The Final Chapter

Hello again, blogosphere. Vulture here.

It has been a long road to get here.

That’s not unusual—we all know that the Appalachian Trail is almost 2200 miles long. But my journey ended up being a little longer than most, at least in time if not in miles. The gracious hosts of The Trek have agreed to let me rejoin the blogging force for one more day so that I can write the final chapter of my story. Even though it has been over three years since my last message, what I have to say is worth saying.

I finished the Appalachian Trail!

2,193.1 miles. 14 states. Five years. From thru-hiker hopeful to section-hiker to LASH-er to 2,000-miler. Here I am.

How does one sum up a journey like that? It took much longer than I wanted or expected. What began as a thru-hike attempt turned into a series of section-hikes and ended as a 500+ mile LASH. Now, having crossed the finish line, I have realized that it was exactly the journey I was meant to have.

So, let me recap.

If you followed me back in 2017 (or if you read my previous entries), you’ll know that I began my thru-hike attempt as a flip-flopper at Harper’s Ferry, WV, in April 2017. Those first few months on trail were pure magic. I had plunged into a brand new world. As a born-and-raised Midwesterner, the ancient mountains and deep woods had been foreign to me until I found myself living among them. The culture of the AT embraced me and I, in turn, embraced it.

Like Thoreau once encouraged, I was “cold and hungry and weary,” dealing with “brute nature.” But I learned how precious the sun was. I was alone much of the time but I learned the value of companionship in my encounters with others. In the solitude, I learned about myself. I was dirty and rugged but alive and beautiful. I learned that my body can do incredible things and I left behind much of the struggle I had previously had with self-image. I learned mental fortitude. I learned about goodness—in others, in myself, in God.

When I climbed Katahdin, it was an amazing day! Even though I was only done with half of the trail at that point, it still felt like a monumental achievement. On only my second backpacking trip ever, I had solo-hiked from West Virginia to Maine.

Then, things took a turn. Plans were derailed, rearranged, and derailed again. I suffered from back and hip issues that ended my thru-hike attempt. The following year, 2018, I would return to the AT to attempt to LASH from Virginia to Georgia. That plan was short-lived. I hiked 200 miles, a decent chunk of trail, but not what I had set out to accomplish. Helped along by five zeroes at the very beginning of the hike, due to Hurricane Florence, I never found my mental game. When my hip started acting up again, it didn’t take much to convince me that this wasn’t the time to finish.

2019 saw me complete my first official section-hike, a designation I gave it because it was the first time I got on trail with a definite start date, end date, and number of miles. I hiked 90 miles in nine days. It was a beautiful section hike with perfect weather and several iconic landmarks. I finally got to walk along Tinker Cliffs, have my photo taken at McAfee Knob, see Dragon’s Tooth, and marvel at the Keffer Oak. I also did something I hadn’t done before—I took my time. Being away from trail life had taught me to appreciate it as a gift, not a given.

In the fall of 2020, I added 60 miles to my trail tally. I had intended to finish the state of Virginia. However, much like the rest of 2020, things went a little haywire. Rumors reached me of a suspicious character on trail who was harassing people and causing trouble at hostels. Since I was a solo hiker, I had to be especially prudent. I decided to avoid the situation entirely by getting off trail. It wasn’t what I needed or wanted. After surviving two-thirds of 2020 and a record-crazy year at my workplace, I had been exhausted and in need of time in the woods to reflect and recover.

Going into 2021, I was an emotional mess. I was no longer satisfied at my job. I needed to move on but didn’t know why or what to. Stress hounded me. I couldn’t escape it. It made me feel like a terrible person all of the time. When I made the decision to resign from my job of nine years, I had no idea what I wanted to do next. The only thing I knew with certainty was that I wanted to finish the trail, all 576 miles that remained. It seemed like the perfect way to push the reset button and rediscover faith in myself.

Since I had a family wedding to attend in Georgia in May 2021, I decided I would jump on the trail at Springer after the wedding and hike north to where I had left off in 2020. This spot happened to be a remote mountain road above Burke’s Garden in Virginia, NOBO Mile 576.

It felt good to be in Georgia! The trail had the aura of hallowed ground, the place where new hikers become thru-hikers. I expected it to kick my butt but I was pleasantly surprised. Not that it was easy but having almost 1600 miles of the AT under my belt had given me valuable perspective. Just because this or that mountain is hard, doesn’t mean I can’t climb it. It still took me a little while to find my “hiking groove” but once I found it, I was determined. Come hell or high water, I was not getting off the trail until I finished it. I didn’t care if I had to crawl!

After Georgia came North Carolina, Tennessee, another brush with Wizard, and the Great Smoky Mountains. Wizard was the sketchy character I decided to avoid in 2020 by getting off trail. I crossed paths with him this time around and hiked a 25-mile day to put distance between us. After hearing stories from various other hikers, I decided Wizard was mostly harmless, at least on a good day. But it was in my best interest to out-hike him, so I did just that. Unlike my brush with Wizard, the Smoky Mountains were magical, albeit wet. I enjoyed the views, the camaraderie with my fellow hikers, and the wildlife.

My one and only zero day of the LASH came in Hot Springs. Here, I enjoyed a pancake breakfast that I had been dreaming about for nearly two hundred miles. It was also here that my hiking plans lined up with those of Flash. Flash, a retired gentleman from MA, and I began hiking together the day after Hot Springs, and we never stopped.

This was a first for both of us. We were both solo hikers, so we weren’t sure how we would like hiking with someone else. As it turned out, we both decided it was pretty great! It was fun having someone to talk to—it made the miles go by faster. It was nice to split the camp chores, like collecting water and hanging our bear bags. We split other things, too, like shuttle fees, although Flash is extremely generous and often would not let me pay for my share.

But more than that, hiking with Flash meant I could more fully enjoy my last two weeks on trail. I was no longer alone, which meant that if everything went to shit in the middle of the woods, it wasn’t solely up to me to deal with it. I was freer. And I genuinely enjoyed getting to know and talk with Flash. We walked about everything—family, movies, books, trivia, faith, God, food. When we found ourselves facing the last big climb of the day with weary feet, conversations about food distracted us from the pain and got us up those mountains.

By the time Flash and I parted ways at the end of my hike, I had a hunch why God had wanted me to finish the trail five years after I started it. I already spoke about the long and stressful months leading up to this hike. I was not at my best and felt like I was constantly failing at my job. Which turned me into a jerk of a person, which made me feel guilty. It spread from work to home and every other area of my life. Somewhere along the way, I stopped believing that I was a good person.

God knew that I would need the trail to recover. And indeed, I was starting to do just that in the peace of the woods, in the cleansing exertion of hard work, and in the long hours of thought. But God also knew that I would need Flash, because without him I wouldn’t have heard what I needed to hear most of all—that I am a good person. On our second to last day of hiking together, Flash reminded me that there is goodness in me and that I have gifts to share with the world. I had no idea how badly I had needed to hear that. I began to believe in myself again, a belief that was further bolstered by my finishing the trail the following day.

I recognized the voice of God in what Flash told me. It made me realize why I had needed this LASH at this time. In the midst of all my failure and stress and guilt, God saw me, saw what I needed, and gave it to me. It was something I desperately needed, especially when I returned home from the trail and found myself staring into the unknown. Without a job and with no clear idea of what I wanted to pursue next, the struggles didn’t just evaporate when I finished the trail. But as I faced the void, I knew I was capable of goodness, of greatness even, and not just because I had hiked 2,193.1 miles.

So, eight months later as I am writing this, I don’t have life figured out. I still am not totally sure what I want to do next, although I have some ideas. I think about the trail every day and write about it often, always searching for the right words to describe the experience. If my search proves successful, I may publish a book someday.

This has been my story—a story of perseverance, beauty, and faith. I trust that it will help me discover my next calling—the one that will show why the journey was necessary in the first place. Or maybe it won’t because it’s not time yet. But that is part of the beauty of this mysterious path we walk through life: Much like on the trail, we never quite know what we will find if we just climb the next mountain.

“In the end, she became more than what she expected. She became the journey, and like all journeys, she did not end, she just simply changed directions and kept going.” (R.M. Drake)

“Large mountains stretch across a small world. With only one direction to go, forward. We find that most of the trek is uphill and we are never truly satisfied with where we are. We are turning dreams into memories and goals into stepping stones. Our bodies cry out for relief and when it finds none becomes stronger and more resilient. Some go fast and others go far, but all of us keep going. With an unquenchable thirst we seek out the next spring and drink our inspiration straight from the earth. A lifetime of memories are created in a single moment and our longing to stay gives way to our need to keep going. We pick up our packs and climb the eternity. Oh how we wish we could describe the feeling, but we know all you could see is the pain. The wind through the trees takes our breath away, or maybe we gave it freely, either way we are never coming back. When someone asks why we do what we do, we respond simply with HIKERS HIKE, then walk away, hoping that one day they will find the courage to do the same.” (Odie)