Turner

[Katahdin, as seen from South Turner Peak]

June 9, 2010

South Turner Peak, elevation 3,122 feet, is a small outcropping of rock jutting from a massif opposite the Great Basin of Katahdin in the Maine wilderness. Katahdin forms a giant bowl that opens to the east and drains into several small bodies of water, one of which is named Sandy Stream Pond. Just beyond this pond begins the steep slope of South Turner Mountain, offering the most majestic views of Katahdin, its granite walls rising 2,000 feet above the valley floor.

I awoke at 2 am to begin my ascent. This part of Maine is so far north and east that the sun often rises before 4 o'clock, so I needed to start early. I wanted to watch the sunrise from atop the peak. Some rain had fallen during the night, which made the trail muddy and the rocks slippery. When I first started my trek I was afraid of coming across a coyote or a bear in the dark. [This was my first attempt to hike in darkness.] I soon realized that I was much more likely to fall and hit my head on a rock than to be attacked by some wild creature in the night. My fears subsided as I focused my thoughts on the trail in order to maintain secure footing on every step.

The small mountain rises about 1,500 feet in less than a mile of distance, not steep enough to have to climb on all fours, but almost. I got wet and cold as I made my way up the wooded face, but the journey was thrilling. The light from my headlamp refracted off the water droplets still clinging to the needled pine branches. The effect made it look as if the trees were studded with diamonds. I made a sudden turn to the right and burst through the timberline as the eastern sky was starting to glow. I could see fires burning in the distance to the southeast, I don't know where from exactly. I scrambled over the last couple hundred feet of scree (quite an adventure in the dark) and sat down to watch the spectacular event about to unfold around me.

The rim of Katahdin looked like nothing more than a faint black line scrawled across the western horizon. A northern wind brought some rain through the valley below, so I dug out my space blanket from my pack and wrapped it around myself to keep warm. I found a spot to hunker down between some rocks that sheltered me somewhat from the wind and turned back to the west to face the mountain towering above the surrounding landscape. The clouds blew across the northern plateau and, quite literally, poured down over the rim and into the basin of Katahdin. It was a stupendous sight, the clouds filling the great bowl from top to bottom and soon shrouding the rocky heights in dense fog. The sky was brightening now, so I turned my attention to the east to watch the breaking of the dawn.

The partly cloudy sky obscured some of the more brilliant colors, but nevertheless, the sunrise was magnificent. I watched the entire valley come alive right before my eyes. The morning light burned away the mists below me. The numerous ponds within the basin, which at first appeared like voids of blackness, transformed into pools of reflected light. And as the minutes passed one after another, the dark valley floor became a plush, velvety green carpet of conifers.

An hour passed, and I ventured down the mountain again. At the bottom, I paused for a while alongside Sandy Stream Pond to view the same scene again, this time from below instead of above. The sun was well over the horizon now, and the entire valley radiated the orange light of morning. It was glorious; no other word will do.

So evening came, and morning came ... a new day.