morvasaaty/AppalachianTrail-LD-Hikers-Blogs-and-Weather-20-years huggingface dataset:
Date: 2004-12-14
To: all is well
Miles today: 0.0

6:45pm12.14.04The moon has already established its presence in the sky, a crisply defined crescent, dangling from an invisible thread attached to the tangible black depths of the night. Maybe it¢s only a visual illusion, but the moon seems to loom larger than ordinary. It¢s the fabled carrot, swinging enticingly just out of reach, but near enough to exert a gravitational pull, draw you ever onward. Chasing rainbows was consigned to childhood, but following the moon? It¢s no wonder that celestial body has been worshipped by cultures across the globe for millennia.A biting wind today. Literally. I could feel the miniscule, razor-sharp teeth attacking every inch of exposed skin, and my hands are chapped to prove it. Tomorrow¢s supposed to be even colder, but no snow is forecast.I walked w/ a weightlessness today. No doubts about my decision, no desire to recant, only relief, that I¢ve finally admitted the inevitable, and anticipation and excitement. Now, I know this journey will be different that last year¢s. For one thing, I¢ll be a year older, and, hopefully, wiser. I¢ll be approaching this hike w/ a whole new set of eyes, an entirely new perspective. I have a much clearer conception of what lies afore me on a northward trek -- the physical exertion and pain, and, more significantly, the mental battles and hurdles. And my objective will shift as well. Last March, I embarked on a journey of self-discovery, w/ the intention of discovering my calling in life. I was lost and confused and frustrated w/ where I was, in my life, my employment, and my rationale was that 6 months of unadulterated reflection would somehow miraculously result in The Answer. Well, it didn¢t exactly work out that way. More along the lines of Douglas Adams¢ The Hitchhiker¢s Guide to the Galaxy -- I got the answer (¢42¢) but never asked what the question was. Not to say that my hike wasn¢t unbelievably successful, b/c it was, inexpressibly so. But this coming spring, I¢ll set out, armed w/ a plethora of questions, some clearly defined, and others unanswerable. I¢ll take those northbound steps, determined to open my senses to the natural world embracing me, and embrace it in return. Observe the omnipresent beauty surrounding me every day, from the panoramic vistas from mountain balds to the industrious activity of a foraging ant. No detail should be too small. And, most importantly, don¢t get bogged down w/ destinations and titles and material stuff. The journey itself is the journey, the trail the path of discovery and knowledge. It¢s already taught me so much, and yet there¢s an infinite pool yet to be learned.8:50pmAs I stepped out of Borders, light feathery kisses of plump snowflakes dusted my upturned face. It seems as if everything gives me a reason to smile today.
Date: 2004-12-21
To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

7:30am12.21.04Perhaps one of the greatest gifts I received from my journey on the trail this year was the discovery of my passion and love for writing. Writing had always intimidated me in school and college, essays and term papers were something I dreaded. Maybe it was the sense of permanence of the written word, or more probably, my unending quest to find the perfect word, the perfect phrase to express my ideas. Now, I¢ve come to realize that there is no perfect way to capture my thoughts w/ words. For me, at least; I don¢t have that agility w/ writing that truly is a gift and talent. I¢m happy simply to grasp at the tendrils of the thoughts dashing madly through my mind and spew them out, however haphazardly, on paper. I treasure my journal almost as much as I do the people I encountered on the trail.10:30pmWinter solstice -- today¢s the shortest day of the year. Amazing how our lives are altered by the seasons, the conditions around us, the length of daylight. And how quickly and easily, almost unconsciously, we adapt to the situation. Out on the trail, I operated w/ the sun -- it came up, so did I; it sunk beneath the horizon, I crawled horizontally into my sleeping bag. I¢ve been messing around w/ my journal from last year and adding photos from my hike, hoping to make it into a mini-book for Grandma and Grandpa as a Christmas present. (Yes, I know, still the master procrastinator.) But honestly, it¢s become a selfish endeavor. I¢m getting to relive my hike, again, re-reading what I wrote and re-seeing the views through my camera lens. And it¢s resonating so soundly w/in me. Last January, I was reading others¢ journals of their thru-hikes, learning of what was to come, yearning to experience¢¦everything. And now, it¢s my own words that are whetting my desire. All my doubts and insecurities, that I¢m insane to even contemplate heading out again, so soon, they¢re just washed away, so inconsequential. It¢s inexplicable, really, but I just know that I need to go back, come of it what it may. The journey is in the path, not the destination.
Date: 2004-12-24
To: home sweet home
Miles today: 0.0

10:40pm12.24.04Despite the incessant bombardment of Christmas carols and holiday music, the decorations decked out on every street corner, and the constant assailment of advertisements, I hadn¢t felt the holiday spirit kindled inside me. Or maybe it was b/c of the rampant commercialization, which to me only serves to trivialize the season and sense of kinship meant to be inspired. I felt as if everything were mired in the materialistic, object-oriented perspective. But at dinner, at a table overflowing w/ nine people crammed elbow to elbow, tonight, in a house brimming w/ family -- tonight I feel that internal warmth, that tingling in the spine, that sense of togetherness, that feeling of Home. To me, ¢home¢ isn¢t a place; it¢s how a place makes you feel; it provides a sense of belongingness and comfort and security and peace. And, most of all, love. And that can be anywhere. Or everywhere. And I hope that everyone across the globe can find at least one place to call home. One place to come home to. I¢m fortunate to have two. Ligonier will always hold a special place in my heart, and will always be a home to me. My other domicile stretches along the eastern coast, from the mountains of Georgia, meandering its ways through North Carolina and Tennessee, up to Virginia and beyond. I may have only spent a scant 3 months on the Appalachian Trail, but I was welcomed into that world and landscape w/ such a warmth and rapidity unequaled in my experience. Ligonier became home b/c of associated childhood memories and experiences -- I grew up there. The AT was home, as soon as I set foot on it. I found myself there. I still haven¢t been able to tell anybody about my decision to return to the trail, and I can¢t really gauge how unexpected it will be. I think most everybody knows I will go back, just not quite so soon. But, keeping it bottled up just amplifies the pressure building inside me, just waiting for the cork to pop off. I confessed my desire to Cuppa Joe, via e-mail. Somehow, it¢s easy to relate to a fellow hiker. Perhaps b/c I¢m confident in being understood, sans explanations (long-winded or otherwise) and justifications. I know he¢ll know what I mean, w/o me even having to say it. That unspoken bond is so powerful, so awesome. And the trail exerts a similar force, a connection linking us. And it¢s tugging me home¢¦
Date: 2004-12-25
To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

3:15pm12.25.04Merry Christmas! Finally, a moment of quietude. A hurricane of activity and commotion swept through this morning, lasting til the early afternoon. Right now, the calm eye of the storm is centered over me, but I know it cannot last. I can sense the chaos, hovering on the edge of consciousness, a flicker just out of the line of vision, and know that the fury of the storm will descend once again w/ an absolute certitude. So, I will grasp at the peace while it¢s available. The day has been wonderful, despite the whirling chaos, the greatest gift being surrounded by family. My physical presents, though all unnecessary, are not unwanted (which is not always the case -- memories of pink sweaters hover in the murky confines of Christmases past). The one I¢ll have the most fun w/ is a gift certificate to REI. Can¢t go wrong sending a hiker to an outfitter. Like the proverbial kid in the candy store. Also, Grandma and Grandpa read about a new, hot-off-the-press photojournal of the AT from an aerial perspective. They had Dad hunt it down on Amazon. Brought memories of the Trail welling up (¢tho they aren¢t exactly buried deeply in the recesses of my mind). But, it¢s really fascinating to see the landscape from that perspective, from the eagle¢s domicile. McAfee Knob was this tiny little speck of gray rock, lost amidst a backdrop of lush green vegetation. The precipitous drop from the cliff¢s edge, the contrast in elevation, is consumed by the rhododendrons. And Max Patch? Max Patch is huge! From my recollections, it was a wide open (mowed) field on a mountaintop, but seen from above, it extends forever. Fontana Dam, Watauga Lake, the towers on Albert Mountain and Wayah Bald, the steps leading north from Damascus -- all are indelibly imprinted in my mind. And here we are -- the whirlwind returns¢¦
Date: 2005-01-02
To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

5pm1.2.05Delving back into John Muir¢s world, after a long hiatus: ¢Every rock, mountain, stream, plant, lake, lawn, forest, garden, bird, beast, insect seems to call and invite us to come and learn something of its history and relationship. But shall the poor ignorant scholar be allowed to try the lessons they offer? It seems to great and good to be true." My First Summer in the SierraWent for a walk this afternoon. Had to escape my apartment, the walls felt as if they were closing in, attempting to contain and compress the exponentially expanding joy I feel. In a display of fulfulling resolutions (not specifically ¢New Year¢s¢ related, but the metaphorical ¢new leaf¢ did provide some impetus), or perhaps guilt about poor correspondence in my past, or maybe just a selfish desire to confess, I wrote to one of my closest friends from the trail last year and told him of my decision to return. Cuppa Joe¢s one of the kindest and happiest and most genuine people I¢ve met, trail-wise or other-wise. Even when he has hobbled in Gatlinburg for 5 days (and of all the trail towns to get stuck in, Gatlinburg ranks at the bottom of my list), even then his spirit wasn¢t quelled. And it won¢t be dampened this year either, as he too heads back to Springer Mountain. I needed an unequivocal understanding of my decision to hike again, no ¢Whys¢, no ¢Again?¢, no ¢Starting over? Why repeat the section you¢ve already done?¢ Just wanted someone to share the unadulterated joy at the prospect of standing on Springer Mountain in 2 months. So, I clicked ¢Send¢ and prepared for a long wait until a reply. 30 minutes later, my Inbox holds a response and my face an unshakeable grin. I feel so unburdened, having told someone else. Making the decision, internally, 2 weeks ago, I was elated and happy and buoyant. But I was carrying it around inside of me. Now that I¢ve released it, I feel like I¢m radiating joy and exuberance. I feel FREE. I have no doubts about this; everything feels¢¦right, properly aligned. Oh, I¢m certain my doubts will resurface soon enough, but for now¢¦ For now, I could out-grin the Cheshire cat. And so I went for a walk, b/c there thoughts and emotions, whirling chaotically through my brain, needing space to occupy and expand. I headed out the door and just started to walk. I walked everywhere and nowhere. My feet carried me through the streets of the neighborhood, but my mind swept me further south, to a wooded footpath stretching from Georgia to Maine, called the Appalachian Trail.¢It¢s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door¢¦You step into the Road, and if you don¢t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.¢ --Bilbo Baggins, The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien
Date: 2005-01-08
To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

8:20pm1.8.05I went to Trader Joe¢s this afternoon to pick up some groceries, and as I left the store, I was met w/ quite a sight. It was, late afternoon, 4:30 or 5ish. Dusk. Sun not set, but well on its way. Gray, cloudy skies. And over the parking lot, there was a swirling mass of black specks. At first, I thought it was leaves, caught up in a miniature dust devil. But then I realized they were larger than mere leaves. And then, the sound hit me -- caw, caAW, CAW. A cacophony of cawing. A cadre of crows, continuously cackling. It was very strange, the way the sound took several second longer than the sight to register in my brain. And the movement of the flock? (Is that right? A ¢flock¢ of crows? I¢m pretty sure there¢s another term for it.) It seemed an intricate dance, circular motion, each bird acting individually, but the combination resulting in a beautiful performance. The teeming, seething mass slowly curled itself across the parking lot, and out of sight. If I¢d left the store a minute later, I would have missed the entire dance.11:40pmDad sent out an e-mail tonight for the proposed 2005 backpacking trip out West. It¢s become a yearly ritual, begun in 2000, when I joined him and a bunch of his biking buddies in the Rockies for a week of hiking. My introduction to the world of overnight backpacking, and it only served to whet my appetite for more. The following two summers were spent in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming. Quite a contrast from Estes -- more stark, less green, but very beautiful in a rugged, craggy way. I¢ve missed the most recent two trips, though, to Yosemite and last year¢s Bampf hike. And now, it seems, this year¢s Yellowstone sojourn will also be precluded. But, as much as I want to return to the mountains of the western states, I want, I need to spend some time on the (admittedly smaller) peaks out east. I can¢t adequately express why the need to go back to the AT. It¢s just something I have to do. Come of it what may. Life-altering epiphanies of not. No deadlines, timelines, or destinations. Just point myself northward and start walking, however far my feet take me. Beyond that, who can say? Stripped down to carrying your life on your back, you really get to know yourself, your priorities. I miss that clarity, and I need to regain it.
Date: 2005-01-22
To: footprints
Miles today: 0.0

12pm1.22.05Solnit commented about how reading is like following a path created by the author, leading across their imagination, their mind. You¢re tracing the footsteps they set before you. That¢s a really poor paraphrase; I¢ll try to track down the actual quote. (¢narrative writing is so closely bound up w/ walking. To write is to carve a new path through the terrain of the imagination.¢ -- See, told you she said it a hundred times better.) But, it got me thinking about actual trails in the physical world (Enough, already, w/ this metaphorical, metaphysical crap! ), and the footprints we lay, as we tread on them. The marks and evidence of our passing that we leave behind. Last year, I remember that I came to identify the presence of certain hikers by the distinctive tracks their foot-wear left. Sometimes I could tell if a friend had just recently been there. (Now, this was not a regular occurrence. Conditions had to be perfect -- slightly muddy, soft terrain, pliant enough to hold the impression of a boot, but not so muddy that feet slide higgledy-piggledy w/ every step.) But, this made me realize that, tho¢ I recognized others¢ footsteps, I had no recognition of my own. You spend the day, observing the remnants of those preceding you, but never see the evidence of those who follow. Or of your own impact.
Date: 2005-02-22
To: View Entry
Miles today: 0.0

10:45pm2.22.05Back in Ligonier tonight, snuggled in my childhood bed (the first bed, I should add, that I¢ll have slept in since mid-January, when I voluntarily relegated myself to floor and sleeping bag), Annie curled up at my feet. Good, old, neurotic Anne, the cat too intimidated by all other felines that she can¢t live outside. What am I doing up in Ligonier? Talking myself hoarse, it seems. I drove up, carting the first carload of my stuff to be deposited here for an indeterminate length of time. I¢ll be living a very spartan existence for the next two weeks in my apartment. But, I really came up to be a living, breathing show-and-tell display for Mom¢s bookclub. One guess what the book was. Only perhaps the most well-known book on the AT, popularizing the Trail and its culture, the classic cover of the black bear in front of a green forest backdrop. Yes, Mr. Bryson¢s account of his escapades. I ended up relating quite a few of my own. They asked me if all of his anecdotes could possibly be true. Mentally cataloguing my own inventory of tales from last year, I realized how truly zany, and wacky, and gosh-darn hi-larious the trail community really is. And, relating all the stories, served only to whet my desire, fan the flames already leaping and crackling, to be back out there. I¢m primed and ready to go. And I sill have nearly 3 weeks?! How am I going to survive? The wait¢s gonna kill me. This evening acted as a catalyst to a reaction that¢s been perking along, slowly but consistently. Now, the reaction¢s progressing forward, full-steam ahead. I don¢t want to wait 3 weeks. All the talk and tale-telling tonight has acted to mentally pull me onto the Trail, bring me down to Georgia, release a flood of memories from last year. And, there¢s nowhere else my mind (or my body) would rather be. I¢d thought I had already been sitting on the edge of a precipice, tense w/ nervous anticipation. But, that previous emotion pales in comparison to the all-consuming desire raging w/in me right now, at this moment. I have no doubts, no insecurities, no hesitancies. Just a burning, unquenchable longing to be going Home. Marlena, Betty, Anne -- Ladies, thank you for such a delightful evening, for lending eager ears to my tales, and for renewing my sense of wonderment, rekindling my spark.
Date: 2005-02-26
To: T-minus two weeks...
Miles today: 0.0

4:30pm2.26.05Things are rapidly approaching a culmination point. A week from now, and I will be gainfully unemployed. A fortnight from now and I¢ll be on a plane, flying south, only to perform an about-face and follow the birds¢ northerly migration and the progress of spring up the eastern coast. I took a respite from my apartment cleaning (Dave and Carly have a prospective tenant coming by tomorrow. I don¢t have much stuff left, but what little I do have somehow manages to positively explode into the empty space.), and whittled away several hours at REI, climbing in and out of sleeping bags, zipping them snug for test fits. Dad offered me an early birthday present of a down bag -- my 5-year old Cat¢s Meow just wasn¢t cutting it on the <10 deg. nights. I¢ve had my eye of a Western Mountaineering bag, but when Dad offered to get me the Marmot Helium, well, how could I refuse. So, today I was testing out the size options -- at just over 5¢6¢, I fall into that nebulous gray area b/t regular and long lengths. An hour later, sleeping bags strewn about like hapless victims, I¢ve romped and rolled around on the floor, zipped grub-like, in every possible size and fit. I¢m sure I provided a distracting and amusing interlude for the staff. I also picked up a copy of Wingfoot¢s 2005 Handbook. So pristine, so clean. So new. (The only reason I¢m replacing my copy from last year is b/c that one is sadly approaching a state of total disintegration. The pages look like mice have been gnawing at them (not outside the realm of possibility), the spine is cracked, the cover delaminated. One too many dousings in a rainstorm, I suppose. But the pages (the first half, anyway) are replete w/ hurried scribblings and notes in the margins -- where and when I first met fellow hikers, where and w/ whom I camped every night. A habit I intend to continue this year. Hence, the new guidebook.) It¢s amazing how mere words, lines of data, mileages, and elevations, strings of letters and numbers, are converted on the page into vivid memories, encompassing every sense -- the acrid smell of smoke from a controlled burn as I approached Winding Stair Gap (and how Fire Marshall got his name). The thrumming beating of the ruffed grouse, preparing for flight. The vibrant hues of wildflowers, in stark contrast to the brown duff of the forest floor. The physical ache and exhaustion, and simultaneous kinetic fluidity of feeling the mechanics of your body, sinews and tendons flowing gracefully in the choreographed dance of walking. The laughter and faces of friends around a campfire. The Side Track Caf©. This is what I see. What I see and taste and feel and smell and hear, as I flip through the guidebook. Not mere words. The words are simply a conduit to the wellspring of my memories, a verbal link to an amazing journey.
Date: 2005-04-03
From: Fontana

To: Fontana
Miles today: 0.0
Weather: clear sky

4.3.05Day 219:10pm Alright, the short, short version today. No lengthy epistles. I AM LEAVINGtomorrow. Period. Blizzard or no. But, apparently, the trail into the Smokies wasstill almost impassable. A few hardy souls trudged north, but several more turnedback, when the snow reached mid-thigh. Crazy, no? It's been a blast, chillin' inFontana, but the siren's call of the trail is calling to me. Cuppa Joe and Breakrolled in around 5, so I got to see them, before heading into the Smokies. They'rezeroing tomorrow. And, after the meteorological conditions they've experienced, Ithink they'd be insane not to. But, I simply canNOT stick around here another day. I'd go insane if I did. So, GSMNP, here I come... (Really, I mean it thistime.)