Halfway Home

I recently reached the halfway point of the Appalachian Trail just south of Pine Grove Furnace State Park in Pennsylvania. This felt like such an enormous milestone and accomplishment, knowing I had walked 1,098.5 miles! And to know all those miles included the hardest sections of the trail in Maine and New Hampshire, morale was high while standing at the midpoint. A welling sense of pride coursed through my veins as I arrived at the ceremonial totem like wooden structure flanked with American flags (the actual halfway point varies from year to year based on trail reroutes, and this year’s marker was four miles down trail from the permanent halfway marker). Two weekend hikers walked up as I was standing there soaking it all in. One of them asked me, “Are you a thru hiker?” “I am,” I replied. “Well,” he said, “I wasn’t sure if we would run into any thru hikers, but I promised myself if we did, I would give them this.” He then reaches into the outside pocket of his pack and pulls out a Guinness! Trail magic at its finest! I told him his gift was serendipitous because anytime I’m in town and able to get a brew, I almost always have a Guinness. I packed it out to have with my dinner in celebration. After standing there for some time reminiscing about my hike up to this point, I found myself floating back down to earth. The ticker tape eventually settled and the metaphorical balloons returned to earth with me, then I realized I still have 1,098.5 miles to go. Gulp. Daunting is the word that comes to mind. But just like the first half of this journey, one step at a time, one day at a time is the order at hand. While I’m behind my initial goal of completing the trail in under six months, I’m learning to adjust my expectations and simply be kind to myself for the effort I have put into this walk. An early injury slowed me significantly, and my decision to ease my pace and enjoy the trail has been a good investment in this amazing experience. But if watching Game of Thrones has taught me anything, it’s that “winter is coming.” Momentum is definitely picking up as I enter into Virginia and feel the pursuit of Jaqueline Frost on my heels. Waning daylight has prompted me to get earlier starts and try my best to maintain a steady pace throughout the day as nature’s headlamp has shorter burn times. Night hiking has become a thing—which I enjoy—but it’s setting up camp in the dark that I’m not a fan of. Sometimes night arrivals are necessary, though, in order to make decent headway for the day. So in a way, I’m learning to reformat my hike but without compromising my goals of soaking up the trail and everything it has to offer.

Lessons Learned

As a way to summarize and process the first half of my thru hike, I thought through a list of lessons I’ve learned along the way and how the trail has formatively affected my bearings. I’ve learned a lot more than what’s listed here, but these are my top five—in no particular order:

1. I’m not as good at thru hiking as I thought I’d be. And that’s okay. I’ve identified my abilities and adjusted my expectations. I adopted the term SLOBO to describe my southbound hiking style. And while some of that is an effect of an early injury, it’s also a philosophy. Hustle culture is alive and well on the trail, with hiker miles and FKT’s (fastest known times) getting all the attention. I wish it wasn’t like that. I wish we all showed up to trail to slow our lives and sharpen our perceptions—to leave our Western proclivities for speed and efficiency at the trailhead and throw it into low gear. But that’s just not reality. Hikers have different reasons for being out here, and I recognize that. But my hike is more about meaning over expediency, and that requires a willingness to forego the miles at times in favor of presence.

2. Rest is necessary. It really is. Our bodies are meant to rest. Every thru hiker understands that when they pull into camp every evening. Hiker midnight is 8:30, even earlier now that the sun goes down by 5:30. Zero days off trail are important investments in my hike and also offer a reprieve from the monotonous walking. Thru hiking is as much about mental stamina as it is physical prowess, and it’s important to rest mind, body, and spirit on a regular basis.

3. SOBO is the right direction. At least for me. But honestly, I would encourage anyone considering a thru hike to think about going southbound. It’s quieter, the weather is very temperate, and there is little pressure to finish within a certain timeframe. I recently met a northbounder who wasn’t able to summit Katahdin to finish his thru because the mountain closed early this year. He arrived two days after its closure. And while the beginning of going SOBO is incredibly challenging at times, the feeling of having the hardest part of the trail behind you when you leave The Whites in New Hampshire is a huge boost. NOBO’s always have that looming over them for their entire hike. Trail legs or not, Maine and NH don’t withhold their inherent difficulty. The weather has been great going southbound, too. No April showers or blistering summer days to contend with, and walking with Fall as she unfolds her colorful canopied blanket has been a real treat. But SOBO is not for the feint of heart. There is more isolation, resources are quickly drying up as hostels and resupply points close for the season. Beginning in Maine is a real gut check, organized trail magic is almost non-existent, and it’s simply not as sexy as going northbound. But I have found SOBO’s to be resilient, profound, thoughtful people who know why they’re on trail, and that is really special. I’ll probably publish a dedicated post to going SOBO later on, so keep an eye out.

4. Hike the day, not the trail. Walking 2,197.4 miles is daunting. Overwhelming, really. But I learned quickly that each day I’m not responsible for hiking the whole trail—my goal is to walk the miles that day. This really takes the pressure off the hike and grounds me in the present. It creates a lot of freedom, too. I remember early in my hike, I met a fellow thru hiker named Sharkey who is on what I believe is his fourth thru hike of the A.T. He made the comment that mind over matter really doesn’t work out here, which I thought was so interesting. That certainly isn’t the mentality of miles hungry hikers plowing through trail like the skinny guy inhaling franks at the July 4th Nathan’s hot dog eating contest (why is that champ always so skinny?). The trail cannot be conquered; it is Mother Nature, and mom knows best. I am simply allowed access to a sacred space that always pockets the ace and can play it at any moment against me. So show some respect. This means slow down, adapt, and have the sensitivity to open your eyes to the constant beauty and complexity the trail offers. It’s okay not to prioritize big miles out the gate. You’ll know when it’s time. Fun fact: I didn’t hike a twenty mile day until Pennsylvania, almost a thousand miles in.

5. Kindness is alive and well. I have experienced so many acts of kindness by total strangers since being on trail. Whether it was by other thru or section hikers, day hikers, or random passers by, I have found that the population surrounding the trail is eager to help. I had a man in Hanover, NH pay for my beers at a pub after talking for over an hour about the trail. An important box I was expecting in Williamstown, MA was extremely delayed, and a trail angel in neighboring North Adams let me camp in her yard for three days while I waited for the box, feeding me several meals, doing my laundry, and letting me shower, all without charge. In return, I helped her with some yard work one day, which was still a gift because I would have been bored out of my ever-hiking mind. On another occasion, I was counting on a resupply point in Shenandoah National Park but found out it had closed for the season. I knew I didn’t have enough food to make it through. Then, three separate times, without me even explaining my predicament, people on trail asked if I needed food, to which I earnestly replied yes. I made it through to the next resupply point because of their generosity. A guy in Pennsylvania stopped me and another hiker Deep Dish in town and asked if we “had beverages for the evening,” then proceeded to hand five cold hard seltzers through the driver side window to us. We packed them out to the shelter. And right before I sat down to take on the famous (or infamous) half gallon ice cream challenge, a man approached me and asked if I was hiking the trail. I said yes and we talked for a while about my experience. Afterwards he handed me a twenty, paying for my ice cream. I’ve been offered rides without even throwing a thumb out. Friends and family from home have sent me resupply boxes. Some more trail angels in Pennsylvania reached out to me through Instagram and invited me and other hikers into their home, picking us up from trail, giving us a bed, doing our laundry, making meals, and offering a full resupply. All for free. It really has been a village that has brought me this far, and it will be a village that gets me to Springer. Guilt is a terrible motivator, even though it can get things done. But kindness stirs the soul to give selflessly and creates momentum in the receiver to act kindly down trail or back home. This is why the A.T. is such a special place.

Half Gallon Challenge

Getting to the halfway point of the A.T. warrants participating in the timeless tradition of consuming an entire two quarts of ice cream in one sitting. Of all the side quests and challenges that exist on trail, the half gallon ice cream challenge was one I was looking forward to the most! Somewhere over the years, the tradition formed to eat a half gallon of ice cream to commemorate completing half of the A.T. Traditionally it takes place at the Pine Grove Furnace General Store, the closest rally point to the halfway marker about four miles down trail. Unfortunately, the store would be closed for the season by the time I arrived (an example of resources drying up for later SOBO’s), but seven miles before it there was the Green Mountain General Store just off trail that also carried all necessary supplies to complete the challenge. So I and another SOBO, Deep Dish, both took on the monumental task, each of us successfully completing it in thirty minutes. My love of ice cream and burgeoning hiker hunger carried me through the challenge as I live streamed it on my Instagram account (@the_long_walk_home_). For my attempt I selected a pint of butter pecan and a 1.5 quart of Neapolitan. My strategy was a little different than some. Most dive into the large carton first then save the pint for last. I opted to eat the pint first, knowing I could easily put it away. This would give me an early psychological win going into the 1.5 quart. I chose Neapolitan for the three different flavors, hoping it would provide some taste variety throughout the challenge and prevent me from hating any single flavor in the future (I’m happy to report I’ve had Neapolitan since the challenge and reception is in tact). The strategy worked! The fallout, however, was dire as we sat there in a lactose induced stupor, writhing in bloated ecstasy and shivering head to toe (it was a chilly day already). We soon realized that our nineteen mile planned day would need to be reduced to eight by hiking one more mile to the closest shelter. We were both horizontal in camp by 4:00pm. Small price to pay to celebrate halfway.

Hurricane Helene

So it’s on to the second half, which will get interesting. Many people on and off trail have asked me what my plans are for the South post Helene. As I’m sure you’re aware, Hurricane Helene wreaked havoc in the Southeast in trail towns, adjacent communities, and the trail itself. Initially, over 800 miles of trail were closed. That number has been significantly reduced as crews have assessed the trail and local maintenance clubs have gotten out to clear blow downs and repair affected sections. But there are still stretches of trail that remain impassable, and probably will for some time. Some SOBO’s further south ended their hikes after the hurricane. Some got off trail for a time then returned. Others are pressing on. I’m far enough back where I was fortunate enough not to have been affected by the initial weather, and now there is a buffer of time to allow things to clear up as I near the South. But it could take months or even years to revive the hardest hit sections. Almost everyone I encounter on trail asks me, “So how far do you plan to go?” I always reply doggedly with measured offense, “All the way to Springer,” which is usually met by returned stares of incredulity. Resources could be scarce and resupply points still closed, but I believe through determination and the kindness of trail communities, I’ll be standing on Springer Mountain in the end. I fully intend to walk as continued a white blazed footpath as possible. There will no doubt be sections I have to skirt around by road walking, but I plan to minimize these side blazes as much as possible. In the beginning, I set out to hike the entire Appalachian Trail, and I intend to finish what I started. It’s just the SOBO way.

For more pictures and updates, follow me on Instagram @the_long_walk_home_