The footsteps are the only things connecting Dave Collinson to the real world. The footsteps are from others, day hikers in the expansive Bigelow Preserve or thru-hikers on the Appalachian Trail. They come and go, pausing for a glimpse of Sugarloaf Mountain or to fill their bottle from the spring-fed pond at the bottom of the hill. Some may stay a night nearby.

The footsteps are his own, too. The ones he takes in rapid succession for hours on end on his stocky, muscular legs. It's a 21/2-hour trek to an elevation of 3,000 feet, where Horns Pond is hidden away from civilization. It is there that Collinson stays in a glorified tent for weeks at a time.

Studying overseas to be a banker or some other high-end financier, the 26-year-old Farmington native spent this summer as one of only five Appalachian Trail caretakers in Maine. The Horns Pond along the AT stop is in the heart of the Bigelow Preserve, and Collinson left London after nearly 10 months to return stateside for the summer job.

"I've hiked sections of the (Appalachian) Trail," Collinson said. "I went from Georgia to Damascus, Va., and from Damascus, Va., to Massachusetts. I'd met some caretakers along the way, and I'd kind of kept it in mind."

The North and South Horns loom over small Horns Pond, but the peaks make a splendid backdrop to what thru-hikers say is one of the most challenging, and most beautiful, stretches of the AT.

And Collinson is one of the people in charge of that precious stretch.

FOOTSTEPS TO A NEW LIFE

Stroker had never taken so much as a single, solitary step on a hiking trail anywhere before he decided to change his life forever.

"I was just hoping I would like it," Stroker says, "after I spent all this money on the gear."

"Stroker" is the trail name of Seth Dietrich, who, in a former life, managed a Miller Brewing Company warehouse near his hometown of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Seeking something more than the smell of stale suds and concrete floors, he sought the solitary existence the Appalachian Trail promises.

So, Dietrich quit his job and decided to thru-hike the AT, beginning in Georgia and ending atop Mount Katahdin, more than 100 miles north of the Horns Pond site Collinson helps manage.

Doing what thru-hikers do, Dietrich adopted his trail name, made it to Georgia and began walking.

"My uncle tried it once but didn't finish," says Stroker, who held on to his uncle's literature from his failed bid at the AT. "I couldn't see myself driving a forklift forever, and I wanted to find some loneliness to figure out what I wanted to do."

Collinson, walking down a dirt path to the lean-to where Stroker had set up shop for the night, immediately recognized the traveler.

"You're a thru-hiker?" Collinson asks as Stroker nods. Collinson points to Stroker's face. "The beard," he says.

"I'm pretty proud of it," Stroker acknowledges, running his fingers through nearly six months of shaggy, untailored growth. "I told myself I wasn't going to cut my hair or my beard, but the hair had to go."

Stroker smiles, and then asks if Collinson is the caretaker on this stretch. Collinson answers in the affirmative.

"Your bathrooms are amazing," Stroker marvels.

Collinson simply nods, a smile undoubtedly welling up inside.

IT'S THE LITTLE THINGS

"They notice the little things," Collinson says, proudly.

It's important that the little things are noticed, too. Collinson's days as a caretaker are spent occupying himself with nothing but the little things -- trail maintenance, picking up around the lean-to shelters and the tent sites, and, of course, managing a first-rate privy with a mountain view.

Most of his work goes largely unnoticed, in part because people spend so little time at such resting points.

They come in, they cook noodles over the portable stoves they carry in their packs, read a little or consult a map under the light of dusk, and they make an entry in the journals that are left in the shelters as a tribute to an entire season on the trail.

At first light, they are gone again, off into the woods as they try to complete a 2,100-mile journey that roughly three-quarters of the 2,000 people who attempt it annually are unable to.

The Appalachian Trail may be a mystical thread weaving its way across our national fabric, but the fact is that the trail is nothing more than beaten down earth and rock, maintained by volunteers, like the Maine Appalachian Trail Club.

Attempting to thru-hike the AT means sore feet, sore joints, poor nutrition and not knowing where the next water source will be.

Without caretakers like Collinson, who work to make hikers' stays comfortable -- as comfortable as possible, given the "Leave No Trace" philosophy that encourages you to take out anything you bring in, including trash, and discourages campfires -- Horns Pond would be just another stop along the way.

HOME BASE

At the beginning of each work week, Dave Collinson has a 41/2-mile hike ahead of him. He starts out from Stratton Brook Road along Route 27, north of Kingfield, and takes the Fire Warden's Trail to its junction with the Horns Pond Trail.

The Horns Pond Trail then ascends steeply to 3,000 feet, meeting up with the Appalachian Trail for the final few tenths of a mile to Horns Pond and the site of Collinson's "office."

The office is a simple two-room tent, with a large canopy protecting it from the elements, set atop a wooden platform. There are two sleeping bags and air mattresses in one room, a couple of folding chairs and a simple cupboard that rests on the ground in the other. On top of the cupboard is a two-burner propane camping stove.

Inside the cupboard, an assortment of Ramen noodles, instant mashed potatoes, pouches of tuna, bagels and apples.

Collinson headed in on May 19 and he will be there through the middle of October, and he's worked shifts that included 10 straight work days followed by four days off. As the season slowed, he switched to five days of work and two days off.

But that schedule, and all the footsteps of people he's never met and may never meet up with again, people who won't stay more than a night at Horns Pond, can be very isolating.

His only regular company? A fellow caretaker he would see on the weekends and a battery-less radio that broadcast Boston Red Sox games in the evening.

"The loneliness is probably the hardest part," Collinson admitted. "I tell people that sometimes it's like a big, beautiful prison. It's an amazing place -- but I just can't leave."

After making the trip to Horns Pond and fueling up with some day-old peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, Collinson looks around.

"There's not much to do here, but you can always go for a hike," he said.

Travis Barrett -- 621-5648

tbarrett@centralmaine.com