All stories start somewhere, and this one begins in the summer of 1995, when my father and I decided to hike over Mount Katahdin in Maine for the first time.
The two of us went with another family (Liz, Jed and Jedi), and had the best pick of weather. Hiking into the cirque of Katadhin, we passed the beautiful Chimney pond and took the Saddle Trail to the top. As we neared a sign along the ridge, blazes changed from blue to white, signifing that we were entering onto the Appalachian Trail.
We sustained some injuries that hike: on the down slope I busted my lip open when I fell on a rock, and Jed...well, Jed's bicept ripped away from the bone like a fruit roll up when he grabbed a branch enroute to fill his water bottle. It was eventful, and despite my sore lip, and injured commrade, we made it to camp and had a great time.
The following summer we returned with two additions to our group, and hiked the Cathedral Trail over Katahdin once more. Only this time we had no injuries on Katadhin, and we kept going. We continued south for 65 miles ending smack dab in the middle of Mosquito Alley. I don't remember why we stopped, but I'm pretty sure it was something to do with Fred's job. We were a one paycheck family, and we needed to go home.