Date: 2004-11-23
To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

6:30pm                                                                                        11.23.04        On my hike this spring, one fact that was hammered home to me w/ relentless, brutal, honest directness was the necessity of mental preparation. As much as I set off from Springer Mountain, plagued by doubts and insecurities in my gear and my survival capabilities, my lack of psychological foresight was tenfold. Sure, I¢d heard the same statistics everyone could quote w/ practiced ease -- only one in seven who sets out actually covers the distance from Springer to Katahdin. But, just as surely, I would be the one in my arbitrary lump of seven who would make it. There wasn¢t any doubt, any question. But, I wonder if I really gave adequate consideration to the actuality of the endeavor I was embarking on. Did I really stop and think about what it would be like to hike, all-day, every day? Hiking would replace employment. What I didn¢t consider was the literal truth of that statement. Hiking became my job. That¢s what I did -- 8, 10, 12 hours a day. And, it was work, sometimes, hauling myself over mountain after mountain. When I left Springer Mountain, I held lofty ideals of spending star-filled nights lying in open fields, studying the heavens above, mastering the constellations, becoming an amateur astronomer, capable of navigation by the stars. I pictured myself becoming an adept at wildflower and tree identification, supplementing my meals of pasta and rice w/ wild fruits of my foraging expertise. I imagined wowing my compatriots w/ my skill at bird identification, by songs alone. I would become a true naturalist. But sadly, on the trail, these desires soon took second place, as I became caught up, absorbed, consumed w/ the need to walk. To keep walking. The time I spent on each mountaintop, or vista, or overlook, in quiet reflection, gradually became shorter and shorter. And studying the stars at night? Too bloody cold! Or just too bloody tired. It¢s not that I didn¢t experience these things, that I didn¢t embrace wholeheartedly the natural world reaching out to me. It¢s just that, so gradually I wasn¢t really conscious of it, I became somewhat inured. Sensory overload, perhaps. Being an active part of nature, everyday, I guess I started to lose perspective, starting taking it for granted, simply assumed it would always be there around me. I forgot just why I was out there in the first place. ¢Stop and smell the roses.¢ ¢Wake up and smell the coffee.¢ Trite aphorisms , ¢tis true, but no less true for being too oft repeated. Advice learned the hard way. The opportunity was daily given to me, and I simply didn¢t take the time to just sit and reflect and try to absorb it all. To appreciate the blessing before me. I truly treasured my experience, in all its aspects, on the AT, but, after a time, I let my end goal cloud and obfuscate my reasons and intentions for being there. When I realized this, I took my (temporary) leave from the trail. One of the hardest, and yet perhaps the most obvious and clear-cut, decisions of my life. I could not sacrifice my principles and ideals simply to obtain the ¢bragging rights¢ accompanying the title of ¢thru-hiker¢. If hiking had become a chore, and not a joy, then I needed a break, needed some distance. Time may not be able to heal all wounds, but being away from the trail has opened my eyes to exactly how unbelievably fortunate I was, how indescribably awesome those days were, and has made the memories from my journey invaluable. Moreover, time has rekindled the flame burning w/in me, to return to my sojourn in the woods, and to take the time to appreciate every sunrise, and every sunset, every morning, whether it be under a cerulean blue sky or glowering thunderclouds, to stop and watch an earthworm inch along or a butterfly at play in a field of nectar-bearing wildflowers. To listen to birds calling to their (potential) mates, even if I haven¢t the damndest clue what species it is. To spend time sitting around the campfires, talking, singing (or crooning off-tune, as the case may be). To throw my hands behind my head and stare up at the stars. To live life to the fullest, and fill my soul w/ the beauty and incomprehensible wonder of nature.