She Was a Beaut’

20/20 coming at you from the great indoors, Appalachian trail in the bag. I haven’t taken this many zero days in a row since before Springer! I’m going to attempt to draw at least some coherent thoughts out of the maelstrom that’s been going on in my head since summiting Katadhin.

Current Feeling: Not Sure

Since officially finishing the trail, I haven’t had much time to meditate on what this means to me. In every silent moment my mind drifts to the damp stone and root of the trail that became my whole existence. I get random flashes of crazy experiences that happened. Things that were so outside of normal life. One thing is certain, there is a certain sense of dread about the future now. I have a vacation planned for the post trail period. Time that I can really rest and think back on the trail. 

The Richest Stuff

I stopped at Shaw’s Hiker Hostel in Monson, Maine the morning I went into the hundred mile wilderness. I wanted to get the famous breakfast and organize a food drop for the hundred mile. I knew how special of a place this was within the thru hiking community. Not because of any specific stories or experiences I heard, but just from the reverence other thru hikers referred to it with. I was immediantly welcomed in and given some coffee on the house. I was told breakfast was over but was offered some chili, I graciously accepted. I got my resupply squared away in the gear shop and was at the desk when Poet, one of the owners of the hostel, came and said he would make me the breakfast. I graciously accepted again and hung out with the SOBO’s that were freshly out of the wilderness while it was being made. They had this energy about them, the anticipation of a whole trail. It was so special to see from the other end. The breakfast was just as awesome as they say, and the blueberry pancake cairn was just… chefs kiss.

Poet generously offered me a ride to the trail and we hopped in his forerunner. It was very well taken care of but the dirt worked into the floor spoke silently of the amount of hikers he had given rides to in this cars life. When he dropped me off at the trailhead, right as we were reaching the end of our conversation, he left something with me. He said “I’ve got something for you, its a haiku” I was caught off guard, but listened intently to the next words.

“Drink your deepest now,

For the richest stuff settles

In the final swig”

~Poet

To say that this poem had a massive effect on the final days of my hike would be an understatement. Even without the restraint of writing 5-7-5 syllables, There’s no way I can do a better job of putting the feelings of the final days of a thru hike into words. That poem flowed through my head every day through the hundred mile, and it still does now. It almost brings tears to my eyes when I say it to myself. There’s something about the final act that can only be glimpsed through a medium like poetry or art, and even as a thru hiker its difficult to understand.

Leading Up

The hundred mile may be my favorite stretch of trail, and I’ve said that about almost every stretch of trail for the entire trail. A good friend and a fellow thru hiker, Ready, told me one evening when we got to camp in the White’s that “people ask me what my favorite state is. Well, I’ve gotta say, I think New Hampshire is my favorite state, but I’m starting to realize I say that for every state!” We laughed and agreed on the matter. Well as of right now, the hundred mile is my favorite, and I have to say I think it’s because of the absolutely incredible forest there. It seems untouched. Giant mats of moss covering enormous boulders with trees growing over them, hearing nothing but the wind in the trees and the birds singing to each other and the occasional bubbling of water. It was so alive, and it felt ancient. The place is sacred, at least to me. 

That old growth forest combined with fairly easy hiking (except for the sketchy fordings) made it feel like a meditation. As I walked along the wet forest floor, uncaring of how saturated my shoes and socks were from the deep mud and water, I was able to find a peace there that wasn’t present along any other point. Playing music, putting your head down, and running through this land felt wrong. This place had to be appreciated. 

Even though all the views of Katadhin throughout the wilderness were obscured by clouds, fog, and rain, the nearing end couldn’t have been more visible. I spent time appreciating all the kindness I received from strangers along the way, all the friends I made, all the memories formed and stowed away forever, just waiting to be brought back up at some point in the future. I took the time to think back to every day on the trail. From Springer to then. I felt an immense sadness at the coming end. Bittersweet, but mostly bitter. 

When I pulled out my quilt and sleeping pad for the last time it hit me hard. This was my life, and this was the last time I would be sleeping in the woods for my first thru. I thought of all the nights I had done this ritual before. The night it was going to be single digits, the nights of unplanned hiking until nightfall, the night I was pre-hypothermic, the nights of stealth camping on peaks and watching the sunset from inside the warmth of my quilt. The immensity of how far I have traveled hits me in weird ways, but it still hasn’t hit me as hard as I thought it may. 

The End

All along the way I imagined what it would feel like to stand on that sign atop Katadhin. Sometimes it would bring tears to my eyes to imagine it. As I climbed that last rocky hill on the tablelands of the last mountain, I kept my head down and thought of where I was. It was partly cloudy, and the peak was partially socked in. I looked up, and there it was, the sign. It was ahead, within sight, it seemed like it was closer than where it should have been. When I saw that sign it hit me. I felt weak. My chest was heavy. I looked up again. It was surrounded by day hikers taking pictures with it, but among the day hikers I saw a familiar figure. It was Waterboy, someone I had hiked around for about the last 500 miles. He looked at me motionless from near the sign as I climbed up. I kept the approach, the writing on the sign was now legible. I looked over at Waterboy and with one look we immediately understood each other, without any words. We were both so full of emotion it was difficult to say much, so we just muttered half-sentences to each other and looked at the sign. While we were ‘talking’ the clouds parted just enough for a minute. After a couple seconds I realized that it was the perfect opportunity for my picture. As I walked over to the sign and saw the weathered and worn down rungs to stand on, I had to hold back a sob. I climbed up, and after four months of imagining what pose I’d make, I just defaulted to the standard ski pose. As I stood there in the pose, I felt a rush of absolute energy come over me. All the energy, not good or bad, just this upwelling from my toes to my fingertips and to the top of my head. I climbed down as a successful thru hiker.

I’m Forever Changed

I’ve been home for a couple days now. The thought of Katadhin still haunts me. My girlfriend sent me letters along the entire length of the trail, but the final one she saved for me for when I got back. There was a question in there that perfectly puts into words the current predicament: “I hope that when you are done you are proud, that it isn’t only a feeling of grief”. But I am feeling a tremendous amount of grief among other things. Even basking in the creature comforts and luxuries of civilian life that I thought I’d appreciate, it’s simply not the same. Driving down what were once nostalgic or aesthetic parts of my hometown I do not feel what I used to. My mind drifts to the sky and the clouds over everything. In conversation I feel detached, like there’s some new barrier where there wasn’t one before. I hope that this is just post trail depression and not permanent, because many of my reasons for hiking were to better myself, not to isolate myself. 

But that moment on top of Katadhin haunts me. I spent the whole hike living life to it’s complete maximum, drinking deep in the waters of experience, no regrets. But on finishing and hiking down, driving home, and seeing my old friends and family, I wonder if I felt what I was supposed to feel up there. It was such a new and foreign experience that I have no way of putting it into words. Forget if I felt what I was ‘supposed’ to, how do I even describe what I did feel!? Is it meant to be understood? That spot physically felt sacred. The more I wrack my brain on it, the more I think it should just be left alone, left as it’s own beautiful moment. Not analyzed. 

One thing is certain, I will never be the same. As cliché as it sounds, its true. I learned a lot out there in the hills. A lot about myself, about humanity, about the spirit and about our place within nature. Never in my life have I felt so simultaneously grounded and aloof at the same time. 

We live in a beautiful world among beautiful souls. I do not know what’s next for me, but I know I will be appreciating every second given to me

. 

20/20 out, until next time.