What’s Your Katahdin

It’s been nearly a year since I started the Appalachian Trail. It’s a weird time. Social media and forums are starting to post about the AT and starting. It takes me back to the excitement for the trail and the fear of the unknown.

Here’s a bit of reflection I’ve done over the past few months.

I started hiking a little after Lilly got me into camping. Will and I hiked a portion of the Buffalo River Trail (BRT) but only lasted ~8 miles before hitching a ride back to our cars. Then I attempted the Eagle Rock Loop (ERL) for a lone 29 mile hike. I lasted 1 mile before turning around. A year later, I completed that hike and went on to try the entire BRT. I lasted 18 miles on the BRT. Hiking for the past few years has been unsuccessful for myself. In fact, the only way I completed the ERL was convincing myself that hiking wasn’t about getting pictures or enjoying my time… it was about completing a journey. The trail. It’s going to be tough. It’s not going to be fun.

That’s the mindset I had for the Appalachian Trail. I started the Appalachian Trail realizing that the next 5 – 6 months would be absolutely miserable.

When I started the trek towards Katahdin, 2192 seemed like such a large number. It wasn’t an impossible task — people do this every year — but only slightly possible. I doubted myself a lot. In fact, within the first 500 feet I doubted myself. The approach trail for the AT is 8.8 miles long and it is blue-blazed while the AT is white-blazed. I saw the first blue blaze and thought to myself, “Crap… I already messed up.” I turned around and quickly thought about it realizing I was on the right path.

“Am I prepared?” “Did I just throw away everything I’ve built in my life for a pipe dream?” “I should buy a boat!” “I could go home and enjoy my life for a little break before having to work again.” I especially felt this in the Smokies near Newfound Gap. The sheer fact that every day I was doing something that’s “tough and not fun” was bearing down on me more than my backpack. Finishing the trail seemed so far away. I was ready to quit.

I arrived at that shelter in near tears. I ended up having service at the shelter right before Newfound Gap and ended up calling Lilly. That shelter is where I met Sharktooth. Her and Lilly both helped keep me on the trail and I am so thankful that both of them did! Sharktooth, Turtle, Coyote, Snap, Turd all helped me change my mindset that the best part of my day was hiking. At the end of the day, I got to walk in the woods. I wasn’t at a desk. I wasn’t waiting for 5 PM. I had a normal pattern. I was away from social media. I had no societal pressures.

I remember most days rather vividly even if not much happened. The views, the feelings, the smells… It all sits in my memory pretty well. It’s funny that reflecting on the trail now brings me tears but being on the trail at the beginning made me cry.

We had days on the trail that were absolutely miserable and those still feel better than days in society.

It was great to return home for a wedding to see family and friends but I quickly fell back into my routine. That was disheartening.

I met a group of people the day after I returned to the trail. The group I would end up hiking the remainder of the trail – even if that meant I didn’t really hike with them through Virginia and Pennsylvania.

On the trail, we felt like we owned the mountains. We professionally chilled. That was our job. Hang out. Enjoy the views. Own the mountain tops. Once this mentality struck, distance and the trail in general didn’t intimidate me anymore. Arguably the hardest part of the trail, the White Mountains in New Hampshire (but, I personally thought that Southern Maine was more difficult), were no longer a threat or intimidating; the White Mountains were an exciting challenge full of strenuous terrain but amazing rewards.

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Owning Mountains

Returning home was great. I was back in my space. But things just felt off. I felt like I had gone through this amazingly life changing experience and, yet, everything and everyone around me stayed the same. That wasn’t the only issue, I also found that, while people listened to my stories of trail life or my comparisons of current situations to situations from the trail, ultimately no one cared and it was hard to relate. That was really painful.

A group of individuals hosted a large feast for hikers for trail magic. I was surprised that the day we made it to that road crossing/trail head was the day that the hiker feast was scheduled. We had seen signs for it up and down the trail for days (so that’s like 80-90 miles before the crossing). During that set of trail magic, one of the trail angels told us why they hosted this event every year. “Every year, thousands of hikers set out to do something extraordinary and only hundreds make it this far. And we are so proud that you pulled away from your regular life, put your life on pause, and have taken on this journey. We want you to know that you’re supported.” Maybe not a direct quote, but I specifically remember her saying that we were doing something extraordinary. Friends and family had made similar comments to which I just thought, “Geeze, I’m just walking in the woods.” Really, the hiking community pulls ourselves out of comfort and into a situation where everything is chore. Even drinking water became a chore.

I know not many people will read this. But I challenge everyone to find their Katahdin. What is a pipe dream for you? Something big. Something that pulls you out of your comfort zone. I never thought that I would do the AT prior to retirement.

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What’s your Katahdin?