My Hike On The Appalachian Trail

The Appalachian Trail is a footpath running along, through, around, and over the Appalachian Mountains from Georgia to Maine. The total distance changes almost yearly due to trail relocations, but it is roughly 2,100 miles long. One end is on Springer Mountain in Amicalola Falls State Park, Georgia. The trail passes through North Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Vermont, and New Hampshire on its way to the other end on Baxter Peak of Katahdin in Baxter State Park, Maine. Each year two- to three-thousand hikers attempt a thru-hike, backpacking the entire trail in a single hiking season. Only a couple hundred succeed.

Some people have the notion that the Appalachian Trail is a smooth, nicely graded walk through the woods. It is not. It is a hiking trail. Though there are many miles of pleasant meandering, more often than not the trail goes steeply up and down mountains, traversing jumbled rocks and tangled roots along the way. Where the trail crosses a boulder field, there is not even a visible path to follow. Hikers find their way by following blazes, the white paint markings on the rocks.

Other people think the Appalachian Trail is a deeply remote wilderness trail. Again, it is not. Rarely is the trail more than a day's hike from a road. It follows a very narrow corridor with development creeping up and pressing in on both sides. Hikers on the trail enjoy miles of natural beauty, but they also see roads, communication towers, and high-tension wires. They hear birds and babbling brooks, but they also hear road traffic and logging trucks.

Mostly, the Appalachian Trail just is. It is the hiking of it, and the expectations we bring to the hike, which create our lasting perceptions of the trail. We can complain about manmade structures in the viewshed, or we can accept them as part of the modern society that we ourselves have helped to create, and rejoice all the more that we have protected areas of outstanding beauty into which we are still allowed. We can complain about the difficulty of the route, or we can use it as a test of our commitment and perseverance. It is doubtful that any thru-hiker has begun the hike desiring anything less than a challenge.

One step at a time. Sounds simple, doesn't it? Actually, years of planning went into my hike. I read everything I could get my hands on, and I spent hours researching the trail online. I studied other hikers' experiences and viewpoints, then picked out what I thought would work for me.

There is no single right way to hike the Trail. Some hike fast, some slow. Some take time to see all the sights, some just want to cover the miles. Some insist on passing every white blaze, some skip sections. What matters is that each fulfills his or her own purpose for being out there. One of the thru-hikers' favorite refrains is "Hike your own hike." (That is second only, I believe, to "No rain, no pain, no Maine.")

The personal guidelines I set for my hike included finishing before the weather got too nasty and before the money ran out. I didn't want to go too slow, but I wanted to take the time to see the things and meet the people I had read so much about. I wanted to pass each white blaze, but I wasn't going to risk life and limb to do it.

Most people begin their thru-hikes in Georgia and walk north with spring. Those who start in Maine must wait until June, and then they run into winter weather before they finish in the south (just because it's the south doesn't mean it's warm in the mountains!). They also have to contend with the rugged northeastern mountains early in their hike. I chose to start in Georgia because I wanted to walk with spring and because I wanted to get into trail shape before I tackled the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

I carried a tent, although it is possible to hike the entire Appalachian Trail without one. There are shelters along the trail, spaced about a day's hike apart. Having my own tent provided some privacy and allowed more flexibility in choosing a home for the night.

Of course, I couldn't carry six months' worth of food with me. At least once a week, the trail passed close to, and sometimes directly through, a town. During town visits, I picked up supply boxes that had been mailed to me at the post office and also bought some fresh foods at a local store. I was able to clean up, do laundry, and get a good, solid restaurant meal before hitting the trail again.

On the trail, I ate mostly dehydrated meals. Hamburger Helper worked well with some dried meat and vegetables tossed in. One of my favorite cold lunches was a bean burrito. In the morning I added water to dehydrated refried beans and salsa; by lunchtime it was ready to spread on a tortilla with some string cheese.

There are many different types of backpacking stoves. Most require some type of gas in a canister, pumping to create pressure, and constant fiddling to keep them clean and working correctly. Not only that, they are noisy because they burn under pressure. I used a stove that I made out of soda cans. It burned denatured alcohol and had no moving parts so the fiddle factor was quite low. And since the alcohol is not under pressure, it was absolutely silent.

While we would all like to think that the water from woodland streams is pure, that is not always the case. It may contain tiny organisms that could make us sick. Unfortunately, we can't tell if the water is safe or not just by looking, so we must either filter it, boil it, or treat it with chemicals. I used a water filter, and carried an iodine water treatment in case the filter clogged.

A very important part of an Appalachian Trail hike is the support of family and friends. My adventure would not have been possible without the help of my "support crew." My sister and her daughter drove me to Georgia to see me off. My sister also mailed my supply boxes to me and transcribed my trip reports. My parents supplied film and processing. My daughter held down the fort, making sure the bills got paid and the cats got fed.

I figured I had only one chance to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail, so I did everything I could think of to make the hike a success. I did lots of reading, both books and online. The internet was an invaluable resource. Besides visiting websites pertaining to backpacking, I visited forums where members discuss trips, techniques, and gear. The gear comparisons were especially helpful in choosing lightweight, affordable gear. I'd never been backpacking before I started planning this hike, so I didn't own a single piece of backpacking equipment; I was starting from scratch.

The other thing I needed in preparation for this hike was experience. As I mentioned, I'd never been backpacking before. My first foray, in 1999, was a solo one-nighter on the AT in Virginia. Talk about intimidated! During the drive down, parking the car, getting the gear out -- right up until I had the pack on my back -- I was looking for excuses, trying to talk myself out of doing it. But I did it, and it was awesome. Somehow I think I picked the most beautiful spot in the country for my introduction to backpacking, and just knowing that I was on the AT was a rush.

In July 2000 I did another solo trip, this time for two nights in Arkansas. I did not enjoy that trip. It was extremely hot and humid, I was crawling with ticks, and the trail was covered with downed trees.

My last shake-down hike was Labor Day 2000, when my sister and I hiked a section of the Appalachian Trail in southwest Virginia, spending three nights on the trail. Yes, it rained every day, but at least one of us loved it. And I think the other one would have to admit to some fond memories, too.

I didn't have much opportunity to prepare physically. I purposely gained ten pounds over the preceding winter so I would be starting with a reserve of body fat (the holidays were great fun with no restrictions on my food intake, but I was not comfortable with the extra weight). I wore a weighted book-bag most of the day at work. In the evening, I put on my backpack and climbed the stairs. But really, the only way to get in shape for carrying 40 pounds up and down mountains ten hours a day is to do it. I started slow and got stronger as I went.

When people found out that I was heading out on the Appalachian Trail alone, most were adamant that such an undertaking was much too dangerous because "things happen out there." I always replied that things happen in my hometown, too. I wasn't worried. I knew I'd have plenty of other hikers around me. Thru-hikers who start out within a week of each other tend to form a close-knit community and watch out for each other.

But as my step-off date approached, I found myself becoming less and less confident. I had so many fears: bears stealing my food, mice chewing holes in my pack, towns where I knew no one, road crossings, people, the weather in the White Mountains, the fords in Maine, getting to Baxter State Park too late to climb Katahdin. Was it really all that important to walk from Georgia to Maine with my very survival upon my back? What did I have to prove?

I think that underneath it all was the biggest fear of all -- the fear of failure. If I didn't attempt this hike, I couldn't fail. I could just keep nurturing the dream for the rest of my life, telling myself I could have done it if I'd really wanted to. But I knew I'd always be haunted by the nagging truth, "You did really want to, and you were afraid to try."

Another fear was the loss of the dream. When or if I accomplished this endeavor, what would be left? I had carried the dream with me for years, and once I touched the sign on the summit of Katahdin, it would be gone. What would fill the void? It seemed much like raising children. Years are spent in learning, preparing, growing, and striving. It's hard, but you keep on, knowing they count on you to shape them into competent, independent young adults. Then it's over, it seems, in an instant. You're left wandering aimlessly, without purpose, in a void where once was your life.

So there I was, preparing for a journey that was to be a metaphor for my life. I had learned all I could ahead of time, knowing there would always be the unexpected. I would face my fears and do what I had to do, knowing there would be no alternative. I'd enjoy the highs and endure the lows. I'd persevere, knowing that someone was counting on me, and that this time the someone was me.

After all of my reading about the Appalachian Trail, I thought I had a pretty good idea what to expect on my hike. Some books told of trail history and geology; some were accounts of previous thru-hikes. Through these books I became acquainted with the landmarks, icons, and trail friends I would encounter along the way. A picture formed in my mind of new friendships, natural beauty, and grand adventures. But none of my reading prepared me for the pain and difficulty of hauling forty pounds up and down mountains for six months, especially the psychological aspect. Had the authors of all those books neglected to mention that part, or had my mind ignored it in the excitement of pursuing my dream?

During the hike I mailed my daily journal entries to my sister, who transcribed and emailed them to the friends and family who were following my journey. At the end, many of my readers urged me to write a book about my adventure, but I doubted my ability to produce a work unique enough to sell. It was that fear of failure asserting itself again. But over the years the idea wouldn't go away, and I decided to finally put it all together as an exercise in going beyond my fears, just as I did on the hike itself.

In writing My Own Hike, I wanted to convey the reality of an Appalachian Trail thru-hike as I experienced it -- day-to-day, good and bad. To that end, the book presents my journal as written on-trail, lightly edited for clarity. From beginning to end, the reader may notice subtle changes in the writing, reflecting the psychological changes I experienced. I hope this honest portrayal will entertain armchair hikers as well as help prepare future AT hikers.

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