I kept an eye out for, yet saw no leeches during a thigh-deep fording of the west branch of the Piscataquis River, which for spelling purposes will heretofore be referred to as вЂњthe riverвЂќ. I breathed through my overhanging mustache to keep them out of my mouth. The trail was surprisingly rocky for sustained stretches, sometimes reminiscent of the friendlier days in Pennsylvania, so it took all my concentration and coordination to stay on my feet and keep the bugs off of my face. I swatted and scooted around the shore, close enough to smell the water, but not to see it. I would have stopped to check it out, but stopping was not an option here. Mosquitoes joined the flies when the trail leveled out in the swampy flatlands around an invisible pond. And that was great, for moving was what I intended to do all day. I brushed them away as needed as I walked, but for the most part, they did not bother me as long as I was moving. They buzzed around my face, darting to my temples and eyes, eager for their snack of a lifetime. The black flies soon found me as I followed the trail across more summit slabs and back into the still air of the forest. The sun was high in the sky when I finally did start hiking, and it almost felt like a different day entirely, too harsh and bright to have been born from such a tender beginning. It was still crazy early, much too early to wake up, but I did feel a little guilty when I pulled my beanie over my eyes, rejecting the gifts of the sun and returning to the darkness of slumber. Dawn brightness fluttered open my lids hours before my alarm, and I poked my head out to see that the thin streak of clouds on the horizon was already burning pink.

IвЂ™d spent so many mornings camped in the trees that IвЂ™d forgotten how slowly the day unwraps itself. The view was good even after I slept through the best part of the sunrise. Why was it so low? Latitude, I consoled myself. The long smear of the milky way streaked across the sky, strangely close to the horizon, and was as humblingly vast as ever. They burned cooly through the clear black depths of space, the brightest poking from the darkest. When I unzipped my tent and clambered out the low opening to pee in the middle of the night, I was floored by the spread of twinkles above me. The sunset yesterday evening alone was worthy of remembrance, but it was the stars that I loved the best. Finally, function matches style.Д¬amping on the summit of Moxie Bald Mountain will go down as one of my best decisions of this entire hike. My full-coverage clothing and waving hands made sure of that.

The relentless blood suckers kept me moving except for a carefully located lunch spot, yet besides the extra pep in my step that they inspired, were not too bothersome. The walking was about as easy as could be through more of that smooth, Northern Maine flatland, dipping into dense valleys of green and along rushing rivers of tanic water. The bread of this bug sandwich was worthy of the best days, and even the filling had some merit, as my itchy bites prove.

Sunrise, mosquitoes, river, black flies, river, and root beer float.

Sunset Breeze Camp to Root Beer Float CampД®levation change: 2444ft gain, 3760ft loss

Crest daily 2 step system