Lethal Tracker Aftermath Reckoning The Storm of Chronic Disease

By White Wolf Von Atzingen

Dysautonomia, Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia, Myalgic Encephalomyelitis

 

Having gone from standing atop high mountain peaks to becoming a martial art and close-quarter combat specialist, and surviving 18 years of brutal special operations involvement, White Wolf's life took a turn that led him to face his most challenging adversary. His development of chronic illness sent his life tumbling headlong into an abyss where a maelstrom awaited. Invisible combatants threw his body into chaos.

 

He's not only had to battle against severe levels of said yet incurable dysautonomia, postural orthostatic tachycardia, and myalgic encephalomyelitis, but also the medical field, both Western and alternative. With life crashing down around him, the gaping maw laid before him, White Wolf had to take the reins of his own healing path and learn to navigate the world of chronic disease.

 

Following his autobiographical book, Lethal Tracker, White Wolf moved on to compose the reality of his new state of living, perspectives, challenges, progresses, and failures dealing with a life now saddled with chronic illness. As if his life exists within the heart of giants, the primal forces of chaos, the warrior he is continues on, never giving in.

 

~~~

 

White Wolf Von Atzingen has traveled the western hemisphere extensively. He is a Northman, teacher, author, artist, nature lover, and martial artist struggling with chronic illness while living in the remote mountains of Vermont.

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Wolf Von Atzingen
• Release date: Oct 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223360254

White Wolf Von Atzingen

I have been studying martial arts since 1981 and hold the rank of 10th degree Dan in Small Circles of 5 Animals Jujitsu. Shao Lin Kung Fu, 18 hand Lohan Kung Fu, Muai Thai, Glima, Hsing i Ch'uan, Tai Chi Ch'uan, and Chi Kung are among other arts I’ve studied. I studied wilderness living and wilderness survival for 10 years in my youth and ran two wilderness skills schools from 2008 through 2015. For a handful of years, I taught specialized, close-quarter combat to civilians as well as law enforcement individuals. I’m a certified Reiki Master/Teacher and hold a Master Level in Nord Seiðr Græðari. I have training and experience in all manner of energy work; hands-on as well as remotely (TCM and Tribal based), mindfulness techniques, breathing exercises, and Scandinavian Shamanistic practice. Over the years I’ve climbed over 20 mountains above 14,000 feet elevation, 13 mountains over 13,000 feet, and many others of lower elevation. I thoroughly enjoy being outdoors; hiking, camping, kayaking, canoeing, skiing, snowshoeing, exploring, and just sitting quietly and observing life. Interacting with animals has always been a passion of mine. Crafting traditional works of art based on Scandinavian and Native American cultures also has kept me busy. I love to read and paint also. I have traveled the western hemisphere extensively. I am a genuine Northman, teacher, author, artist, nature lover, and martial artist living in the remote mountains of Vermont. Most recently I worked as a contractor for the Vermont Center for Responder Wellness and Institute for Trauma Recovery and Resiliency. I had to cease due to the development of a neuroimmune disease that I'm told has no known cure, and is progressive. Today I'm legally disabled, so have turned to writing. http://www.smallcirclesof5animalsjujitsu.com https://vikingwolfseidr.weebly.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

Childhood in Brief

~ Youth is time lived in the moment, and so we live forever ~

There was a time in my life when I felt truly invincible. I’m sure many people in their youth feel the same way. Life is fresh, the world is vast, and the energy we have when young is seemingly limitless. A ten-year-old thinks 20 is old. When we reach 30 we feel 60 is old. Once we hit 50, the idea of old takes on new perspectives. Time seems to mean something different from what it did decades earlier. Even so, when people reach 50 years of age, we are not supposed to feel old, are we? I mean literally old. I never even imagined feeling like I was 80 or 90 once I hit the 50 mark. However, I’ve noticed life tends to chuckle at what we think things will or should be like along our future path. Even so, never did I imagine by the time I reached 50 winters of age that I would be spending 6 months of the year mostly bedridden, struggling with hearing loss, vision loss, having lost three-quarters of my strength, needing to use oxygen 60% of my days, and dealing with over 50 symptoms, and 10 medically diagnosed conditions. But here I am.

~~~

I won’t say my life has been easy. In truth, it has been very challenging on many levels. The challenges started when I was young and dogged me through all my years thus far. Nevertheless, it is the only life I’ve known, and so to me, it is normal.

When I was in my youth I knew that the Jötnar and Thurisaz would have a powerful influence in and over my days here on Earth. A big part of my ancestry is Nordic, and throughout that ancient bloodline the Jötnar have always been known as the Giants, very real and powerful beyond any of us. They are the true and primal forces of chaos that always work on the opposite side of order. There are the kind who align more with neutrality, the Jötnar, and they can at times be helpful. However, the Thurisaz are the highly destructive ones who catastrophically change the face of lives and the world. Today people call them storms, natural disaster, pestilence and disease among other names. Giants are volcanoes and tornadoes, hurricanes and earthquakes, tsunamis and floods, droughts, famine, and blizzards. They are plague and disease. Our world moves in subtleties. The slow shifting from night to day, season to season, the waxing and waning tides. We as humans find order and predictability in those subtle patterns. But the Jötnar and Thurisaz make the big changes, alterations to the planet we tend to call catastrophic in nature.

On personal levels, the powers of the Giants can be something like the development of chronic disease, for example, or an accident that changes our entire life.

Yes, the Jötnar and the Thurisaz have been a huge influence in my life.

~~~

As a child, I spent most of my time outdoors. I grew up in the country, far from towns and the hustle and bustle they generate and thrive on. My environment was forest, fields, hills, streams, mountains, and sky. This was the 70s and 80s and home was very rural. I communed daily with nature and found I connected with the wild far easier and more completely than I did with people. I seemed to inherently understand nature, unlike humans. It was just who I was, and still am at the core. The ancient Appalachian Mountains, foothills, and Piedmont were my world.

Though I lived in a very clean, natural area, childhood had its issues. My immune system was compromised. I was born two weeks late in a military hospital, and my mother had to be induced. Too much waste was building up in the womb with me, and the doctors said they needed to get me out in a short time or I would die. The birth went fine, but it was a military hospital at the start of the 70s, and like most babies, I was cut, jabbed, separated, and otherwise abused by the medical institution.

Throughout my first 10 years of life, I was sick a lot. The common cold, influenza, bronchitis, pneumonia, tonsillitis, stomach bugs, and the like plague me. My father had to tie my mother upright in a rocking chair with me snug to her chest as an infant a few times. I couldn’t be laid down, or I’d stop breathing from pneumonia or bronchitis, depending on the time. I also struggled with strong allergies. Many foods and environmental allergens would set my immune system off like a racehorse. I developed asthma by the time I was 12. After abscessing, my tonsils were removed when I was 7. Interestingly, the number of illnesses drastically decreased after that. However, with the strength of my allergies during late summer and autumn, my immune system was usually fried by the time the germ season of winter rolled around.

I had a special diet my parents kept me on to avoid all the foods I was allergic to. Beef, pork, dairy products, and preservatives were the top instigators. None were IGA-type allergies. They were all IGE and IGG digestive allergy reactions. Though I never noticed digestion issues, my head and sinuses were always inflamed and plugged with catarrh. It was truly obnoxious! Decades later I would learn that my digestive system was inflamed by having eaten foods I was allergic to. Though I avoided those foods in time, the digestive system didn’t heal afterward, and so remained inflamed. This irritates and weakens the spleen, which ends up producing catarrh in the upper respiratory system.

Allergies were such a potent aspect of my younger years, I was so used to it that I would push through and embark upon activities kids do. I played baseball for a while, wrestled, swam on the swim team, played racketball in a club, and practiced martial arts starting at age 9 or 10. I was also part of the Boy Scouts and was constantly camping, hiking, canoeing, and partaking in lots of other outdoor activities. I was truly great at martial arts, truly. It was just natural to me in every way, ways I cannot even fully explain. The other sports, however, I took part in, but due to the way I normally felt, I never excelled at any. I had fun nonetheless, and I have always been tenacious in nature. If I wanted to do something, I would. And pushing my limits is something I’ve done my entire life thus far.

At age 9 I was introduced to an old Native American man by the name of Meechagalanne. He was 86 when I met him. Under his tutelage for years I learned wilderness survival, wilderness living skills, nature spirituality, and lessons about life so potent they are still affecting and guiding me today. Yes, I was busy being a kid.

Feeling like crap didn’t hold me down. It was about all I knew how to feel, so it was normal for me. I was a kid, and good luck holding kids down, no matter how they feel. I also had the habit of never telling anyone when I felt poorly. My parents had to write notes to my teachers at the start of every school year. The notes were to inform the teachers that I wouldn’t tell them if I felt sick, nor would I act like I was ill. I’m sure that was frustrating to both my teachers and my parents!

During my young childhood, I spent far too much time at the doctor's office! And I hated them! It seemed to me that every time I would be brought to the doctor he would stab me in the glute with a large needle. I remember many times waking up from a nap in the afternoon crying because the injection site would have cramped up. I have no idea what the medications were, but I remember being told the needles had to be large because the serum was thick. After the tonsillectomy at age 7, the injections stopped to my delight.

By the time I reached my late teens, I had grown out of asthma and allergies. I would contract the normal run-of-the-mill annual illnesses most people are subject to. It felt like a ball and chain had been removed. I truly felt invincible!

I attribute this severe change in my health to a medical blood change in my body from type A+ to O+. Yes, you read correctly. I will get back to this later in the book in detail. But for now, this was truly a life changer, a turning point for my body. I went from always pushing through the suppressed way I felt because of allergies, to feeling wake, vibrantly alive, and as I stated, invincible!

~~~

My childhood was like many, filled with ups and downs. Though I lived far out in the country and had the run of the land, I was not without strife. Beyond my intense allergies and illnesses, my home life had a habit of being rocky. My parents were lower middle class. We had enough money to live comfortably, but my parents had to work a lot to supply that money. We never seemed to have excess, and our family vacations tended to gravitate around visiting relatives out of state, and by the ocean. We got to get away, but my parents didn’t have to dish out tons of cash for lodging or food. On occasion, we would get to go someplace different for vacation like camping on the shores of Lake Ontario.

Because of unaddressed and unresolved trauma issues with my parents from their own history, anger, and short tempers were common at home. They did the best they knew how as parents, but my trauma started at home from a very young age. This is what led me into street fighting. It was a way for me to vent my own anger and frustration. The street rings were of course illegal. Adults ran the show and I fought in what they called the Kid Ring, which was nothing more than paring kids to fight in corn fields, old barns, and abandoned lots for money. If you won you walked away with some cash. If you lost you walked away only with bruises.

It was through that fighting ring that a dangerous cult based out of Philadelphia got hold of me. I was 13. In my book Lethal Tracker, I detailed that ugliness, so I will pass over it here. Needless to say, I developed a decent amount of trauma in a few years in connection to that abusive cult. At times memories from those events still haunt my dream world, almost 40 years later.

~~~

By the time I was 26 winters old I had climbed over 20 mountain peaks above 14,000 feet in elevation, hiked hundreds of miles, canoed about a hundred water miles, gone spelunking, jumped out of airplanes, SCUB dived, attained 4 black belts, trained in 8 different martial arts, traveled to 9 different countries, and was married for 3 years. Eventually, I became the grandmaster (10th-degree black belt) of Small Circles Of 5 Animals Jujitsu.

I could swim 5 miles in the ocean, but comfortable swimming for 2 miles, carry half my body weight for miles cross country, spar at 90% intensity for 7 hours straight, sprint full speed for two-thirds of a mile at 400 feet elevation before my lower face would start to go numb, downhill or cross country ski all day, and snowshoe through the mountains with vigor. I would wake up and do 1,000 sit-ups and leg lifts, then 200 push-ups, 30 handstand push-ups followed by 20 minutes on the heavy bag, and then 45 minutes of Tai Chi 5 out of 7 days. I would get about 4 hours of sleep a night, work hard labor for 10 hours, and then train in martial arts for another 3 or 4. Much of my training took place at elevations between 9,000 and 10,000 feet, so physical activities at lower elevations became easy. I had energy, strength, endurance, and stamina to spare.

None of this is written here for bragging rights. This is simply to set the stage for showing where I was versus where I am today and the speed at which the decline happened.

In 2008 I opened a wilderness survival and exploration school, was teaching Small Circles Of 5 Animals Jujitsu, and by 2013 was running specialized, close-quarter hand-to-hand combat camps for law enforcement and private citizens.

Challenge was a drive. For me, challenge was life, and life was testing limits. I loved to explore, create, fight, eat good food, listen to good music, and cherish my wife. But there was a dark side to it all. I actually wrote and published an 814-page book called Lethal Tracker that was released in 2022. It is an autobiography. Due to the intense and delicate nature of the book subjects, I changed names, most locations, and dates, but the rest is factual to the full realities of my life. It took me years to write that book, and the final winter was spent bedridden, riddled with terrible symptoms, and struggling every day from waking up until bedtime. By late spring it was complete. It was a huge accomplishment for me!

In short, I was fully trained and then worked in special operations, and paramilitary action for 18 years. During that time I sustained about 20 broken and or cracked bones, 7 severed tendons, many sprains of the ankle and wrist, 5 chest wall contusions, a partially collapsed chest wall, 7 major concussions, 5 stab wounds, a collapsed left lung, one shattered foot, broken teeth, bullet grazings, over 35 major lacerations, two dislocated shoulders, many lacerated tendons and torn ligaments, inner ear damage, and damaged organs from being poisoned with chemical warfare in 2005.

Like I said before, my life has been a challenging and rough ride.

Today, in my early 50s, I spend 6 months of the year mostly bed-bound, struggling with severe Neuroimmune Disorders; Dysautonomia, severe and sometimes prolonged Vasovagal Presyncope with vision loss, Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (M.E/CFS), Post-Exertional Malaise Syndrome, PoTS (secondary), Fibromyalgia and Nerve Damage resulting in Chronic Pain, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, lung damage, extensive midrange hearing loss with severe brain shattering tinnitus, and past severe physical injuries including stab wounds, chest trauma, and three post cardiac arrests. I also display 100% of the symptoms connected to a rare disorder known as POIS (post orgasm illness syndrome), which I didn’t develop until after the Dysautonomia began.

I went from 18 years of paramilitary work to teaching wilderness survival, wilderness skills, wilderness explorations, martial arts, and close-quarter hand-to-hand combat to law enforcement, to being bed-bound half the year, wickedly fatigued all the time, too weak to have a conversation or embark upon a simple flatland walk without collapsing in total full body and mind exhaustion. And that crushing fall took place systematically over the course of 12 years.

Chapter 2

Mt Katahdin

~ It matters not how high we climb for our feet remain on the Earth ~

For the sake of entertainment, and to help further show my previous level of health, here is a true story of a mountain rescue I was part of.

It was the year 2001 and I was living in the far north woods of Maine. Actually, I was living on a homemade houseboat on an 8-mile-long primitive lake. It was simply a plywood box with large windows, two plywood doors, a flat roof, a 3-foot deck, and an 8-foot deck set up on a wooden frame with about twenty 55-gallon plastic food-grade barrels underneath. It barely stayed afloat but even in 4-foot waves pounding the walls it surprisingly survived.

My wife and our year-and-a-half-old son lived on this houseboat for about three seasons. For the most part, we lived quite simply out there. No electricity, no running water or refrigeration. No motor either. If we wanted to move I had to use a long pole to get the boat where we wanted to go. Our mode of transportation was a 17-foot flat-bottom canoe. Through calm, humid fog or howling winds and 4-and-a-half-foot waves, it was our mode of transport. Beyond that, we had our feet and we would walk for miles through the mountains to get from place to place or to find the best wild edibles to gather for food. I calculated that I solo canoed about 70 miles that summer.

Rabbits, squirrels, and various fish were the meat sources. On the deck was a large metal wash basin that was our fire pit. It was set up on fire bricks and we cooked over the fire. Inside the house, we had a wood stove with a glass door for heat when it got cold. Candles were our light source. That was about it. Life was simple. Yes, this was the year 911 happened and we didn’t even know for weeks after the fact since we were so far out.

The sounds of loons, eagles, wolves, and mosquitoes were our music. Freshwater eels would pop their heads up next to the boat on their way across the lake. The tiniest jellyfish I have ever seen would float by from time to time and raccoons would waddle across the rocky shore in the evening in search of mussels and clams. The occasional otter would be glimpsed swimming and playing in the distance and the mighty moose would wander into the boggy edges to eat the many varieties of water plants. On warm sunny days, the huge alligator snapping turtles would set themselves upon large rocks sticking out of the waters. The cackle of osprey would echo across the lake as they hunted from the skies for fish below.

During June when the mosquitoes were quite insane, we would anchor in the deep water and place three layers of screening over the doors. It was so hot and humid that we had to keep the doors open so the screens were absolutely necessary. Our son’s playpen bed had five layers of screening over top inside the house. Every morning we would awake from a fitful night’s sleep and the house would be filled with mosquitoes that had worked their way through the screening. I would light a fire in the burn barrel, fill it with green grasses, and place it inside on the floor. We would then close the doors and windows until the house was choked full of thick white smoke and then open it all up. The mosquitoes would flood out with the smoke and then we would screen it back up again. Luckily this only lasted about one very long month. Some nights, the loud hum from the mosquitoes actually kept us awake. Yes, there were actually that many that the night was filled with a loud hum. We decided to erect a tent on the roof and sleep in there since it had better screening. It was quite comical to see this funny-looking houseboat with a tent on the roof.

So it was that our life went on through the warm season; canoeing, hiking, gathering, working on repairs, swimming, observing life, teaching our son, playing, exploring, star watching, connecting with the local animals, and all manner of other simple living activities... and tracking people on the side.

We had few visitors and those who did come down rode in on a small motor boat from town, 8 miles northwest from us. On occasion, I would canoe solo 8 miles north on the lake to the small dirt parking area where our 1972 Ford Ranger pickup was parked and drive into the town of 600 people for some basic supplies. Once I had gathered them I would drive back, park the truck, load up the canoe, and paddle 8 miles back down for a full 16-mile canoe trek. The ice cream was always liquid by the time I got back.

One day in the early evening we heard a motor far off on the lake. It slowly grew in volume. This was normal at that time since fisherman would drop their lines for white perch at the end of the day on weekends. However, this sound kept coming and so we knew we had visitors. Sure enough, in a little while we saw a familiar little motorboat round the bend.

It slowed down as it neared our floating house and drifted up to the sideboards where Mac threw me a line. I tied it off and he and Jenny came aboard. Joe, the old man who owned the boat remained in his driver's seat.

Mac said they were out driving around the lake a bit, just to get out, and decided to pop in before heading back to town. Well, it was nice to see them. After all, we sometimes would go for weeks without seeing anyone, not that I much minded that. Mac proceeded to tell us that he, Jenny, and Libby, who were still in town, were planning on heading south to climb Mt Katahdin the next day. They wanted to know if we wanted to go along. Since we had our year-and-a-half-year-old son we decided we would pass, but my wife said that she would not mind if I went for the day.

I decided to go and packed a backpack, kissed my family goodbye, and traveled back to town with Mac and the motorboat crew. We needed to get an early start since the trip to the southern entrance of Baxter State Park where Mt Katahdin stood was about 70 miles south and the hike in was long. We would need to be in the car heading out by 3 a.m. It would be a very long day since our aim was to be back in town by the next night.

We arrived in town just before dark and they dropped me off by the slide-in camper my wife and I had left. This is the same camper that fit into the back of our pickup when we traveled around the country. I unlocked the door and climbed in with my pack for the short night.

A knock at the door woke me at about 2:30 a.m., the middle of the night. I knew that was my wake-up call and drug myself out of bed. At that time in my life, I was in immaculate condition and needed very little sleep to function at peak. I was also excited to climb the highest peak in Maine, so I was up and ready in no time.

We all packed into one car and headed south towards Millinocket where the southern entrance was located. Mt Katahdin stands at 5,269 feet (1,606 m) and easily claims the title of the highest point in the state of Maine. The peak is well above tree line at that latitude and the ancient weathered rock can be seen for miles and miles. The tree line is at about 3,500 feet (1,066 m) on that mountain. Created from granite intrusion, the peak is a formation of five peaks of which the most famous are Baxter Peak (5,269 feet) and Pamola Peak (4,912 feet-1,497 m). Pamola Peak has a sub-peak on the eastern end of the knife-edge ridge called Chimney Peak. (4,900 feet-1,4935 m) Both of these peaks are connected by a mile-long knife edge ridge. Mt Katahdin can either be looked at as the start or end of the famous Appalachian Trail spanning from Maine to Georgia.

From south to north, the five peaks form a horseshoe in this order; Pamola, South Peak, Baxter Peak (the actual summit of Katahdidn), Hamlin Peak, and Howe Peak. Baxter Peak has a sub-peak called South Peak (5,260 feet). It was the Penobscot Native Americans that gave the mountain the name Katahdin which means The Greatest Mountain. Pamola was the name of a storm spirit and many Native People in the region would avoid the Katahdin region fearing the wrath of Pamola who was supposed to dwell in the Katahdin Mountain.

They say Pamola is the protector of the mountain. The belief is that it is male in origin with the head of a moose, the body of a man, and the wings and feet of an eagle. Because of Pamola, to the Natives climbing the mountain was considered taboo.

Many people head out to the Maine wilds to attempt the climb of Mt Katahdin and many get turned back because of the severity of the weather. Huge and dangerous storms can sweep up on that mountain very quickly and about 20 lives have been lost since the early 1960s. Most have been from exposure and falls from the weather. It may not be a 14,000-foot (4,267 m) peak of the Rocky Mountains, but it is a megalith of its region and demands respect.

It was sunrise when we turned onto the long narrow dirt road that would take us 16 miles deep into the Katahdin region and to the heart of Baxter State Park. We saw many white-tailed deer on the drive back. Thick forests of hemlock, pine, spruce, maple, birch, ash, and northern red oak surrounded us as we went further in.

We reached the parking area and quickly unpacked, rechecked our gear, and loaded everything into our packs for the long ascent. Actually, I was the only one with a full pack. Everyone else had small waistpacks that could barely fit two water bottles and some food. Because we were deep in the forest we could not see the mountain and would not be able to see it for a number of miles. The car was locked and packs were mounted. Mac, Jenny, Libby, and I hit the trail.

I think it was about three miles up to the Great Basin where Chimney Pond sits and the grand view of the entire mountain cirque opened up. Along the gorgeous trail, there is an incredible high-country lake to cool off in if you wish. Of course, Jenny was a water person so stripped down and jumped in. That was some cold water, if anyone was getting in, she was. Both dolphin and whale medicine resided in her.

Once we reached Chimney Pond, just past the ranger station cabin, we all sat on the smooth granite rocks around its edge and filled up all our water because there would not be any once we started our ascent of the mountain. The sun was bright and the day warm; ravens circled high above croaking and dancing in the invisible realm of air. We could not have asked for better weather, but it could easily change in a heartbeat later on as the air currents rose into the high atmosphere and brought us wicked storms.

After a nice rest and time to admire the mountain and all the beautiful life forms that called the region home, we mounted up and began heading south to the Dudley Trail which would bring us steeply up to Pamola Peak over severely rocky terrain made of giant granite boulders. So far everything was going smoothly but that would change.

Like I said, I had the only pack. I carried my water bottles, food, water purification, a heavy-weight shirt, my long oilskin duster coat, and other odds and ends of mountain hiking items. Since it was a nice temperature I wore sunglasses, a short-sleeved shirt, cargo pants, and knee-high moccasins.

Mac and Jenny took off up the trail and I held back with Libby who was not as in good a shape as the rest of us. I did not mind since I was in no hurry. We had plenty of daylight to make the peaks and return.

We broke the tree line shortly after a very steep and boulder-filled walk/scramble. After we entered the barren side of Pamola, we had to carefully navigate the massive boulders that seemed to be perched miraculously straight up above and all around us. Leaping over hungry gaps between the rocks, we slowly moved closer to the peak above. As I was helping Libby across a deep gash between two particularly large boulders, a younger girl caught up to us. She was a trail patrol assistant for the summer employed by Baxter State Park. Carla was her name and she decided to tag along with us a bit.

After walking and talking for a short while, I was quite surprised to find out Carla was a college student from Indiana who had never climbed a mountain before Katahdin and only climbed Katahdin once. Watching me leap from boulder to boulder with a pack and helping Libby along the way, Carla figured I had climbed the mountain many times before. She was just as surprised to find out that it was my first time on Katahdin as I was to find out she had never climbed anything and the Park sent her up here on her own to patrol. After explaining how many mountains I had climbed she came to understand why I was so comfortable and seemingly acclimated to the terrain, especially wearing moccasins.

The higher we went the better the views became. No wind and perfect weather conditions, which is a rare thing for Katahdin, just filled my heart with life. After a solid boulder trek from Chimney Pond of around a mile and a half, we reached the extremely rocky summit of Pamola. So far we had covered about 5 miles from the parking area and all was going well. Everyone was in great spirits and the mountain also seemed in a good mood.

Mac and Jenny were waiting at the top and taking in the incredible 360° view when we arrived. Carla thanked me for my company and conversation and kept going on her patrol. Libby took a seat and I wandered around a short while making sure to really absorb the full experience. Nothing but mountains and sky to the north and west, vast forest landscape and the far-off town of Millinocket to the south, and forested rolling hills as far as the eye could see to the east. Lakes glistened in the east and south like giant mirrors reflecting the summer sun. Thin cirrus clouds looked like frail white feathers many thousands of feet above. Just perfect. I thought about my wife and son back on the lake so far away and how they were doing on the beautiful day. I took a moment to connect with them and send them my thoughts.

Soon we were all settled in spaces between rocks eating lunch, conversing, and just taking it all in. Shortly, we would head west along the infamous knife edge ridge that connected Pamola Peak and Baxter Peak. At first, the knife edge ridge descended a bit before steadily climbing upward to the taller Baxter Peak. It would take us just over a mile traversing the ridge to get to Baxter and many areas of the knife’s edge were not more than two or three feet wide with solid cliff faces dropping away on either side. That was why it is called the knife edge ridge, it is literally like walking the edge of a rocky knife with nothing but air beside you and a long fall to the valley below.

It seemed that Mac was doing just fine as he was in great shape like myself. He had been traveling the world and going on expeditions for many years so I was not concerned about him. Jenny had never been up a mountain, but she was young and in decent shape as far as strength and endurance since she was a swimmer. She loved to swim, which is why halfway up the original trail she stripped down and jumped in a freezing cold lake just because it was there. She was a bit nervous about the upcoming ridge though since it was all completely new. Libby was not in the best shape, but she was my age and had amazing determination. Her knees were a bit fatigued from the walk and climb so far but she was as stubborn as a mule in a blizzard. I suggested she head back to Chimney Pond while we finished the cirque but she would not have it.

We all discussed the impending knife-edge ridge and how everyone was feeling and everything seemed to check out. It was decided, that we would go for it. I knew Jenny would be moving slower traversing the ridge than she was climbing Pamola but would be going faster than Libby so Mac agreed to stay with Jenny and I agreed to pace with Libby. We packed up our remaining food and water and headed west to the start of the ridge and what was to come.

Mac and Jenny were off like a shot. They really had no idea what taking your time and enjoying the moment was all about. To them, it was go as fast and as hard as you can from start to finish so you can get on to the next activity. They were very city energy. Libby was quite the opposite and could sit for hours and days in the same spot meditating and being perfectly content doing so. I could do either so it was not difficult for me to adapt to whoever I was pacing.

Libby and I headed west towards the knife edge and made a short descent into a saddle before slowly making our way up the sub-peak, Chimney Peak. This was trickier than anyone expected and even though Mac and Jenny had taken off quickly, we caught up to them just as quickly. We had to crawl/climb down steep, smooth boulders about 30 feet to the trail below. There were few handholds and the cracks we were negotiating between the boulders were slick and quite steep. You had to pay close attention to your every move and body positioning so as not to take a quick trip down to a very short stop.

Both Jenny and Libby were not all that happy about that section, especially because it was a taste of the mile-long knife edge before us. Nonetheless, they were determined and stubborn, so we continued. Mac and I were both taller and stronger so we assisted them down the boulders to the trail. Satisfied, we moved up Chimney Peak and down the other side to start the knife-edge ridge traverse.

Libby was taking it very slowly and with great caution and this was just too much for Mac and Jenny so they moved ahead. Actually, I also thought Libby’s pace was too slow. After all, we had a long way to go to get back to the car and the mountain trek was not even half over. I understood we needed to be cautious but also knew we required a decent pace to complete the high ridges before dark. I was willing to bet I was the only one that had a flashlight.

The knife edge was all it was talked up to be; rough, steep, broken, narrow, and in spots quite exposed. I was quite enjoying myself. Mac and Jenny were gone. The ridge was so filled with massive boulders and the trail that traveled the edge went up and down, some areas quite severely. It was a combination of walking and climbing, scrambling and sliding. The views, of course, were exceptional since there was nothing but air and view on both sides. Now it was nothing compared to the knife edge ridges I climbed in the Rocky Mountains up around 13,000 feet and higher, but for the region it had intensity and in a storm or winter ascents or for beginners, it could prove deadly with the wrong step. History certainly clarified that fact.

About halfway across the knife edge, I noticed the number of people had thinned dramatically as most of them had made the peaks and were heading back down to Chimney Pond or most likely back to their cars on the lower elevation thoroughfare trails. I could see Mac and Jenny nearing South Peak about half a mile ahead and far above Libby and me. Libby was going slower and slower and I had to help her more and more. Finally, I said, Let’s take a short break. She sat down and as I looked around, I kept my eye on her as well. She had her hands on her knees and I knew she was not resting them there. She was an energy worker and I could see the flow of energy going from her hands to her knees. After a few moments I gently but directly asked how her knees were doing. She looked up at me and leveled her eyes with mine with a look of concern.

She did not even have to speak for me to know her knees were not doing well. I asked her how bad they were. She grimaced a bit and said, Not good. She said they were swollen and the right one hurt so bad she could hardly put weight on it anymore. I studied her a bit and we spoke lightly. Then after feeling her knee a bit more, she said it felt like she had torn something inside from the type and location of the pain. I looked behind us and the mountain was empty. I looked ahead and the only people I could see were a few at the top of South Peak. It was late in the day and the only ways down were back the way we came, over the knife edge, up Chimney Peak and Pamola Peak and down the rough boulder-filled Dudley Trail, or continue on up to South Peak, across another ridge to Baxter Peak and along north a good ways to hit a trail that went all the long way down to Chimney Pond. Beyond those two options, the only other ways were technical climbs or falls down the cliffs beside us.

Libby was far too heavy for me to carry up South Peak on my back. During those days none of us had cell phones so it was not like I could just phone for help. I told Libby to try and stand so we could see where we were with her physical ability. She stood on one leg and when she put the smallest amount of weight on her right one she yelled out in pain and collapsed back onto the boulder she was sitting on. Well, that option was certainly out. I knew she was worried and I told her not to worry because I would get her off that mountain and she would be fine. She looked at me and with absolute seriousness she said, Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t believe anyone else if they told me that but I know you can do it.

I knew what I had to do. Making sure Libby was set for a little while, I took off and took off fast up the rest of the knife edge ridge towards South Peak. Fifteen minutes later I reached the peak and Mac and Jenny were staring at me open-mouthed. Mac shook his head in disbelief and said he had never seen someone climb so fast. Of course, since Libby was not with me they knew something was up. We were the only three people left on South Peak and I could only see one man moving far ahead towards Baxter Peak. After Mac’s disbelief in my ability to fly over the ridge, he and Jenny asked where Libby was. I looked back and said that we had a situation.

Mac looked at me and asked what had happened. I simply told him and Jenny that Libby had injured her knee and could not walk. I said she felt she had torn something inside and she could not even stand on it. Jenny took a deep breath and asked what we were going to do and Mac was asking how far down the ridge Libby was.

I took a seat on a boulder and said, "OK, this is the deal. Libby is about halfway back the