North Crocker Mountain in Maine stands at a lofty 4,168 feet above sea level. It is the fourth highest mountain in the state after Katahdin’s Baxter and Hamlin peaks and Sugarloaf, but despite its imposing vertical presence, the mountain lacks the spectacular views that the taller mountains boast. A dense mat of spruce and balsam fir trees cloak the summit top rendering off-trail travel nearly impossible, lest one wishes to thrash their gear or have an eye poked out by a spindly branch. At one point, someone eked out a short spur trail to an opening in the thickly settled forest that offers limited views to the west. But beyond this peek-a-view and a lonely trail sign marking the top, North Crocker isn’t the mountain you’d want to finish hiking New England’s 67 4,000-footer list on unless it is intentionally by design as it was for me.

At the start of our four-day backpack, an Appalachian Trail sign marks the distance to North Crocker Mountain.

Prior to North Crocker, I had hiked seven other 4,000-foot mountains along the Appalachian Trail, including Saddleback, Spaudling, and Abraham, over the last three days. These summits offered unsurpassed views of Maine’s Carrabasset Valley and beyond, satiating my yearning for one last outlook at the end of my trip.

My friends stand alone atop Saddleback Mountain in Maine.

The Appalachian Trail skirts an alpine meadow near the summit of Saddleback Mountain.

Looking back at the summit cone of Saddleback Mountain in Maine.

Jen is dwarfed by a passing cloud and the mountainous landscape on the Appalachian Trail.

A makeshift shelter kept us dry during a rainstorm on the Appalachian Trail.

Wet clothes hang out to dry at our campsite.

Morning fog blankets a kettle pond along the Appalachian Trail.

For me, I wanted my last summit to be different. I wanted more time to dive deeper inside myself to think and patiently wait for any reflections to bubble up to the surface. My thoughts can sometimes be timid like a wild rabbit, ready to flee at the first sign of danger, so the long approach to Crocker’s summit allowed me to quiet my mind and clear a safe meadow for these fright-filled thoughts to roam in.

No surprise, the first thought that popped in my head was how hungry I was and how soon it would be until I could eat a burger. Before I had time to think about toppings, my attention turned to beer, and lots of it, then a comfortable bed, and then the dreaded thought of having to return to work and the real world. By the time I decided if I was going to shower before or after dinner (showering before won that battle), I found myself hiking on my own. A couple of my friends had sped up the trail and another friend and my wife were not far behind. All I could hear was the wind sweeping through the fir needles and the sporadic chirping of a chickadee in the distance. The trail was quiet and so was my mind. The burger, the bed, and the shower were meaningless at this point in time. What was important was that I was here, on trail, healthy, and with people I cared about—that’s all. Simple, right? It wasn’t that way two years ago when I was diagnosed with cancer. After three rounds of chemo and an intensive 11-hour surgery, my mind was far from having these simple thoughts. It took me a long time to regain my strength, but finally, here I was, no more than a quarter-mile away from the final summit on this list, and my mind was quiet and at peace.

Minutes later my wife hiked up to me and asked how I was doing. “Great,” I said. “Just trying to take this all in.” “You should,” she replied. “You deserve it.” We stood there for a time reflecting on how far we had come as a couple since my diagnosis. When doctors first told me that I had cancer, I felt as if I was on a viewless summit with no hope of seeing where I was going. I was alone. It was just me and my destructive thoughts that wanted to do nothing more than to tear me down and make me believe I’d never recover again.

Now, two years later, I was back on another viewless summit, but this time I was far from the infusion clinics and operating rooms and I was in a much better place, mentally and physically. Though my vision was blocked from seeing the sprawling landscape below, I wasn’t disappointed when I arrived at the summit sign. I had hiked this far to see a view of myself from the inside out, and this was the view that mattered the most. I kissed my wife and high fived my friends and spent a couple minutes reveling in my accomplishment before we started our long decent to the car. A burger was calling my name.

A trail sign marks the top of North Crocker Mountain in Maine, the last summit I had to climb to finish New England's 67 4,000-Footer list.

Thanks for reading and until next time, peace and love,

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