the day i quit

144.0 Sassafras Gap Shelter // Awake at 4:00am. Stone cold awake. It was a windy morning, the wind sounded like a freight train coming through the trees. I will never tire of that sounds – it is both truly beautiful and truly terrifying and makes me feel very small up on the top of this mountain. I completed my morning ritual of getting the bear bag down, making my breakfast, dressing and packing up. Let’s pause right here…the bear bag. Have I properly explained the bear bag yet? I want to be somewhat informative to anyone who reads this, so if you have been wondering “what the heck is a bear bag?” and envisioning everything from a metal canister to a bag with a bear embroidered to the front, let’s clarify.

My bear bag is a waterproof nylon bag that I stuff all my food, stove, utensils (ok, it's a spoon) and trash into and hang from a tree at night to keep the bears from getting it. Now, this was about all the explanation I had prior to getting on the trail the first time. I have since watched a few YouTube videos in hope of improving my technique and I have learned a few details. 1. You need to hang the bear bag a minimum of 10 feet off the ground. 2. The bear bag should not be up against the tree, it should be dangling. 3. You should hang the bear bag 100 feet or meters or yards from where you camp (clearly, this detail was lost on me). 

You need rope...thin, light rope and a carabineer. You tie the rope to the carabineer and you throw it over a tree branch. If, like YouTube, you think this is even possible, you are wrong. If you don’t believe me, tie a few shoestrings together and go out into the front yard. It’s like trying to accurately lasso something with dental floss. And then, to think that you need a branch that is like 15 feet off the ground so your bag can hang at 10 feet. Well, good freaking luck. So here is reality…my bear bag hangs typically about 6 feet off the ground and it’s almost always up against a tree and sometimes it’s just leaned against a bush and sometimes it’s just in my tent with me. Remember that whole “I want to be informative” nonsense??? Please watch a YouTube video or ask someone qualified to help you. And if you figure it out, please let me know!

properly hung bear bags

my bear bag

I think I was on the trail by 5am, though I wouldn’t dare check my phone to see what time it was because the battery was so low. It was still dark as night so I hiked with my headlamp for the first hour or two. The sun never really came up – there was a 90% chance of rain and the wind was insane. There was a storm coming. I patted myself on the back for getting out of camp before the rain. There is nothing worse than trying to break camp in the rain…but hiking in the rain is not much better. As the storm came in I stopped to grab my rain jacket and cover my pack with the rain cover. I hiked the next 5 hours in the pouring rain. I was soaked from head to toe. It was such slow going. Much of the AT moves over the top of rocks and in the rain and mud, every step was a potential knee buster. Days like this I develop an unnatural love for my poles…something I didn’t think I would ever appreciate. I had never hiked with poles before so my first few miles of hiking were spent in an awkward dance with them. Today, I cannot imagine taking a step without them. They are like extensions of my body. Never hike without poles – that’s all I am saying.

This day of hiking has been hard for me to write about. And even now as I am forcing myself to do it, I see I am meandering around the story, avoiding the part I don’t want to share with you. On this day of hiking…I gave up.

A few hours in, when it became evident that the rain wasn’t going to let up and that the 22 miles I needed to cover would take me 3 times as long as I thought it would and that I would not likely make my pick up time, I came face to face with the moment of truth and I completely wimped out. I started this internal debate with myself. Why did I NEED to suffer? Why couldn’t I be someone who vacationed at the beach or went to the spa resort? Why did I have to cover 20+ miles in the cold rain? I was hungry and tired and sore…and utterly alone. Why?? For hours I talked myself up on this point. It was simply time to stop suffering and reconnect with the world and with people. I had escaped to the woods too long. I had friends who were sitting on beaches at this very minute, the most challenging thing in their day was to make it to the poolside bar. I wanted that life so badly in those moments. I wanted comfort and companionship. As soon as I heard a car and knew there was a road nearby, I knew I was stopping. And not only that, I was not coming back out in June for my solo month. I was saying goodbye to this life and to pushing myself. What was it all for anyway? I hiked the next 40 minutes warmed by the thought that I was done with this chapter, done with this hike, done with this trail.

When I came out of the woods it was onto a road that crossed the mountain pass. The wind was so strong it nearly blew my tent footprint (the tarp-like piece that goes under your tent to keep your tent dry) away when I got it out to wrap up in. I called my shuttle driver, Chuck. He could be there in about 2 hours. I looked around and I considered my options. I could go on, but it was so cold and wet and slick. I sat down and pulled out every piece of clothing I had. I wrapped the tent tarp around me and I curled up on the ground shivering. I sent a text message to my group text – I was coming off the trail now…and I wasn’t coming back. I sat and waited…colder and wetter with every passing minute. The next thing I knew there was a woman standing in front of me and she was telling me to get up. “Up,” she said, “now. Get up and go up these stairs.” She pointed to the stairs carved in the side of the mountain I had just come down. I got up and did as she said. When I got to the top I looked back to her for my next instruction. “Down,” she said, “now back down.” As soon as I hit the last step, she sent me back up again. I don’t know how many times we did this, three or four maybe, before I really understood what was happening. “You were hypothermic,” she said, “I’ve seen it many times before.” I knew it before she said it. I knew because I wasn’t there and then I was. I had drifted off to someplace and now I was back. She told me to keep moving and I promised I would. I walked up and down those steps probably a hundred times while I waited for my shuttle. By the time Chuck pulled in, I was back to normal and feeling good enough to go on…but now I couldn’t. 

I climbed into Chuck’s van and slid the door shut behind me. We rolled out and began the hour-long drive back to my car. Along the way, I learned a little more about Chuck and his wife, Diane, who was along with him. They met 34 years ago, he was living in Texas and she was in Florida and someone set them up. I asked if that seemed like a good idea at the time and they both laughed. “It made absolutely no sense,” Diane said, “but six months later we moved here to be together. Been here ever since.” Diane teaches high school history and Chuck shuttles hikers around. They live in a mountain town near the AT, which Chuck thru-hiked in 2008. They seemed happy and at peace and I was glad to be warm and in their company. I told them what I was trying to do – about my time out on the trail and the changes I had made in my life since I started. They weren’t surprised. I think a lot of epiphanies happen within this van. Just as we pulled into town, Diane pointed up at the trees along the river. “An eagle!” she didn’t have to tell Chuck to pull over (they had been married for 34 years, I think he knew what she wanted). We pulled off the side of the road and jumped out of the van. They pointed me in the direction of a small suspension bridge, just big enough to walk across. I unpacked my phone from it’s baggie and turned it on. I walked out half way on the bridge and took a picture of the most iconic and beautiful bird I have ever seen. I don’t know if I understood the emotion behind the word “majestic” until I saw this bald eagle in the wild, fly across the river. 

worst photo ever taken of a bald eagle

I have never seen a bald eagle before – I was speechless. I walked back across the bridge to Chuck and Diane. “They’re coming back in North Carolina,” Diane said. We all took our spots in the van and traveled the remaining few miles to my car. We pulled into the parking lot and Chuck jumped out and grabbed my pack. Diane jumped out and grabbed me, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me into a big, warm hug. “I can tell you are tough. You can do whatever you set your mind to.” She smiled and hopped back into the van. Chuck patted me on the shoulder. “I agree.”

I drove approximately 3 minutes to the nearest gas station where I bought a Diet Dr. Pepper and a banana and before I pulled out of that gas station, I knew I was not done with the AT. I just needed a hug.  // 150.7 Stecoah Gap

33 days...

my hands as I pulled back into Atlanta two hours later

trail magic

Mile 120.8, Wayah Bald Shelter // I woke up at 4:00am. An 8:30 bedtime will do that for you. It was still completely dark out so I rolled around in my bag for another 30 minutes. I was sore from sleeping on one side up against the bush outside my tent. I was too restless to sleep any more so I put on my headlamp and my down jacket and went to get my bear bag down. I made breakfast and coffee - a packet of Quaker Instant Oatmeal and a Starbucks via packet (well, two actually). I carefully repacked my stove and all my trash into my food bag. I rolled up and stuffed my bag and my sleeping pad into the pack as well. Then I took off my pajamas and put on my smelly, slightly damp hiking clothes. I packed everything up except the very tent I was in. This whole ordeal is, in and of itself, something to see. My tent is a one person ultralight tent. This means it is as small as it can be and made of the lightest materials. The first time I set it up, on the floor at REI, I was amazed with how far tent technology has come. Maybe it's because most of my camping experience came via Hollywood's interpretation of how you set up a tent in an entertaining way, but it's really so beautifully simple. And small. My tent is big enough for me to lie down and almost sit up. That's about it. My pack doesn't fit inside the tent with me, so I typically pull it up to the door and bring in what I need, as I need it.

It is not advised...at all...in fact you really, really should not do this...but I cook in my tent. I usually try to get the stove as close to the door as possible, but sometimes it's windy, freezing, pouring or all of the above and it's just the only way. I am a little nervous someone will read this and follow suit and end up: burned, gassed, or eaten by a bear, so I really want to make the point that you should not do this. But I do it.

So, mornings bring on the choreographed dance of changing, cooking, packing, eating and drinking all within the space of a small coffin you can't even sit up in. It's a little like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon the way you pack yourself out of the tent, and then you pack the cocoon itself. I was on the trail by 5:30am, hiking with my headlamp through the dark, misty woods. By 10 in the morning I had covered almost 10 miles, but I needed to cover 24 miles and would be going right through Nantahala where I would need to stop to charge my phone before the 8 mile climb into camp. I came out of the woods onto a gravel fire road and ran smack into Rufus and my first experience with "trail magic." Trail Magic is what thru-hikes dream about. It's when someone sets up where the trail crosses the road and gives hikers food or drinks that they typically can't carry. Long distance hiking means a lot of freeze-dried meals. On my last long hike, I dreamed...literally fantasized about bananas and Dominos pizza. It's different for everyone...I have had hours of conversation with one fellow hiker discussing the merits of the entire Chili's menu. I have heard stories of trail magic in the form of cold beer, warm soup, pancakes or cookies, but I had never seen it for myself. Rufus has the tailgate of his beat up white pickup truck open. A tablecloth was draped over it and upon it he had the most amazing spread of fruit I have ever seen. Apples, oranges, grapes, strawberries, blackberries...and bananas! He had homemade peanut butter cookies and coffee with cream. I didn't deserve this gift, I had only been hiking a day, but I gratefully accepted a banana and a cookie. Rufus wasn't so sure about me taking his picture, but he let me.

I thanked him and asked him to wait for Red Panda because I knew she couldn't be far behind me. I marched onward thinking about the kind of person who spends his day the way Rufus was today. Faith in humanity renewed, courtesy of Rufus and his wife's amazing peanut butter cookies.

Six miles later I popped out of the silent woods into the bustling NOC, Nantahala Outdoor Center. The NOC is a popular place this time of year - a favorite spot for biking, rafting, kayaking and hiking. There is a restaurant, an outfitter, a market and a hostel. Most thru hikers stop here for a burger or some other real food. You can hear people talking about it days before they even reach it. For many hard-core thru hikers, it's the first time they have come off the trail or resupplied or showered in a few weeks. I wouldn't allow myself the rewards of a thru hiker. I hadn't earned them, so instead I plugged my phone in (it was dead) and bought a cliff bar and a Diet Dr. Pepper. I sat on the deck to air out my feet. It seems that most hikers stay overnight here and I had heard tales of the heartbreak they would face the following day, as they are forced to leave comfort behind. The AT welcomes them back with one of her most challenging stretches, 8 miles straight up the side of a mountain. I couldn’t stay long because I still had at least 4-5 more hours of climbing ahead of me. It was nearing 2pm when I went to grab my phone and go. It was still completely dead! I plugged it back in. Nothing. Another hiker let me try her charger - I plugged it in and my phone vibrated. My charger was fried. I handed the charger back to the girl, hoping she would offer it to me to use for a bit - but she didn't. I went to each of the shops trying to buy a new charge but no one carried anything newer than an iPhone 4 charger. I sat down, trying to decide what to do. I couldn't go back out with no phone and therefore no way to reach my shuttle driver when I finished. I had been in this position once before and the desperation had caused me to make bad decisions and hitch hike with some shady characters. I was under strict orders from friends - I had promised one thing - no hitchhiking. That promise would be tough to keep with no phone, no phone charger.

I was getting ready to start calling shuttles when a guy, a hiker from South Africa, walked up with an iPhone charger in his hand. "Is it the charger?" he asked in his South African accent (one that my friends have since asked me to stop trying to emulate). I told him it was and that I thought I would have to call it a day. "Nope. Take this one. I have an extra," he insisted. It was my second brush with trail magic in one day - and another reminder of the good in people. He wouldn't accept any payment. He said goodbye and headed into the restaurant to meet his friend for lunch. I snuck in after them and gave the server my credit card for their lunch. I charged my phone for 10 minutes, packed up and headed toward the trail.

The first hour out of Nantahala was tough. The second hour was really tough. The third hour broke me and the fourth left me mumbling “it’s gotta end somewhere” to myself while I literally stumbled up the trail. I could no longer lift my feet to the height each step required. Around every corner there was just more up. I don’t know if it was the long miles of my day catching up with me or if this was indeed the hardest stretch of trail I had yet encountered, but I was comatose for the last two hours of hiking. I was still technically moving forward, but it was painfully slow going. I would cast both poles out in front of me, sink them into the ground and then use my arms to swing my legs through…one step. Then I would do it again…two steps. Then I would bend over and lean on my poles trying to catch my breath. I stopped looking up because I couldn’t take the mental defeat of seeing another, even steeper, incline ahead of me. It took 5 hours of huffing and puffing so hard that I could feel my heartbeat in my ears to reach the top of the climb. I passed a couple who had set up camp near the top. “We gave up,” they yelled as I crawled past them. “It’s gotta end somewhere,” I managed to get out between gasps for breath. “Yeah, that’s what we thought too,” they replied. Onward.

When I think back to this afternoon on the side of this mountain…I sort of wonder if I am actually still there, still hiking, yet to reach the top…and the days of life I have lived since then are just part of some elaborate fantasy my mind is engaged in to keep me going. This must be a tiny window into what PTSD is like (no offense to anyone who suffers from PTSD because I know I am just a wimp!).

I finally took the step that brought me over the top of that fucking climb. It was a quick 20 minutes downhill into camp. For the first time since I started hiking the AT, I didn’t even bother going to the actual shelter. I saw campsites set up as I neared the shelter and I just dropped my things at the first clearing available. Campsites near the shelters are really just tiny clearings. They are scattered around the shelters…some will accommodate a few tents and have a little campfire in the middle. Others, like the one I had found and tend to find because I am usually one of the last people into camp at night, are just flattish clearings that appear to have at some point accommodated something along the lines of a tent. Once again, my campsite was a little less than flat so I positioned my tent in a way that ensured I would be rolled up against the other side of my tent tonight. It was getting windy and chilly and I was soaked with sweat. I pitched my tent and crawled inside to change into my camp clothing.

I put on my long pants and long sleeve shirt, my down jacket and my thick wool socks. I climbed back out of my tent and set my stove up beside it so the tent would block some of the wind. I lit my stove and boiled my water…pouring it into the freeze-dried bean meal I had brought with me. I sat down and waited the 10 requisite minutes for it to turn from flake to mush. It was actually freaking delicious. I sat and listened to the awkward conversation coming from one campsite up.

Two women were, in my opinion pretty obviously, trying to go about their evening while some guy attempted to be their new best friend. I could tell by the long sighs before one of them would reluctantly answer his questions, using as few words as possible, that they were not hiking with him. It seemed more likely that he had mistaken the Appalachian Trail for a great place to meet new friends, particularly of the female type. He was making a big production of the campfire that he was so valiantly keeping up for them. I was a ting jealous of the fire. I coveted their campfire actually as I shivered in the rapidly dropping night air. But I was not willing to risk opening myself up to Mr. Friendly just for warmth and comfort. I was too tired for chatting.

Mr. Friendly announced to his lady friends that he was going to “get more wood for the fire” and he began combing the ground picking up twigs. TWIGS! He spotted me and his twig hunt shifted in my direction. Shit. I looked down and faked being so totally into my beans. The guy was literally walking past enough firewood to heat the entire state as he crept closer and closer to my campsite. “How was your hike?” he asked as he marched toward me. “Good,” I replied, face still in my bag of beans. “Where did you start from?” Seriously?  Laws of conversation clearly state that a one-word response and no reciprocal question signify lack of desire to engage. “Wayah.” That is all you are getting buddy. I could hear the ladies at the other campsite, their conversation returning to normal, relieved to have their new friend distracted. The Stick Collector crept even closer…face in my bean bag, FACE IN MY BEAN BAG. “What’s for dinner?” Oh come on!!

I considered my options. No response? He would just ask again, louder and closer. “Nothing”?? Clearly a lie and now I am the weird one. I decided to go with “same old, same old,” which I said into my bean bag without even bothering to look up. At this point I realize this guy is not going to take a hint so I am going to have to be clear. This is way outside my normal behavior…which is to say that I would NEVER be this rude to anyone in the real world, but out here on the trail – I gave myself a quick pep talk. “Look, I don’t want to be rude but I don’t feel like talking,” I said, looking straight at him. He stared back at me for a second and I thought he would turn and walk back to his campfire, but instead he took a step toward me. “What’s wrong?” he asked. OH, GOOD GOD. I stood up, grabbed my stove and climbed into my tent without another word to him. I listened as he stood there taking it all in, and then his steps moved further and further away. “I got some wood!” he proudly announced back at the campfire.

I was in bed and asleep by “hiker’s midnight” or 8pm (actually I think “hiker’s midnight” might be 9pm, but for the sake of my story, it’s 8). I don’t remember much except the wind blowing through the mountains…there is just nothing like it. The temperature was down below 50, perfect sleeping weather. I snuggled in and fell right to sleep.  // 144.0 Sassafras Gap Shelter

getting reacquainted with the AT

Mile 109.8, Winding Stair Gap // It was the Wednesday of Spring Break week and I knew it was going to be a tough week for me. My daughters would be spending the week with their father – which meant I wouldn’t hear from them until the following Monday when I picked them up after school. I’ve studied my daughters intensely – watching as the effects of our divorce this past year force unwanted change and adaptation on their tiny little shoulders. My girls are brave. They have accepted our decision with love and kindness and caring…for us. I am sure many people have opinions and judgments about my choices and I am not without blame or even guilt, but when I am with my girls and I see the way they love and care for one another and for me – I know that they will always find their way through, and I am so proud and happy. These days, our lives together are happy. The darkness still creeps in when I don’t have them for long stretches…a week, for me, is too long to be without their light. I struggle. I hate to complain about something that is the result of my own choices…but it just sucks. So, it was Wednesday and I was looking ahead at what I knew would be a lonely week. I signed up for a yoga class and started to go about my day – I had the next couple of days off work – when the thought occurred to me. I COULD go out on the trail…

I made another cup of coffee and grabbed my trail guide. I began my calculations, writing starting points and mile markers and shelters on a paper towel at my kitchen counter. I picked up my phone and began texting every shuttle driver I knew. Could anyone shuttle me from Franklin to Winding Stair Gap this afternoon? Was anyone available for a pick-up on Friday somewhere in the vicinity of Fontana Dam, approximately 60 miles away? The responses began to roll in. One could do the drop on Thursday, but not the pick-up. Another could do the pick-up if it was after 7 on Friday, but not the drop. My “go to” shuttle driver was in Florida for the week. It was started to look too complicated and I went to change into my yoga clothes. Then the text came in from Chuck – he could do both the drop and the pick-up. I quickly responded and told him I would see him at noon in Franklin, just 2 hours north of Atlanta. It was 9:30am and I hadn’t been out with my gear in 10 months.

I can’t even explain how fast I moved in the next 30 minutes. I had my pack loaded and was dressed and out the door with time for a Starbucks stop on my way out of town. I started a group text with my mom and two of my friends and told them my hike plan, where I was parking my car, and the name of my shuttle driver. Then I called to set my GPS tracker to ping them every couple of hours with my location as I hiked. I rolled into Franklin just after noon, parked my car, grabbed my pack and jumped into a mini-van driven by Chuck. I was nervous on the way out – my last hike had ended with a bear tormenting me through the night. This had all come together so quickly… had I really thought this through, did I have everything? I knew only one thing – I did not want to be in my house missing my girls and feeling sad. I wanted to keep living my life. Chuck dropped me off on the side of the road where the trail crossed over. I sat down, ate the banana I had bought at Starbucks and laced up my shoes…they still smelled of the trail from my last trip. I stood up and hoped I remembered how all this shit worked.

It was 1:00pm and I headed into the woods. I only had a half day to hike to my goal was to make it the 10 miles over the top of Wayah Bald and down a bit to Wayah Bald Shelter. The day was absolutely perfect. The hike was beautiful – I was out of hiking shape but everything just felt good. Or “right” maybe. I didn’t see many other hikers, despite this being peak season for AT Thru Hikers, but it didn’t matter. Even as the sun inched lower and lower in the sky, I felt no fear. Last year, I was always anxious as the sun went down, always eager to hear voices as I would near a shelter. This time I was calm and confident – I knew I would be fine even if I was alone, even if I didn’t make it to the shelter. It wasn’t that I knew what would happen, but I knew whatever it was I could figure it out. I have never felt such a freedom.

I stopped briefly at the top of Wayah Bald, a beautiful stone tower at the top of the climb, to take a picture. A woman who had driven up with friends to enjoy the view asked if I wanted her to take a photo. “Yes, please!” I said, “You can imagine how many ‘selfies’ I have!” She snapped the photo and handed me back my phone. “Do you want me to take one for you?” I asked. “Oh, no…I have friends,” she replied. We both smiled as she realized what she said and mumbled a sweet apology. I wished her all the best and headed over the top of the mountain and down toward the shelter to camp. 

It was only a half-mile, so I was walking into the camping area within 30 minutes. I passed two couples who were out on the trail together – their double tents set-up, campfires burning, dinner cooking. I listened to their easy conversations. They were happy, that much was clear. They were out here, together, getting through mile after mile and finishing their day hungry and tired, but happy. It was heartwarming to see (and maybe I felt a tiny pang of lonliness, but it was fleeting). I began surveying the available camping spots. There were a lot of people here! Some were in small groups of what appeared to be thru-hikers who have been moving at about the same speed and meeting up each night. They were forming their own little clubs and taking on a commune-style of living. A couple of people cooking while a couple people filtered water and a couple others tended to the campfire. The remainder hanging out around the fire rubbing their feet or tinkering with their bear bags. Everyone says hello but no one goes too far. I think people on the trail GENERALLY get it…if you are out here alone, it’s never because you think this would be a great place to meet people. There are few camping spots left and I settle for a spot on a pretty dramatic incline but I am able to put my tent up against a bush that I hope will keep me from sliding too much. The first thing I do is remove my shoes and socks and slip into my camp shoes (crocs). I do this every single time I come into camp so my feet can cool and dry. I clumsily set up my camp…this is one of those things that requires repetition to get right. I don’t have my order down, I never seem to have all the things I need – it takes me a long time but I don’t stress. I have no reason to stress. I know I will get it done. Once my tent is set, my sleeping pad and bag stretched out inside, I get a sense of nostalgia. It feels so…cozy. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE???? It’s piece of nylon and mesh in the middle of a forest! But even now, days later as I write this on a flight back from LA, the thought of it gives me the warmest feeling.

With my camp set up, albeit slightly at risk of sliding down the side of a hill, I grab my food bag and head to the shelter where some of the other hikers have made a big campfire. The group that has amassed at this shelter seems to either be young and “pre-real world” or older, retired and somewhat “post real world” with topics ranging from ISIS and our governments treatment of military to the great deal someone got on a used inflatable pillow. Mostly people talk miles and hike plans at these gatherings. Where did you start today? How far are you going tomorrow? How much does your pack weigh? Do you like your (tent/pack/poles/shoes…it can get pretty mundane)? I must say that people in their 30s/40s are dramatically underrepresented on the trail. I realize that has a lot to do with the age of your family at that point in life AND that invites a whole debate around why I am out there, so let’s leave that for another day. I prepare my mac and cheese in silence and tune out the political banter until…enter CRAY-CRAY. 

I am calling her that because, in her efforts to be so fucking loud and let you know her entire life story, that detail escaped me and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask her! This young girl comes hiking up the hill from the water source and the second she sees me launches into her story. It seems that she, somehow, got off the trail the day before. Lost. She missed a turn or somehow got off course. It’s not unheard of…I spent a couple of miles off the trail myself, but this girl hiked the wrong way for 8 MILES! I remind you – that is 4 HOURS of hiking. And here is what makes that tough…the trail is very, very well marked. There are white markings (2 inch x 6 inch “blazes”) on trees probably every 5 minutes of hiking…10 minutes max. So that means that this girl hiked for 4 hours without seeing a blaze that you normally see every 10 minutes and it didn’t occur to her in that 4 hour time period that she might be going the wrong way. WHAT?! Oh, and the story goes on…and on and about the time it seems to be over, someone new comes near the campfire and she begins to retell it. I am not exaggerating to say I heard it 10 times. Every time she would begin, the rest of us would collectively roll our eyes. People began to drift away from the fire, toward their tents and presumably, their earplugs. 

I did meet two other women, Whisper and Red Panda (both trail names) and both were very cool. Whisper apparently got her name because she doesn’t know how to whisper and she drops an f-bomb about every other word. Whisper was hiking the AT with her boyfriend whose name I missed and they bickered sweetly about how she had a Snickers bar she wouldn’t share with him. “Oh!” Whisper looks at me, “and if you had a fucking candy bar, you would share it??” I laughed, “Me? Oh, well, that’s the reason I hike alone.” I smiled and she winked at me. “Am I going to hear about this all the way to Katahdin?” she yelled to him as he walked back toward their campsite. Katahdin is the end point of the Appalachian Trail, approximately 2010 miles away from where we were currently sitting. That’s at least 4 straight months of hiking! We chatted for a bit and exchanged stories. Her boyfriend yelled for her, asking for help doing something. She sighed and rolled her eyes as she stood up, clearly preferring to sit at the fire and relax. “And that,” I said, “is another reason.”

Red Panda was quiet and kept to herself. She was alone hiking and had not really teamed up with anyone. She seemed very serious, driven. Her feet were destroyed. Blistered and taped. She said she thinks her feet are too wide for her boots. I took one look at her boots and mentally patted myself on the back for choosing to hike in trail runners. I am telling you, hiking boots are the devil.

Red Panda and I hung our bear bags with the help of “Shooter” – an older, retired military man who COULD NOT keep himself from helping us. I headed into my tent at 8pm and sent a message to my crew on my tracker and then I tossed it out in front of the tent, hoping it would connect – it needs a clear view of the sky. There is rarely any cell coverage anywhere on the trail. Sometimes you can get a tiny bit at the top of a summit, but it’s not a reliable way to communicate. My iPhone typically turns into my iCamera while I hike – but occasionally it will connect and my texts will go out/come in. I love those moments and it’s such a gift to have the words of the people you care about – something we all take for granted on a normal day. My tracker connects and I hear the sound of an incoming message. I grab it and check it…it’s my mom and her message reads “where are you?” I reply with “Only you know. Good Night. XO.” I roll over and snuggle into my bag. I have already slid down hill and am up against the wall of my tent with all my stuff smashed up against me. It doesn’t matter. It’s all so very good. I fall asleep while the perfect mountain breeze mimics the sound of the surf. // Mile 120.8, Wayah Bald Shelter

39 days...

A week alone in the woods set a great deal of change into motion for me. I have spoken with a few AT thru-hikers now, those who bravely set out to hike the entire trail in one season, and it seems it’s not uncommon that the hours spent alone with your thoughts and reflections can lead to making some big changes once you re-enter your real life. I think a lot about whether that much silence is a good or bad thing. 

 

On one hand, we rarely allow ourselves time to understand our own feelings about our lives. We don’t often have days of one-sided conversations with people who aren’t even present. It must be a form of therapy – to explore a situation or relationship wearing the hats of all involved. And you are probably already putting together where I am going with this – it’s dangerous. There is no one on the other end to keep your thoughts and assumptions in check. There is no one forcing you to see their side of things. In the end…is it healthy? My feeling is yes – it might lead you to take some pretty hard steps but I think we all know when we are at a cross road, but our busy lives allow us to just stay the course. Staying the course is easiest - and is known. The “unknown” requires that you have examined every angle of a decision. You’ve talked it through with yourself. You are prepared for all the ways it could play out. And you are confident that you can handle whatever comes at you. That is where my walk in the woods has made all the difference in my life. 

 

The AT has been my teacher in so many ways – but I think the biggest lesson is that, no matter what is happening, just breathe and move forward. There is a powerful peace in just doing these two simple things…breath, step, breath, step, breath, step. And I know this is getting corny, so bear with me here, in my hardest moments on the AT – breath, step, breath, step, breath, step – look up and the view is different. Totally cheesy, but you can’t deny it’s true. 

 

As I prepare for this next adventure – I am coming from such a different place. I am not running from something or escaping (and I have come to realize I might have been last year)…instead I am coming from a place of peace. I have people who not only love and support me, but they get me. I think a lot about what my time alone will do to my real world – I joke with one friend that I wonder how different our relationship will be once I have had hours of conversations with him, without him. 

 

I know I will miss my girls in a way that until this past year of splitting their time with their father, I didn’t know existed. This hike isn’t for them…it’s actually a pretty selfish thing to do and anyone could argue that a better person would not do it while their kids were young. I can only hope my commitment and striving will honor them and remind them to take risks and live bravely…but I too need the reminder. 

the countdown

In 42 days, with the support of my company and some amazing loved ones, I will begin a month-long solo hike on the Appalachian Trail. 

For those who know me, you know this is a journey I began a year ago when I spent a week alone on the trail, including the first night I had ever slept in the woods. I fell in love with the AT herself, and she began to teach me through her uncontrollable and unpredictable shifts...the literal highs and low of her. 

This year my education continues and I will step away from the comforts of my life and into the raw beauty that sits and waits for us all to come discover her.