It’s become an almost yearly tradition: my brother Jonathan flies over from the east coast for his yearly Maine visit and we devise a punishing day hike through the Whites. This peaked (pun intended) a few years with a 12 hour torture fest around the Pemi Loop that left us comatose and craving our home town’s notoriously mediocre Chinese food to heights previously thought impossible.
Since moving to Oregon, my brother has taken on the mantle of full blown “mountain man.” Every conversation for the past near-decade has centered around a newly completed or upcoming adventure: fishing, backcountry skiing, ice climbing. If there was a sport called extreme puppeteering I bet he’d try it.
Needless to say, he arrived to the Pine Tree State eager for a challenge. I found myself firmly on the other side of the spectrum, opting for a more leisurely approach. With the passive-aggressive negotiation skills that only brothers can have, we started to haggle. He wanted 20 miles, I wanted 10. We arrived at a compromise of a 15.5 mile traverse of the Carters and Wildcats. Easy peasy? Nope.
The hike began after a quick car drop at Pinkham Notch. We had driven the short distance from our childhood town in Western Maine, stopping to sleepily munch breakfast at a coffee shop on the way. Finally the trail was ours. We gave a little whoop and took first steps. Immediately I saw my brother gallop off into the distance, disappearing around a bend. Our paces reflected our initial planning approaches: I moseyed, he bounded. I decided to fire up Neil Young on my headphones and continue my leisurely pace, spotting glimpses of Jonathan (trail name Mad Dog) around bends in the trail.
We reconnoitered at Imp Shelter and made some jokes before continuing up to Carter Ridge. The trail was a pleasant one with only a few spots of tricky rocks, root or mud. The day was shaping up. Peaks were hit or miss, some just a pile of rocks in a clearing. It was a foggy day anyway that wasn’t going to offer stunning views. Carter Ridge ticked away with an easy pace.
I haven’t mentioned until now that there was another factor at play besides decades of entrenched brotherly competition: my brother’s son had turned one year old that day and we were due back for his birthday party. As we descended Carter Ridge we realized that the day was ticking on. We were tired. We wanted to bail and find a quicker way home. There wasn’t one. Our eyes drifted from the picturesque pond up to the daunting peaks of Wildcat Ridge.
The ridge seemed to be never-ending. An hour ticked by, we hit another peak to climb. Another hour, another peak. The needle on the misery meter slowly started to move into red. I almost bonked halfway through the trudge up Wildcat D and was saved by some electrolye gummies. At least the descent was near–that would be a welcome friend after all of the incline (at least that’s what we told ourselves.) Oh sweet naivety, how I long for your honeyed optimism!
The final Wildcat peak gave us Sound of Music level lush fields and views. The sun had come out but I was too tired to snap a photo. We rushed through and started to make the descent. Only a mile or so of down to go and then we would have an easy flat trail to the car. Our immediate greeting was a massive boulder that we had to slide down with the focus of a tight rope walker.
The next mile was one of the roughest of the 48 project so far. A steep descent through biting granite crags. We could hear the highway the entire time but didn’t appear to get any closer to it. A few lookout spots along the way showed us how little progress we had made. We occasionally peppered the silence with curses.
By the time we reached the bottom the water was gone and so was our spirit. We trudged to a pond where we had to stop to filter some H2O and collect ourselves. We moved with synchronized practice, handing snacks to each other. The parking lot appeared and we climbed into the car.
Before turning the key, Jonathan paused with a faraway look in his eye. “What the hell?” was all that he could muster in the way of conversation.
“We got Wildcatted bro,” I said.
We drove in brotherly silence to pick up the drop car before making our way back to civilization and my nephew’s birthday party.
Distance: 26.84km
Time: Infinite
Music: Neil Young & Crazy Horse, Crazy Horse at the Fillmore 1970
Post-run Food: Grilled hamburgers and silence.
An earlier travelogue of one of our adventures based upon John Lurie’s groundbreaking 90’s television series:
When I Get Home 
Just a bit of a challenge!
Love you both.
Aunt Sue