My watch rung at 6:30 a.m., though I was already up. I had no idea how much sleep I'd gotten, but I felt ready enough to move out, regardless. As early as Joe and I had gotten up, we noticed that Freddy Baby and Little Moose were already leaving while we were still packing up. They were the guy and girl we'd seen on Katahdin, the ones referenced in the quote at the end of the page. Here we thought we were getting up ridiculously earlier than anyone else, but they were one step ahead. I've thought on various occasions that the trail could use an extra blaze here or there. Sometimes you'll be walking across what you figure must be the trail, but you're not really sure because everything's so overgrown and you haven't seen a blaze in a quite a few minutes. We were nearly thrown off the trail for the umpteenth time in our morning walk. We were heading straight on a pretty clear path when a man with a walking speed significantly faster than our own came up behind us. Just as he got in front of us, he made a sharp right off the path. Joe and I came to a dead stop and looked - we didn't even notice that the trail turned off this path and into the heavily wooded section, but there were indeed blazes on the trees further in.

    Joe got a good distance ahead of me because I had to stop twice and restrap my tent. It kept falling out of the top of the bag (in case you need a reminder) no matter how tightly I strapped the top of the pack, so I finally put it down below with my sleeping bag and mat. The next couple of miles grew increasingly steeper as we climbed Nesuntabunt Mountain. I caught up with Joe at the top and we took a short break while taking in the view. Moving on, we confirmed what the map had shown, that the mountain was significantly steeper on this side. I couldn't figure out if I'd have preferred a steep incline and a gradual decline, or vice versa. While slow-going at times, the descent did give up some more scenes that were worth looking at. We managed to wander into the Wadleigh Stream Lean-to shortly. Luck was with us because just as we came into the shelter, rain began to fall. Baby and Moose were already there, and a few others strolled in as we ate lunch. Our fellow hikers thought it was unique, to say the least, that I was chugging along a 1¼-pound bag of mangoes. Given the lengths most people go to reduce weight in their packs, they figured I must really like my mangoes, and it was at this point that I acquired my trail name (Mango, in case it wasn't obvious). Not quite what I was going for, but it could've been worse. Well, maybe not. We started to find out more about the people around us as we waited for the rain to pass. I had no clue that Freddy Baby was a pediatrician; it explained all those supplies he had with him.

    Once it stopped coming down, people slowly trickled out of the shelter. I was rather excited because in another 2.5 miles or so, we'd leave Map 1 behind and enter Map 2. It seemed like significant progress to me, seeing as how I still felt I'd barely set foot into the 100-mile wilderness. People had been talking about a house on the other side of Pemadumcook Lake. Apparently there was an opening in the trail and you could blow a siren to call for a boat to pick you up. These folks would come out and take you back to their place, giving you meals and shelter for a fee. I thought that kind of killed the spirit of the 100-mile wilderness, but if I couldn't make it to Potaywadjo Spring, it was certainly an option. For the time being, we walked on. Thankfully the terrain was easy-going, comparably, and we were at what we thought was the Nahmakanta Stream Campsite before I knew it. While there were no great ups and downs, the trail was still challenging at times because of the swamp-like land we were going through. Mosquitoes were getting more numerous the further we went in, and as I told Joe while we sat the campsite, the incredibly slippery logs placed over the soggiest patches of land were treacherous enough to make me fall down completely at one point. Later on my shoelace got caught on a root and caused me fall down yet again. "Oh, so that's what that was," Joe said, referring to the loud roar of frustration that he apparently heard, despite being a good distance away.

    The "campsite" was so meager and depressing that I certainly didn't want to stay there that night. We ran across the real Nahmakanta Stream Campsite another mile or so down the trail, which looked substantially better than what we had thought was the campsite. We kept moving and must've missed the turn-off for the lodgings because we found ourselves passing Twitchell Brook, meaning we were only a mile or so from the Potaywadjo Spring Lean-to. We stopped to see just how much farther we had to go when we hit the logging road, but the mosquitoes descended in such numbers when we stood still that we had to get going. The last stretch of trail before the lean-to was even muddier than what we had encountered previously, and the mosquitoes were fittingly just as abundant. We saw a sign telling us that we were several hundred feet from the lean-to when we passed what was presumably Potaywadjo Spring. It was a surprisingly clean spring, one where you could see the water bubbling up from underground. Climbing the rocky path, we found several people at the shelter. Apparently not everyone had headed to the lodgings over the lake. There were two guys in the shelter, and Freddy Baby & Little Moose had set up their tents a short distance away. After plopping down and resting in the lean-to, I slowly came to several realizations. First off, my feet didn't feel nearly as beaten up as they did when I'd done 14.5 miles in New Jersey. I didn't know whether to credit the terrain, my pack weight, or just adaptation, but I was happy. Next, I discovered that the mosquitoes weren't all that bad in the shelter. I figured with a muddy, swampy area nearby, they'd be going insane over a group of 5 stationary people. We had a fire going, and the other two guys were making sure that it was making quite a bit of smoke, so that probably kept the bugs at bay. I also found out that this place had a pretty spankin' privy. A window, curtains, even a toilet seat cover! This, in the middle of nowhere! After checking with the guides, there was supposedly an even better privy at the Antlers Campsite a few miles up. I'd have to see it the next day.

    Checking in the trail log inside the shelter, we found pretty much anyone who had written anything was complaining about the mosquitoes. Seeing as there were only four of us staying in the shelter, and it was supposed to be able to accommodate eight, three of us set up our tents inside, with Joe using his regular bag & bivy combo. We watched with odd curiosity as what we thought was a bat swooped around our area. I could've sworn it was a bat, given the irregular flying patterns, but when it bounced off the ground in front of us I had to wonder if it was just a horribly disoriented bird that was flapping its wings much faster than any bird really should. Turning my attention to my journal, I couldn't help but get frustrated because I knew that dozens of things came to mind over the course of the day, but I'd forgotten most of them by the time I had enough of a breather to sit and write.

    One of the guy's trail name was Piper, and it was easy to see why. Picture the most stereotypical pothead you can possibly imagine, complete with the voice, lines, and general disposition, and remember to add in long hair: you have Piper. He was a lean guy, apparently quite fit because he was chugging along 60 lbs. of supplies in his pack. As the evening went on, we ate our respective meals and talked about damn near anything. Piper's distrust of anything industrial or capitalist, childhood cartoons, the bugs and swamps around us, and old movies (yes, including Half Baked) were just some of the topics covered that day. Joe tried in futility to try and convince Piper of Invader Zim's greatness. Singing of Weird Al songs even took place, and I couldn't help but laugh at how Piper would laugh at anything, no matter what we said. After such an evening, I had no trouble falling asleep inside the shelter...inside my tent. I'd done 18 miles, I was in good company, I was protected from any rain overnight, and the bugs couldn't reach me. Every night should've finished like this.

Piper: What? Really? No way man! That's great! This is awesome!