Life is a Paradox

The first week on the Long Trail prepared me to be physically strong enough for a thru hike. Many abilities and all ages have tackled hiking the length of the Long Trail. It is an endurance event that will tolerate those that have the will to complete it. The second week on the Long Trail began to take on a spiritual quest for me. Physically ready now, mentally, I was beginning to let go of previously held notions of who I thought I was. The final week of this journey held the final challenges and a great deal of mystery. The highest peaks of the Green Mountains were still to come, along with the most difficult stretch of elevation gain and loss of any trail in the United States.

Leaving home this time after two days of rest would also prove to be emotionally difficult. My two and a half year old son was beginning to understand separation and he was not too fond of my leaving. My wife Susan remained steadfast in her resolve though and never wavered in her support of me completing the hike. I could also tell this trip was taking its toll on her. Never one to want to be alone, she persistently mentioned how much she missed me and more importantly how much she needed me back in the house.

I would be hiking over some familiar ground during this week, as I lived close to the Long Trail in Huntington, Vermont. Despite this familiarity, there was a section on the climb up Mount Mansfield, Vermont’s highest peak, that was particularly challenging for me. Ironically, I love climbing mountains yet I am afraid of heights, or more specifically, I am afraid of exposure to heights. I was hiking alone at this point, and the weather was unsettled and changing quickly. I approached a notorious section of climb up the forehead of Mount Mansfield that features a narrow ledge with a 50-foot drop coupled with a perilous gap in ledge that greets you at the top of a 15-foot rickety ladder.

I still remember standing atop that ladder for what might have been as much as 20 minutes. Fortunately, no one came up behind me or from the front for I was not moving. There are moments that define an event, a day, or sometimes a lifetime. Mustering up the courage to get myself across that chasm were all three for me. Just as climbing Stratton Mountain the first week, and then racing towards Appalachian Gap and reward myself with an extra rest day at home at the conclusion of week two, getting off that ladder would prove to be my Everest in week three. I have always marveled at what ultimately triggers individuals to action; I believe in the final analysis it amounts to just doing one thing first, and then another. One leg up, one hand over, check for balance and repeat.

A series of amazing things continued to happen on the remainder of the trail, but literally and figuratively, it was all downhill from Mansfield. I would continue to meet inspiring people and share fascinating stories that I continue to retell. I would hike the entire 272 miles of the Long Trail nearly flawlessly yet my only fall would be on a patch of grass on my final full day. I would hear a ghost, or perhaps an angel, singing to me on my last night of the trail in a lonely shelter. After reaching the terminus at the Canadian border, I would stop two feet short of a falling tree during my anti-climatic hike out. Yet, those are stories better told another time.

The exclamation point of this three-week journey was finally being reunited with my family for good. It was with them that I sipped Champaign and saw that look in the eyes of my wife that spelled love, need, pride, and relief. It was clear to me that although I hiked by myself, I was never alone and it was only when I allowed them to participate that this trip would be possible. Susan coordinated, picked up and delivered copious amounts of strength and support with each perfectly timed visit. Katherine learned to dream of what her Everest might be one day and that she too could conquer it. Robert grew up during those three weeks and discovered genuine emotions of longing and love, and performed admirably as “man of the house” in my absence. 

I recall standing there with my family, my wife’s parents, and Sherpani and FreeBird, who were my two hiking partners over the final days. Many who have completed a thru hike of any distance will tell you there is a feeling of loss once you complete your quest. Some who have climbed Everest will tell of a depression that sets in until they can return once again. The end of the trail is elusive, the true summit seemingly out of reach, even once you have reached it, the moment is eternally fleeting. It would be just as easy to turn around and hike it in another direction, to continue the search.

I too felt a sense of loss at the end of the trail. At one instant, I had lost a part of myself that had never truly dreamed big dreams. Completing this hike had demonstrated I am capable of such feats. At the same time, I realized that I too often create dreams out of existing dreams, never fully realizing that not all my dreams lay at the summit of a mountain or at the end of the trail. The real dreams I discovered, the ones I often took for granted, were scattered everywhere along the edge of the path or at every cross road, there with me even before I began my journey. The dream itself was not really the dream. Life is a paradox of emotions and thoughts that I continually attempted to capture, yet never seemed to succeed. Yet, not to succeed in this regard is certainly not failure, but the essence of what I came to define as success.   

An extra zero.

I had a bit of a home field advantage as I hiked the Long Trail. After meeting hikers during the first week from as far away as Hawaii and Germany, I realized I had it easier than most in terms of coordinating food drop offs and meeting with my family to resupply. Easy for me, but not necessarily for my wife Susan and two children, Kate and Rob. Buoyed by meeting them after seven long days on the trail, I was given the opportunity to clean up, shave and wash my clothes. What made this possible was the efforts of Susan. I was asking much of her to take on being alone with the children for three straight weeks. The kids were in school and day care, and Susan also worked full time. Managing all of this as well as driving two hours to meet me on time was a mammoth undertaking. I’m not sure I fully realized this at the time.

If the first week on the trail was good for building confidence and getting your body physically acclimated to life on the trail, then week two went a long way towards “getting inside your head.” Almost immediately as the second week begins, the traffic on the trail thins out. AT thru-hikers veer off towards the east and being the long trek towards Mount Katahdin and the trail terminus in Maine. The Labor Day weekend warriors have also all gone home along with the college groups. The community and party atmosphere of the first 100 miles gives way to solitude and introspective ponderings.  

Personally, I felt I now belonged here on the trail and began to ask myself repeatedly, “What if I succeed?” I had long been plagued by self doubt in my life. I had few close friends and attributed that to my stale or conservative personality. I was deserted by my parents at the tender age of 17. This followed a childhood that was far from traditional. Mom and dad rarely attended any school related activities despite the fact that I was above average both academically and starred on several sports teams. I often felt as though I raised myself and did a pretty good job doing so. Even still, I wondered why my parents had a difficult time being more involved in what I chose to do with my life and figured that most other people did not care all that much either.

As the second week progressed and the community I had entered into evaporated just as quickly, I found myself alone on the trail with all these thoughts. Ironically, I had never spent a night completely alone in the woods. I still am scared of the dark and of being alone in the woods. My mind raced back to a time in my youth when my father made me wait for two hours in the night time woods while he returned to the house to retrieve more batteries; his flashlight had died and we were tracking a deer he had wounded while bow hunting. I had three days in a row where I saw few people and those I did pass were hiking in the opposite direction. I slept alone each night in open-air lean-tos. I became much better acquainted with who I was that week.

As the miles passed during this second week, physical strength was no longer the limited factor as it had been the first week. With no one to push me faster up the trail and no one to look after my safety and well-being, this section of trail was my only company. My daily routine was eerily similar to a workweek at home; rise with the sun, prepare breakfast, clean, dress, pack for the day and head out the door to the office. While I still cherished the independence this trip offered me, I was pulled to the end of my second week on the trail knowing I would see my wife and children. The urgency of wanting to be together again coupled with waning supplies and deteriorating weather allowed me reach our predetermined meeting spot a full day early. (Fortunately, for me my cell phone had enough battery life left and a faint enough signal to make the connection).  

By the end of week two, I felt light. Not only had I lost approximately 15 pounds, but mentally I was elated to have completed the trip thus far. The house was warm and the feeling of family took on added significance after a week alone. Furthermore, I was ahead of schedule which rewarded me with an extra “zero” day at home. This had been one of my most fulfilling accomplishments thus far – to be on schedule. Planning was never my forte and to know I had completed nearly 200 miles and was nearly spot on with my estimations, gave me reason to feel I could truly finish this trip I had begun. 

What's Your Everest?

It can be alarming how quickly trust and friendship can develop with new people you meet. It cannot be blind trust however. People are occasionally the victims of crime and vandalism much as you can be on the streets in your home community. I had three people ask me prior to my hike, “Will you be carrying a gun with you?” While I chuckled at this question, for it evoked images of the Wild West in my mind, the trail is also not entirely safe; there have been nine documented homicides on the Appalachian trail since 1974 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Appalachian_Trail). While black bears may be the most dangerous animal you may encounter on the trail, the greatest danger is typically your own isolation. As you hike the Long Trail and join that community, you are thrust into relationships in a way akin to those you share your home community with. You have neighbors you like and some you do not, you have laws, and you have responsibilities. 

          

       Quickly I gained confidence as the week progressed. I had the support of a group of hikers whom I quickly bonded with and felt their mutual appreciation of my presence on the trail with them. Our hiking schedule was virtually in synch during that first week, and while we may have hiked separately during the day, we all joined together each night. As the end of the first week approached, I was buoyed by this community knowing we all had similar aspirations.

The turning point for me that week came when approaching the first major climb on the Long Trail, Stratton Mountain. As a day hike, carrying only some snacks and a lunch, Stratton would be an ample romp. As a thru-hike, with stiff boots, 45 pounds of gear, and sagging confidence, Stratton was my Everest. What pulled me up the mountain at the end of that day though, was the sight of several of the hikers who had continually been ahead of me all week until this point. The fact that I had routinely been the last into camp each night led me to believe that I was the least of the community. Yet, as I pushed up that mountain and engaged in conversation with “Chia Pet,” I came to realize this very solid looking outdoors woman was on her first hike and really struggling. Oddly, that was good news to me. Not so much that she was struggling, but the realization that she was more like me that I had envisioned. As we hiked, she shared her fears of not being able to finish and trying to keep up with her primary hiking partner, “Fruitcake,” whom had completed the Appalachian Trail several years earlier. Mentally, I could feel a switch click inside my head, and no longer was I focusing on my own position within this community based on where I started or finished, but more so on the fact that I was quite simply a part of this community.

As we reached the summit, mentally, I was strong again. One of the contributors to my struggle thus far had been my boots. Stiff and heavy, they were better designed for rugged mountaineering and not thru-hiking. For some reason, I thought the rule was stiff = strong. I broke all the rules and shed those boots in favor of my Teva sandals; a move that would prove to save the week for me. I literally ran down the mountain, passing two others hikers along the way, and made it to camp first that night. In my journal that evening I scribbled "Talons wear Teva's" in reference to my now happy Redtail feet.  Emotional, I was elated; physically, I was strong. I had climbed my Everest and there would be no more doubting myself along this journey. I looked forward to the arrival of the others and finishing my first week on the trail.  

Together on a Solitary Quest

Despite any appearances to the contrary, I was quite nervous that first night. The shelter journal reported that a bear was present at the campsite the previous night, Hurricane Ernesto was swirling overhead, and I was certain that my eagerness would not sustain the weight of my pack for another 266 miles. There were a group of hikers already cooking dinner together and having a jovial time; undoubtedly they knew each other or so it seemed and I was on the outside looking in.  As more and more hikers pulled into camp that night, I began to feel even more isolated.

It was quickly becoming evident to me that I would not be alone on this trip. I held some naïve assumption that because I was hiking alone, I would remain alone throughout most of the trip. Any hope of solitude would remain slightly further down the trail. Limited amenities require hikers to share sleeping quarters, dining space and ultimately conversation. Trail names are quickly exchanged, each comes with a story. “Gobbles” had hit a turkey with his car on the way to Thanksgiving dinner. “Chia Pet” was a novice hiker who shaved her head which helped her take on the appearance of the popular dime dime-store gift. Other names such as “Commando” and “Roman Goat” left little or much to the imagination.

  

Solitude would come during the day while hiking.  Yet each evening there was much community to be shared. It became what pulled me further along each day. There is no comfortable way to carry 50 pounds on your back, no matter how good your pack is or how strong your legs may be. Slogging through the woods with biting bugs, sucking mud and ankle grabbing roots makes one question your motivation for undertaking such a journey. I learned to build in my own rewards throughout the day. A Power Bar pushed me towards morning break. Lunch signaled the half way mark for each day. A cold stream or lookout was always a welcome afternoon break. Removing the boots at the end of the trail section was the best reward of the day. 

Ritual set in very quickly, almost too quickly. Rise and shine was often dictated solely by the commotion in the shelter generated by those who actually enjoy waking up early. The same hikers seemed to depart each morning earlier than others did. Despite the solitary quest though, we all seemed to hike together. The shelter each evening was our village to gather in and share tales of the trail from that day. It was here each night that I found myself recharging from the stories and shared experience of a day on the trail. We each battled the same mud bogs, crossed the same slippery puncheons, and marveled at the same majestic views. 

As the first week progressed, this community grew stronger for me. The first week of September is an ideal time to hike weather wise. Mild late summer temperatures are common, nights are often cool enough to keep the vicious black flies at bay, and water is frequently abundant. Back to school college groups are common along the trail also at this time. The tail end of the Appalachian Trail thru-hikers making their way north from the southern terminus at Springer Mountain, Georgia are rounding the corner in Vermont and sharing this section of trail as well.  Meeting all these hikers of varying abilities and backgrounds opened an entire new world to me.