Date: 2002-05-29
To: The AT?!?
Miles today: 0.0

Well, okay. So it appears I am going to tackle this thing. This 2,172.6-mile mountain wilderness walk from Georgia to Maine. Why walk the whole Appalachian Trail? It's an enormous, uprooting six-month project. Everyone wants to know why. I am embarrassed to say I know some reasons, but am not fully sure of them all. See, when things are going well, there is a "momentum," if you will - to stay put. I love my town of Southern Pines, and it has been very good to me. I have prospered here for the last six years. I love my work, teaching and training horses. Backpacking is, well, HARD! That's why no one was more surprised than me when this hike emerged. There WAS one moment when it all shifted. My mother died in December of 2000, after a long illness. This is one of life's classic checkpoints. I didn't know it then, but the journey had begun. Then, another pivotal event. The very next month, January 2001, I read this book: "There are Mountains to Climb," by Jean Deeds. A fiftyish woman walks the Appalachian Trail alone. And I thought "... I'm not yet 50..." Now, I read hundreds of books in a given time. Yet somehow, something in Deed's account penetrated deeply. Within days, I was waking up in a cold sweat thinking: - "But I don't know how to work a camp stove." - "I own no tent or pack or (insert many, many gear accoutrements)" - "I'm not strong enough to carry a pack up mountains. Besides, I'd rather eat dirt!" - "I can't do it alone. And no one will go with me." - "It's HARD!" - "I can't disrupt my comfortable life like this. I'll go broke. - "I'll have to give up my coveted farm lease. - "My clients will abandon me, I'll lose professional status." Or, my personal favorite: - "You're going to FREEZE out there!" And then I would come fully to consciousness, sweet relief flooding my body: "Oh, you were just dreaming. You're safe at home. You just read a book. You're not REALLY walking the Appalachian Trail." Phew! What a relief, eh? Isn't it funny how sometimes our minds are the last to know?Beneath the surface, all sorts of plans are bubbling up from the cosmic murk - and then the brain has to scramble, play catch-up and eventually claim these happenings for it's own credit. So when I say "I" am going, who is that, really? Which I is casting off the bowlines and sailing out from safe harbor - the one that decided to go, or the one that awoke in horror at the very thought? One thing I realized: it sure wasn't my HEAD that launched this endeavor! Though I must say, as of this writing, my brain has caught up and is largely on board. Well, except for those nagging worries like: - "What ARE you doing, you're not 20 anymore!?" - "Backpacking? Yuck! Plus what do you know about backpacking? Nada." - "You're committing professional suicide..." - "Your brother thinks you're nuts. Are you?" - "You're gonna die/starve/get bear-ate/bust something expensive..." and, of course, - "Fergawd's sake, at least wear clean underwear." Ha! See? Our mothers live on in us after all... Following January's Jean Deeds book-reading came a series of interesting coincidences. In February, I ran into my neighbor, Laura Gingerich, to learn she was about to set off on - an Appalachian Trail hike! With her two teenaged sons. (...Hey, someone I KNOW is hiking this thing, and a woman, too. Energy! It CAN be done, by real people...) The next month, March, who shows up at my barn of my horse-training business looking for work but Wendy "Philosophy" Cronkite (AT 2000). Another AT thru-hiker? Get out! Bear in mind that, up to this point, I had NEVER met a thru-hiker before. So every morning, instead of jumping right on my first horse, I was pestering Wendy with questions: -"What did you eat?" (...Gross stuff you wouldn't eat at home) -"How far did you walk?" (...Sometimes as much as 25 miles a day, but mostly less) - "Were you scared/lonely/uncomfortable? (...No, no and yes). The next month, April, under the guidance of this AT Guru extrordinaire, I had all my equipment. All of it. This still amazes me, the speed at which I became educated, equipped and ready to roll. The fine points of gear made my head swim. I remember my first trip to the outfitters with Wendy - I was totally overwhelmed. All the choices and unfamiliar stuff! Yet, I learned. I chose. And also in April, I persuaded Wendy to take me and a neighbor, Debby, out on an Appalachian Trail backpack. That incredible week changed the course of my life. Though Wendy suggested we turn back due to snow, equipment failure and rapidly falling temps, I decided to push on - alone. I didn't even have enough warm clothes. Stupid! As I informed expedition leader Wendy of my decision to keep walking, I expected her to talk me out of it. But she never did, dammit! (Instead, she gave me her guidebook. Ha!) So off I trudged, into the snow and freezing wind, with my brand-new pack. Alone. How unlike "me"! I had to confront alot of "stuff" that hike: my fears of being alone, worries about being far, far away from help, anxiety at being left behind as stronger hikers passed by and disappeared into the forward horizon, my fears of the unknown (I didn't even know what a double white blaze meant; I had never even seen a shelter), my fears of being unable to climb a mountain. And I discovered a whole new Jan, someone I'd never met before. And there was another element to this week, now maybe the primary thing I am out in search of: a sense of awe. Maybe this is the essential answer to "why?" That April hike, when the wind screamed and stole my warmth and I learned how to bundle against the powerful gusts, I felt It. Every sheltered lee brought a sense of gratitude: ("...you're gonna FREEZE...") And yet, I didn't freeze. That first trip, in the quiet of the lees, I could actually HEAR the snowflakes falling through the hemlocks. Silence! I recalled that same subtle, ticking snow-sound from childhood. Who hears that anymore? The snow seemed lit from within. There were bears out here, and hypothermia-inducing cold. I didn't know where I was going - just following the whites blazes on the trees. Blindly. The mountain was the boss and I wasn't; THAT was made abundantly clear. I was at the mercy of larger forces. Even the shrill bravado of my brain was forced to acknowledge it. And somehow, it was a kick! Exhilarating!There It was, that sense of being shaken up. Of being entirely expendable. Of being just where I needed to be. Of abundance. Of deep nourishment. Of wholeness. So, yeah, I'd like more, please. Bring it on. Even if it DOES mean lugging a heavy, #%#$%# pack up a mountainside, over and over again. In the rain. Best to surrender to the tides and see where they take the ship. Casting off... ********************* Note written four years later: 11/9/07 -Good luck to all AT dreamers. From my perspective four years hence, I can still issue an unqualified "DO IT!";-)I've since written a book about "the edge" - that scary, rich place where change happens. It's a book about my first long-distance hike, the Long Trail of Vermont. I walked the Long Trail to see if I really - I mean REALLY - liked backpacking enough to hike the AT... might be a good thing to know before blowing one's life and career up, yes? The LT thus became prep hike for walking the AT. If you're curious about the book, check it out at:;-)htp://www.FunFreedom.comOne last note. There IS life after the AT, though it may take some casting about to find your groove again; you kinda don't "fit in" with everyday consensus reality and civilization for awhile. Nonetheless, it was so worth it. What a trip! It's a journey I wouldn't have traded for anything.