[at-l] A sobo remembers ..The Stranger on the mountain.

["southwalker99" <southwalker99@alltel.net>]

A sobo remembers..........



The Stranger on the Mountain


On the 2nd day of my southbound thru-hike in Maine's 100-Mile Wilderness I reached the summit of Nesuntabunt Mountain, arriving in the early afternoon. I made my way to the register box and found it destroyed, probably by a porcupine. The wooden box was simply chewed to pieces. Even the wood from the #2 pencils had been eaten, leaving only the center core of "lead" and making registering impossible. A little weary from the day's hike and feeling good about the progress I had made, I slipped my pack and made my way to the viewpoint.

Having seen no other hikers since Abol Bridge I was surprised to see a man sitting on the rock with what appeared to be a lunch spread in front of him and a daypack on the ground beside him. His back was to me and I wasn't sure he had heard me approaching. Not wanting to startle him I called out a cheery, "Hello there! Having a bit of lunch are you?" 

The stranger turned toward me and smiling replied, "Yes I am. Having cheese and crackers. Would you like some cheese and crackers? Do you like cheese? Do you love sharp cheddar?"

"As a matter of fact I do love sharp cheddar. I carry some in my pack and had some with my lunch down by the road, so right now I am feeling full. Thanks anyway," I replied.

With that I turned to take in the view. The view from the mountain that day was of Lake Nahmakanta from the side, the length of it running left to right. The waters were dark, stained with tannin. There was a breeze on the lake and it made the sun sparkle on the dark water. A lone fisherman in a boat drifted on the breeze. On the shore directly across from us a forested hillside rose at perhaps a 45-degree angle. It was covered that day in the green of spring. I am talking about those thousands of shades of green that occur only in spring, before the summer sun has hardened them into sameness. Above the hillside MT Katahdin stood proud against a deep blue sky. There were even some popcorn clouds sprinkled about, just to make the view complete. It was absolutely beautiful and totally peaceful. For a long time the stranger and I viewed the scene together, separately.

Finally one of us broke the silence. We talked a bit, he asked about my hike and I learned that he and his family come to the lake each year about this time. They camp for most of a week, fish and enjoy the companionship of a family that enjoys being together. Each year he slips away from the family and climbs the mountain to enjoy the view and the solitude. They were in fact camped on the south end of the lake and since I would pass their camp the next morning he invited me to breakfast. I declined, explaining that I had my breakfast in my pack and that if I didn't eat it I would have to carry it. That was true of course but unsaid was that I knew that it was more than 2 miles to their camp spot from the shelter and I didn't want to be up that early.

Finally it was time for me to go. I wanted to make the shelter early and I also wanted to return the solitude to the stranger. He was after all, there first.

I was a little short of water and so I asked him if I would find water as I went south down the mountain.

"Yes, you will," he said. "I found some, perhaps I should not have taken it since I have no filter but it looked OK and it was a sort of unusual place. I am not sure I explain where I found it," he continued "but as you go down the mountain you will find some stone steps that have been placed to assist you. Down near the bottom of the steps as I walked up, on my left I saw a small curved bluff, perhaps 12 feet high that made a cove. From near the center of the bluff a small stream runs at an angle toward the trail. It is about 18 inches wide and spills over a rock to form a pool. The ground is covered in ferns and moss and while I was enjoying the spot the sun came from behind a cloud and lighted the scene, causing a misty fog to rise from the ground and swirl on the breeze. I am not explaining it very well but it was a different kind of place, sort of strange. I can't exactly describe what kind of place it was".

"The kind of place where elves might play?" I asked.

"Yes!" He said, excitedly. "That is it exactly. You got it. The kind of place where elves might play"

So I left the stranger and made my way down the mountain. When I got near the bottom of the stone steps I turned around, looked upward to my left and saw the scene exactly as he had described it. While I was standing there I remembered that as a child I had gone with my mother and a friend of hers to visit a garden. In the garden was a darkened path and the adults said I should go there and see if I could see an elf. That elves often played there. So I went and I looked. I looked hard. And I thought I saw an elf but the adults said I didn't. To this day I could not deny that I saw an elf. 

I don't know that we teach children about elves anymore. But I am glad someone taught me.

The best advice I received about my hike came from my wife. When she dropped me from the car that last day we were together, with tears in her eyes she said, "Make memories, not miles".

I have head full of memories and I will be forever grateful that one of them is of a stranger on a mountain who shared a special place with me. A place where elves might play.


southwalker99@alltel.net
ME-GA '99
In hiking there is no special recognition given for speed, style or 
finesse. There are only those that do the hike and those that don't.



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