Date: 2018-01-02
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Miles today: 0.0

I saved this question for last, hoping that in writing answers to the other 19 questions, something would come to me. I thought about George Mallory, who in June 1924 was possibly the first to reach the summit of Mt. Everest. What is more certain is that he died on the mountain, his body finally recovered 75 years later. When asked why he wanted to climb Mount Everest, Mallory is said to have retorted, ¢Because it¢s there.¢ I thought of offering that as my answer to why I want to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail. After all, in terms of elevation gain, hiking the Appalachian Trail is equivalent to climbing Everest 16 times. In terms of any other comparison to Everest, however, it is a weenie roast. Besides, I find it a most unsatisfactory answer. There are many, many things that are there, and even here and there. The Appalachian Trail is just one of them, so why have I chosen to do this?  It is true that this will mark my 25th consecutive year of hiking the Appalachian Trail, so I could say that I am honoring my silver anniversary with a thru-hike. I could say that I am celebrating my retirement and using the thru-hike to transition to, to what? My golden years? My surrender to self-obsolescence and incipient dementia?  I could say that this hike is a pilgrimage of sorts with a goal of finding myself or God or figuring out what I want to be when I grow up, except that I really don¢t want to grow up at all. Remember some of the words of Peter Pan¢s manifesto?   I won¢t grow up,    I don¢t want to go to school.   Just learn to be a parrot,   And recite a silly rule.   If growing up means   It would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree,   I¢ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up.   I won¢t grow up,   I don¢t want to wear a tie.   Or a serious expression   In the middle of July.   And if it means I must prepare   To shoulder burdens with a worried air,   I¢ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up.All true, and I haven¢t worn a tie since retirement. But I could stay home and be irresponsible. I don¢t need to hike the Appalachian Trail. I could adopt a cause and hike for a fashionable disease or even in support of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy, and badger friends and strangers to support my cause by pledging so many cents per mile that I hike. I instinctively find this distasteful, although I haven¢t fully framed my objections. Perhaps it is the thought of using something sacred for another purpose, like using a eucharistic chalice to hold peppermint candies on an end table. I have nothing against peppermint candies or curing diseases, fashionable or not, but this world is sufficiently profane that some things ought to be set aside as sacred, the Appalachian Trail being one of them.  My negative reaction to hiking for a cause might be akin to ¢art for art¢s sake,¢ that art should be valued in and of itself, and not for some didactic or moralistic purpose. Yes, that¢s getting closer my feelings.  Sure, knowing the provenance of the trail, the stated and perhaps covert intentions of Benton MacKaye, the techniques of trail construction, the social, natural and geological history of the trail, and the ins-and-outs of the cooperative management system, all add layers to the meaning of the trail. Yet, at its core, the Appalachian Trail is fundamentally ¢A Footpath for Those who seek Fellowship with the Wilderness,¢ as it is phrased on the bronze plaque on Springer Mountain in Georgia. So, via a brief detour into aesthetic philosophy, I¢m approaching my reason for hiking the Appalachian Trail. It isn¢t to seek a mystical union with Wilderness, especially since true wilderness doesn¢t have footpaths, but simply to be in fellowship with nature.  Writing this journal has helped me to realize this. The word count of what I¢ve written so far is approaching half the length of a short novel, so I¢m glad something has come of it. It is one of the magical (that word again) things about writing. I¢m often surprised at what comes out of my pen or keyboard and sometimes it gives me insight into myself. I wrote some about my childhood and feeling safer in the woods than anyplace else. It was my place of retreat and where I could feel as though I belonged, with the rocks, the trees, the wildflowers, the birds and other creatures. I never felt that way on the playground with other children. The Eastern deciduous forest is where I still feel most at home, and the Appalachian Trail runs through it.  I gained some coping skills with age, but I never learned to throw a baseball or any other sort of ball. I was the spastic boy sentenced to right field, where I would pray that the ball didn¢t come in my direction, since I had no idea what to do with it, let alone the ability to catch it. Even in backyard baseball, I only remember hitting the ball once when at bat, and having it go foul and break a window. I discovered in high school that if I misbehaved in physical education, I would be sent to run laps, something I actually enjoyed, although I could never show it. Anything was preferable to the humiliation of the rope climb, shot put, basketball, or any of the other myriad tortures. I suspect my high school classmates in Norfolk, Virginia would have voted me the least likely to hike the Appalachian Trail or to do anything athletic and the most likely to trip over my own feet. So hiking the trail is a way for me to thumb my nose at them, particularly satisfying since 2018 will be the 50th reunion of my high school graduation. I won¢t be attending. So there¢s another reason for me to thru-hike, to thumb my nose at classmates who probably don¢t even remember me. I hope all the guys are obese and bald. Take that!One of the attractions of New College in Sarasota, Florida (now part of the state university system, but then private and quite independent) was that its athletic program consisted of a few Frisbees, a Sunfish for the bay, a swimming pool and a tennis court. Freed from the tyranny of mean little boys, I found that I enjoyed exercise. I started taking long walks at night and during a year of research spent at the University of Georgia, my office mate was Dick Murlless, coauthor of the first Sierra Club Hiker¢s Guide to the Smokies. He was also instrumental to saving Jacks River and Little Cumberland Island in Georgia. I¢m indebted to him for getting me out of the laboratory and rekindling my love of the woods and helping me to realize that my passion was more about natural history and less about science. Dick died quite young of cancer, and I never had a chance to thank him.  In my last entry about trail magic, I wrote a little about how in our grown up lives, we learn to say no reflexively, to offers of great wealth and leisure, to panhandlers, and to charitable solicitations. The Appalachian Trail is an opportunity for me to say yes, to give and to receive blessings, without being concerned about billable hours, about where I ought to be, and about what I ought to be doing. This hike is way of saying yes to myself, that¢s it¢s okay that I preferred the woods to the playground. It¢s okay that I can¢t hit a baseball or a golf ball, tolerate football on TV, or cope with the random chatter of a cocktail or Christmas party, because I can walk in the woods. And that¢s quite enough. The Appalachian Trail is where I belong.