Stranded on Knife Edge — NEWS staffers recount close call atop Katahdin

Anyone who has been subjected to the rapidly changing moods of Mount Katahdin will never forget its ferocity.

On July 14, 1966, a Rhode Island man fell off a 50-foot cliff while climbing the mile-high mountain in Baxter State Park. We were sent by the NEWS to cover the story.

When we arrived at Roaring Brook Campground, the weather was clear and the temperature was in the mid-70s. We knew of no storms in the forecast. Our only difficulty was the 3.3-mile hike up the well-marked trail to Chimney Pond, then the remaining two-mile climb to Knife Edge, a narrow, boulder-strewn trail that stretches between the mountain’s highest peaks, Baxter and Pomola.

At Chimney Pond, we were warned that the weather was “deteriorating,” but our inexperience with the mountain left us ill-prepared for what we were about to face.

By the time we reached Knife Edge, the wind had picked up and was whistling across the mountaintop. The awesome dark clouds that had been hovering near the top of the mountain were no longer overhead. We had climbed into a dark, foggy, surrealistic world.

Members of the rescue team, including Warden Elmer Knowlton, had taken up positions on Knife Edge to wait out the storm. By the time we arrived, the wind was estimated at 50 to 60 mph and the temperature had dropped to 45 degrees.

Unfortunately, the warm weather we had left behind several hours earlier at the base of the mountain had dictated our choice of clothing for the climb. Photographer Jack Loftus was dressed in a pair of shorts, a pull-over jersey and pair of ankle-top sneakers. I was more fortunate. I had chosen a pair of full-length trousers and a short-sleeved shirt and sneakers.

Immediately upon our arrival on Knife Edge, Knowlton instructed us to take up positions behind one of a few large boulders, letting the rocks serve as windbreaks. Within minutes, the storm was upon us. Large hailstones, driven by the wind, stung as they pelted bare skin. The roar of thunder and bolts of lightning seemed continuous, but the blinding flashes of light illuminated only the dark gray world of a mountain shrouded by the storm.

The storm seemed to last for hours. Knowlton, who had taken up a position immediately in front of Loftus, kept his eyes fixed on the photographer. It was not until later that we learned he was worried that Loftus, not dressed appropriately and shivering uncontrollably in the cold wind, might panic and try to descend the mountain during the storm.

Eventually, the storm moved on and we were told to return to Chimney Pond. Other storms were predicted and rescue efforts were postponed until the next day. The Rhode Island man survived the ordeal.

We were not the first to experience the ferocity of the rapidly changing weather atop Mount Katahdin, and we will not be the last. But the memories of that day have been etched into our memories forever.