Appalachian Trail


It is the last night in my apartment. I’ve been in a sleeping bag for two nights now, which I should get used to: I leave for the Appalachian Trail in 11 days. It’s always a bit odd for me to leave a place. I always have to say “goodbye” to the space I’ve called my own for months on end – right before the moving truck pulls out, or my parents’ car, or the boyfriend with the UHaul. I take a few moments just for me, thank the space for hosting me so well, and shut the door.

This time, I’m shutting the door on something much more major. My life is about to change in a very real way, and in ways I can’t even imagine yet. I’m going “off the grid” – or, as off the grid as one can be in our age of cell phones and iPads and data plans. According to my insurance, it would be easier for me to go abroad than to stay in the country while I hike. I can’t get any prescriptions in advance – no way no how – though I explained to them at least three times I would  be without access to a pharmacy for 6 months. Someone had even told me they could do 3 months, but never entered it into the system. I pleaded, the pharmacist pleaded: no exceptions. This makes things a bit more interesting.

Today was my last day in the office, too. I take a leave of absence for the next 7 months. It was very weird. I made my goodbye rounds after a lunch out. It reminded me a little bit of leaving camp: I know I’ll be back, but I work with some really great people, and I’ll miss them. There was not much left to say, really. It’s been said, variously, at different times and places.

“Good luck, have fun, be safe.”

“Yes, I will.”

On to my big adventure.

With that comes the leave of absence from this blog, too. I’m already trying to keep up with 2 other Appalachian Trail (AT)-related blogs. And besides, all of life’s tomatoes for the next several months will hit me while I’m on the Trail.

My main blog while I’m hiking is here.

I’m also contributing to Appalachian Trials.

Au revoir. I leave you with this quote:

It starts as an uneasy sleep, a deep restlessness. That’s how it began for me. Perhaps for you, too.

Underneath the slick, secure, same surfaces of daily life, “things” begin to stir. Soft whispers are heard, faintly, in the heart; a restlessness moves in the solar plexus. These stirrings, easy to ignore at first, remain as tenderly persistent as a plant pushing through asphalt. The restlessness seems like the enemy within, threatening to blow up the status quo.

And, of course, it will. That’s the news I want to convey.

But it is no enemy. It is, in fact, the very best friend you have.

– The Ordinary Adventurer, by Jan Leitschuh.

Advertisements

I took some time to start getting a handle on life on the trail. My primary reference is the Appalachian Trail Thru-Hikers’ Companion for 2013, a publication by the Appalachian Long Distance Hikers Association (ALDHA). Even in that one, there is a warning about possible post office closures between publication and the hike. That’s another effect of the US Post Office’s previous issues as well as new ones with budget cuts – one I hadn’t thought of a lot until now. Many hikers rely on maildrops and send themselves food or other equipment a few towns up, and pick them up at the post office. As I’m reading, there are also many wonderful people and businesses who offer to do the same, but it is something to keep in mind as the date gets closer.

Getting a Handle on the Book

AT Thru-Hikers' CompanionSomehow, ALDHA has managed to condense a national trail that’s 2,184 miles long into less than 280 pages. It’s great in that they’ve done their best to get you what you need without adding unnecessary burden to your pack. That means a lot of abbreviations and quick descriptions. I finally folded down the corner of the page that defines these acronyms until I memorize them. Capitalization can change a meaning, too: m is miles and M is meals/restaurants. Some just throw me, still, for no good reason: R is road crossing. G is groceries. w is water; nw is no water. There were notations next to only the shelters that confused me for a good long while, too. Something about miles? But then there were N and S, neither of which were defined by my handy list (which I’ve now boxed up in pen). I went back over the notes, the write-ups of how the sections were designed. Ah ha! miles to the next shelter. Northbound or Southbound (commonly referred to as NOBO and SOBO). I’ve still got some work to do but I’m getting a handle on the book, finally.

Estimating What You Are and Will Be Capable Of

I dug into the specific Trail features of the states, figuring out how far certain things are from each other, what I could do this day, or that. If I do 8 miles that day, can I push 11 the next? Or should I give myself more time to get used to hiking? What about at day 7? Wait, have I stopped in a town yet to resupply? Do they have fuel, food, a campsite? Should I splurge on a lodge (hotel), or find a campsite? What are my options? I call this my planning-without-planning. I’m not trying to set anything in stone now. I would like to get through the Trail, in the book, like this, calling shots and figuring out how long my days will be. There is a lot to consider. From some of the books, journals, and blogs I’ve been reading, I know sometimes rides back to a trailhead from town can come later than you might want (10am instead of 7am). So that means I should have a plan for fewer miles the day after a town – maybe. At least a backup shelter or campsite if the sun’s setting already and I’d like to eat dinner and sleep. This is how it will be, all of it. I can set nothing in stone. There’s an appeal and a fear in that. I cannot give an end date, and possibly not an end month until I’m well into the trail, and then I may have a better idea of the month. I’m curious to see what my first estimation is – that’s part of why I’d like to run through the book, state by state, and estimate each day: 10m, 15m, 17m. But the tricky part is knowing that somewhere along the trail, I’ll get what I call my “hiking legs” and 20 miles won’t be an impossibility like it is for me today, like it will be for me on day one. I have no way of guessing this. I can have a better idea of what I’m capable of after this summer, which will hopefully involve lots of hiking and camping.

And last, a shout-out

First, to my family for being so awesomely supportive of me. One member in particular has been really great, sending lots of advice (even books!) and ideas, and always support. To my friends, some of whom took it nonchalantly (“Why is this even a question? You’re going.”), some of whom took it kind of stunned (“What? The whole thing? You’re just gonna…go?”), but all of whom have been great (at least, the ones who have replied!). And to my company for proving again to be a great employer. The days I get frustrated get overpowered by the days I feel glad to be there. Being allowed to do this with high likelihood of returning to work (income) when I’m done is rare, I think. That I don’t have to quit and then plead to come back. There’s part of me that knows I probably would have gone anyway, but part of me really wonders. I don’t have to wonder now, though. Everyone took it so well, and I am incredibly grateful.

Adventure awaits.

Something amazing has happened.

I have been contemplating a very big adventure: thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail (AT). The other day, I approached my boss about it – and he was supportive, and told me I could have my job back when I return. He reached out to HR to see what they could do about leave and (potentially) insurance, or if I need to buy my own temporarily, or get on my parent’s. I am not hiking the AT without health insurance!

For some people, the AT is totally foreign. So let me fill you in:

ATThe AT is a National Scenic Trail maintained by lots of volunteer organizations as well as the National Park Service. It is 2,184 miles long, spanning from Georgia to Maine. The end points are Springer Mountain (south) and Mount Katahdin (north). Most people do the hike northbound, but some people do southbound, or flip-flop halfway through. Typically, hikers plan on being on the Trail for 6 months. That would put you at about 12 miles per day, but many people get their “hiking legs” and start working past that in the first month of hiking.

Why are you doing this?

If you don’t enjoy hiking in general, there’s no way I could convey what this adventure means to me. There is something magical about being in nature, in the woods. With this big adventure happening next year, it’s beyond that. It’s taking a closer look at the things both inside and outside yourself. The way the trees sway, the way your thoughts melt, moving, swirling, taking things in. The beauty of a rock formation. The views. Seeing that shelter at the end of a long day.

For years – probably since I first saw a thru-hiker walking down the street my house was on – I have thought about what it would be like to hike the whole AT. In my senior year of college, I hiked the Maryland section with some friends. It wasn’t really a big dream, just something that would be neat to do. Now I’m truly considering it. With inspiration from friends of mine who hiked it, and recently completing “AWOL on the Appalachian Trail,”  it’s been digging into me more and more. There is a whole lot to consider – budget, job, planning, 5-6 months in the relative middle of nowhere, etc. – and I am considering it all. I must be nuts, right? I know – but so do you. But this is such a good time to do it – single, young, excited. I figured, once the idea really started bugging me, that I either needed to embrace it fully or let it go. But I also know me well enough that there is no way I’d let it go, now that it’s there. But it’s a huge change, a huge undertaking. It’s on my mind now, specifically, because it will likely be next year – most thru-hikers start sometime in early March or April.Sunrise on the AT

What now?

In what I like to think of as a fairly bold stroke, last week I spontaneously decided to talk to my boss about doing this crazy thing called thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail. While I had to correct him on the time it takes (“Yeah, two weeks, right?”), by genius, pure luck, or persuasive powers I should use more often, he supported me and told me I could go back there when I finished. Whoa. Now, as time goes on, I’d like to get this in writing and signed, but his permission at all is pretty amazing. So, now I plan. I buy maps, I plan the miles for each day, plan on which towns I will stop at, where to mail food, and how much I’ll eat for several days. I will test out and buy a bunch of gear. Go on hikes, get used to my pack and boots, purifying water, making food and packing up quickly in the mornings to get going.