March 28, 1997 (Day 9 – milepoint 85.0 – Standing Indian Mountain)
Roaming Gnome tweaked his knee and took the day off. He might be done, unfortunately, but is considering finding a way to the Nantahala River to meet us in a few days.
A little over 4 miles into the mildly rainy morning, Ned and I crossed the Georgia-North Carolina state line. One state down, only 13 to go! Our welcome to NC was harsh. A long steep climb coupled with a heavy downpour of rain, we started today at around 2900′ and ended on top of Standing Indian Mountain at 5500′. After a quick stop at the very full Standing Indian Shelter, we headed to the summit to make camp and enjoy a potentially nice sunrise in the morning. Others at the shelter mentioned concern of lightning, but we heard it was suppose to clear and were confident the worst had passed.
We were joined at the summit by Roo (from Chicago) and Yard Dog (from South Carolina). After a couple of hours up there, Ned shouted over to me from his tent to discuss the intensity of the thunder and lightning. I wasn’t sleeping and was open to suggestions. Since we were at the highest point for miles around, we agreed we should get lower for a little while until the storm passed. We woke up Roo and Yard Dog, all put on our rain coats and walked down through the woods about 30 yards. The four of us, shivering and wet, sitting on the ground in a torrential downpour, surrounded by thunder and lightning, with full appreciation and respect for mother nature. We all agreed there was no place we’d rather be.
Storm passed. Back into our tents. Storm returned. Back down the hill. Roo and Yard Dog stayed in their tent this time. Brave or lazy?
After a while, it was like being at the disco up there – heavy rain and thunder providing the beat and strobe light lightning never more than 2 seconds between flashes. A few blinding body jarring hits fortunately avoided the tents and us as Ned and I sat through the concert for over an hour.
Storm passed. Back in our tents. Storm returned.
We weren’t sleeping, so at around 4 am we accepted defeat and broke camp. Roo and Yard Dog elected to stay. Every part of me and every piece of gear was soaking wet. Ned and I walked the six miles down the mountain to Carter Gap Shelter where I now write. We actually did catch a beautiful sunrise through the scattering clouds on the way down. Everything is hanging out to dry. We arrived at 6 am and nobody’s here. That is good because I’m grumpy and probably look pretty scary.
Aquaholic
March 28, 2009
Big snow storm this week in Colorado so I took advantage and went skiing today. Another great day up there that got my contemplative juices flowing.
Though I have been able to land a few consulting projects, technically, I have been unemployed now for two months. I often feel the pressure to just go after any old job that pays… There is plenty of logic to that and it is difficult to put into words why it feels so horribly wrong at this moment.
I trust what I am feeling. I move closer to the right path when I allow my heart to lead. But when I am in my head, I get distracted, and it is difficult to progress.
Fortunately, I was not in my head today.
March 27, 1997 (Day 8 – milepoint 71.2 – Plum Orchard Gap Shelter)
A silent voice woke me like an alarm clock. It said, “Your heart is your guide. Your brain is your guard. Let each play its role.” Not sure where that came from. I felt like a spectator…
Ned and Roaming Gnome got a ride back to the trail while I stayed in town to finish up a couple of letters and send a few more things home (gloves, film, spare shirt and shorts, book, water filter cartridge…). Elanda, the owner of the motel, said she’d drive me back to the trail when I was ready. When I was in the post office, a lady walked up to me and said, “ya know, there’s gold up in them-there hills,” and she explained how I could find it in the streams. An odd, but interesting, conversation. I told her I was finding gold everywhere up there and she seemed to have understood what I meant.
Got back up to the trailhead in mid afternoon and meandered 4.3 miles to PlumOrchard Gap Shelter. Pretty cool shelter with three levels. Had to walk back about 2 miles to find my hat that I left on a log during a short break. It was like walking on air without my pack. For a good part of the evening, I sat and chatted with thru-hiker, Just an Echo. He’s an alcoholic who’s been dry for 16 years and also recently quit smoking after 40 years. He’s on his fourth and last thru-hike attempt. He said that due to his alcoholism, he hasn’t spoken with his children since 1986. He said he recently heard he’s a great-grandfather now. A very pleasant fellow. Honest, open, and humble. I want so much for him to make it to Maine.
-Joe
March 27, 2009
It is very rare that I just feel like getting drunk. Today is a rare day.
March 26, 1997 (Day 7 – milepoint 66.9 – Dicks Creek Gap)
Horrendous lightning and thunder storm last night. Everyone in the shelter woke up and watched for a while. A couple of close hits had us worried about Fiddlehead, who was trying out the new tent he recently made for himself.
“Back to the drawing boards,” he said as he approached the shelter this morning dripping wet. But he said it with a smile.
Damp, foggy morning, but it cleared and was sunny-beautiful by noon. Our destination today was Dick’s Creek Gap where we planned to hitch a ride into the town of Hiawasee for resupply. We sat down at a picnic table to relax a bit. Before long, a Ford pickup rolled up. The man driving introduced himself as Ragin’ Cajun and offered us a ride into town. Roaming Gnome, Ned, and I introduced ourselves and accepted his offer. Ragin’ Cajun drove us into town, waited for us to check into the Hiawassee Inn and catch a shower, then took us to the laundromat and post office. Turns out, he completed his thru-hike going 2 months at a time in ’94,’95, and ’96. Said he’s been doing some day-hiking in the area with a friend and was enjoying being a Trail Angel and giving back. Very gracious man.
All you can eat buffet dinner for $5.00 at City Limits Restaurant where I felt very out of place. Twilight Zone-like out of place. I felt like a gypsy at Sunday mass. But I also felt welcome and accepted, so it was like a very kind, safe, and friendly Twilight Zone.
-Aquaholic
March 26, 2009
I often struggle to find harmony between the two opposite sides of my self. The civilized, virtuous monk in me versus the passionate, flesh-loving bohemian. Order versus Chaos. Predictable process versus uninhibited creativity. Lightness versus Darkness.
I suppose one does not exist without the other.
One of my favorite books of all time is Narcissus and Goldmund (by Herman Hesse). The two main characters represent these two sides of the human spirit. I related to both of them and eventually came to realize that in a variety of ways this has been and will be a lifelong internal struggle.
German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche also presented this dichotomy in the context of a Greek tragedy – the conflict between the gods Appollo and Dionysus.
From Wikipedia: “Apollo and Dionysus are both sons of Zeus. Apollo is the god of the Sun, lightness, and poetry, while Dionysus is the god of wine, ecstasy, and intoxication. The contrast between them symbolizes principles of light versus darkness, civilization versus primal nature.”
Nietzsche connects all of this to how music and modern literature unite on stage. The stage dialogue formed the concrete symbolism (Apollo), while the music of the orchestra formed the emotion (Dionysus). Basically, by combining music and dialogue, the Apollonian spirit was able to give form to the abstract Dionysian, allowing the spectator to experience the full spectrum of the human condition.
So I told you that to show you this, put on some headphones and enjoy the dialogue and the music:
March 25, 1997 (Day 6 – Milepoint 56.3 – Tray Mountain Shelter)
Finally, a decent night’s sleep. It never occurred to me that my body (and mind) would have to adjust to the unusual routine of sleeping on various surfaces and in a different location every night. I can only guess that a solid night’s sleep is a good sign.
I joined Roaming Gnome, Ned, and Fiddlehead today. Fiddlehead completed a thru-hike in ’95 and only plans to cover a short distance this year in support of (his brother) Bulldog. It’s neat to observe how in tune they are with each other despite the fact that they don’t hike together. They give each other the freedom to hike their own pace. Roaming Gnome and Ned seem to have that, too. This path has a way of keeping people internally connected even if they’re miles apart physically. The freedom to hike your own hike seems to be the key. I haven’t seen Mr. Mingo for two days, but, knowing he plans to be at this shelter tomorrow, it’s as if I’m sharing it with him now. I really believe that if you want to reach Maine, whether you choose to hike alone or with someone, it is a solo journey.
Lots of climbing. The uphills are tiring, the downhills are painful. An entry in the Low Gap Shelter register read, “The secret to hiking the AT: up the mountain, down the mountain, through the gap, etc., etc., etc.” That about sums it up.
We were treated to some great Trail Magic today. Cans of Pepsi next to a tree with a note that said, “Please leave for thru-hikers. Pack it out! from Dopler, Dangerhill, and Snowman.” Then at the road at Unicoi Gap were Jim and Linda Turner from Marietta, GA with a cooler of pop, fresh fruit, and Little Debbie Snack Cakes. They were literally there to treat thru-hikers. People like Jim and Linda are affectionately known out here as “trail angels.” Some other folks left a bag of Easter candy and other assorted goodies next to the road. So many great folks. So much giving.
Stopped for the day at Tray Mtn Shelter (mile 56.3). We were joined by a Ridge Runner, Dave, from Maine, who thru-hiked in ’96. Ridge Runners serve as “trail patrol.” They spend the summer hiking specific sections of trail, responsible for safety, general trail maintenance, and communication with trail users of all kinds. Pretty cool job. Also joined here at the shelter by Far-from-Pukin and Hounddog, both from Alabama. Rainy, foggy day.
Loosened my hip belt today and realized why my thighs and hips have been numb for the past 5 days…
-Aquaholic
March 25, 2009
I’ve recently had to adjust to sleeping on the floor again.
In January, we rented our 4 bedroom, 3400 sq ft house and downsized to a 3 bedroom, 1000 sq ft house in town. Two of the three bedrooms are tiny, only large enough for twin-size beds. I saw it as a great opportunity for our sons to have their own rooms. And since I was pretty set on that, the third bedroom became an issue because, unfortunately, my wife and I hadn’t slept in the same bed for more than a year and making this move didn’t exactly rekindle the fire as I had hoped.
The kids in their own rooms was my conviction, so I had to figure out where I was going to sleep. My wife was vehemently against the idea of me sleeping on the couch in the living room and I knew my back would not like it either, therefore, my best option was a small “sun room” in the back of the house, too small even for a twin-size bed. So my queen bed went into storage and I’ve adjusted well to sleeping on the floor with my old Therma Rest camping pad, going on three months now.
I will love to have my bed back when I get my own place in a couple of months, but for now, sleeping on the floor is pretty cathartic.
March 24, 1997 (Day 5 – milepoint 44.0 – “Chuggers Knob”)
Up with (after) the mating call of the grouse. Another beautiful day. Happy Birthday, Edith!
Pushed to Low Gap Shelter (mile 41.5) for lunch and an extended break. Joined again by Fiddlehead and Bulldog, as well as newlyweds Jesse and Kip (from Maryland). A beautiful spot and a hilarious afternoon of random conversation. We started a “thru-hikers pool” in the shelter register to see who can guess the date Chugger, a very strange but spirited character from Texas, will reach Katahdin. His itinerary says September 18th or bust. Bulldog and Fiddlehead were skeptical, I said September 19th. Jesse agreed with Chugger and said the 18th. Kip said “bust.” It will be fun to see how he does. We left responsibility of determining a winner and providing an award to the guy who left the register at the shelter.
Camped around mile 44 with Roaming Gnome, Ned, and Chugger, who proudly picked the spot and was adamant that we give him credit. He seemed pleased when we named it “Chuggers Knob.”
Mind, body, spirit, and gear seem to be holding up quite well.
After five days of walking, my socks have become lethal weapons. At the moment, they are strategically placed around my tent to keep critters from coming close looking for food. My boundary wall must be at least 20 feet.
Rhoming Gnome and Ned gave me a trail name today: AQUAHOLIC.
March 24, 2009
I’ve rarely been threatened in my life to the point that I had to consciously set boundaries and think critically about other people’s intentions. I am a white male who grew up in a middle class family in the Midwest. There wasn’t a lot of drama I couldn’t manage. I always trusted people and I always trusted that things would work out. Even when I started to become aware as a child that there are a lot of people in the world with a far different reality, my comfortable reality remained intact. Boundaries were not a conscious issue for me because I was not threatened by anything that could keep me from freely pursuing my life.
Things started to change, though, in the past couple of years when my marriage (and therefore my family’s security) became increasingly threatened. As things progressed, it was like a domino effect, and with so many dominoes falling in different directions it has become virtually impossible to manage. Boundaries help you create structure around behavior and decision making. When solid boundaries are not established, it is very difficult to control the dominoes.
Consequently, I’ve fallen behind. I am no longer the master of my domain. In order to get that back, I need to set reasonable limits by which I can live, otherwise I will never be free to give and be my best.
My resolve is to take better care of and protect myself so I can take care of and protect my children. There is nothing more valuable.
March 23, 1997 (Day 4 – approx. milepoint 33.5 – Rock Spring Top)
Up with a pileated woodpecker. Actually, “up AFTER a pileated woodpecker” would be more accurate.
Two groups of Boy Scouts rolled by as we slowly broke camp. Mr. Mingo and I made it to the summit of Blood Mountain around noon and enjoyed the grand view with an equally grand lunch. Lots of day hikers up there, which usually means we’re close to a road. We eventually made our way down to Neel’s Gap and the Walasi-Yi Center, where a thru-hiker can find anything he needs, some things he didn’t know he needed, and a few things nobody needs but cannot possibly do without.
Very kind folks at the Center. They helped me solve some minor problems I was having with my stove and water filter and made a few wise suggestions about necessary and unnecessary pack items. Consequently, I scoured my pack for excess and mailed home my extra cooking pot, shaving cream and razor, deodorant and some other odds and ends. I’ll try to make a habit of doing this. With a few minor purchases, I replaced about 6 pounds of material weight with only one pound of new stuff: a trail map, a small rib pouch, a pak towel, sock liners, boot sole inserts, and new shoe laces. Made a couple of calls to family and paid a couple of bucks for a shower. A few folks, including Mr. Mingo, decided to stay overnight in the hostel attached to the Walasi-Yi Center. I felt pretty good and wanted to move, so I bid farewell to Mr. Mingo and continued up the trail a bit enjoying another clear night with ample moonlight.
A mile or so up the trail I ran into Roaming Gnome and Ned, both students at a college in Bar Harbor, Maine earning college credits out here. Roaming Gnome pursuing an art degree and Ned a degree in Storytelling. I think I would like that school. They packed ice cream up here from the Center and shared it with me. I shared my one beer.
Two good guys: easy company.
It was getting chilly but I wanted to go a little further, so I traveled another couple of miles before finding this nice little spot off the trail. Still enough moonlight for walking and setting up my tent that I didn’t use my headlamp until just now when I opened my journal. Partial lunar eclipse happening later tonight, which I will miss. Not exactly sure where I am, but that’s okay because I’m a long way from lost.
-Joe
March 23, 2009
More and more, when I refer to the different forms of “weight” I’ve accumulated over the years, I find myself clumping them all into one: Karmic Weight. I’ve never really studied karma, but the theory is meaningful enough.
In Indian religions, Karma presides over the soul. It is the concept of an “action” or “deed” that ignites the cycle of cause and effect. In the western world, it is represented in phrases such as, “you reap what you sow,” “measure for measure,” and “what goes around comes around.” In my experience, the laws of karma govern reality whether we believe in them or not.
I think it is interesting that in the Buddhist view of karma, while good intentions are looked upon favorably, one thing that can trump a good intention is ignorance. I feel that a good portion of my work is around that.
The main purpose of this blog is to face with honesty and humility the causes and effects of my actions, to take responsibility, and to become fully aware.
My goal is what I am worthy and capable of achieving: to return to living every day of my life with joy and gratitude, in vigorous harmony with the laws of karma.
- Contemplating cause and effect in Canyonlands…1997
March 22, 1997 (Day 3 – Jarrard Gap – milepoint 25.3)
Up with the sun and took a cold morning bath in a creek (Justus Creek) a couple miles up the trail. Caught up to Mr. Mingo and ran into Kurt (from North Carolina) again. With him were two women called the Lucky Laggers and a guy calling himself Chugger. All seem to be doing well so far. I switched to a clean pair of socks, shorts, and a T-shirt. Mother Nature continues to be kind (70+ degrees dark blue, sunny skies) and I remain grateful and respectful because I know better than to take it for granted…
Lunch at Gooch Gap. “Lighten the Load!” I’ve been cooking BIG lunches and having the leftovers for dinner when I am tired and don’t feel like cooking. It seems to be working well and beans and rice are every bit as tasty cold. Mr. Mingo also found that the hiking was a little easier going after a big lunch, so the tone is being set. We also both noticed an increase in our metabolisms. My body feels like it is using everything I feed it. Not a whole lot of waste.
We had our first dose of Trail Magic today. “Trail Magic” is essentially a random act of unexpected kindness, most often consisting of food or a gesture of good will. Wharf Rat (A.T. class of ’96) and his buddy Todd, both from Atlanta, came walking up the trail with Girl Scout cookies and beer. They apologized for the beer not being cold but I hadn’t noticed. Wharf Rat showed us some pictures of his’96 thru-hike. You could really feel his high energy and excitement. We (Mr. Mingo and I) stopped for dinner on a beautiful overlook and joined 7-year old Danielle and her father, ’95 thru-hiker “Nugget,” for some roasted marshmallows at their camp nearby. By this time, it was 7:00 pm and the sun had set, but we felt pretty good, so we decided to take advantage of the full moonlight and go on for a few miles to the next lean-to shelter around mile 22. Well somehow we missed it and went an extra 3 miles. Tired, cold, and grumpy, the coolness of hiking in the moonlight no longer cool, we found a flat spot at Jarrard Gap. The wind was horrendous, and thankfully, two fellas camped nearby, Aaron and Ford from Suwanee, GA, helped us get our tents up then boiled us some water for hot chocolate, which provided a soothing end to a very full day.
-Joe
March 22, 2009
I’ve never learned how to meditate sitting still. It has always happened for me during sustained exercise or in travel mode. When I find a sustainable rhythm, my mind, body, and spirit just fall in tune. The mind relaxes, clears, and expands, and the physical activity throws a few endorphins into the mix. It is no wonder that some of my most enlightening moments come during a good long walk or in an unfamiliar environment.
I went for a mountain bike ride yesterday with two good friends. After riding for a few miles, steadily climbing through a beautiful valley, my mind settled into a nice rhythm. Eventually, we passed a park bench that had been placed along the side of the trail. I’ve passed that bench many times and though I’ve never stopped to sit on it I always appreciate it.
One of my friends said, “That bench makes me want to get up early one morning, come all the way up here with a coffee-thermos and a newspaper, and just relax watching the world go by.”
Up here, watching the world go by is synonymous with watching nothing go by…I like that.
I got to thinking about other not-so-typical features I’ve encountered in remote places that grabbed my attention and made me aware of how far away I was from a typical daily routine. A register at the summit of a remote mountain peak in southeast Arizona; a clay figurine on a hard to access cliff edge up a side creek in Grand Canyon; or the occasional park bench in the middle of nowhere. These things always add meaning and value to where I am and what I’m doing.
- The more nowhere you are, the more somewhere you become…
March 21, 1997 (Day 2 – milepoint 11.6 – Coopers Gap)
Up with the sun after a restless sleep in the shelter. A couple of mice were scurrying around all night near my head looking for food, which forced me to sit up a couple of times. But that brought to my attention the forest glowing brightly in the moonlight. So as frustrated as I was with the mice, I suppose I had to thank them for the scene I would not have otherwise enjoyed. Quick breakfast and hit the trail with moleskin on already blistered heels. (Note: when breaking in boots before a long backpacking trip, wear a full backpack from time to time.) I made a stop at Long Creek Falls for a bath. Nice little water fall with a good sized pool below. The water was humiliatingly cold but refreshing.
Back on the path and joined Mr. Mingo for the rest of the day. Excellent human being. I asked him about his trail name: “Mr. Mingo,” he said, “is the name of an obscure song by an obscure band.” I was told of trail names before my hike and learned that very few hikers, if any, make it very long without either creating one for themselves or earning one from others. I’ve been wondering if it might be smart to come up with a trail name for myself before someone notices my body odor or some other appalling characteristic…
As we walked on, Mr. Mingo brought up the subject of cloning and we talked about it. We talked about other random things that came up and we talked about how good it will be to detach from society for 6 months. Of course, neither of us have any idea what that means at this point. We made camp at Coopers Gap (mile 11.6). Saw two other people all day. Physically, mentally, emotionally – feeling pretty good. Feeling pain – hips and feet mostly – but it is tolerable so far. It was a sunny 60 degree day and I spent it in good company, so no complaints.
Joe
March 21, 2009
A week after I lost my job in January, I was still pretty shaken up. I sat in front of my computer working on my resume and searching for jobs online – not something I’ve ever really had to do. Though my resume was looking pretty marketable, the job search was disheartening. And I was miserable – not a feeling I’ve had much experience with in my life.
For me, the problem wasn’t that the economy had made quality job opportunities sparse, it was the very fact that I was job hunting. “What the hell have I been doing with my life? What kind of man am I?” I felt stripped of my power, no longer in control of my own destiny. Add into the mix my wife’s general anxiety and displeasure, and my ability to focus productively was just deteriorating.
For her sanity, my wife needed me to find a job yesterday. By contrast, my anxiety level went up when I considered the idea of actually finding a job right then. That would surely have sent me into oblivion.
It was not consistent with the message the universe was sending, which felt something like, “If, again, you ignore your inner voice for an unconscious paycheck, I will again knock you on your ass, but into a hole even deeper than this one. Wake up, then look inside. Listen. Feel… Pay attention… Trust… Set yourself on your path. YOUR path…”
I closed my computer, went to my car, drove west 30 minutes up Boulder Canyon, and went skiing alone for the rest of the day.
The result was relief, renewed energy, openness, and, among a few other interesting things, EnlightenTheLoad.com.
- The air up there…
March 20, 1997 (Day 1 – Springer Mountain – A.T. milepoint 2.5)
After a week at home with the folks making final preparations, Dad and I drove down to Dalton, GA yesterday and stayed the night in a tiny hotel. Big ceremonial breakfast this AM and made the hour+ drive to Amicalola Falls State Park arriving at 10:30 a.m. I registered at the visitor center and weighed my pack – 54 lbs – ouch. That’s gonna hurt. (I swear under my breath and Dad’s not shy about laughing out loud.) Ran into another potential thru-hiker, Jeff, who flew in yesterday from London and was on his way to getting started a little later in the day. A couple of pics, a big hug and thank you to Dad, and I disappeared into the bare forest on the 7 mile approach trail to the southern terminus of the AT – Springer Mountain.
The approach trail was not terribly difficult, but it was no “walk in the park” either with 50+ lbs on my back! The first people I saw were a group of about 10 day hikers. All in great shape and smiling. I don’t think any of them were under 65 years old, but energetically they were like a bunch of 20-somethings. They offered brownies. I offered cookies. I was feeling a little lighter.
At around 2:45 PM, I arrived atop Springer Mountain, Elev 3730′. Relaxed for a while enjoying the view to the west of a superb, clear, sunny 65-70 degree day. A bite to eat, a ceremonial photo, a hello to thru-hikers Luna (from central Canada) and Kurt (from North Carolina), and I officially started walking to Maine. Destination for the evening was Stover Creek Shelter at mile 2.5, mostly downhill from Springer into a rhododendron and hemlock-filled forest. I am joined at the shelter by brothers, Fiddlehead and Bulldog, from PA. Another hiker, Mr. Mingo from Boston, is tenting nearby and there are four chatty college girls from OH in tents down by the creek. I can tell already that my relationship with food over the next six months will be both passionate and violent.
-Joe
March 20, 2009 – Boulder, CO
After dropping my 8-year-old off at the bus today, I made a quick stop for coffee and went for a walk. I was feeling a little overwhelmed by the weight I’ve been carrying, and struggling with a crappy idea that I’m somehow failing my children.
I have problems to solve and I need to cope. I need to act even when I feel defeated and powerless. How the hell do I walk through all of this terrain with integrity?
In other experiences I’ve learned that the quality of my coping is often related to how I label my circumstances. Until today, I’ve been associating divorce with failure, and I’ve been suffering. But today I considered the idea of divorce as a remedy.
remedy |ˈremədē|
noun
- a medicine or treatment for a disease or injury
- a means of counteracting or eliminating something undesirable
verb
- to set right (an undesirable situation)
How about that? As a remedy, the process of divorce can set right an undesirable situation. It is a path to healing.
This is an early stage idea for me, but it gave me feelings of relief and okayness that I haven’t been able to access for some time.
March 19, 2009: Twelve years ago today, I sat in a tiny hotel room in Georgia preparing for a long walk to Maine. Page one of my journal was open and blank and hungry for acknowledgement. Here is my first of almost 200 entries.
March 19, 1997
My first memory of the AT goes back to when I was about ten years old. Our family vacation that year took us to Gatlinburg, Tennessee and Great Smoky Mountain National Park. We spent a day up in the national park and were checking out the view from a lookout tower (Clingman’s Dome) when a footpath below was brought to my attention.
“Hey Dad, what’s the Appalachian Trail?” I asked.
“It’s a backpacking trail, 2,000 miles long,” he told me.
“Oh, where does it go?”
“Well, if you go that way (as he pointed to the left) it will take you to Georgia. And if you go that way (pointing to the right) you can go all the way to Maine.”
“Oh … Maine’s pretty far away, isn’t it? How long does it take?”
“It borders Canada. Would take months I’d imagine.”
“Oh … Can we go back to the hotel and go swimming?…”
The next time I heard of the AT was about two years ago and the decision to thru-hike came a year later. Up to this point in my life, the longest amount of time I’ve spent away from “civilization” is twenty-four days (in the Grand Canyon), but my longest backpacking trip has been only four days (in southwestern Virginia). So I am no backpacking veteran.
As of today, March 19th (1997), there is no real deep purpose or motive for traveling the AT. I’m intrigued by the adventure, freedom, and challenge it has to offer. And I anticipate making new friends and having some unique experiences. But what do I have to gain? I honestly don’t know. Maybe I’ll come away a little less confused about my personal and professional future. Or maybe it’ll give me the time to further develop my writing, which I’ve been steadily pecking away at in various forms for several years. Or maybe I’ll decide to continue my thru-hike around the world. Again, I really don’t know.
What I do know is that I’m happy with my decision to give it a shot and I look forward to a full day of reflection on top of Mount Katahdin in Maine this fall.
March 19, 2009
I remember during my trip how many times I heard people say to me, “Wow, I wish I could take six months off…it’s great you’re doing it now while you can.”
I remember thinking and even telling many folks, “You can anytime if you really want to. If you really and truly want it, nothing should stop you.”
I still believe that, but I understand now, in a way I didn’t then, how easy it is to let “life” get in the way of your dreams. I let that happen to me. I lost my way. It started when I made an amazing connection with an amazing woman and we started a family. I am by no means blaming “married with children” for the fact that I lost my way – I’m thumb-pointing here, not finger-pointing.
I blame my unconscious choices.
And while I see plenty of mistakes looking back, not all are regrettable… many were driven by virtue and boy o’ boy do I have two great kids.
But I set my independence aside and replaced my values of simplicity and freedom with “matters of consequence” (read The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry). I had a wife. We had children. We were living in the “real world” and needed to establish security and stability. I pursued a career in marketing. I was “growing up” and being responsible.
That can really work, I think, for people who dream of a career in marketing., but I dreamed of being a writer and the champion of my own great ideas and stories that inspire people to join me in saying, “Holy Sh!t that’s interesting.”
So although we have two healthy and happy children, and although I have accomplished a lot over the years, I have struggled to maintain financial security and stability. The subsequent stress has left my wife unhappy in the marriage. To the point that she is done, a reality that was inconceivable to me until it hit me over the head like a ten-ton wrecking ball. Professional-alignment challenges and national economic uncertainty just add to the debacle. And though much of the world is in turmoil and there are a lot of people going through similar challenges, I have no one to blame for my reality but me.
So I’m gonna start taking my own advice by getting my sorry ass and troubled mind back into the woods on a much more regular basis.
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