Date: 2013-03-19
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Why I'm Hiking the AT - By Adele "Sriracha" WhippsI know I¢m crazy. Actually, I¢ve always known that I was crazy, but I had no idea that this quality would be a huge benefit to me when it came to hiking. I was made aware of the Appalachian Trail because of my father. If anything, he¢s the one to blame (and to thank). My dad began his dream of section hiking the AT back in 2004; with little knowledge and too much gear. He nearly quit his first week. However, it is through his struggles and his triumphs that I am able to confidently follow in his footsteps, because of all of the knowledge that he has gained over his hike this past 10 years. His trail name appropriately enough is Ten Year. If you¢re interested in his story please go to his blog at http://www.scottsathike.blogspot.com/.As for me, I didn¢t always share my father¢s aspiration of hiking. But I inevitably fell deeply in love. Like most good love stories, I never saw it coming. It was a random decision that I would hike a section of the AT with dad back in 2011. I had begun weight training and running, and had a bit more confidence that I would be able to handle myself on the trail. Dad had always made sure that his children would at least have a base respect for camping and the outdoors. So it was decided that I would join him along with my mother and my mother¢s father in the first week of Pennsylvania starting at PenMar. We stayed at the ¢famous¢ Doyle Hotel in Duncannon the night before our first hike out. It was then that in my fitful hours of sleep I had a talk with a mountain. As I stared out the window of the Doyle hotel in my bed that was propped up by telephone books, I could see the mountains. One large peak loomed over me. Who knows what happened but this large mountain which I now refer to as the ¢God Mountain¢ spoke to me. I don¢t remember the exact conversation, but I remember an overwhelming feeling; the message itself coursing through me. ¢Finish it¢ It said. ¢You have to finish it.¢ What. The. F**k. I shrugged off the experience, blaming lack of sleep and nervousness. We began our hike the next day and set off into Pennsylvania. In the next week I enjoyed myself, but I wouldn¢t say I fell head over heels for it immediately. I struggled dealing with certain things like, oh, having to wash in a stream and then drink from that stream too. The arduous process of filtering water, and setting up camp when all you really want to is collapse on the ground and never get up again. I warmed up to everything eventually. But as I got more confident in my hiking abilities, my Grandpa was struggling. Let me say this about my Grandpa. His name is Moses, he¢s in his 70¢s and he¢s one hell of a go-getter. He¢s in incredible shape for a man of his age. His nickname around his neighborhood is ¢Legs¢ because he always wears shorts to show off his very long muscular legs. He has the arms of a bear. But he can be a real stubborn asshole. When he started struggling about 2 days in, we knew something was wrong. Grandpa Moses, as he likes to be called, had done some very serious hiking with Dad throughout North Carolina and Maryland. So we knew something was wrong when he could barely make it a mile without stopping to catch his breath. The second day in, I made a silent deal with myself. Grandpa was supposed to hike with Dad after my mom and I left when we got back to Duncannon. But I decided if Grandpa dropped out, I would keep going with Dad. Two days later Moses turned in his hiking poles and called it a day.It was after Duncannon that I really found my trail legs. Dad had babied me that first week of Pennsylvania. He wanted me to have a good time. And I did. I was taken with the town of Boiling Springs, in awe at the half-gallon challenge and the beautiful new AT Museum. I adored the Allenberry with its endless display of food. But most of all I loved talking with the through-hikers. They seemed so mystical, so untouchable. I envied their spirit and their determination. But I could never be what they were; couldn¢t possibly do what they were doing. So when Dad and I said our goodbyes and hiked on out of Duncannon, I had a moment of panic. What was I doing? I¢m not a real hiker. I¢m a fake. I¢m going to die. I have a flair for the dramatic. As the two weeks went by, I hiked the harsh terrain that is Pennsylvania. And despite the fact that some days sucked, I did it. With the help and patience of my father, I made it all the way to Delaware Water Gap. The sense of accomplishment I felt was like nothing else. I was hooked. There was no question that I was going again. Dad hiked a week in New Jersey alone and Mom and I would join him in New York. As excited as I was about seeing my beloved Trail again (notice how the Trail is now ¢mine¢), I was nervous. What if I got back on and I didn¢t feel the same way? What if the first time was just a fluke and I ended up hating it? What if I wasn¢t really cut out to hike? Thankfully, the same rush of exhilaration hit me the moment I put my pack on. And I had an awesome new pack (an Osprey Aura 50 to be exact). With all the spit-fire of a ¢real¢ hiker I embraced the Trail again for two glorious weeks, never doubting myself once. When the time came to leave in Dalton Massachusetts, I cried. I cried because I didn¢t want to leave. Because I knew that my place was on the Appalachian Trail and that I had to do the whole thing. I had to do. The months after leaving the Trail were some of the hardest months I have experienced in my entire life. I was certainly trail sick the next few weeks. I moped around the house like I had just been broken up with; counting down the months until I could reunite with my true love. But harsher realities of life also piled up. I was (and still am) suffering from an Eating Disorder, and was going through intense recovery. At the same time my parents announced that they were separating. The stress of it all drove me to depression. Dark days followed my whole family for some time. But one cannot dwell on the inevitable ups and downs of life, just like you can¢t be angry at the Trail for its endless elevation changes, or poor blazing in a particular section. There is still a path to be followed, and the most you can do is keep going forward no matter what. As my start date gets closer, I hold in my heart the ultimate goal that awaits me. I am going to be a real hiker. The reality is finally hitting me. I want it all. I want the official trail name, the trail legs, the thrill of saying I¢m a through hiker, and the hiker friends. I want the hiker hunger, the horrible weather, the repulsive body odor, and the absence of toilets. Yes, I am most certainly crazy. But if you want to survive on the Appalachian Trail, being crazy is a prerequisite; one that I proudly plan keep for the rest of my life.