Date: 2004-04-06
To: Newton MA
Miles today: 0.0

A dialogue, one year later.Message from Last Minute (received March 2004)Ya know... It was one year ago yesterday when I started my AT hike. I remember the night prior...leaving my sister's house at like 3 in the morning after finally having finished organizing my food drops, an overwhelming sense of terror came over me. Just for a moment some part of me screamed "What the hell are you doing?" I spent the next few hours trying to get my pack organized. At sun-up my mom, dad and sister were waiting patiently in the living room as I wrestled with my pack. Cramming this in, taking this out, putting this somewhere else, tying that on. Finally, at about 9 AM I filled up my Platypus with 6 quarts of water (of course my two nalgenes were already full and hanging off of my sides) and weighed in at 70 lbs. I made a few more adjustments and got her down to 60 and off we sped to Atlanta. We got lost trying to find the trail head and I think at about 3pm we had completed a small winding path to the AT intersection. I walked with my sister to Springer's summit, snapped a few pics, and returned to the car. Gizmo gave me the first of many trail lectures about leave no trace and bear bagging (the bear part was full of horror stories that were especially reassuring to my mother). One last photo of my folks at the nearest white blaze to the car. And off I clambered into the unknown. One last distant horn blast and I was (I believed) alone. My God...a year has passed. I still don't know what to make of it all. It is so hard to think about. All the rains that still haunt me with a sense of dread whenever I look out at a cloudy sky, cannot wash away this sense of sadness and loss. I know that I should feel grateful for even the opportunity to undertake such an adventure- for all the amazing moments in nature- for challenges overcome, fears faced, demons defeated, perspective gained, and people...how do I even begin to describe the wonderment that is the trail community? The people and relationships that I will never lose- even if I never speak with them again. But as I sit at this computer and think of today and tomorrow, it is so difficult to imagine a future adventure that can make me feel alive like I did on that great mysterious footpath called the AT. I have changed, and for better or worse, I can never be contented with the life that I had before the trail. At times it is as though a part of me was lost up on that ridge, and still wanders from shelter to shelter, seeking the ghosts of other hikers whose bodies left the trail to return to this life. And at other times it is as though I have found a part of myself that had slept through the first 30 years of my existence and is now ready for the next adventure. Before the trail I used to fear getting caught hiking after the sun went down. Now, my heart may still flutter in the waning vesper light, and my mind still augments nature's sounds from the darkness, but I simply hike on. I hike till I can't see, put on my headlamp, take measured steps, pay more attention to the turns, and think nothing more of it. I sometimes forget the lessons of the trail, that no matter how dark the trail gets, or how many days of rain you have hiked through, or how lonely an empty shelter may feel- the sun will rise, the rains will stop, and friends are always just around the next bend. I hope, trail family, that wherever you are, you are taking whatever the trail puts in front of you and hiking your hike. I miss you guys! Mark- Last MinuteMillipede's Reply Message to Last MinuteBeautiful message, Last Minute. Thanks for sending it. I'm having flashbacks myself, which I am attending to by looking at this year's journals on trailjournals.com. The funny thing about it is that I often find myself thinking about some random moment on the trail when nothing special was happening. It was really moments like that, either alone on the trail or with friends in a shelter or campsite, that made my hike what it was. Last fall I tried to write a little essay on what the whole experience meant to me, but I felt it was missing something. Now I'm beginning to think that an AT hike is truly a Zen experience. I've been doing some practice at the Cambridge Zen Center this winter. The first thing that struck me was that the people at the Zen Center looked just like thru-hikers (only cleaner). Then someone explained to me that the basic idea of Zen is to just do what you're doing: when you're sitting, just sit; when you're walking just walk; when you're eating, just eat. And that's exactly what the hike was like. I remember thinking about this and discussing it with other hikers on the trail: when I got to a shelter it was very satisfying to just sit for a long spell on that wood floor and look out at the woods and do nothing.I don't know about you, but I can't wait for the snow in the mountains to be gone so I can get a little taste of it again.Last Minute, one of those fond memories is sitting by Rte 20 in Massachusetts munching the Big Mac you were kind enough to bring back from Lee. I hope life is good for you. Peace.