Do What You Can

We had  hoped that November seventh and eighth would be the days we hiked the remaining miles of the Maryland section, giving us our first completed state. But with Jake's hip hurting, we didn't want to get 5 miles in to a 10 mile hike and realize he couldn't make the remaining distance. Fortunately some of the next section was crisscrossed by several roads making a few short sections we thought we could tackle during the work week. 

Since Jake is working remote right now, and I'm reserving some time off from dogsitting to make this possible, we were able to spend the week in the area. After a full day of rest, we headed out on Tuesday to try our first tiny section: an almost half a mile, up from a small side road to the parking lot of the Maryland's Washington Monument. This monument actually predates the DC version, although it's not nearly so tall. Since that went well with no pain, we followed up with a one mile lunchtime section that connected with the portion we had hiked on Sunday. Then he took a couple more days off to heal before the weekend. 

On Saturday we filled in some gaps and hiked a total of 5.1 miles over 3 small sections, repositioning our cars in between. This was to make sure we had to opportunity to stop if things were hurting, and meant we didn't have to carry much with us. The longest section was the 2.5 miles from the Washington Monument up to Boonesboro road, which connected the two midweek hikes. 

While moving the cars we had to use earplugs riding in Jakes car, because one night the preceding week we had left it for several hours in a Walmart parking lot and gone to a nearby McDonald's to stress eat fast food and distract ourselves from the election by streaming some shows using their wifi. During that time, someone came to Jake's car, and, despite the fact that it was parked near the busy grocery entrance, they got under his car and stole the catalytic converter. This meant that our exhaust was disconnected from the muffler, making the car exceptionally loud. Luckily, this wasn't something that affected our ability to drive the car, so we resolved to wait to fix it until we were back home, away from the area. 

The other two sections we did connected farther south, although we hiked everything in a northbound direction. I still generally want to get the NOBO experience, and don't want to find myself avoiding hard climbs by switching up directions. The other two pieces we hiked Saturday connected from the Reno Monument up to the half mile we did just below the Washington Monument. 

Yes it was quite a bit of hopping around. I will write more about the thru hike options and names (NOBO, SOBO, flip flop, leap frog) another day, but I think our sort of random but generally nobo sections should be called Quantum Leap. 

Jake was feeling good, but the next section of trail was over 6 miles road to road, and a lot of elevation gain. We both thought a flat section would be a better idea, and since we weren't camping, we could drive closer to home at night, and split up the return trip a little. So we chose a section along a ridge that ran beside the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia. We covered the 6 miles of trail easily in terrain that looked dramatic with brilliant sassafras leaves in the clearings and full fall colors in the valleys below, but was warm enough for t-shirt and shorts, and gently rolling land. We went really slow, took a long lunch and paused in the middle of the second half for a sun induced nap among the leaves. 

Overall a lovely weekend, but one that left us with 16 miles yet to do in Maryland, and one very loud car.  

A Long Walk, A decision

It’s one of those things you talk about doing: a great adventure. You read a book about it, and it inspires you to dream. For years, it is talk. Then one day, you set a date; You will do this thing. You will walk this path. Since I was a teenager, I have wanted to put a boat in the river near my house and float with it all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico. The book to thank for that was Huckleberry Finn. I still haven’t set a date for that one, but it is on my list. 

But this is about the Appalachian Trail. Real knowledge or desire for the trail didn’t come to me until about 2011, when I read the book that so many people have, Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods. People who complete the AT are known as 2,000 milers, although the trail is longer than that. It travels the mountains from Georgia to Maine, and those with a will can follow it, walking north with the warming weather. Along the way people acquire a trail name, trail legs, and often a trail family, or tramily. They lose  weight, no matter what they eat, because it is hard work. 

Yet, it’s a mental challenge more than physical, everyone says. I don’t know. For me, it seems natural to spend all of summer in the woods. A joy and a dream to live and wake with the sun, walk in the rain, sleep the sleep of exhausted bliss. The real challenge will be to cover new ground each day, and never linger. A surprising number of people learn to camp and hike so they can do the trail. A few just try jumping in cold turkey. But for me the trail represents a socially acceptable opportunity to live the life of my heart.  I already love camping and hiking. I yearn to do it with wanderlust of an explorer, a vagabond, a nomad. 

We picked the year 2021 in 2016. It seemed far enough away to allow for some planning and learning. but not too far. Jake’s 40th birthday would be a fun milestone to celebrate on trail. And it would allow us plenty of time to have money saved to take the time off of work, too. 

I am an avid day hiker. But I am also a slow one. I could easily do a ten mile day, or sometimes more, but also don’t usually get up early enough, and ready soon enough, to fit that in. A typical day hike for me was four to eight miles. I had backpacked a handful of times as well, and had the basic gear: a ten year old backpack, worn low tech boots, and a tent big enough for two (assuming you really loved each other). Unfortunately, it had been years since we had done it. Lots of car camping though. 

Our plan then, was to start taking monthly overnight backpacking trips with the gear we had, and figure out what we needed and upgrade some things once we got much closer to our start date. And hopefully get our bodies used to carrying the weight. 

Next week I will share about that first return to backpacking, and how the intervening years went (not as planned!) Thanks for all the support, and liking/sharing these posts. Gearing up to get on trail again shortly!

A Woman Hiking Alone

Dissatisfied with the current pandemic safety risks with getting an Uber to shuttle back to our car, for the second weekend of our Appalachian Trail soft start we decided to provide our own shuttle by hiking separately.  One of us has longer legs, and therefore naturally hikes faster. That isn't me. So, the most reasonable way for us to avoid Jake having a long wait at the trailhead, I would drop him off at the start of our hike, and drive to the other end, park, and hike towards him, then after swapping keys midway, he would drive back to the starting trailhead and pick me up, probably getting there before me. We decided to do these as day hikes, rather than doing an overnight, where we would only meet each other in camp. 

The first day we hiked eight miles from the park at Pen Mar to the Rattlesnake Gap road, just past the Old Forge Picnic Grounds. I dropped Jake at Rattlesnake to hike south, while I went to Pen Mar and headed north. It was far too many days after this when I realized that Pen Mar is like Texarkana and is a blended name of the two states we straddled on this hike. My mind was on other things. Mainly, hiking alone. 

It's not strange to hike the AT alone. according to The Treks 2019 Poll over 60% of long distance hikers start out that way. The advantages are everything that appeals to the rugged individualist. The solitude to think. Setting your own pace. Stopping and listening and hearing nothing at all. Smiling at the little secret things that only you will see, the leaf falling in the path, the birds head half tilted to watch you, a bug scurrying across the trail. And for that I was excited. I have, by my own estimation, never hiked such a distance completely alone. I often volunteer at a local trailhead, and typically walk it to check its condition, but that's just a few miles. I definitely wandered the rural area around my childhood home, but probably never walked more than 4 miles in a day. So it felt good, deeply satisfying, to just get out there be on my own. 

Of course there is a flip side to this. Hiking alone has risks. Geographical, Animal, and Human.  Thankfully I am not a novice in the woods. I reflexively check for blazes to stay on trail and am attentive and intentional when stepping off trail for mother nature. Animals aren't too high of a risk in this region or this time of year. Bears are mainly a risk in camp, snakes at other times of year. So that really just leaves the human component. We all know people are generally good. But we all know women have a particular concern anytime they want to go anywhere or do anything alone. We have basically taught men that rape is the natural act of a man against a woman who does not sufficiently protect herself. Men don't typically have to deal with this. Men who weigh less than me, they hike with impunity and never think about these things. They pitch tents, despite being all alone, near other, bigger, stronger men. They climb in, change clothes without thinking, and sleep without a knife at hand or any defensive plan. 

On this day I saw very few people. I had good cell service and checked in every mile to two with Jake. We crossed paths at my 3rd mile, his 5th (hey I did have to drive!). On the second day, we hiked a shorter distance and I spent most of it listening to an audio book and saw even fewer people, although I didn't have cell service for the most part. I never felt unsafe. But when a lone male hiker tried to get chatty in passing and stopped and took a step closer, I took a step back. He was only my size and a smiling, grey headed, fit grandpa type, something like Mike Pence, if he were not obviously a robot. People tend to think of this as "being afraid". You can't live your life in fear, say people who don't have to. But it isn't really fear. It's caution. You check for ticks and wear boots to protect bad ankles, and get vaccinated. Your pulse doesn't increase, your hackles don't go up, you don't struggle to sleep at night afterwards. You're taught to do it, or you learn, and then it's just part of your life's routine.

It's dumb to feel this way. It's dumb that things are this way. The odds are low, and that is true. But while 60% start out on the AT all alone, only 20% finish hiking most of the trail that way. People who don't start with a family member or friend usually pair up with some of the hikers they meet; they form a tramily. Companionship and safety in numbers. And while The Trek Doesn't break down these categories by gender, I would guess that women are more likely to start with someone else, and less likely to do the whole thing mainly alone. On top of that, only 40% of the long distance hikers in 2019 were women to begin with. The trail has other diversity issues. I can't speak to them personally. But it is silly, and wrong to assume people aren't on trail because any grouping of people "just don't want to" There are other factors at play. There probably always will be. 

So what is the takeaway? What can we do? On trail, really simply, we can respect people and give them their space. We can drop our egos and not take it personally. That man on the trail, when I stepped back, he stepped back, too. He might of thought I was maintaining my 6 feet, or he might have understood then, how it was with me. He didn't get mad, he didn't try to intimidate me. He didn't try to suggest he wasn't or couldn't be dangerous. He didn't hey baby/sweetheart/honey, he didn't make a face. He just stepped back, and smiled genuinely and told me to enjoy my hike and went on. 

 Ultimately, I loved both of these days, but my goal is not to be one of the hikers that does it all alone. I am happy with myself for getting out there and having a lovely weekend, but I do hope to hike most of the trail with my husband. For our next adventure we hope to take two cars and set them up at either end of whatever section we tackle next.  

Next week it's all about how I came to the decision to do the hike, set a date, and my "easy" first backpacking trip towards that goal. 

Georgia To Maine

This past month of September my husband and I began our soft start to thru hiking the Appalachian Trail. We have long intended to hike the trail "eventually" and in 2016 we decided that 2021 would be our year. Jake's 40th birthday year, it just seemed like a great fit. Since then, he had toe surgery, and I had a very nasty ankle injury that led to arthritis, in my knee too. Recovery over 2019 had been slow, but we started out 2020 feeling pretty good about our goal, with a likely start mid March the next year. 

Then 2020 developed and those plans were looking very questionable. the Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC) which protects and manages the national scenic trail, closed the trail, to the extent they are able (the trail land is owned by a variety of entities, and travels through multiple states after all) and stopped issuing the numbered thru hiker permits, an often coveted souvenir. Many hikers left the trail. Some did not. But what does that mean for 2021? Practically everyone across a variety of forums wanted to know. But whether it would lead to more crowding next year, or whether it too, might be canceled, is anyone's guess. 

All we really had were a lot of what if scenarios. Hiking a 2200 mile trail, over a course of 5 months, would require us to leave our jobs, hopefully rent our home, and maybe at some point, you know, shave my head. Not small decisions, nor easily reversible. Add to that complexity, Jake had just changed jobs, starting his new position in February, and on a contract basis. how long would it last? what would happen to the economy? Was it reckless to voluntarily leave a job next spring? 

So, after a lot of back and forth about potential ideas, including just putting it off until possibly 2022, we finally settled to move forward as flexibly as possible. Which leads me to a soft start in September. 

We are mainly able to work remote, except I do babysit dogs regularly. Did I want to abandon my clientele if this turned out to be a no go? Not really. So, instead, we resolved to start blocking weeks that were unbooked 4-6 weeks ahead, and getting on the trail in those downtime weekends. Jake could still work thanks to the magic of wifi and mobile hotspots during the week. 

So on September 19th we got on the Appalachian Trail and spent 2 weekends hiking, one at a section at the top of Pennsylvania, and one at the bottom. Spending most of the midweek car camping in a nearby state park with good cell signal. Technically, a thru hike is just doing the whole trail in 12 months, so, if we finish next year by September 18th, these could count towards a thru. It wouldn't be traditional, but the hiker communities favorite refrain is HYOH: Hike your own hike. And this is mine. 

Of course if everything goes swimmingly and we start full time, just when we want, in spring with the blessing of the ATC, then we might well just rehike these sections. but if that is delayed, hopefully these miles will help us reach our goals. And worse case: there is no better place to train than on the actual trail, and we'll gain the experience and muscle for a traditional go in a later year. 

There are lots of topics I want to share, and I will blog about them soon, Gear, social distancing logistics, Rocksylvania, food, cold season hiking plans and more. If you have any questions or ideas, let me know! I have spent far too much time reading about the Appalachian Trail over the years, so I'm ready to answer your questions. 

In the meantime, check my posts and highlights real over on Instagram for too many pictures.