Fly By

This story was published in the Katahdin Press in 2006.

FLY BY

By Michael Lee

In the Abanaki language, Katahdin means “greatest mountain”. Legend has it that Pamola resides there. A half-man half beast, he may or may not let you enter his domain near the top of the mountain. He holds the power to send destruction your way in many forms including heat, ice, snow, rain, and wind if you are not to be welcomed there

These thoughts pass through my mind as I pull back the power on my Piper Archer for the descent into Millinocket Airport after a pleasant early evening flight. Landing straight in on Runway 34, I get the usual full frontal view of “the big K” in the near distance. Majestic and powerful she stands in the fading light. My frequent day hikes in Baxter State Park have included several lesser mountains but as yet I have not tackled this 5,267 foot beauty - the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail.

Next morning with my weekend guests Carl, Erik, and Andrea, I set off on the AT from Katahdin Stream for the 5.2 mile ascent.

The early morning mist is clearing, there is barely a breath of wind, and the sun begins filtering through the canopy of coloring leaves above us. Excitement pushes us into a pace that is probably a little too fast but the hiking feels great. The hours pass and we approach the tree line along with one of the steepest parts of the climb. Surprised a little, I see two hikers coming down the steep rocks ahead.

“Ahh... you must have been up early to have been to the summit already”, I chirp in greeting.

“We didn’t make it!” says the woman in front. “This is not a hike, this is damn rock climbing. People could die up there!”

I am tempted to say “Madam, people DO die up there!” but censor myself.

They are disappointed and a trifle angry. I’m not sure at who or what. I want to console them but don’t. Everyone has to hike their own hike and when it comes to reaching the top of a mountain like Katahdin “some will, some won’t, and so what”.

“Well have a nice day and I hope you enjoy your hike down”, I offer, as we continue to climb, perhaps just a trifle more apprehensively now from the reminder that death is in the realm of possibility for those entering Pamola’s domain.

But Pamola must have been having a good day. My apprehension is soon lifted by the sound of laughter coming from behind us. Three male hikers having a lot of fun quickly catch up to us. What a surprise to see two of the three dressed in kilts. By the look of the legs under the kilts it is also apparent that these guys have done some serious hiking. They give us a cheerful greeting and stop to chat for a minute.

This is their big day. The last 5.2 miles of their Appalachian Trail hike from Springer Mountain in Georgia to the summit of Katahdin. They introduce themselves by their trail names - Domino, Stilts, and Treetops. For a moment I wish I had a trail name too. My 13 year old son Jack and I had often joked about what our trail names might be if we had them – Jackie Legs and Maine E. Ack maybe? But we couldn’t name ourselves. We had to wait until a “real” hiker bestowed a name upon us. The three guys pose for a picture for one of my friends and then off they go. “See you at the top! On On!!” cheers Domino as they quickly disappear from our sight.

Even with this burst of inspiration, it takes us another two hours to make our own ascent. As we come up the final climb to the summit there are our three new acquaintances on their way down. They have spent an hour or more up there celebrating and we have missed the party. I ask what they plan to do when they get down now that they have finished the AT. “Go to town!” was the quick reply.
“Need a ride?” I offer.
“Sure, if we don’t get one before you finish we’ll look out for you,” said Stilts.

“Damn, of course!” I think to myself. We would be hours behind them and dressed in those kilts there was no way someone wouldn’t offer them a lift long before we got down. We congratulate them on their great accomplishment and set off to achieve our own. There is a brisk wind at the summit, but it isn’t too cold and the vista is awesome. In every direction we can see a hundred miles or more. In close up clarity are the infamous Knife Edge and The Chimney. The beauty of the peaks in Baxter Park to the north and west of Katahdin prompt me to make a mental note to put them on my list for future hikes. To the south is the chain of lakes with which I am familiar. I point out to my friends the island in South Twin Lake in front of my “camp” where we are staying. As a pilot I’ve had some great views, but there is something special about the ones you earn with your legs, one step at a time.

Unlike other mountains I have hiked, with Katahdin there is that awful feeling of anticipation about the long hike down. No leisurely stroll down on this mountain. A little more fear grips your body as you descend the steep inclines covered with huge rocks and try to find just the right place to plant your feet and avoid a costly fall. No one wants to have to be carried off the mountain even if it were possible

For us, the long hike down takes almost the same time as the ascent – partly because of the difficulty and our tiredness but also because we stop frequently to take in yet again the beautiful views continually unfolding before us. Weary, but exhilarated, we make it back to our truck about 10 hours after we had started. It is now our turn to sit, eat, and celebrate.

As we place our order at the Scootic Inn, a young guy comes over to our table and says, “Thanks for the offer of the ride up on the mountain today.” It’s Domino. At first I don’t recognize him. Minus the kilt, with hair washed and brushed, and clean shirt and pants, he doesn’t look much like, or even smell like, the thru hiker we had seen earlier in the day. It sure is great to see him again. I have a deep appreciation of thru hikers and am fascinated by their dedication, courage, and commitment. I’m also curious about what they must learn in six months on the trail, particularly about themselves. I want to talk more with Domino but he has friends to be with and a celebration to enjoy so I simply ask “Where to from here, now it’s over?”

He tells me that he and Stilts are planning to head to Hanover, New Hampshire for an AT Gathering while Treetops is heading south to hike some more of the southbound trail in warmer weather.

“Mmm... New Hampshire?” I offer. “Maybe I could give you guys a ride as I’m heading that way in my plane.”

I can tell that my last word has made an impact. I don’t think Domino is quite sure he can believe or trust what he is hearing me say, but after chatting a few more minutes he and Stilts know it was for real and accept what they say is their “ultimate hitch”.

Monday dawns. Another brilliant Maine weather day – perfect for flying. Around ten I pick up Domino and Stilts in Millinocket and we head to the airport. We stow their gear, do our preflight and are soon airborne. I decide to begin our flight with a close up look at Katahdin. How magnificent she looks on this beautiful morning. Knowing of my experience hiking up on Saturday, I can only imagine what it must have been like for my two passengers to have also climbed Katahdin that day but at the end of their very long hike. I believe I detect a slight moistening in their eyes as they look at the mountain and back at each other in amazement and awe. Then they get out their cameras and click away at Maine’s greatest.

Once again Pamola must be been doing some work for us but this time with the Air Traffic Control Gods. As luck would have it, neither of the two large military operations areas that cover much of Western Maine is active today. This means we can “fly the trail” at low altitude. For the next hour or so we fly over the 100 mile wilderness, Gulf Hagas, The Bigelows, Old Speck and numerous other mountains along the trail as well as the towns of Monson, Caratunk, Stratton and Rangeley - trail towns they have visited for rest and re-supply. For Stilts and Domino each vista holds memories and stories, too numerous to tell in this short time. As we pass Baldplate Mountain I hear them chuckle as they recall the French Canadian hikers they met and befriended there. It is obvious that what they are seeing is taking them back to many days and nights they have experienced in their last few months on the trail in one of the biggest and most difficult states it traverses.

I tell them that we were doing a “fly by” not only of Katahdin, but of all the mountains in Maine on the AT, in honor of their accomplishment and explain that in military aviation a “fly by” is often granted to a returning flight crew after a difficult mission is completed. These two guys have most certainly completed a mission many may dream about but very few accomplish. All too soon it seems, we pass by Mt Washington from the Maine side, then cross into New Hampshire and land at Lebanon airport. After an exchange of email addresses, some profound thanks, and hugs, my friends mount their packs, bid farewell, and hike off the airport ramp.

That evening I tell Jack the story of our meeting and our flight. Also a hiker, a prospective pilot, and someone who hiked Katahdin with his brother earlier in the year, he listens with great interest and is clearly wishing he had been there. At the end of my story he says “Dad, you should have asked them to give you a Trail Name. Those guys are real hikers and they could have given you one.”

Well, I like Jack’s thinking and maybe it isn’t too late to ask. I zap off an email to Domino and Stilts to tell them about Jack’s suggestion and find out if they would have time to consider giving me a name..

Next day comes their reply. They have presided for two hours in the Dirty Cowboy Café in Hanover (clearly an appropriate establishment for a hiker naming event) to ponder and decide on a name for me. I am honored. After considering suggestions like Wingman, Birdman, Maine Man, Trail Flyer and many others they finally come up with the winner from their short list. From this day forth, I will forever be known on the Trail as “Fly By Mike.”
Thanks guys, and happy trails! I hope Pamola brings you back to Maine sometime soon.


Michael Lee is an author of two books and a freelance writer. He commutes between his homes in Maine and Massachusetts in his private airplane and loves to explore Maine from the air and on foot.