The Appalachian Trail is in the truest sense, a rollercoaster ride. It is constantly up and down…physically, emotionally, and mentally. This is the most true consistent of the trail.
About an hour out of camp, light snow floated through the air as temperatures lingered in the low twenties. My husband, Jim, and I occasionally walked out of the falling snow through tunnels of drooping Rhododendron and twisting Mountain Laurel. My mind began to still as I moved through the layer of new snow. Three days earlier we began our longest section since the start of our journey on the Appalachian Trail. We supplied for four nights for the 60-mile section between Unicoi Gap near Hiawassee, Georgia and Winding Stair Gap outside of Franklin, North Carolina. Our goal, this day, was a 12.5 mile hike to Carter Gap Shelter. With 7.5 miles to go, the bitter cold taking its toll, and the tracks of hikers ahead of us beginning to disappear under the new snowfall, we forced ourselves forward without stopping. As long as we hiked, our bodies clothed in layers, stayed warm. If we stopped for more than a few minutes, we began shivering…and so we just kept moving. Finally, through the snowy trees, Carter Gap Shelter came into view. Arriving at the lean-to shelter, we immediately shed our snow-wet gear, changing into our dry clothes while gulping down hot chocolate to warm our bodies. Too cold and exhausted to prepare a meal, we forced down protein bars and along with four other hikers, cocooned ourselves in our sleeping bags the remainder of the day and night.
The next morning we woke to more snow from overnight and even colder temperatures …somewhere in the teens. Everything was frozen, from our cook stoves to our hiking shoes. Skipping breakfast, we began hiking as quickly as we could to warm ourselves. My hands and feet were so cold that my mind began an internal “Google Search” of the symptoms of frostbite. What are the symptoms? what warning signs are cause for alarm? How long do I have before my fingers turn black and fall off!? The cold, discomfort, and pain pushed my thought process to cloud and obsess. Was I now risking becoming hypothermic? Finally after hiking about half-an-hour, my body began to warm, and my mind began to clear. My fingers survived, and so did I.
As the hiking warmed us and pushed us forward, we began to refocus on the trail and the day…a day which to our surprise and delight began to gradually unfold as a truly, beautiful day. The sun dissolved the clouds and warmed our faces as the sky became a crystal clear, cerulean blue. The layers of the Appalachians stretched out around us as we headed toward our climb up the steep and rocky Albert Mountain, the fire tower at its summit, and the 100-mile mark of the trail. What began as a difficult, daunting morning, to our amazement, became a gorgeous, incredible day to hike. This is what the trail does…it constantly surprises you.
For Jim and I, one of our deepest motivations to hike the Appalachian Trail was a steadfast persistent desire to do something “bigger than ourselves”… something that would push our limitations and immerse us deeper into nature than anything we had yet experienced. We were drawn to the idea that an epic journey like hiking the 2,193 mile Appalachian Trail could connect us to that more direct and deeper communion with nature. Every hiker carries with them on their journey reasons for even taking on the challenge of a thru-hike. Often, many of these are common or shared reasons, but often there are also reasons that are very personal and specific to the individual. Equally significant…an aspect of the trail that is both shared and unique to the individual, is not only what you bring to the trail or your reasons and expectations, but what the trail GIVES to you…the things the trail shows you, the opportunities it offers you, and the lessons the trail teaches you.
Regardless of varied experience, expectations or motivations for attempting to hike the trail… shared or personal…the trail becomes the great equalizer. All hikers face similar obstacles and challenges… known and unknown…injuries, possible illnesses, fatigue… equipment failure, bad weather, difficult terrain, set-backs…doubts, fear, loneliness, boredom…and always, the unexpected or the unknown. All hikers are at the mercy of nature and all of her elements. You learn quickly that a distraction from concentration of thoughts and actions… a disruption of mindfulness…can lead quickly to a plummeting down and eventually push you off the trail…or in hiker talk, if one cannot “embrace the suck,” be in the moment, push forward and learn to hike your hike…it will come to an end quickly.
The Appalachian Trail is in the truest sense, a rollercoaster ride. It is constantly up and down…physically, emotionally, and mentally. This is the most true consistent of the trail. From the beginning of our hike, Jim and I would go between hiking quietly lost in our own thoughts and self-reflections to having discussions and conversations around all manner of topics. One of our many discussions that continued to surface revolved around one of of the first big lessons we found ourselves learning…“You cannot predict the trail!” We learned quickly that it often mattered little what the Guthooks Guide or the AT Guide told you about the miles or the terrain that lay ahead. Nor did the advice of another hiker, even one who had hiked the section before, prove to be all that accurate. The scale of difficulty, the way you feel, react, and move through the day on the trail holds so many variables that are not associated with the topography or the miles. On any given day or any point during the day, a hiker can have every imaginable (and unimaginable) response to where they are and what they are doing: One cloud moving over changes the light in the forest and shifts your entire mood, a knee pain going downhill that wasn’t there yesterday begins to annoy, the sound of a trickling stream draws your awareness to the symphony soundtrack surrounding you in the woods, the overpriced high-end piece of equipment that worked flawlessly yesterday is now malfunctioning, a mentally tough day of extreme doubt or loneliness weighs on you, the weather and the terrain suck so bad you just cannot stop repeating the same expletive over and over and then you turn a corner at the top of a ridge to step out on an escarpment overlooking a stunningly beautiful vista. Ultimately, on any given day you question why you are even doing this hike until suddenly you know EXACTLY why you are doing this.
We had to learn that each day would be hard and each day would have its rewards. We had to learn to hike one step at a time and to be in the moment and simply keep moving forward. Emotionally, we had to learn to push through and not allow doubt, fear or anxiety to spread. Physically, one has to learn the difference between pain and injury. Sometimes, pain has to be pushed through. Like any viscous cycle, pushing through pain can also lead to mental drain. And so we learned the mantra “do not predict the trail.” We would literally verbally remind ourselves and each other with this mantra throughout our days on the trail.
Leaving Franklin, North Carolina, our 110-mile mark, we had learned we could mentally and physically push ourselves. We had pushed through tough weather, physical discomforts, and some bigger mile days, and now pushed on through the Nantahala Outdoor Center to Fontana Dam and entered our next big milestone…Smoky Mountains National Park. The hike changes in the Smokies. By the second day the terrain shifts, the flora and fauna change, the entire atmosphere of the trail becomes different. The mystique of the Smokies begins to seep in until it engulfs you. The green moss, misty mornings, layered vistas, and the incredible fungi kingdom within the park boundary is mystical. It holds a magic and beauty that is hypnotic and frightening. Though we honestly were not sure why, we had approached this part of our hike with an apprehension, but hiking into the myst and moss covered deep hidden trails, we were seduced by the Smokie’s secret sirens and completely enamored and entranced. The Smokies were another lesson about the unexpected…the Smoky Mountains were amazing!
On March 12, halfway through the Smokies, we hiked to Newfound Gap and shared a shuttle into Gatlinburg to take a zero day and resupply. Gatlinburg became a shift in our journey that we were not expecting. We had been gathering small, sporadic information on the trail about growing concerns over the Coronavirus, but most everyone on the trail and messages from friends and family, all encouraged us that being isolated on the trail may have been the preferred place to be. Gatlinburg became our first experience witnessing the public reacting to the growing concerns over the virus and the common use of the term pandemic. While most of what we witnessed was business as usual, there were subtle changes in how people were behaving, less availability of some supplies, and the beginnings of a shift in some business practices. We also were able to gather more first hand information from news and media outlets. We made the decision to continue our hike deciding as long as we had the ability to resupply, stay informed, and connect with family and friends we would move forward. As we hiked out of Newfound Gap to complete the Smokies, our minds relaxed away from the Coronavirus back to the trail. Three days later, we were exhilarated as we hiked out of the Smoky Mountains and arrived at Standing Bear Hostel. We had just traversed from south to north, the entire ridge of Smoky Mountains National Park. It was a life changing experience.
We had learned our lesson over the last month that you cannot predict the trail…we had come to understand that “the unexpected” was the nature of the the trail. Then suddenly even that idea began to be distorted and turned upside down. In those few days as we hiked through the Smokies, and in the few days that followed, a new reality around the seriousness of the now named COVID-19 virus surfaced and it hit us… and our hike. Suddenly it was no longer questions of the “unexpected” the new obstacle haunting and daunting us was “uncertainty.”
Uncertainty became our new nemesis. Could we continue to safely resupply? Uncertainty. Could we safely go into the trail towns and experience them the way we had? Uncertainty. Could we trust the shuttle drivers or could they trust us? Uncertainty. Would we be at risk to being exposed or risking spreading the virus in small rural communities? Uncertainty. Could we communicate with family and friends as needed? Uncertainty. Could the other hikers trust one another?Uncertainty. With “uncertainty” hovering heavy over us, we made the decision to leave Standing Bear Hostel and hike to Max Patch and onto Hot Springs, North Carolina. As we headed out in the rain toward Max Patch, my thoughts were about our hike, how it had shifted and was continuing to change. The hike had begun to reach a point we had strived for…it had become our “new normal” and was becoming our home. We were even beginning to get our “hiker legs” as our 9 and 10-mile days were becoming 12 and 14-mile days. But now, there was so much uncertainty even about continuing. My heart so wanted to keep going, but my head knew what we needed to do. The rain stopped and we paused for lunch. We were happy, resting and discussing the hike to Max Patch. Jim grew quiet…I think he already knew and had begun to accept the finality of our situation…I just wanted to keep my mind on the journey to Max Patch. But near the end of lunch, I looked at Jim and said, “We need to get off the trail in Hot Springs, don’t we?” My emotions surfaced…and I just cried.
None of our pre-trail preparations dealt with this much uncertainty…we prepared for winter weather and Lyme disease…we prepared for twisted ankles and sore feet…we prepared for snakes and bears, we prepared to eat bad and stink worse…and we were prepared for all sort of challenges, physical and mental…but we were not exactly prepared for a pandemic!
When we walked into Hot Springs, North Carolina on March 19, the world was changing. We ordered take-out as restaurants had closed to dining, and we strolled down the subdued street to the outfitter store where the atmosphere was quiet, heavy with gloom instead of the anticipated warm greetings of an excited trail town. Then an image I observed at the outfitter store confirmed our perceptions and allowed my heart to accept we were making the right decision for ourselves and others to discontinue our hike. Typically, in a trail town, one will see a hiker box with items other hikers have discarded to lighten their load and to share with one another. Instead of a hiker box, I noticed several large boxes with canned goods, bread, and other items in the middle of the store. I inquired about the boxes to learn that the goods were to help provide for local community members who had already lost their jobs. Uncertainty was not only part of the trail…it was everywhere.
The intensity of emotions start from down deep and wave up. Jim and I are still conflicted about leaving the trail and still today are constantly scheming of ways to get back on or debating when to return. We know people and friends who have found ways to continue…or who plan to return to the trail soon. We know we will return, but we also know to return now would not be the hike we set out to take and our reasons for the hike would be would be lost in hiking around and through the pandemic. We understand that some hikers can come to terms with that distraction, but our decision to leave the trail was to try and focus on compassion- it was not about surviving and continuing. It was about our families, friends, the small trail towns, other hikers…It was about our communities, our country, and our world being profoundly affected by the pandemic. We could not continue our hike knowing what others were dealing with…loss of future, loss of jobs and security, loss of homes, and loss of life….living in uncertainty.
We have spent the last month self isolating on a family farm in Eastern North Carolina. The anxiety from the growing uncertainty this pandemic creates has led me to reflect on many of the lessons the trail was beginning to teach me. I quickly realized the early lessons from the Appalachian Trail were resurfacing to help me understand, accept, and deal with the circumstance of our new reality around COVID-19 as it slowly unfolds. “Embracing the suck” and “expecting the unexpected” on the trail are now becoming ways to face this new uncertainty. I had to learn to not waste thoughts - thoughts that distract or thoughts that project too far into future or dwell too much in the past. And like the trail, I have had to be more aware that while I cannot fully predict my path around this pandemic…I have to push myself forward one step at a time and stay fully present. Navigating our way through this pandemic will not be a casual day hike, it will be a long and difficult thru-hike.
Our interrupted hike along the Appalachian Trail taught me that the trail and nature really do not exist for me or any other hiker. Nature can be indifferent to us. One must simply learn to experience nature…accept it, recognize its marvels, majesty, power and beauty, be humbled and learn from its unexpected revelations.
I count on hope. I hoped the Appalachian Trail would be a spiritual, meaningful journey through nature that awakened us to even more possibilities. It was. It is. And what we learned was that the hike does not end at Hot Springs, NC or on the summit of Mount Katahdin in Maine or anywhere… a true thru-hike, a true trek, a true journey does not end….the hike continues off the trail…even during a pandemic.