(The following story ran in the Daily Item on Oct. 2, 1998)

STRATTON, MAINE. — The sign was small and modest, hand-painted and nailed at a slight angle to the trunk of a maple tree.

“Welcome to Maine,” it read.

I stood there, stared at that sign and chuckled to myself. I had actually hiked from Georgia to Maine. It had taken five months and nearly 2,000 miles, but here I stood, entering Maine.

Granted, I was still 250 miles away from the end of the Appalachian Trail at Mount Katahdin, but now, more than ever, I sensed that Katahdin was within reach.

I stared at the sign again.

“Welcome to Maine.”

“Well thanks,” I thought, “It’s really, really good to be here.”

Maine’s hospitality, though, didn’t last long.

Within an hour, I dropped more than 2,000 feet into Mahoosuc Notch, a mile-long, boulder-strewn chasm that is widely regarded as the toughest mile on the entire 2,160-mile Appalachian Trail.

More than one potential thru-hike has ended in Mahoosuc Notch, where one wrong step or untimely slip could easily result in a broken hand, twisted knee or worse.

The Mahoosuc Notch — known by veteran AT hikers simply as “The Notch” — sits at the bottom of a canyon framed by the sheer cliffs of Falling Mill and Mahoosuc mountains.

My guidebook says that in the language of the Abenaki tribe that used to inhabit these woods in western Maine, Mahoosuc may have meant “home of the hungry animals.”

Actually, though, I think it means “place with very large rocks where I could get killed.”

I spoke to several hikers who had already been through The Notch, and their advice was simply to have fun with it. Treat it like a granite jungle gym, they said.

OK, I thought, as I stood at the southern end of The Notch. Here goes nothing.

For the better part of the next two hours, I shimmied, squeezed, hopped and crawled my way through the boulders, some as large as vans. This wasn’t a hiking trail. It was an obstacle course.

Several times I had to take off my pack and either raise it to a ledge or lower it to a rock before squeezing through a gap barely wider than myself. (Come to think of it, it’s probably good that I’ve dropped 15 pounds, or it really would have been a tight squeeze.)

Still, I ran through the gauntlet with minimal damage — I tripped once and bruised my knee, and slipped and scraped my arm — but I was exhausted. And I was firmly convinced that yes, this is the toughest mile on the trail.

Back in Virginia, I had met a thru-hiker who had adopted a slogan: Every mile is a victory.

Nowhere is that more true, I thought to myself, than at Mahoosuc Notch.

At the Notch, and elsewhere in western Maine, it seems every grueling climb is followed immediately by a backbreaking descent that wreaks havoc on my knees. In fact, I feel my knees have aged 10 years in the past two weeks.

At this time of year, the tough terrain is compounded by shorter days and colder temperatures. As I hiked across the crest of Saddleback Mountain recently, I felt a cold Canadian wind and looked out on miles and miles of forest. It was a spectacular view, but as I soaked it in, two words kept popping into my head: long winter.

I suspect it’s beautiful here in the winter, but I sure don’t plan on sticking around to see it. If all goes according to plan, I’ll make my final climb Saturday, Oct. 10.

That’s the day I hope to see another sign: This one will say “Katahdin: Northern Terminus of the Appalachian Trail.”

I chuckled when I saw the “Welcome to Maine” sign. I can’t predict my emotions when I see the other.