(The following story ran in the Sunbury (Pa.) Daily Item on May 3, 1998)
Even before I take a step, I know the odds are against me.
I like that.
About 1,500 people attempt to hike the entire Appalachian Trail in one year, though only about 300 succeed. The rest abort the effort because of financial trouble, family matters, or a variety of reasons related to hauling a 40-pound backpack through all sorts of weather every day for five or six months.
To be sure, an Appalachian Trail “thru-hike,” as it’s known, is not exactly a walk in the park. The trail measures 2,160 miles from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine. Along the way, it runs through 14 states, climbs thousands of feet in elevation and traverses some of the most ruggest terrain in the East.
It runs along the spine of the Blue Ridge, and summits New Hampshire’s Mount Washington, home of the highest surface wind speed (231 mph) ever recorded.
I tell myself, though, that for every backbreaking climb, there will be a spectacular sunset. For every miserable rain, there will be a dazzling night sky. Mother Nature can get nasty, but she does have a heart.
The Appalachian Trail, though, is about far more than mountains and valleys. It’s about people.
It’s about the volunteers who hit the trail each year, with their saws and their sweat, building shelters, repairing foot bridges and keeping the trail intact.
It’s about the people in places like Duncannon, Pa., and Hanover, N.H., where the town literally runs right through town. It’s about locals who offer hikers rides to town to resupply, or meet them on the trail with hot cider on a cold September morning.
And it’s about the 4 million people who hike some portion of the trail each year. It’s about the father and the daughter out for a weekend together, and the Boy Scout troop swapping ghost stories. It’s about the thru-hikers, the people who have left jobs, family and friends behind for six months in the woods.
Why would anyone do that? The reasons are as diverse as the hikers themselves. Some find themselves swimming upstream in midlife crisis, and see the trail as a chance to change course. Some see the trail as therapy after a traumatic event. Some simply seek a challenge.
I know of two other local hikers, one from Lewisburg and one from Winfield, who are currently thru-hiking. One is on his second thru-hike, this time in the memory of a friend who died of cancer.
Personally, I relish the challenge. I welcome the physical and mental competition. The battle. Me against the mountain. I’ve read many books about hiking the Appalachian Trail, and I’ve always thought, “Do I have what it takes? Can I tolerate the daily grind on my knees andy on the psyche? Can I motivate myself to get up, pack up my gear and press onward in a cold, driving rain?”
I tell myself, though, that for every backbreaking climb, there will be a spectacular sunset. For every miserable rain, there will be a dazzling night sky. Mother Nature can get nasty, but she does have a heart.
I remember standing atop Maine’s Mount Katahdin during a short hiking trip a few years ago. I remember looking at the wind-whipped, weather-beaten sign that read: “Mount Katahdin, northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail.” Below that, an arrow pointed south: “Springer Mountain, 2,160 miles”
“Someday,” I thought.
Well, someday has arrived, this coming Thursday, to be exact. My family has been supportive, and my fiancee, Jeanne, has been fantastic.
She will serve as my home base and will handle “mail drops;” sending boxes of food and supplies to post offices along the way will reduce the amount of weight I must carry.
If everything goes right, the trip will take just over five months. I hope to cover 6-10 miles on the bad days, 20-25 on the good ones.
As I make my final preparations, I have a surprising amount of angst. This vague vision I’ve harbored for years is now as real as the 40-pound backpack in the garage and the mud on my boots. There is an inherent fear of failure even as there is unbridled optimism.
Through this column, I’ll share my trail experience with you.
I’ll share the struggles and the triumphs. I’ll try to give you a sense of place, and of the people that define the Appalachian Trail.
Not long ago, I met Earl Shaffer, who 50 years ago became the first person to thru-hike the AT, as it is affectionately known. I asked Shaffer what he was thinking as he started north, and his answer resonates with me now.
“Get moving,” Shaffer recalled thinking, “the trail is calling and Katahdin is far away.”