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.