By Jordan Bowman
A.T. Journeys Magazine
Spring 2020
The day I summited Katahdin was perfect. Almost. It was the middle of July, yet I could see my breath in the crisp Maine morning air. My wife, Alison, was able to fly in and join me for the final climb alongside hikers I had shared over 2,000 miles of bumps, bruises, sweat, tears, and laughter with. Partly cloudy skies allowed for 100-mile views without the heat and glare of the sun beating us down as we traversed Katahdin’s barren mountainside. As I approached the Baxter Peak sign marking the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail, I was cheered on by Trail friends old and new, including two fellow thru-hikers I met all the way back in Georgia.
I touched my cheek to the Baxter Peak sign, worn smooth by harsh Maine winters and hundreds of hands preceding mine. And then, I experienced two powerful emotions familiar to so many thru-hikers: an overwhelming joy of having accomplished a months-long journey through some of America’s most beautiful (and challenging) countryside; and a sense of loss now that it was all over.