September 2000

No beer, No TeeVEE and No Running Water

Moose-0
Bears-0
Wolves-2
Beavers-4
Loons-7+

After the Ebots jamboree, Princess and Godzilla headed off to points unknown-except to them- and I went back home to finish work. I was anticipating some time off the following week and began to try to set some details into firmity. I thought I would visit my second cousin in Vermont. This wasn’t to be because the cousin in VT disappeared- the phone number I had for him didn't work and the email I sent was returned to me because there was no account there. My mom, whose first cousin this guy is, had no other leads and said that he tends to vanish. I didn't have time to wait for him to reappear so I began to explore other options. A visit to Mom meant an expensive 14-hour drive each way and I just didn't feel the need to go there. I can wait till the holidays, though I’m told I missed the grape harvest of 6.5 tons all together, and a good time with good folks and good food- I do have some regret about this.

I contacted one of my relations in MD and told him that I might visit but that I was also thinking about going to Maine, perhaps along the coast. I never get to see these relatives because I always go to the Evil Robots HQ at Twin Lakes Estate on some kind of bidness when I'm down that way. He got right back to me saying that he had spent a week at the base of Mt. Katahdin in North central Maine, and that I should consider going north instead. I thought and thought, and concluded that I would indeed go to Maine.

This relative told me that I had made a good choice. "Does he not want me to visit," I thought, "or is Maine all that and a bag of Rap Snacks brand potato chips?!!" I had no answer except the one of my vacation destination. I thanked him and went with a rented tent, a AAA map and lots of hope in my heart- but not too much expectation.

It was a good, sunny day that Friday, and I was beating the Labor Day crowd by a week. Take that you laborers! I headed for North central ME up good old I-95. At one point at a rest stop I called Baxter State Park, which I was heading towards, but the ranger Nancy or Elma or something- who answered told me that the park works on reservations, and that they normally don't take them over the phone. How else does a person make reservations? Two Rangers later, I found the answer to that question- and many others- in Ranger Dan.

When people rhyme "Dan" with "man" they are usually being cute, but in this case it is absolutely right. Ranger Dan is the Man. I met him when I checked into the drive-up campsite I managed to get from green Ranger Jeremy (ranger #2) at the south gate. (This site was about 35 miles north, near the north gate, and took a lovely two hours to drive going relatively fast.) Ranger Dan was courteous and answered all of my questions, and even questioned me, anticipating some of the things I would need to know but didn’t yet know enough to ask about.

The following morning I checked in with him, getting another night and a trail map. We chatted and he recommended I take a morning hike up to the top of the nearby mountain. He recommended it without me having to pry it out of him. He clearly had my best interests in mind. This is a rare thing to find. Nearly extinct, in fact.

Now, even he may not have really cared what I did that morning, but he had enough of a brain to have an opinion and enough of what I call service to offer it. Service is where a person helps another with reasoned and experienced advice as though the person assisting were in the same place as the person being assisted. It might be customer service as it was in this case, but the best kind of customer service feels just like regular service, not in order to make a dollar, but for the simple aim of teaching a bit of experience to enable a better choice. The knowledgeable helper asks him/herself, "If I were in his shoes, what would I want to know and what would benefit me?" Ranger Dan took the time and the care to give me exactly the information I needed and topped off his expert knowledge and kick-ass suggestions with the restraint to let me figure some things out for myself. A one-two combination knockout punch. Facing such wisdom, I took his advice for that morning mountain hike.

Maine seems to be made out of rocks arranged in a variety ways, some of them piled up to thousands of feet and many of them with trails to hike and views to see. I began that week of vigorous walking with a climb up Trout Brook Mt and realized that it was more than I had bargained for. Climbing up and up like that just kills a person. I felt my heart pounding in my chest and heard it in my ears and I wished I hadn’t smoked the little that I had the weeks previous. I felt my knees grinding the cartilage padding down to nothing and the muscles wanting to leap out, flipping like a comedian’s dickey. Then: blueberries! I supplemented my breakfast and kept going. Perfectly ripe and burst-in-your-mouth delicious. There was a stunning view southward of nothin’ but mountains and valleys, no buildings or towers, and a steep ledge down in front of me. It was absurd. I had to laugh at all of it. It was only the first of such laughing incidents. Joyful laughing- not the crazy kind.

That afternoon, I went on the first of three canoe trips that week and saw beavers, which I first took to be river otters because they were small and fast. They tried to scare me off by barking at me like a sick person with a very hoarse cough. Angry beavers do exist somewhere besides the Nickelodeon channel. Another time out I heard "speeelunking" sounds, like someone had thrown a large rock in a deep pool, out in the middle of the water. I tracked the sound down to a beaver doing a dolphin dive and smacking his tail on the water as he went under. He circled me for a while doing this warning until I left that particular inlet.

The next day I moved my campsite a few miles south and hiked the trails in that area. The highest and most memorable hike was a 3,100-ft mountain from about 500-ft at the base. I thought I had wanted to die on the other hikes, but now I was sure. Death looks very attractive sometimes. I wondered if my heart should be pounding that hard and if I was better advised to turn around. But, as people who know me have observed from time to time, I often keep going in the direction I’m heading despite the better judgement of others and even myself.

I remember lots of rocks about four feet from my face as I went up that grade. Then as the trees got shorter till I was taller than they were, I reached what I thought was the summit and saw that I had further to go and that it was a good deal higher. This deception happened about three or four times and between the mini-peaks were saddles- small declines, almost plains, before another rise. One saddle was a grassy field, another a pine forest, and a third was an enchanted birch forest- entirely birch- where elves live. This enchanted forest was just birch trees and low green ferns so you could see pretty far through the glowing white trunks under the dark emerald canopy. A detour off the path, and you would not be able to help treading on the shin-high ferns- a lighter and slightly more yellow shade of green. I thought I might lie down and take a nap, but the thought of waking a hundred years later with a big gray beard and everyone I knew dead- remember, it’s enchanted- didn’t thrill me. Plus, I knew that underneath those lush, velvety ferns was nothin’ but bumpy, pokey rocks.

I got a 360 degree view at the top of this mountain and- what an adrenaline rush! I wasn’t tired no more and I think I was juiced until the next day. You just have to see it for yourselves.

I met up with Ranger Dan again at this new camp and talked about the kind of unsure footing I had experienced when I hiked up a brook. The footing is similar to an ice-covered sidewalk the day after a rain freezes. You plant your foot and it decides not to stay planted. And, after that, every step you take leaves you in utter uncertainty. I value very highly that my physical world stay put went I set my feet on it, and it is probably this reason that keeps me away from skiing, skate boarding, and other slippery activities. That kind of uncertainty fills my heart with dread.

I wondered to Ranger Dan whether one of the more difficult trails might pose some similar difficulties if I tried it in the morning after the forecasted rain. He listened, saying that he knew what I meant, and suggested I take care on this hike, but that it would probably dry out higher up. He is so cool.

The day I was to leave was indeed a sad one. I was just really getting out of my go-go city-style way and into a total lack of care of what I might do with the day. I took a final small hike, packed up my damp tent and said a blurry-eyed farewell to that no-shaving paradise.

I will be back next year, my pretty park, to get my butt kicked and my mind blown all over again. I promise.