Looking West from Katahdin

The mountains around me were breathtaking but I could only see one thing. The iconic sign on the summit of Mt Katahdin was in sight. It had been a long arduous journey. I had survived the icy temperatures in Georgia, a bear encounter in Virginia, the rocks of Pennsylvania, historic flooding in Vermont, and Hurricane Lee in Maine. I had recovered after 5-weeks off-trail to handle a family emergency, and had pushed through months of debilitating foot pain. 

I beamed with pride. I had, at long last, fulfilled my lifelong dream of thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail. 

The trail had blessed me with the perfect day to complete my hike. After weeks of rain and wet trail throughout New England, today, September 28th 2023, the sky was clear and sapphire blue. The fall air was crisp but the sun warmed my cheeks. Katahdin means “Great Mountain” by the Penobscot Native Americans. It is a great mountain indeed. 

To summit Katahdin is a highly symbolic achievement, for obvious reasons. This wasn’t just another peak, it was the culmination of an epic journey. I looked at the hodgepodge of the other faces around me. There was a mix of joy, relief, sadness, gratitude, elation, and reflection. Finishing a thru-hike is a complex and multifaceted experience. It’s a blend of emotions, and the impact can vary from person to person. What I saw in everyone, however, was a profound sense of achievement. 

Not Done Yet

I too felt a huge sense of accomplishment. But I did not feel done. There was still an itch inside of me. This felt like the end of a chapter, but not the end of the book. I knew my journey was not yet over. 

I had taken two years off of my military career to take a sabbatical, or “mini-retirement” as I like to call it. I had completed my AT thru-hike, but I was still only about a quarter into my sabbatical. I still had all of 2024 to play with.

It was obvious what to do. With the Appalachian Trail behind me, I knew I had to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. 

When I began my mini-retirement, I thought I might want to hike both the AT and the PCT, but I wasn’t sure if I’d actually be up for it. Would I really want to begin a second thru-hike just months after completing the first? After over 2,000 miles, I might never want to hike again, I thought. 

I decided I should start with the trail I wanted to do more, in case I found myself burnt out after the first one. That was an easy decision. It had to be the AT. 

Why the AT first?

Objectively, in many ways, the PCT is the better hike. The PCT boasts the big west coast mountains and epic views that most would consider more impressive than those of the AT. The PCT has better views, gentler climbs, and more switchbacks, while also holding less rain, fewer bugs, and fewer rocks. 

But hiking the AT was something I had to do. Growing up hiking on the east coast, it was a dream planted early in my life. It was the bucket list item that has nagged me the most. But more than that, being an AT thru-hiker felt like part of my identity, just waiting to be fulfilled.

There’s just something about the AT. I had already spent a lot of time on the AT, having hiked about 400 miles in various sections over the years. The trail felt like home. There was something deep in my soul that would not rest until I had hiked every grueling mile. There’s a familiarity and comfort in those old, wise, sagging mountains, the oldest ones in the world. 

The AT will always be my first love. She was the girl next door that I always knew I was going to marry one day. She may not have the flashy glamor of those west coast girls, but she had a heart of gold and depth of character.

Ready to move on

But now I had done it. I had hiked every mile of the AT. 

I felt relieved. Not because the hike was over exactly—actually I was a little sad that it was—but because I had proved I could do it. I could claim the title of thru-hiker. I didn’t have anything to prove anymore. 

Preparing for the AT had felt serious. It was my one shot to do the thing that had been looming over me for years. I had been given time off work to do it and I couldn’t afford to fail. Though I loved every day on the AT (even the tough ones), I carried the heavy burden of self-imposed pressure to finish. 

But now with the AT off my chest, I thought, now I can just have some fun! 

And what would be more fun than the PCT? The PCT traverses through the diverse landscapes of the west, from desert to high mountain passes, and from dense forests to alpine meadows. What an amazing playground for my next adventure. Before I wasn’t sure if I would have a second long thru-hike in me, but standing on top of Katahdin, I knew in my bones that I did.

Fellow thru-hikers had told me there was another trail out there—in the mysterious West. A trail that wound a serpentine path from Mexico to Canada. A true wilderness without the excessive people of the Appalachians. A trail that forged its way through barren desert, crossed 12,000-foot-high passes bathed in snow, and followed a crest of unthinkable beauty through the lush, volcanic Pacific Northwest. It was the younger sister— gorgeous and untamed—of the Appalachian Trail. In the face of a red sunset on a late summer’s day in New Hampshire, I’d known in my soul that I must hike the Pacific Crest Trail.

Heather “Anish” Anderson

Mud Rocks, Blazes: Letting Go on the Appalachian Trail

The PCT awaits!

Now back home in Virginia, I am preparing to begin my NOBO PCT trek this spring. Fueled by the lessons learned and the confidence gained on the AT, I am excited to begin the next chapter in my adventure. 

Though I know those 2,650 miles won’t come easy, I feel a sense of lightness. Whereas the AT had felt like a calling, an obligation almost, the PCT feels like a fun bonus. All self-imposed pressure has melted away. There’s nothing to prove. I can’t wait to get out there and have some fun. 

I look forward to sharing my journey with you!