Trail Reflections

Hello World,

Since summiting Mount Katahdin, the Appalachian Trail’s northern terminus, I’m still reflecting on countless lessons discovered on this journey. Hopefully we can share a laugh on the first: my future as a full-time blogger is less than promising. In blogging, consistency is key, and my internet presence was anything but consistent along this trip! Thanks for bearing with me (read: dear friends, I LIVED!)

Side note: this guy helped motivate me through most of it… check out his trail stories here: Vango.

Actual first trail lesson:

Our last check in was somewhere around the 1,000-mile mark… Since then, so much has happened between visits with friends along the trail. Each visit felt years apart when in fact, they were mere days apart. We experienced record droughts, freak wildfire smoke, and torrential flooding causing an unending sea of mud while exposing infinite roots (among other tripping hazards). Maine welcomed us with sleet and greeted us each morning with fog. Maine also continued the trend of soaking us to the core with chest-high river crossings and waterlogged trails.

Despite our muddy misadventures in New England and the weather’s valiant attempts to break our spirits, our perseverance became rote. Speaking of perseverance, according to the elevation profile along this trek, we gained enough elevation to hike Mount Everest sixteen times over…. 16!!!

Although cheeky above, my first lesson is: unplug, disconnect, and hang out in nature. I may have taken the getting outside part to an extreme – no need to go live in the woods for months on end – but getting outside is good for the soul! Proof from a sunrise on Franconia Ridge in the White Mountains:

Second trail lesson:

In a conversation with a trail friend on the topic of assimilating back to real life, he mentioned, ‘trail life is real life’ and asked why rush back to the monotony of what came before? At the time, it did not register how wise those words were… Please enjoy this view from the Bigelow Mountains:

Reflecting on the trail, it seems so easy to get up every day, hike all day, only plan about 3-5 days out (when you’ll need your next stop for food), and filling in the adventure with fun stops and breaks. In my current civilization re-entry, I’m trying to apply the discipline of getting up and moving and setting the next day’s goals the night before. Not surprisingly, the time has been easy to fill: trying to stay in shape, getting back into my graduate schoolwork, and coaching a high school sport team.

As such, my second trail lesson is: slow down and make time for fun. I’m certainly someone who fills my plate too quickly, so I’m making a conscious effort to direct my focus and do one thing at a time. That said, much of the burnout I’ve felt in my working life happened because I dove into work and did not prioritize any form of balance or fun! Sit at the waterfall or viewpoint, take a day off to hang with friends, walk half a mile out of the way for ice cream, pick blueberries on the ridge for an hour so you can make pancakes in town (below).

Third trail lesson:

I recognize the incredible privilege this walk requires and barriers to entry many people face on such a journey: saving up, taking months off work, selling most of your material possessions to live in the woods for no real reason beyond ‘soul searching.’ The remaining consequences proving it even physically happened were the development of both such a constant and ferocious hunger you forget how to taste food, plus sock tan lines to rival your grandfather.

Jokes aside – the thru-hiking community is a largely whitewashed, male crowd. Recalling a conversation with an original tramily member somewhere in our first 100 miles, we discussed our privilege to undertake such a trek. Our discussion touched on topics from choice and empowerment to heritage (mine Irish, his Salvadorian) and he made a comment that stuck with me the whole trip, offering a great dose of perspective, ESPECIALLY when the weather was not kind! He mentioned his grandmother walked the same length of the AT from her home to the US border, armed only with hope for a better life.

That comment echoed even more loudly in my head, alternating with ‘I chose to be here,’ particularly when the trail looked like this:

Crossing the finish line of voluntarily CHOOSING to walk this distance and returning to my comfortable life, I cannot fathom NEEDING to walk this distance hoping for a safer life at the end while carrying the uncertainty if the border agents will tell you to turn around and go back. The AT was challenging and rewarding, but in the back of our hiker minds, we knew we had safe and supportive environments to which we could return. The third trail lesson and moral of this story is: the ultimate privilege we have as Americans is choice. If we don’t like our current situation, it isn’t always easy to change, but we do have the option! Remember, every day is filled with choices. Life is fleeting, so take risks and don’t forget to look back to see how far you’ve come (or see the rainbow behind you).

Cheers,

Bagel