Ascent by Rob Schultheis

There are greater mountains in life than those made of Rock. This is the story of how I came to understand this fact. It was July 18th, 2006. I was sitting atop the legendary Katahdin; the pile of granite carved by glaciers into a mountain of majestic significance. The path to the top is the northernmost 5.5 miles of the Appalachian Trail, the summit of Katahdin being the end point (or starting point) for the AT. I had made the difficult climb seeking the same thing many climbers before me have sought, inspiration. And in fact I did find it, but not in the way I had expected.

From the outset, the weather it seemed would not be ideal, with an overcast sky and the threat of thunderstorms. But I decided that this was my chance to get up the mountain so I might as well do it. I strapped my boots on, put on my pack, and ventured towards the trail head.

I signed myself into the trail register, and I was surprised to see that 3 people before me had registered that day... amazing! I thought I was the first person up this morning but that was not the case. I began my hike. I started off with a slow and steady pace but soon found myself hiking furiously up some rather steep terrain. My desire to achieve the summit was a rather unusual gripping sensation! It isn't very often that I feel like I simply have to do something, but I had to get up Katahdin and it had to be today. The pace and stamina with which I hiked surprised me to no end. I passed a family attempting the hike about 1.5 miles into the trail and I was beyond earshot of their conversation within a minute or two.

My thoughts raged on about Katahdin. It's rich Indian legends were fascinating along with the history of it's early exploration. Pamola is now considered the most significant of the legendary creatures that live inside of Katahdin. Pamola could be described as a hawk headed moose of sorts, a mesh of Indian and white man legends. Pamola's legendary fierceness was an interesting thing to dwell on as I charged up the mountain. I often wonder if nature is consciously disturbed by man's presence in certain special locations such as the mountain peak. Soon I was standing at the tree line, although the view was somewhat spoiled. I was in a cloud, amidst rather cool and sharp wind gusts, swirling all about. I paused for a while, drank water and allowed myself a chance to gauge to the weather. I had been warned to not venture beyond the tree line in anything resembling a thunderstorm, or anything that could become a thunderstorm. The weather was marginal, but I wasn't in a thunderstorm, so I ventured onwards into the exposed terrain. The wind bit into my sweat soaked shirt and I had to put on my rain jacket to keep warm.

The environment above the tree line is so very distinct from that below the tree line. Another way that Katahdin is so very significant is that it supports one of the few alpine meadows on the east coast. As clouds passed over, the view would vary drastically as I marched up the trail in this meadow, from 10 feet of visibility to vistas that stretched for miles. Eventually the trail leveled, and this is when it began to rain. I was still enjoying the hike, but the change in weather made me more apprehensive. In the distance I spotted 2 people hiking, a woman in the rear; 30 yards in front of her a man. I passed the woman, and then I passed the man. I noticed the man was walking with a steady and focused style. I thought nothing else of it though.

Then I was on top of the mountain in a mass of clouds. Katahdin's 5267 foot summit is a mere 13 feet shy of 1 mile. I was thrilled to be up there, and the weather while still mildly raining and gusting was not so much of a worry. I was alone on top of Katahdin. I took a few pictures and wrote this:

Here I am atop the summit of Katahdin...

Over 4000 feet higher from where I started 3 hours before. And guess what? I am smack in the middle of a cloud, dripping with sweat, and shivering beneath my rain jacket. Oh, and you can be sure it rained coming up here, you can be sure of that without a doubt. I did what I wasn't supposed to, I ventured into the exposed terrain in marginal weather conditions. But not having heard thunder I figured it to be safe.

So here atop this great monolith after great struggle I can see...

I stop writing, someone else has joined me atop the mountain.

Here comes Mr. Can-Do Man, hooting and hollering and waving his hiking poles through the air. He looks at me and says "Woo hoo! I am the first person in history to thru hike the AT with 2 artificial hips".

I basically dropped my pen; I had unwittingly watched a man achieve his life goal. And what could be more inspirational than that? Minutes ago I was feeling somewhat annoyed that after this long journey, after putting myself through so much to be here, I couldn't see anything. Where was the view that that I had been searching for? Thinking back on it, I can say that to watch a man achieve something that is impossible is about the most inspirational thing imaginable. After chatting with the can-do man for a bit I stood back respectfully so he could absorb his own accomplishment. But he was happy enough to keep conversing. "The doctors told me I would never hike again. My goal when I started was to was to finish four nights. I made it through that OK and here I am, 100 some days later".

So those were the facts, but not the fruit. He offered me one more phrase. "The doctors gave me lots of tests, but there is no test for what is in your heart". I did not say it, but I knew he was wrong. He had given and passed just such a test. It is quite right to say he found out what is in his heart.

As I descended from Katahdin I kept thinking about the experience. We all make our own mountains. We all have our own expeditions to the summits of our mountains. Many of us justify these expeditions the way I justified my ascent of Katahdin, we think that there is something at the top waiting for us. If we are lucky enough to summit our tallest most remote mountains, sometimes all we might is a cloudy and disappointing view. We climb our mountains because they are there. We may have built them ourselves, but they are no less inviting than the visage of Katahdin in the distance. The journey to the top is no less vital than my hike was to me at the time.

Sitting here, in contemplation, I feel like a man who is beginning to see my mountain in the distance. Its outline is slowly emerging from the fog, like my destiny unfolding before me. I am taking steps towards it, but the trail is rough and in some places non existent. This mountain is a difficult ascent and it's going to take longer than the three hours it took me on Katahdin. This mountain is much bigger than any made of rock. This is the inspiration I found atop Katahdin.