Stratton to Little Bigelow Lean-to---July 1st

It was a very peaceful night in a nice, warm bed and I slept like a baby.  Sue shuttled four of us back to the trail head, but I was the only person headed north.  The town food started tearing through me and I found myself skipping off into the woods on an hourly basis.  Two boxes of raisin bran provided way too much fiber.  Rather funny, but no laughing matter at the time. 
All the sobos I'd met since Gorham had told me that the Bigelows were one of the toughest parts of Maine, so I was looking to get past them today.  The morning was overcast and the early trail was fairly flat over the first couple of miles before heading higher.  As I neared the top of Bigelow Mountain, I punched through the cloud ceiling and began walking in a world of white.  Furthermore, above the treeline, especially right at the peak, a strong wind blew the cold, moist air directly into my face, bringing out some tears that rolled down my cheeks.  Another mountain, another high point with no views.  Sort of disappointing when much of the day is spent down among the trees.  Opportunities to pierce the green tunnel don't come that often in a day.
On the hike down from Avery Peak in the afternoon, the sun started to break through as the cloud cover started to break up.  I passed quite a few sobos and weekend hikers, one group of which appeared to be girl scouts led by their troop leader.  Finally reaching Little Bigelow, I looked back from where I'd come and saw a splendid panoramic view, the Bigelow Range stretching back toward the south, its three peaks (South Horn, West Peak, and Avery) clearly visible, a river and lakes creating a ribbon and patches of blue in the deep, dark forest in the valley below.  I could even make out a ski resort to my left.
On the steep descent to the lean-to, I took a few tumbles after slipping on rocks and roots.  I'd find it hard to believe that anybody has walked the length of this trail without ever falling.  The rock slabs that are exceptionally solid under foot become quite slippery when they're wet, have a thin covering of moss or loose soil on them, or the angle of incline gets too steep.  Sometimes the only way to maneuver is by swinging down, holding fast to the trunks of small trees along the edge of the path.
Alone at the shelter, I hope it stays that way.  Celebrating since I went over the 2,000-mile mark.  With ten days left, the official countdown has begun.

Bigelow Mountain
Through the Maine Woods
Tread
A Look Back from Little Bigelow
Sun on Slab