The hunters are from Buffalo, and they come up every year black bear hunting.  They've had great success this year; one more bear and they’ll head home, each with his own bear-shootin' story to tell.  As Mom fills my cup for the second time, I'm asked if I'd like some breakfast.  Well now, this is working fine!  John O comes in and is also served a fine breakfast.  Great conversation with Diana Mom Bolduc--and the bear hunters from Buffalo.
As we head for Kedgwick, Maurice Simon, NB SIA/IAT trailbuilder and great friend from '98, comes up the railbed to find and greet us.  What a joy seeing Maurice again.  Of course John O and I are immediately invited to stay at his home in Kedgwick. So in we head for a wonderful evening with Maurice, Anne Marie, and their children Fannie and Jerome.
Also living in Kedgwick are two other dear friends: Suzanne Bailey, coeditor of the neat little bilingual glossary, and Marc Mainville (Rainbow Bright, AT, Georgia to Maine, '99).  I get to spend a few minutes with Suzanne but Marc is not at home.
A shower, clean clothes, warm bed, hot meal--a great day!

Never miss a chance to rest your horse. [Texas Bix Bender]

Saturday--June 10, 2000
Trail Day--18
Trail Mile--210
Location--Home of Bertin Allard, Superintendent, Mount Carleton Provincial Park, Saint-Quentin, New Brunswick Province
 
Today is a roadwalk as we head for Mount Carleton Provincial Park.  We're out late as it is so easy to linger with dear friends.  Before we know it, it's ten o'clock, and we've got at least seventeen miles to put behind us today.  We're not far out of Kedgwick with the wind doing its best to discourage us, when a familiar, smiling face appears as an auto approaches slowly.  I recognize Bertin Allard immediately.  Bert is Superintendent, Mount Carleton Provincial Park.  What a happy time seeing him again!  He has messages for us from SIA/IAT President, Dick Anderson and also from NB SIA/IAT Coordinator, Mel Fitton.  As he pulls away, I mention to John O that I bet this isn't the last we see of Bert today!  John O says, "What do you mean?" "Just wait and see," I reply.  At five, and with the seventeen miles behind us, we pull off into a spruce stand near a beaver pond.  Few vehicles are passing now as I mention to John O that we should be watching for Bert.  He gives me a funny look, but when we hear the next vehicle coming, he pops around to the road for a look.  John O is no sooner around the corner than I hear, "There he goes!"  I holler back, "Get him stopped." I head for the road now, too, to find John O and Bert talking.  He's come to pick us up and take us back to his place in Saint-Quentin just as I had hoped, then anticipated, and finally pretty much expected.  John O, it's just that I know Bert and his predictable kindness!

So it's off to Bert's we go, to his cozy, woodstove-warmed shop, for a tall longneck or two, and the local delicacy, cipaille.  What a great day on the road, and what an equally great evening with Bert and his friends!

When the form of good operates invisibly, it produces happiness, And when it operates visibly, it produces delight. [Plato]

Sunday--June 11, 2000
Trail Day--19
Trail Mile--230
Location--Warden's Bunkhouse, Mount Carleton Provincial Park, New Brunswick Province
 
What a great night in the shop at Bert's place.  More of Bert's friends come by to meet us this morning.  After lots of coffee, cereal and toast, we load up.  Bert and daughter, Marie Eve, run us back out the road to continue our hike to Mount Carleton.  Before leaving us, Bert offers John O and me the finest accommodations in the bunkhouse at Mount Carleton, so hammer the road it is today to make it on in.
The freeze and thaw of the seasons play holy sam with the roads up here, and NB180 has taken its licks.  Some of the potholes are really scary--three to four feet long and near a foot deep. We watch vehicle after vehicle play the losing game today as they try dodging them, making for a most entertaining show of it.  Turning on gravel road NB385, we haven't gone far until a Park Service vehicle pulls along and stops.  What a grand smile from Warden, Ralph Everett, a friend made during my '98 hike.  Just as before, around here no news is big news, as it seems everyone knows we're coming, so checking up on our progress is apparently just part of the process.  As we enter the park, a park vehicle greets us again, with Francois and Sandra on board.  Francois is navigating while Sandra leans out the window with the park camcorder running!
The operation here at Carleton is first class even though the power and phone lines ended way, way back.  A generator keeps things cranking, along with propane and cellular phones--surely not downtown, but like downtown!  After a grand reception by all, we are ushered to the kitchen where Sandra has prepared a fine spaghetti dinner for us.  Oh yes folks, we're way back in the north woods where roughin' it's the rule--but this ain't roughin' it!  We'll climb Mount Carleton tomorrow--and that spiritual summit, Sagamook, but for tonight, and in the waning shadows of this very special place, it's a warm, soothing shower and a little color TV!

I respect the air around a mountain. [Theodore Enslin]

Monday--June 12, 2000
Trail Day--20
Trail Mile--245
Location--Warden's Bunkhouse, Mount Carleton Provincial Park, New Brunswick Province
 
This is going to be an excitement-filled day.  The weather is cooperating, with perfectly clear skies.  Returning to Mount Carleton and Sagamook, this is a time I've been looking forward to with great anticipation.

Maurice Simon is supposed be climbing with us today, but at 9:30 he has still not arrived, so John O and I decide to head out.  Bert is like a little kid, wanting to go along, but with Monday, and with new "casual" help to train, he must tend to the park and to his many responsibilities as park superintendent.

The climb begins as we ascend toward Mount Bailey.  From here it's on to Bald Mountain Brook Trail.  I have vivid memories from my climb up this brook two years ago, for it is one of the most magnificent climbs of all.  Here is a singing and dancing brook so grand.  To this place does Mother Nature send all her people of music and dance, for down this brook comes an absolute choreographed ensemble.  I am greeted immediately by glad and happy children of the bounding waters as the brook cascades and free-falls past the boulders and rocks.  The trail sticks tight to this delightful show, and I feel no effort in the near-vertical climb.  The music and motion now is so pure and sweet, not one false note, not one miscue, not one wrong step.  Every note ever played through time is being played; every song ever sung is ringing forth, all in perfect harmony.  Waterfall after waterfall are there formed remarkable ballets of rhythmic motion, the shimmering ballerinas dancing and pirouetting to perfect, pure sound.  What a joy to be the audience for this performance; what a blessing to be alive on this day, here on this glad and happy trail!

As we gain the ridge, the trail turns, to work its way up Mount Carleton.  This being the highest point in the Maritimes, and in New Brunswick, it’s a must climb, so up we go.  But it is Sagamook that I am anxious to visit again, and no time is wasted retracing our steps to head for that sacred mountain.  It is here that Maurice finally catches us, and we make the climb up Sagamook together.  What perfect timing, and what a perfect day.  What a memorable experience we share together.  The earth, we are told, is ground, the physical medium of closure in the loop of energy as we know it.  Should this be so, then the nodal point in this limitless sink of energy most certainly is Sagamook.  This mountain is encased in boundless energy; this mountain emits boundless energy--this mountain is boundless energy!

In the evening we descend to Lake Nictau, much as, I am certain, did the tribal chiefs descend after their day of council.  Then it's a leisure hike as we return to the warmth of the Warden's bunkhouse at Mount Carleton Provincial Park. A perfect ending to a perfect day.

The summit of ol’ Sagamook isn’t all that high, But as I climb, I pass right through the bottom of the sky. From here to turn and look--and gaze, into the wild blue yonder, And try and try, as best I can, to comprehend the wonder.   Now from this lofty firmament I let my spirit soar, To mingle with the spirits of great Nations gone before. And as I part this sanctity, a bit of me will stay, To rest in God’s eternal peace, that’s present here--today. [N. Nomad]

Tuesday--June 13, 2000
Trail Day--21
Trail Mile--271
Location--Bear's Lair, Don and Evelyn McAskill, proprietors, Riley Brook, New Brunswick Province
 
Nadine and Louise, employees here at the park, told us last evening they'd have fresh muffins from Tim Horton's for us first thing this morning, and sure enough, eight o'clock sharp, in they come with bags of muffins! This'll get the old jitney crankin'.

We're up and out to another glorious day, with just the least bit of wind.  Warden, Ed Higgins, had told us about the old entrance to the park, which is now barricaded.  We can hike that way, however, and save considerable distance by not going back out the park main entrance; so down the old roadway we go.  The roadwalk today is one of those long, hammer-it-out roadwalks, the kind where it's possible to see the road for great distances ahead.  There is hardly any traffic though, an average of only two vehicles per hour, so we are able to walk the most friendly path along the road--even the centerline.  By late afternoon, we reach Riley Brook and Bear's Lair.  The lodge is full, this being bear-hunting season, but Evelyn finds room for us in the loft.  As we settle in, she prepares a fine evening meal for both John O and me.  What a great and memorable time with all the friendly folks at Mt. Carleton Provincial Park, but I am glad to be heading on south.

Who is more happy, when, with heart content, Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair. [John Keats]

Wednesday--June 14, 2000
Trail Day--22
Trail Mile--298
Location--Rogers Motel, Wilfred Lagase, proprietor, Plaster Rock, New Brunswick Province
 
Evelyn has coffee ready when we head down this morning.  The bear hunters are all in for breakfast.  I enjoy talking with Bob from Pennsylvania and Rick, a medical doctor from Wisconsin.  I know a little about the history of this very successful business from past discussions with Don and Evelyn, but this morning I sit in total captivation as Bob tells of his first visits here years ago, and how those hunts were organized from Don's dad's place up the road.  It takes years to build a reputation in the guiding business, and the McAskills have one of the finest reputations for guiding hunters to bear anywhere roundabouts.

The Tobique Valley is such a special place.  This is one of the most enjoyable roadwalks it has been my pleasure to experience anywhere, and I've done a few.  The people here are so kind and friendly, the most hospitable, like William Miller III.  I met Bill during my first hike through here in '98.  Bill is a craftsman of wooden canoes, the very finest, a skill passed down from his father and grandfather.  The canoe that Bill is currently creating is from the very mold designed and built by his grandfather seventy-five years ago.  Thus, the canoe Bill is working on now will become the 75th anniversary Miller canoe, the first original Miller wooden canoe.  What a proud tradition, what a remarkable  heritage.

This valley is timeless; the moral values and passed-down skills of the people are timeless.  And what a more fitting place--here in the most ancient of the ancient and timeless Appalachians.  What a joy to be able to go back, to hike through it all once again, to be part of it all one more time!  But alas, this roadwalk will certainly not endure, as plans are most assuredly underway to move the trail from the road to the ridge all along.  It is truly a blessing to have experienced and enjoyed this spellbinding place.  While resting along the road and talking with John O, I mention that I wouldn't be surprised at all if we were to see Mel Fitton soon--this man, the driving force for trailbuilding in the province of New Brunswick.  Sure enough, just as we pull into Plaster Rock to complete our roadwalk for today, who drives up but none other than Mel Fitton, headed for a meeting up north.  Mel invites us to dinner and we share a grand time with him and his assistant, Erin.

Blest, who can unconcern’dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away; In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day. [Alexander Pope]

Thursday--June 15, 2000
Trail Day--23
Trail Mile--325
Location--Gary Dimerchant's Boarding House, Perth Andover, New Brunswick Province
 
Good old Wilfred at Rogers Motel, he's always glad to see me, and indeed it's a pleasure seeing him again.  He will never tell me how much he wants for a room, so I always have to try and figure what's fair, and as usual, Wilfred is pleased when we settle on the amount.

We've got a long hike today, a roadwalk of some eight miles.  Then it's along the NB Trail, a multi-use rail-trail by the wide and grand Tobique, through the Tobique Narrows and into the St. John Valley, a near twenty-seven mile day.  Since we're already south of town at Wilfred's and we want to head south, the decision is to continue on down the west side of the Tobique instead of going back into town to cross.  We can reach the other side at the little village of Arthurette, pick up the NB Trail there and head on through the Narrows and on into Perth.  Doesn't take long to realize that the decision to stay this side of the river is the right choice.  We haven't gone far when a lady comes to her door and invites John O and me in for cookies and coffee.  Here we meet more great folks who live here in the Tobique Valley, Helen and Douglas Edgar, and their grandson Brandon.  They're getting set for a canoe trip with friends Phyllis and Len and Shirley and Victor.  The cookies are great, and we're offered more as we talk about the majestic Tobique Valley--and about Bill Miller and his fine canoes!  Helen gets her fiddle out for some grand old toe-tapping music, and before we depart and as we linger, both John O and I must sign their wall.  Yes, that's right, we must sign their wall!  Thousands of names, so it seems, grace every inch of wall space in the back alcove entrance, and with the aid of a good old Sharpie, we leave our mark.

By lunchtime we've reached the bridge at Arthurette, and oh my!  Right decision again, as there's a fine little mom-n-pop restaurant on this side of the bridge.  So it’s in for lunch we go.

Across the bridge and just a short hike along the NB Trail, we come to the Wagon Wheel Takeout, run by Cathy Sullivan and helper Cheryl.  Time now for ice cream cones, compliments of Cathy--all kinds of neat flavors to choose from, even "Death by Chocolate."  The treat tastes great, and we linger for the longest time in the warmth of the sun, while relaxing and talking at their picnic table right next the trail and the river.  I finally shoulder my pack and head on south as John O remains behind for irresistible seconds!

This old railbed follows the beautiful Tobique for miles to finally squeeze, as does the river, through the narrows.  This timeless river has carved its path, wide enough only for its use, so man has had to blast and carve his own path from the vertical rock face that forms the Tobique Narrows.  This has been a long day, and I finally enter the little village of Perth.  Here I head right for Pit-Stop Pizza, owned by Lloyd McLaughlin.  Lloyd put me up in one of his boarding rooms above the Pit-Stop in '98, but alas, he is not here.  Glenn, who is tending bar, gives me the bad news that all the rooms are rented now by the month, and all are full.  As I relax and reward myself for a successful day with a couple of cool longneck frosties, Glenn makes some phone calls.  He soon has Gary Dimerchant on the phone.  Gary owns and operates the local taxi service and also runs a local boarding house…and he's right away by the curb in front of the bar.  He keeps a room or two open, to be provided as needed by the local ministerial association, and after Glenn talks with Gary, the decision is to take me in.  So I not only have a fine room for the evening, but Gary drives me to the local mom-n-pop where supper is provided to boot.  Great folks, memorable evening--fine hiking day.  John O still hasn't come in by 10:00 p.m.  I guess he's pitched somewhere out on the NB Trail for the night.

Trails are not dust and pebbles on a hill, Nor even grass and wild buds by a lake; Trails are adventure and a hand to still The restless pulse of life when men would break… [Helen Frazee-Bower]

Friday--June 16, 2000
Trail Day--24
Trail Mile--345
Location--Home of Dan Foster, City Administrator, Ft. Fairfield, Maine
 
Had a great night's rest at Gary's.  Still no sign of John O.  As I head out I go for my free breakfast at Bellevue Bed and Breakfast (Jeanne Hanson stopped to talk to us the other evening on the road to Plaster Rock and made us promise to have breakfast at the Bellevue in Andover, owned and operated by her mom, Shirley, so over I go).  Here I find out that John O had been through a half-hour earlier but hadn't waited for breakfast, so I figure he's out ahead of me this morning, headed for US Customs at Ft. Fairfield.

It's another blue-perfect hiking day as I thank Shirley for her kindness and step out to meet the day.  The hike now is along the St. John River on the NB Trail, thence to change to the old Aroostook railspur, to follow it around the Aroostook River to the international boundary at Tinker.  On the walk along the Aroostook, I switch to the road for a little change of pace and to get a look at the front of some of the houses instead of the rear, as is commonly the view from the NB Trail.  In a short distance, a pickup slows and stops, and the driver asks the usual questions (those answered on the familiar hiker's T-shirt).  Come to find out the two fellows in the truck work at the dam up at Tinker--Yes folks, they work at Tinker's Dam(n)!  How could I ever make this stuff up?

The road I’m walking abruptly ends at a barricade on the international boundary between the United States and Canada.  Here I switch to the boundary cut, a swath about fifty feet wide that runs a beeline pretty much south.  All along are monuments marking the exact line between our two countries. I know that I am supposed to stay to the left of the monuments (in Canada) until I officially cross into the States at the border crossing in Ft. Fairfield.  But this is an impossible task, as the only way through the bogs and around the numerous beaver ponds is to follow the path that weaves from Canada to the States to get around them, just like everyone else does, including the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

After a seven-hour day, the last hour being somewhat of a slog through the mud, I arrive at the border crossing by passing under a fellow’s clothesline, between his house and his sideyard fence, then between his house and his car.  The international boundary goes directly through his yard.  To stay in Canada, I have to literally hug the south side of his house.  This is way cool. The guy parks his car right next his house--in the US, and then walks to his back door, which is in Canada.  I didn't think to check what tag he's got on his vehicle, Maine or New Brunswick!

At US Customs I meet Lonnie Levesque.  He asks if I'm a US citizen, and that's about it.  Oh, then he says my hiking buddy got here about ten this morning and was picked up by Marsha Reed, the editor for the Ft. Fairfield Review.  Lonnie calls Marsha, and she and John O soon arrive to get me.  Marsha wants a picture of us by the little flower-garden welcome sign, the entrance to their fair city, then it's off to the newspaper office for the interview.  Dick Anderson had asked me to get in touch with Marsha upon arriving at Ft. Fairfield Customs, but turns out it was all set up and taken care of for me!

Over the remainder of the day I get bits and pieces of what has transpired with John O during the past two days.  Seems his blisters were giving him fits during the roadwalk to Arthurette yesterday, so he ended his hike for the day at Cathy Sullivan's Wagon Wheel Takeout.  The Sullivans had befriended Aaron DeLong during his SIA/IAT hike last year, taking him in for the evening. They had also taken John O in.  In the afternoon, Cathy drove him to the doctor in Perth, where he was given some medication to combat the bacteria and the blisters.  He was then given a ride to Perth Andover and then on to Customs at Ft. Fairfield this morning.

We lounge the afternoon visiting with Marsha, having a grand time as she makes calls around to find a place for us for the evening and the night.  In awhile comes her very good friend, Dan Foster.  Dan is the City Manager for the village of Ft. Fairfield, a position to which he is apparently well suited and one that he likes very much.  He is also a grand ambassador for this lovely little berg.  We head for some supplies (and some cold ones), then it's out to Dan's place, a beautifully restored old farmhouse, complete with barn, machinery, fields of new-mown hay, a grand garden and a huge woodlot.  Here we settle in for a most relaxing evening as Dan entertains us, does our cruddy laundry and prepares a grand evening meal.  In awhile comes along his parents, John and Natalie, and his brother and sister-in-law, John and Louise.
What a great hiking day, and what a memorable day, having made so many new and wonderful friends!

I learned early that the richness of life is found in adventure. [William O. Douglas]

Saturday--June 17, 2000
Trail Day--25
Trail Mile--367
Location--Midtown Motel, Steve and Rachel Burtt, proprietors, Dave Smith, manager, Mars Hill, Maine
 
Dan is full of excitement about golfing with his brother John this morning.  I heard him make a promise to John that he'd pick him up at 7:00 a.m., so we're up and ready early.  Dan gives John O a ride to Midtown Motel at Mars Hill, and by the time he gets back he's running late, so he loans me his other car and sends me off to the border as he wheels off to get his brother.  I am given permission to park Dan's car--with the keys in the ignition--at the US Customs office, and I'm headed south toward Mars Hill Mountain by 7:00 a.m.
 
Dan and Marsha, we've had a wonderful and most memorable time, dear friends.  I will long remember you and the delightful little village of Ft. Fairfield, Maine.

The hike today continues south along the international boundary between the US and Canada.  The only difference now is that I'm supposed to stay to the right of the monuments--in the good old US of A!  But alas, and again the task is impossible, what with the numerous bogs and beaver ponds; so back and forth I go from country to country as I wend my way along.  I soon reach the shelter that has been constructed on the US side by the Maine Chapter of the SIA/IAT.  It is a very elaborate and architecturally pleasing affair, fitted logs and grand picnic tables around.  Pinned to the shelter is a note from Dick Anderson.  It reads, “Nimblewill and John O, Welcome to the United States."  I collect this precious little memento, take some pictures, and head on south through the ponds and the bogs and the ups and downs.

In awhile I arrive at another barricade, here to leave the boundary for good--to head for Mars Hill Mountain.  I don't recall this section of trail being so strenuous in '98, but then I had just come down from Katahdin and from the rigors of hiking the grand old Appalachian Trail.  Mars Hill Mountain was near the end of the '98 Odyssey, but now it is near the beginning of this one, and I am two years older.  I am getting in shape again though.  I'm eating like a horse, and I can feel the strength coming back into my arms and legs.  This is truly a blessing at my age, and I am both humbled by it and most thankful for it.

The views from Mars Hill Mountain are most impressive.  To the south lie Number Nine Mountain and the massif of Baxter Peak, Mount Katahdin.  And to the north, so it seems, lies all of Canada.  There is another grand shelter here at the summit, constructed by the Maine Chapter SIA/IAT.  From the flagpole out front, where the sun most all the days of the year first strikes the continental United States, was flown the first 50-star US flag.

This has been a long, hard 22-mile day, and it is approaching 4:00 p.m. as I reach the Midtown Motel in Mars Hill.  We are lucky to get a room, and John O has it all set up.  I hit the tub, hand wash a few things, then we head across the street to Al's for supper.  A few phone calls in the evening, a few minutes on my dearly neglected journals, and the sandman's call cannot go unheeded.

Nature reaches out to us with welcome arms, and bids us enjoy her beauty; but we dread her silence… [Kahlil Gibran]

Sunday--June 18, 2000
Trail Day--26
Trail Mile--387
Location--Wilde Pines Campground, Jack and Angela Wilde, proprietors, Monticello, Maine
 
I'm feeling good this morning despite the fatigue of last, and the day has dawned to yet another cloud-free wonder.  John O has decided to head back to Arthurette, NB Canada to continue on to Mars Hill as I head for Shin Pond, some three days north of Katahdin.  On Thursday evening, Dick Anderson and Will Richard will pick us up and drive us back to Mont-Saint-Pierre, Quebec, to complete the hike over the majestic Chic Chocs and across the tundra.  Thus there remain about three weeks of hiking to complete the SIA/IAT segment of our planned hike down the AMT, and thence the remainder of the ECT.

What a wonderful coincidence, what a grand opportunity, for this is Sunday, so as John O heads back to Canada, I head for the Mars Hill Methodist Church and the Sunday morning service delivered by Reverend Elizabeth Vernon.  I first met Elizabeth at the Blaine Truck Stop in '98 where I had stopped in for a bowl of soup and some hot coffee.  Elizabeth came by my booth that morning, bringing some most welcome and cheerful conversation.  Upon departing, I found that my lunch had already been paid for.  This was the first of many, many acts of kindness from this minister of God, and she has remained a bright star in my memory.  Today I get to see Elizabeth again, to meet her kind and caring congregation, and to share the joy of the Lord with them.  And what a blessing! I have been hoping with much anticipation, that I might see many dear friends again, and this odyssey is delivering, deja vu, in spades!

This is another hard, pound-it-out day.  It's mostly a roadwalk down busy US1, and this being Sunday, the crowds are out.  There is a fully paved emergency lane all along US1, but this journey does not make for one of my favorites.  What with church, then lingering to visit, I'm not on the trail until after noon, and today is another twenty-mile day.  I arrive at the Wilde Pines Campground by 7:00 p.m. and pitch in a blanket of pine needles under the trees.  I had stopped earlier at the Blue Moose for a bowl of chowder, so I roll in and am quickly lost to the most contented sleep.

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings as eagles; They shall run, and not be weary; And they shall walk, and not faint. [Isaiah 40:31]

Monday--June 19, 2000
Trail Day--27
Trail Mile--409
Location--Brookside Motel/Restaurant, Carl and Carmel Watson, proprietors, Exit 61, I95 at US2 Ludlow, Maine
 
While I was working on my journal entries last evening, Jack Wilde stopped by to chat.  Jack is the owner and operator of Wilde Pines Campground.  He commented that had he known I was coming through southbound, he would have given me directions to his place--to get me here much more quickly and with less hassle--by coming down the old Aroostook railtrail, thus avoiding most all the US1 hike.  I didn't mind the US1 roadwalk today, but avoiding it would have been prudent.  When Jack had seen where I’d pitched under the pines he commented, "Wait till you catch the candle light in the morning sun."  He was speaking of the light green, almost transparent new growth on the tips of all the pine boughs.  I'd never heard this expression before, and oh my, what a splendid show this morning as I rise to greet the first rays of the sun. For indeed the sun has set every new pine bough tip ablaze with pure white light, like the little strings of white luminaries we all choose to grace our Christmas scenes.  Seems as though no matter what we create, Ma Nature has already been there and done a much better job!

The trail zigs and zags along the ridges and by the little-used secondary county roads.  I no sooner get the old jitney up to normal operating temperature than I get lost.  I hike right by the first turn, which dead ends in a farmer's front yard.  With the farmer’s kind assistance, I'm soon back on track.  The road I'm looking for is West Ridge Road, but the sign where I should have turned reads Foster Road.  Heading down Foster Road and in a short while I pass this grand, impressive farm, owned by guess who?  Oh yes, the Fosters!  Maybe one of these days they'll get around to changing West Ridge Road to Foster Road on the map. As I turn from Foster Road and head for Haggerty Ridge Road, and by Dan Chase's beautiful home, I am provided the most grand views north to Mars Hill Mountain and thence south to Mount Katahdin, for here near Dan's house is the highest point in Aroostook County.  What a grand photo op, and the day has turned perfect with bright sunshine, puff-cloud skies and just the gentlest breeze to boost me along.   In just awhile a truck pulls alongside and stops.  It's Frank Burtt.  He lives on the narrow little road that leads to Wilde Pines. We'd exchanged greetings last evening.  Come to find out he's cousins to Steve Burtt, proprietor of the Midtown Motel in Mars Hill.  It's interesting and most enjoyable how quickly I get to know the folks that are about--and all about their lives--as I pass through these little bergs.  If I ever need a rock mason, I know where to find a good one, because Frank Burtt has told me he's a good rock mason!

Another jog around Jordan Road, then it's a beeline west on Ludlow Road to Exit 61 where I-95 crosses US2.  Here's the neat little mom-n-pop motel/restaurant, The Brookside, and here I pull in for the evening.  This has been a long day on the road, but there's been no lack of interesting diversions to break up the miles, and the time has passed quickly.  As I move along, nearing the southern end of the SIA/IAT, I am asked repeatedly, "Why--why are you doing this hike again?"  Over the years many have tried to answer the question, "Why?"  I attempted to find the answer all during my hike in '98.  Then while writing my book, Ten Million Steps, I took another stab at it.  In the foreword for my book, written by Larry Luxenberg, author of Walking the Appalachian Trail, he laments as to this dilemma.  So being one not to let well enough alone, I've tried distilling this whole perplex down one more time.

After over 400 miles this time out I've got it cooked down to this:

It's the people, the places, The pain and the trials. It's the joy and the blessings That come with the miles. It's a calling gone out To a fortunate few, To wander the fringes Of God's hazy blue. [N Nomad]

Tuesday--June 20, 2000
Trail Da--28
Trail Mile--431
Location--Dirty Dozen Hunt Camp, Base of Mount Chase near Patten, Maine
 
I had a fine time at the Brookside Motel and Restaurant, just as I had anticipated.  And what really made it special was, I was able to contact Torrey Sylvester last evening, and he has invited me for breakfast this morning.  Torrey lives just a short drive away in Houlton.  I first met Torrey in Key West, Florida, of all places.  He had flown down with Dick Anderson to be present to welcome Scott River Otter Galloway as he finished his southbound hike this past January, and Torrey and I have since become good friends.

There's an interesting story about Torrey that I hope he won't mind me telling.  Seems as though, after the official establishment of the international trail organization, the SIA/IAT, trailbuilding began moving along quite nicely--in the Canadian Provinces of New Brunswick and Quebec.  But to the dismay of Dick Anderson, the new president of this fledgling organization who lives in Maine, nothing at all was happening in Maine, that is, until Torrey Sylvester came along.  You see, Torrey has a cousin that owns Mars Hill Mountain.  Now Mars Hill Mountain is no ordinary mountain, no-siree!  For upon the summit of this mountain does the sun first strike the good old US of A most all the days of the year.  And from this summit was the first 50 star US flag flown!  Well, as it turned out, Torrey went to Dick with what he thought was "An idea that might sell."  And sell it did, for with permission granted to build trail over Mars Hill Mountain, the SIA/IAT finally had a mountain to climb in Maine--and shortly, and to nobody's surprise, the new Maine Chapter of the SIA/IAT had a vice president.  Oh yes, Torrey Sylvester!  Thanks for breakfast, Torrey.  Didn't we have a grand time!  Oh, and please thank your cousin Marie Pierce and her husband Wendell for letting me hike over their mountain one more time.

I have decided to spend a night at Shin Pond Village.  I stayed there during my northbound in '98 and have become friends with Craig and Terry Hill, the owners of this fine establishment. The problem is, it's too far to hike in one day, so I've decided to take two days to get there from Brookside. This will make for two easy days and will also allow me the opportunity to take a look at another mountain that's held my interest ever since I heard Dick Anderson talk about it.  "The SIA/IAT will go over Mount Chase" I remember hearing him say, and this morning I've gotten encouragement from Torrey to give it a try.  It's another near-perfect hiking day, time for the shades and hat--a head burner, and I decide right away to take the detour over to Mount Chase.   I'm in good shape, and at 3:00 p.m. I make the turn onto the gravel two-track leading to Mount Chase.  The DeLorme map I'm carrying shows the distance to be around three miles from the turnoff to the summit.  But over four hours later and near exhaustion, I've yet to find the trail leading up the mountain.  Numerous turns, none shown on the map, all end up being a wild goose chase (no pun intended), petering out in jumbles of boulders and brush part way up the mountain.  I've always had such good luck with the DeLorme maps, and have often bragged about their accuracy and detail, but it seems the crew was out to lunch on this one!  I remember passing an old cabin tucked away in the woods on the way in, and with evening nigh I head there to prepare my evening meal and to rest before giving the mountain one more try in the morning.  I arrive to find the cabin door unbolted.  I enter the large main lodge room. Here I find a huge picnic table complete with lantern, candles and matches, and enough bunks all around to house "The Dirty Dozen" for which the place is so named.  I find the main room clean and inviting and I move right in.  Here I won't be hounded by the black flies for awhile.  Thank you, merciful Lord!

Walking brings out the true character of a man. [John Burroughs]

Wednesday--June 21, 2000
Trail Day--29
Trail Mile--443
Location--Shin Pond Village, Craig and Terry Hill, proprietors, Shin Pond, Maine
 
The day dawns a little iffy, but the goal today, no matter what, is to find the trail to Mount Chase, so I'm out and on my way early.  I take the first road to my right this morning not expecting much, and sure enough after a few hundred yards it ends in a gravel pit.  As the two-track skirts the base of Mount Chase I try every side trail that leads up the mountain.  I finally find one that looks promising as it keeps going up and up through the rocks and dense growth, but I am encountering many old and recent blowdowns, and progress slows to a pitifully agonizing pace.  But the trace of trail keeps going ever upward to finally gain one of the secondary spurs leading to Mount Chase. Here the path turns to little more than a game trail and as it winds along, first up and then down, I am starting to have second thoughts about this whole ordeal.  Wouldn't you think that getting lost in a place where you've got a compass and a map, and where going up would lead to the summit, and going down would logically lead back to civilization--that the concern about getting lost would be secondary?  But believe me, there are places, like this place where there are many square miles and where up and down doesn't necessarily take a person--well, either up or down.  I become very concerned now as I enter another small drainage and the trail branches into a thicket of close-standing saplings.  I start watching behind me as much or more than I'm watching my forward progress as I break saplings and branches to mark my path.  Just when I'm hopelessly and utterly lost, and in fright-filled desperation, ready to quit and head back, I find a trail, a most-grand trail where even quad-tracs have passed.  Well now, what a stroke of luck, and am I ever relieved!

To the left the trail seems to descend, and to the right it appears to go up, so I head to the right.  In just a short distance this trail ends in a "T" as it joins another trail.  Here there are signs.  Great, now I should be able to figure out where I'm at and where I'm heading, but alas, the signs at the junction simply say "Trail A" and "Trail B."  So what I find out is that I have been on "Trail B" and that I must now choose to go left or right on "Trail A" or to backtrack back down "Trail B."  I head to the right and on up "Trail A" as it appears to be headed for the summit of Mount Chase.

In just a few moments I come to an old cabin, the ranger's cabin that once served the men who manned the fire tower on top of Mount Chase.  Well, looks like I'm finally getting where I want to go, and sure enough, after another quarter-mile of near straight up scrambling, I'm standing on the summit of Mount Chase.  What an ordeal, but what a reward--the  remarkable vista o'er Upper and Lower Shin Ponds with the little village of Shin Pond below, set against the backdrop of Maine's own Sugarloaf Mountain.  And to the southwest, one of the most striking views that I've ever seen of Mount Katahdin.

I have been afforded a grand reward for my effort, but I must hurry along, for as I descend, the clouds descend and the rain begins its no-nonsense presence as I hasten down the mountain on "Trail A," heading for Shin Pond Village.
 
Arriving at Shin Pond Village, I am greeted by Vicki and Megan and by the proprietor, Craig Hill.  It's a joy seeing Craig again as the girls get me set to stay the night in the 100-year-old cabin, "Deer Run."  As I settle in for the evening, and as the gentle rain on the old cabin roof makes me appreciate the snugness and charm of this rustic old dwelling, I peruse the cabin register.  In the front of the old aged journal I find an entry dated July 18, 1996.

What a joy to read this, and what a joy to be part of this grand and glorious adventure, the creation of the International Appalachian Trail.  The entry reads, "Bill Nichols, Don Hudson, Charlie Gilman and Dick Anderson spent a couple of days exploring trail locations for the International Appalachian Trail along the East Branch of the Penobscot River (Hunt Mountain) and Mount Chase."  Folks, these men are the visionaries, the trail pioneers of our age, just as surely as the MacKayes and Averys were the dreamers and doers, the pioneers of the last century.

 A grand trail to the end of the Appalachian Mountains as we know them is an idea whose time has come.  I find it strange, in this sort of thing, that a man's gotta be dead before he gets much if any recognition.  So, all I can say to you Dick, and to all of those laboring over this grand scheme with you--all I can say is I hope it's a long time before you get the recognition due!  In the meantime it's a joy knowing you and calling you friend.  What a time to be alive as a long distance hiker, to be part of a dream for a trail with no boundaries, indeed a dream of a trail through all of these mysterious and timeless Appalachians, and ultimately, the entire eastern North American Continent.  Ahh yes, what a joy to be part of it all!

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by… [Robert Frost]

Thursday--June 22, 2000
Trail Day--30
Trail Mile--458
Location--Matagamon Store and Campground, Don and Diane Dudley, proprietors, Near Matagamon Entrance (north gate), Baxter State Park, Maine
 
What a great stay at Shin Pond.  The day has dawned to mixed clouds, but it appears set to turn fair.  Before noon, and as I hike toward Matagamon Lake and the north entrance to Baxter State Park, the day turns perfect.

The hike to Matagamon Campground goes well, and after a short five-hour day on the road, I'm in.  This is a neat place, the kind of place you'd head for if you were really looking to get away.  The power poles stop at Shin Pond; in fact, pretty much everything stops at Shin Pond.  Don't think I saw half a dozen vehicles all day.  Matagamon Campground is located where the road to Baxter crosses the East Branch of the Penobscot River.  No problem spending some time at this peaceful place, for here I will while away the remainder of the day waiting for Dick Anderson, Will Richard and Barry Timson to come and pick me up and take me back to Mont-Saint-Pierre on the sea in Quebec Province, where I will complete my hike across the tundra of the Chic Chocs, the Rockies of the East. They should be here around 11:00 p.m., then we'll head for the border at Fort Fairfield, Maine, to pick up John O.  He's a few days behind me on his hike because of down days he's had to take due to foot problems. On my pass through here in '98, I stopped to grab a sandwich and some ice cream, then was quickly on my way.  Today I have the pleasure of spending some time with Don and Dianne, and I learn a little about them, their family, and these special, far-off lands in the wilds of northern Maine.

 Barry, Will and Dick are right on cue and I'm off, once again, for Canada.

Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains; and of all that we behold… [William Wordsworth]

Friday--June 23, 2000
Trail Day--31
Trail Mile--468
Location--Open ridge above Mont-Saint-Pierre near Parc de la Gaspesié, Quebec Province
 
The trip back to the Gaspé Peninsula takes all night.  We stop for a few minutes at Pete's in Matapedia to pick up a few things from the box we've left there.  Then it's on to arrive at Mont Saint-Pierre around 9:00 a.m.  I've had little sleep, but it's time to get organized and hit the trail.  Raymond and Charlotte at Mont Saint-Pierre Motel are happy to see us and to meet our friends.  Raymond has talked many times in the past with Dick Anderson by phone but had never met him.  We sort through our box left at Raymond’s and are on the trail headed for Parc de la Gaspesié around 11:00.
 
In a recent email from Francois Boulanger, Director, Parc de la Gaspesié, we know that the snow melt is well underway and that we're clear to enter the high elevations above treeline on the 24th, which is tomorrow, and we're right here, ready to get at it!  We've got a day's climb into the Parc, so we'll be up and in right on the 24th.

The climb goes well, and we manage to make it up to an open ridge above the lovely little seaside village of Mont Saint-Pierre.  This has been a grand hiking day with numerous and varying vantages and encouragements, but with no sleep for the past forty-eight hours, and with the strenuous climb today, both John O and I are totally pooped.  Little time is spent around the campfire before rolling in.

Live each day as you would climb a mountain. An occasional glance towards the summit puts the goal in mind. Many beautiful scenes can be observed from each new vantage point. [Joe Porcino]

Saturday--June 24, 2000
Trail Day--32
Trail Mile--480
Location--La Galene refuge (shelter) Parc de la Gaspesié, Quebec Province
 
We're up and out early to a cold, clear day.  It got down in the low forties last night, but I slept very snug in my new down Feathered Friends Rock Wren bag. It had been mailed to me here in Canada, and I picked it up on our stop in Matapedia.  Feathered Friends is one of my sponsors for Odyssey 2000.  Sure pleased to have your fine product folks...and your support, thanks!

The trail from Mont Saint-Pierre to La Galene is all new treadway, just opened recently to get the seventeen miles of trail from the Parc to the sea off the road.  This hike in '98 took a short day but now the distance is much longer, an estimated total of around twenty-two miles, and there is a fair amount of climbing, so the journey to the Parc will now be two full days.  This new treadway is marked with elaborate routered signs attached to 2x4s driven into the ground. Even though this trail has been here only a short time, the vandals have certainly been able to find it, for many of the signs have been ripped from their posts, or the posts have been broken off or pulled up and thrown into the woods.  The trail along the Restigouche Canyon in New Brunswick was marked in similar fashion, with the bright blue and white SIA/IAT blazes nailed to 2x4 posts driven into the ground at strategic points along the trail.  On our hike through there, we found most of that trail marking effort to have been in vain, as many of the posts had either been broken off or ripped up and tossed into the woods. Seems the SIA/IAT is going to go through the same learning curve, as did the Appalachian Trail Conference (ATC).  The ATC found out the hard way that the only lasting method of marking the trail is with paint.  Vandals have a tough time with paint!  It saddens me to see these signs destroyed.  A lot of thought, preparation and time went into their construction and placement, all for naught.  It deeply saddens me.

I arrive at La Galene, a bunkhouse area in the Parc, at around 2:30.  In the office, and while we’re talking with the caretaker, in comes Viateur DeChamplain from Matane.  Viateur has just returned from the mountain (Mont Jacques Cartier), where a special program has  ushered in another grand season for Parc de la Gaspesié.  He spends time with me as we pour over the maps for the Parc and for Matane Reserve.  Looks like we'll be in here around eight days.  Dick Anderson has left a box of food, provided for John O and me by Dave Hennel, the Trail Gourmet, at the Gite du Mont Albert, so we should be good-to-go on food for our hike on through.  In just awhile, Francois Boulanger also returns from the mountain, and I am able to talk with him at length about his great work here at the Parc, and about my second grand traverse of the tundra o'er the majestic Chic Choc Mountains.

John O and I settle in at the snug bunkhouse, complete with airtight woodburning stove.  We've got the whole place to ourselves!  What a fine day this has been.

We are building in sorrow or joy A temple the world may not see, Which time cannot mar nor destroy; We build for eternity. [N. B. Sargent]

Sunday--June 25, 2000
Trail Day--33
Trail Mile--493
Location--le Gite du Mont Albert, Parc de la Gaspesié, Quebec Province
 
This is the day, the day for some of the most exciting hiking through some of the most breathtaking and spectacular scenery and landscape imaginable--the climb over Jacques Cartier, the highest point in southern Quebec. And we are greeted by yet another cool, clear day.  What a blessing.  As we begin the climb from La Galene, it becomes evident we'll have visibility for miles, with only the very least bit of haze to limit our view.  Francois mentioned yesterday, as we talked in the parking lot at La Galene, that the forecast was for favorable weather for the next few days. 
 
The flanks of Mont Jacques Cartier make an awesome presentation, pure rock and ice this morning.  The Chic Chocs and the McGerrigle (Mont Albert and its surrounding tundra) are known to the folks around (the few that even know about this area of the Appalachians) as the "Rockies of the East," a most descriptive and accurate comparison.  As we continue our ascent, John O and I stop for many pictures of the snow, ice and rock--here is displayed the sheer might and startling majesty of this ancient and grand old mountain.  There is a bus parking area just above the bunkhouse (a building described by the Parc wardens as a refuge) where tourists are brought to begin their ascent.  The first bus does not run until 10:00 a.m., so it appears we'll have the mountain to ourselves this morning, all the better for the experience and pleasure of it.

We reach the summit just after 10:00 a.m. to find that we are indeed the first to arrive.  What a glorious sight.  I described my feelings and reactions to being here in a ballad written during the Odyssey of '98, “The Ballad of the IAT.”  Here are two of the verses: