An Unlikely Culprit

After years of tossing around the idea—“We should go to Baxter sometime”—I finally made it happen. A few weeks ago, Patrick and I, along with a couple of friends, packed our bags and headed north for our first real trip into Baxter State Park. We had a lean-to reserved at Chimney Pond, and plans to summit Katahdin if the weather played nice. For once this year, the forecast was on our side: clear skies, dry trails, and warm July sun. It was the kind of perfect setup you dream about when planning a backcountry weekend.

With 27 pounds of gear strapped to our backs—food, layers, and just enough creature comforts—we hit the trail on a quiet Friday afternoon. Spirits were high. Few bugs, no rain, no last-minute scrambles for things forgotten. Everything was smooth. Almost suspiciously smooth. The kind of smooth that makes you wonder what’s waiting around the corner.

The sun broke through the clouds as we hiked our way to Chimney pond. Boys ahead, making quick work of the rocky trail beneath our feet. Us girls lagging behind, spending more time chatting and listening to birds than trying to make fast trail times. Though Chimney Pond was only a 3 mile hike away, it was anything but an easy trek.

As the heat from the late afternoon sun started to sink in, we made a pit stop at The Basin for a dip in the pond. Trout could be seen rolling on the surface, grabbing their meals from the air. My back drenched in sweat, I quickly took off my boots to dip my toes into the water, only to realize it was far too cold for me to go any further. Only one of us was brave enough to fully dip into the arctic waters.

After three (grueling) miles of rock-ridden trails, we finally arrived at Chimney Pond campground. Stomachs grumbling, I quickly checked in with the Ranger to let them know we had arrived in one piece before unloading our gear at our lean-to. I could not wait to eat. Remembering I packed some new meals to try on this trip, I’m fairly certain my belly began to sound like a bear in anticipation.

The ranger informed us that we needed to be extremely diligent in using the bear line at the campground for all food and odorous gear, but not for the reason you’d think. Despite black bears being a logical—and very realistic—reason for erecting a bear line, this time the local thieves were actually red squirrels. And boy, were they fearless.

Within minutes of arriving to camp, one had already climbed onto the back of Kate—no doubt looking for a snack. During our group dinner at the pond itself, a few made their way over to us, snaking their way through our legs and under bushes, in an attempt to get a bite of our rehydrated meals. Fortunately we were able to survive our time at Chimney Pond campground relatively unscathed (no new holes in our packs) despite every effort the rambunctious little devils gave otherwise—I was even able to snap a nice photo of one of the perpetrators after it tried (and failed) to pull a fast one on us.

After a dinner filled with laughs, good views of Katahdin, and maybe fending off a few squirrels, we decided to hit the hay. I can’t say lightweight sleeping pads are luxurious compared to more cushy accommodations, but after a long day in the woods anything feels like sleeping on a cloud. I crawled into my sleeping bag with every intent to read a book before falling asleep, but I did not get more than a page in before I slipped off into a deep snooze. I’m sure my companions weren’t far behind.

Patrick and I awoke early Saturday morning to the blissful (maybe ever so slightly annoying) chirps of birdsong in the forest canopy. It was probably around 5am at this point, and with the sunlight starting to break over the trees we figured getting back to sleep was a lost cause. Instead we quietly crawled out of our little warm burritos, grabbed our cooking supplies, and wandered off to the pond for coffee and breakfast. If there’s one thing you should know about me, its that I can’t start my morning without a cup of coffee. Call it addiction, ritual, or a stubborn habit—but you don’t want to see the kind of person I am without it.

Patrick isn’t much of a breakfast guy, so it was really only me who was eager to break into their next meal. As he carved out a nice spot on the little sandy beach to watch the soft warm alpenglow spread across Katahdin, I fired up the Jetboil to make myself breakfast. I decided to have a breakfast skillet—courtesy of Peak Refuel. This was my first time having any of their freeze-dried meals, and boy are they delicious! One could claim any warm meal tastes great in the backcountry, but out of all the meals I’ve had sitting in the dirt—this one really takes the cake.

As I broke into my piping hot bag of rehydrated eggs, sausage, and peppers—Patrick caught sight of two adventurous souls traversing the Knife’s Edge. They were the only two people on the mountain at the time. Though I probably would not have wanted to start a hike as early as they did, I could only imagine how nice it must have been to have the whole mountain to themselves. Plus, they had a front row seat to an incredible sunrise.

We spent the next hour watching these two little specks slowly wander their way from Baxter Peak to Pamola in the warm morning sun until our companions joined us for breakfast. Our original plan for the day was to hike up Pamola, traverse the Knife’s Edge, possibly hit up Hamlin Peak after Baxter, and then settle back down into Chimney Pond for another night. However, we quickly realized two of us weren’t up for the task today. Between a minor (possible) infection, and some pretty severe knee pain, we made the hard but wise decision to pack up and head back out instead. It was an incredibly difficult call to make, as Patrick and I were looking forward to making our first trek up Katahdin. Even the weather was playing nice for once, which was about as much as you could ask for in Baxter. But at the end of the day, the most important part of being in the back country is not making up the mountain—its making it home.

Our hike out was quicker than the hike in the day before, even with one of us suffering from a bum knee. We made it back to the truck in record time, and though our weekend plans were cut short, nothing felt better than taking off our hiking shoes and packs for the last time. Everyone remained in good spirits as we made the trek south back home, thankful that we all made it out safely versus the alternative of something far worse.

Baxter State Park is a beautiful and very wild place to be. Though my first time there was short, and I am ever so thankful for the opportunity, I can’t wait until I get back and finally get to take my picture at the infamous Baxter Peak sign.

Til’ next time.