Maine to Finish

My time in Maine ended the same way it began. Tears were shed, the dazzling scenery which we found ourselves in momentarily eclipsed our pain, and I wondered if this really was the end while not giving much thought to what was after. The state of Maine begins with the revered-but-often-feared Mahoosuc Range, bombarding the thru-hiker with deceptively abrupt ups and downs, rocky terrain which made our walking style resemble an awkward prom dance, and steep pitches that demanded the use of our arms as much as our trail-worn legs. Every mile of this stretch seemed to require the effort of 2 or even 3 miles found in the south, shortening our pace to no more than 10 miles a day (a far cry from the 20 mile days earlier on in the trip). The epicenter known as the Mahoosuc Notch, where the trail snakes through a pit of car-sized boulders, is widely regarded as "the most difficult or fun mile of the AT". Right afterwards, the Mahoosuc Arm sends hikers about 1600 feet up root ladders and eventually bare rock in less than a mile.

But big effort reaps big reward: much of this section is above treeline, and we got sweeping views in all directions, starting from the alpine meadows around us to the gnarly spruces on the perimeter all the way to the morning sun-tinted mountains on the horizon. From a makeshift campsite right on the New Hampshire-Maine border (yesterday's goal was to do 17 miles into Maine, and I was far too tired to find a real campsite after the border), Seinfeld had entered hiker euphoria: dense fairy tale-like forest on each side which made the trail feel like a magical and undeserved safe haven, sharp peaks rising like church steeples and valleys like nestled town squares to contrast, and a total lack of human influence all around. It was only me and the mountains. Like a fly fixated on top of a roaming elephant, my surroundings seemed to propel me forward as to reward me for my toil. Me and the wilderness were at a stalemate, and with each step I earned its worth, a fair trade leading to ultimate satisfaction. The only other comparison would be leading traffic on Broadway and timing the lights perfectly. For the first time on my trip, the goal of finishing (even on the day's level) was irrelevant, as each mountain and meadow was a gift that never spoiled or became dull before the next one arrived. It was excruciating, numbing, stunningly beautiful--it was and is the purest reason why I hike.

After finishing the Mahoosucs, me and some other hikers I had hiked with before decided to hitch into town and resupply. There we met a rafting instructor named Spencer, who chatted with us about hiking in Maine and invited us to his lake house for a barbecue. We talked and played with his cats on the dock that night, illuminated by the full moon. The next day, I hiked up Baldpate mountain, which had smooth, exposed rock on and around the summit, which would've been very treacherous in rain. Even with good weather, going down required full trust in my shoes' tread. A couple miles after the descent, rain looked like it make an appearance, but I was able to wait it out underneath a rock outcropping that I found right off trail at the perfect moment. I met a section hiker named Caption, who has somehow jumped the learning curve and fits in well with thru-hikers. We heard about an adventurous and hospitable husband and wife in the next town called Rangeley who has let hikers stay at their place, so we booked it only to find out that they were out of town that day. And to make matters worse, it started raining again. Only, this was the most furious storm on the entire trip and possibly in my whole life. The almost constant claps of thunder left our ears ringing while traffic and pretty much the town in general came to a halt. All of the streets turned into rivers, and the wind tore off and mangled branches, shingles, flags, and even some powerlines. Trying to talk over the sound of rain pounding on an ice cream parlor's tin roof was impossible as we repeatedly committed to and chickened out on dashing to different hotels in town. I don't know how often storms like these pass through Maine, but I can honestly say that it was the closest thing I've ever experienced to a natural disaster (after a quick google search, this storm even made national news, I'm not kidding. Side note--I was in Michigan during Hurricane Sandy). Thankfully, none of our friends on trail were hurt, but it was a key conversation point from here on out in the hiker community.

Eventually, we found 2 bunks at an overpriced hostel (sort of undermining my mental budget), but we were glad to be in in enclosed space for the night. The next day, I spent most of the day relaxing and then headed up the Saddleback ridge in the incredible evening light, having the mountain all to myself. The next day was a severely over-ambitious 22 miles of trail and a proverbial cliff that shouldn't have been the trail to get to the next road crossing, where I hitched for a while sore as hell. After almost a hour and a half of standing with my thumb out (a personal record, whoopee), a real estate agent from southern NH picked me up and started asking me questions about the trail. We got along really well, and he invited me to his cabin which he was renovating for his family. There, we barbecued, watched for moose, and told funny jokes around a bonfire. The following day, I traversed the sharp ridge of the Bigelows and munched on blue berries the way down. I met a flip-flopper named Veggie Viking, called so because he looks like a viking but is somehow incongruously a vegetarian. We got along due to our West Michigan connection. While we were settling in at a shelter, a SOBO told us about some trail magic of cold sandwiches at the next road crossing about a mile away, so I decided to push farther to check it out. Unfortunately, there was no trail magic (I guess they didn't want to risk leaving spoiled sandwiches out for long), and I really could've used it due to not having much buffer food on me (wasn't keen on spending even more money in Rangeley).

At the next shelter though, and what I can only assume to be a blessing directed by God, was a plastic crate full of cereal bars and brownies! It really helped take the stress out of possibly not having enough food. I had a great rest of the day on dramatically flatter terrain, and I caught up with some friends that I hiked with back in NH. It was great to hike with them again, but they were moving fast according to one guys' schedule to start college soon after the trip. We got to town of Monson and parted ways, but I decided to wait up for another friend of mine, so I did work-for-stay at Shaw's Hostel recently bought by a younger couple named Poet and Hippie Chick. It was probably my favorite hostel on the entire trail, and I thoroughly enjoyed staying there and getting to know the owners. Me and other hikers watched movies including the Wizard of Oz (inevitably responsible for my mental soundtrack the rest of the trip).

I started the 100 Mile Wilderness later that day, which is considered to be the most remote section of the entire AT. A sigh at each end warns hikers and strongly advises them to pack 10 days of food, even though about 4 dirt roads and a rail line slice through the so-called wilderness (allowing food drop options for slow-moving hikers who don't want to carry 20 lbs of food). The first road had a sign pointing to trail magic put on by two older guys at a cabin, which was done in memory of a friend who recently passed away. They had a great life story, and I was able to learn some valuable history of Maine. The next day, I was able to explore a lake using a canoe left on shore for hikers to use, and I randomly saw a guy named Finn who I hiked a while with near the beginning of the trip, but then zoomed ahead. It was great to catch up, and we took a blue blaze to see "The Grand Canyon of the East" called the Gulf Hagas. The sheer cliffs and waterfalls were incredible, and we were caught off guard by day hikers also enjoying the scene (so much for wilderness). The next day I had my first view of Katahdin (aka, the end of the trail!) from White Cap Mountain, and I saw my first moose along with her calf from across a lake. I quietly observed for a while, and even tried out some moose calls.

The following day, I met up with two other friends that I haven't seen in a while and met some new ones, and we finished out the 100 mile wilderness. The last night, we camped by a lake and watched leaches and crawfish fight among the rocks, betting little morsels of food and cheering on our respective choices. Right before entering Baxter State Park (where Katahdin is located), we stopped at a camp store at Abol Bridge and gorged on food for the last time (historic because Henry David Throreau and his party set up base camp there on while ascending Katahdin in the early 1800's). Entering the park signified the last of many things, which we named off in solemn memorial. After signing in at the ranger station and securing our day permits for our big ascent tomorrow, we settled in at the last lean-to and and reminisced over our trips that were about to end. It was certainly an emotional evening followed by a restless night not much different from Christmas Eve.

To be honest, my emotional moment came when I got up before dawn and put my hiking shoes on for the last time. I knew that after today, it just wouldn't be the same. I was ready to finish up the trip of a lifetime and finally see my friends from back home, but I would be lying if I said that I was ready for it all to be over.  Breaking treeline fairy early and scrambling over boulders to the top, we came upon the sign marking the end of the Appalachian Trail atop Katahdin. We kept a brisk pace on the ascent and made it up in about two hours, having the summit completely to ourselves. Each of us got pictures standing above and next to the sign, letting out many a victory yell. Everyone's emotions were completely real, because how could you keep on a mask after discovering yourself after five months in the woods? It reinforced the fact that despite very different backgrounds and upbringings, we all had one achievement in common that we would pride ourselves on for the rest of our lives. As I write this now (way overdue), I still think about the trail constantly, and only some of the experiences I have been able to put into written form and shared through stories. The trail took five months pain and drudge, but I believe that the trail gave me a lifetime of self-achievement and satisfaction, and I cannot thank you all enough for your encouragement before, during, and after my experience. Though the trip is over, I can say with full honesty that my thirst for adventure is not. With that, it has been a pleasure writing this blog for all of you, and as my namesake would say--you've been a great audience.

Hiker vs. The Whites: An Ultimate Showdown

As I began the second-to-last state of my trip, I felt like an experienced hiker who has seen it all -- from the lofty ridgelines of North Carolina to the hidden valleys of southern New England, the incessantly rocky to the straight-up muddy, the biting cold to the sweltering heat. Though I've heard many accounts of the White Mountains of New Hampshire being steeper and rougher than anything I've experienced thus far, I received the most ominous warnings from southbounders who had just gotten out of the Whites, having completed about 400 miles of the trail. Though novices in our book, many greeted us with a pompous sense of achievement hidden behind cautionary statements such as, "Just wait 'til the Whites, you don't even know." Obviously, many northbounders gained a sort of resentment toward the nerve of southbounders calling us the novices, but I decided to take the Whites as they came.

Before I even got to them though, I had to cross the western portion of New Hampshire, and I found myself on that first chilly New England evening sitting on the porch of 90-year-old Bill Ackerly's house munching on an even chillier ice cream bar. This lifelong woodsman who had built his house from scratch passes the time offering each thru-hiker he meets an ice cream bar, followed by a sharing of his wisdom and a very unevenly matched game of croquet. Having experienced so many years of life, he was a joy getting to know, and his sense of humor was highlighted by a sign placed on the trail to reel in hikers, parodying the song "My milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard." He even offered me to join him in singing the original version, which I couldn't resist! As nobos and sobos alike set tents up in his yard, the night was capped by even more singing, which turned into a jam session led by a very musical sobo picking at his very weathered and well-used guitar, which I feebly tried to accompany with my humble ukulele.

The next day brought me up Smarts Mountain, which was topped with a dilapidated fire tower covered in signs warning hikers of a hefty fee if caught up there. As this would be my first proper view of New Hampshire and the Whites and the fact that I couldn't waste such a beautifully clear day, I took my chances and was rewarded with spectacular views of the easy mountains I had done previously in Vermont and the monsters that awaited me ahead. Hearing footsteps coming from below, I promptly headed down only to find a fellow thru-hiker who wasn't afraid of fines either, so he checked out the tower as I played "watch for the ranger." I ended the day picking my weight in blueberries over the bald summit of Mt Cube and camping at a maple sugar farm that according to my guide book "sometimes offers more." Excited over the vague prospect of free maple sugar products and wanting to wait out some rain, I gave myself a slower morning but ultimately didn't receive more, but I was still glad to miss much of the rain. From there, I made a short day to Hiker's Welcome Hostel in the not-so-much-a-town of Glencliff, NH. Being the first decent place to stay after the Whites for sobos and an ideal spot for nobos to wait out any bad weather before heading in, it was a great hangout spot with a staggering collection of DVD's, which me and some other nobos took advantage of in order to start the Whites in better weather the next day.

Mt. Moosilauke, the first ascent of the Whites for nobos, required nearly 4000 feet of continuous elevation gain, which wasn't as hard as I expected due to a steady rise as well as smaller rocks dominating the terrain. As the summit opened up above treeline, layers upon layers of mountains stretched out before me emitting an eerie mist speared by persistent beams of sunlight under a mostly cloudy sky. I had always traditionally preferred to be on top of mountains during clear days, but I was glad to have received a majestically threatening view that morning. However, as I headed down, the rain returned and I finally felt like I was thrown into the ring with my first formidable opponent of the Whites. What laid before me--or should I say straight below me--was a trail so steep and wet that descending seemed to feel like a string of reluctant suicide attempts. I lowered myself down cliff after cliff, occasionally having to slide down and put my trust in whatever was waiting for me at the bottom. Fortunately, wooden blocks had been secured to the bedrock of some of the most extreme sections, but I made it down with the slowest pace I think I've ever had on my entire trip--about 2 miles in 3 hours! Waiting at the bottom of the mountain was an older Estonian woman by the name of Mary (she thinks that trail names are a cop-out for owning your thru-hike). Possessing an unsettlingly total lack of fear, she told me of how she had run out of daylight on Moosilauke's summit, set up camp during last night's rain, and didn't sleep because she had to hold her tent town all night to keep it from flying away in the high altitude winds! As if I needed any more reminders to take the Whites seriously...

As more nobos made it down, some of us decided to slackpack the next day's section by staying in the nearby town of North Woodstock, hitching back to the trail, hiking 17 miles, and hitching back into town afterwards to our not-at-all-missed packs. It went down without a hitch (actually, it did, and a couple of them even got one from the local police sheriff!), and we braved the thigh-deep mud (my friend Yankee tested that by slipping off a bog bridge) and the impossibly steep rock scrambles to recuperate in the pool at our motel. Despite the following day calling for thunderstorms, I headed up by myself to Franconia ridge and was rewarded with incredibly clear views (showing just how accurate weather reports can be in the Whites), then over to Mt Garfield where I braved another trail/stream down to Galehead Hut. There are eight "high-elevation" huts run by the Appalachian Mountain Club all located near the Appalachian Trail through the Whites (limited amounts of thru-hikers each evening are allowed to do work-for-stay in order to avoid having to pay $150 dollars for rugged luxury). However, this is where the similarities of these two entities abruptly end. Despite the hut's and the AMC's mission to serve hikers, we thru-hikers generally felt pushed to the side due mainly in part to our nerve of not going through the Whites with loads of money. Finding shelters or even camping without fees was very challenging, and the AT was consistently unmaintained and poorly marked in comparison to most other trails we saw.....but at least the huts serve great homemade bread.

The next day, I had wonderful views from South Twin Mountain and headed over the broad alpine summit of Mt. Guyot, which had a very Scottish feel. From there, it was a very gradual and easy trail to Crawford Notch, right before the Presidential Range. Finding free camping was pretty hard, but I found a stately pine grove right near a river. The next day was a steep and exposed ascent up Webster Cliffs, and I made it a short day to Mizpah Springs Hut to account for bad weather they were calling for the following day (pushing on meant I'd have to go over Mt. Washington in the ugliness, which is not worth the risk, in my opinion). The next day, I slogged through cold wind and rain to the base of Washington at Lake of the Clouds Hut at 5000 feet, where I played board games and saw friends that I had not seen in a while. The next morning cleared up, and I summited Washington with incredible views to the west and a sea of clouds stretching infinitely to the east. The rest of the Presidentials were foggy unfortunately, but we made it Pinkham Notch where we got picked up by the Twelve Tribes community to stay at their hostel near Gorham (I have not converted, I swear). The next day, we slackpacked an absurdly hard 21 miles over the Wildcat and Carter ranges, where we got caught in a 15 minute torrential rainstorm (if anyone is wondering why I haven't connected with them in a while, my phone only has about 30 minutes of battery life thanks to said storm, oh well) and a valley with an incredible echo. After playing in nature's echo chamber for a while, we rolled into the parking lot right before dark. And that was when we conquered the Whites. Surely it will get easier from here, right? RIGHT?!

A Daydream on Elm Street

As I woke up to a misty morning on my last day in Vermont, I appropriately celebrated my four-month anniversary of being on the trail by hiking until my next meal stop. Everything from navigating tricky descents to setting up and taking down camp had become clockwork to me, and as I crossed a bridge into West Hartford, I was called over to a house owned by a trail angel and talked to her about the trail over freshly brewed Green Mountain Coffee. I had told her about my "trailiversary", and she congratulated me and said that I was nearing the end of my journey. Now, I always knew that it would eventually end, but the fact that it had started to become recognized by others made me resent the fact that the culture and spontaneity would end as well. Most people look at the guy on the street corner holding the sign that says "The End Is Near" with disgust, but that is because they can't fathom or simply choose not to entertain the thought. As I had neither luxury to distract myself with, I found myself running a race that I secretly didn't want to finish. I'm confident that my body will cross the finish line, but I couldn't say the same about my mind. Anyone who has ran a race knows that besides physical prowess, one thing that will get you to the finish line is encouragement from the sidelines, and my mind was propelled to match my stride on Elm Street coming into Norwich, overlooking the state of New Hampshire. Multiple driveways had trail magic set up near where it met the street, and I found myself bolting with power and a new found mental fortitude into the second to last state of my trip.

A couple of weeks ago, I teamed up with Yankee (who I had met right before the Smokies), Roadrunner (an army veteran/nurse I became acquainted with before the Shenandoahs), and Fireman (who I had met on the spot) to hike through Massachusetts. We went over Mt. Greylock (the highest point in the state) in excellent weather, and were treated on the other side to burgers and hot dogs cooked by visiting friends of Yankee. The next day for the Fourth of July, we were picked up by Fireman's mom (affectionately called "Firemom") and were brought to their house in central MA to enjoy smoked meats and craft beers while we listened to patriotic songs and played a trail version of "Horse" (all the while trying to dribble quietly).

As we crossed into Vermont the next day, we received many warnings concerning the muddy trails (characterizing the state's trail name "Vermud") and were made aware that the state just had it's rainiest June in 130 years. We took the mud as well as the occasional moments of rain we had in the state with stride, but one thing that annoyed me were all of the blown-down trees. Normally on the trail, blowdowns are cleared with the help of a chainsaw relatively quickly, but due to a noise regulation in Green Mountain National Forest as well as a possible lack of funding, the trail in Vermont is littered with fallen trees, making me wonder sometimes if there had even been a trail at all. It was very frustrating slowing my pace down to get over the trees and getting myself wet and dirty to nearly straddle over the larger ones. The trail in Vermont eventually earned my personal slogan, "the prettiest bushwhack you'll ever take."

The second day in Vermont, Yankee and I went into the town of Bennington, where we immediately stopped at a Stewart's Shop for snacks. Quintessential to the Adirondacks, I was feeling more in my element along with the scenery more and more everyday. From there, our group went up to the summit of Glastenbury Peak, where we set up camp and caught the sunset from the top of the firetower. The next day, we climbed into the clouds up to the top of Stratton Mountain and enjoyed wild strawberries on the way down.

As I needed to get to Killington (about fifty miles ahead) before the weekend to pick up a dropbox I had sent to the post office, I went ahead of the group the next day to a shelter, where some of us made a roaring bonfire. It was there I invented a new trail recipe called the "quesadilla roll", which involves making a quesadilla with a choice of fixings, wrapping it around a stick, securing it with a skewer, and roasting it over a fire. Needless to say, it went over very well among the group of hungry hikers. From there, I headed to the summit lodge on Killington Peak and made the hills come alive with a beer crafted by the Von Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe. From there, I heard about a race event happening at the base of the mountain the next day, so I stayed in the town of Killington to watch that and meet awesome people.

The following day, I learned that the rest of the group was at a work-for-stay hostel in Rutland (10 miles west), so I went over to meet them and help pick raspberries in exchange for a bunk and amazing wholesome food from the adjoining Yellow Deli. The whole establishment was run by the Twelve Tribes Community, and I experienced the same wonderful hospitality that I did at their farm near Harper's Ferry, West Virginia. Our last day there, we decided to slackpack 24 miles from Killington with the help of the excellent area bus system. The plan was to hitch back to Killington at the end of the day to take the bus back to Rutland, but we found it very difficult as we had unknowingly ended at a road crossing outside a very ritzy, resort-like town called Woodstock. Daylight was dwindling and spirits were low due to no cell service to call a shuttle with, but we eventually were able to find hitches and got back to Rutland where we gorged on long-anticipated frosties from Wendy's.

We somehow left the hospitable grasp of the Hostel at Yellow Deli and had an easier time getting back to Woodstock the next day (this time using a sign decorated to channel the iconic music festival, which may have helped our chances). What awaited us was elevation gradient reminiscent of the roller coaster at the end of Virginia, and we slogged into the shelter near the end of Vermont completely wiped out. As I write this now in the library of Hanover, NH, I will soon be exploring the pretty downtown and the beautiful campus of Dartmouth College. And this is only the beginning of New Hampshire.

A Revival Of Sorts

They say that home is where the heart is, and I received a much needed boost of morale and motivation as I crossed into my home state of New Jersey. The notoriously jagged and unstable rocks were over (many thru-hikers assumed that the rocks would be just as bad in Jersey, but I assured them that they were in for a much more enjoyable time), I was in familiar territory, and I would soon be meeting up with friends and family to catch up and tell about my adventures.

Before saying farewell to my aunt from Allentown, PA and slackpacking up the steep pile of boulders called the Superfund Site, we went to the Palmerton Hotel for all-you-can-eat wings. Going up the superfund was superfun (I'm probably the thousandth thru-hiker to crack that joke, but a comedian such as myself has to steal jokes sometimes), but I later could feel the wings in my stomach sitting there like one of the many boulders. And the fact that synthesizing protein apparently takes more water than usual (which I found out after carefully gauging how much water I'd need for my slackpack) left me very thirsty at the reuniting of me and my pack. The next day, I headed into the town of Delaware Water Gap, PA where we celebrated the end of "Rocksylvania" and struggled to sleep in a hot but very convenient hostel at Church Of The Mountain. The following day, I crossed into Jersey cheering on the walkway adjacent to I-80 like a maniac and enjoyed open ridgelines and wild blueberries.

Slackpacking two times more, cheering on Scott Jurek as he breezed on by (a world-class ultra runner currently attempting to break the speed record for completing the AT), and getting caught in a torrential but exciting storm cell highlighted my time hiking near home in NJ and NY. As New York progressed and gave way to Connecticut though, many hikers and I noticed that the terrain became abruptly steep (often requiring scrambling with the hands) and littered with roots. Views also became more sparse, and I began to notice that all of the trail magic coolers left at road crossings were empty, making for a disheartening sight. What I attributed to bad luck became solved when I caught up to a hiker named Hawkeye, who constantly begs other hikers for food and money (all the while having plenty of money to somehow sustain his alcoholism) and has been known to steal food and treats meant for sharing. Now I don't usually like to give a negative shout out to a current thru-hiker, but as I've said many times before, the Appalachian Trail is a community, and rules of etiquette must be followed. It was disappointing to have this happen, but I hope that he learns his lesson.

Besides never receiving the moral boost that I thought I'd get from trail magic coolers, the steep terrain, and lack of views, rain had come recently. The rain doesn't always bother me, but with other factors involved, it can be a real bummer on a thru-hike. And all of these factors piling up honestly made me want to call it quits, which was a first for me. I almost felt guilty, because I have made it through lots of other storms, braved the rocks of Pennsylvania, and sweated and swatted my way through hot and buggy days. But this was the first time that getting up in the morning and bracing myself to hike felt like a chore, and I desperately hoped for the sake of my hike that at least one of the negative factors would disappear.

Sure enough though, another boost of morale came as I stumbled across a hiker feed put on by ALDHA (the Appalachian Long Distance Hiker's Association) later on in Connecticut, and I reunited with familiar faces that I thought I'd never see again. Also, earlier today, I crossed into Massachusetts, where I was greeted by awesome views and scenery reminiscent of the Adirondacks. For me, this was a sign that things are only going to get better, and I had a sort or revival that very much saved my thru-hike. I am currently in the town of Great Barrington, MA and am about to explore the town. I'm excited for 4th of July and the rest of Massachusetts!

Link for my Paterson fundraiser

So I realized that people without facebook may want to donate to Paterson, so here's the link. Give as you feel led: http://www.gofundme.com/n6fotk

The Land In Between

Since I last left you all, I have finished the last 50 miles of Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, and most of Pennsylvania. To put it simply, the last of Virginia was up and down, West Virginia was historical, Maryland was wet, and Pennsylvania has been the land in between. I call it that because some guy who made the trail famous but didn't even finish half of it (In case you're wondering, it's the author of "A Walk In The Woods" Bill Bryson; many thru-hikers are coincidentally annoyed by this fact) described Pennsylvania as "a connection between the South and the North." Despite the man's lack of genuineness when it comes to thru-hiking, I must agree that Pennsylvania's terrain has been particularly unforgiving and the state has earned a reputation as one to buckle down and get through. Not to say there aren't any rewarding parts, but I have found it akin to taking the SAT's: an essential step to achieving a goal, but definitely not an enjoyable one.

Right after Front Royal, VA, I hit a 13 mile stretch of abrupt ups and downs aptly named the rollercoaster. Though each hill only had an elevation gain and loss of less than 500 feet, the fatigue of constantly ascending and descending made this one of the most challenging parts of the trail so far. The sweat coming off my face literally resembled waterfalls, as I constantly wiped my face just to be able to see and breathe. I'm pretty sure I went through 5 liters of water that day. Thankfully, I was able to wash off and unwind at Bear's Den Hostel, which offered a hiker special of a bunk, load of laundry, pizza, and pint of ice cream for very cheap. We spent that evening trying to replenish lost calories and watch old trail documentaries featuring hikers with very outdated gear. It made me think how much harder climbing the rollercoaster must've been with heavier gear and how grateful I am for the companies who make my lightweight gear.

The next day, I made my way to Harper's Ferry, where the Appalachian Trail Conference headquarters is located. They have a small museum and bookstore, along with the draw that is the scrapbook of all thru-hikers each year who stop by to get their picture taken at the psychological halfway point. Because I underestimated how much time it would take for me to get there before they closed, I found myself hurrying like a stressed out guy in the real world. I ended up going so fast that I accidentally missed where the trail went straight after the bridge crossing the Shenandoah River and instead took a path straight to the historic downtown (a side-trail leading to the headquarters can be found on the AT before that). I saw that something wasn't right when I came across historic buildings and a National Park Service info building, and by that time I had lost all hope of making the headquarters on time due to overshooting it. Thankfully though, a ranger was able to give me a ride up with 15 minutes to spare, and I took my ceremonial picture posing with the ukulele.

Because that particular evening posed a threat of thunderstorms, I wanted to find a place that offered work-for-stay rather than camp outside of town like I originally planned. I came across Stony Brook Farms in my AT guide and decided to give it a try. I got taken over to what turned out to be a Christian commune by the name of Twelve Tribes, where everybody either did farm work or made baked goods for the general store nearby. Everyone wore Mennonite-style clothing and had an abnormally patient and welcoming demeanor. There were two thru-hikers I met who came in to do work-for-stay just like I did, and when I learned that that was two weeks ago, I made sure to stand my ground and make it clear that I had to leave by late the next morning. Long story short, I met wonderful people, stayed out the rain (that definitely came down), and helped out on the farm by pulling weeds from their beet field.

From there, I headed 18 miles into Maryland where I set my tent up and met my aunt for dinner, which was nice (also because details regarding the trail that have become mundane to us thru-hikers become very interesting to someone not affiliated whom I can share them with). However, it started to rain during dinner, and I came back to my tent later that night with a puddle of water gathered on the floor. After a wet night, I was greeted by an even wetter morning, where drudgingly packed up my waterlogged sleeping bag and tent and headed to the next shelter to forget the day's existence. The next day, however, proved to be good cruising weather (perfect temperature, no harsh sunlight, no bugs), and I regained my pace by doing 30 miles into Pennsylvania.

During my second day in PA, I took part in a thru-hiker tradition called the "Half Gallon Challenge", where one devours a whole half gallon of ice cream from the general store at Pine Grove Furnace State Park. It was a difficult challenge that definitely whetted my appetite for ice cream for quite some time. The next day, I headed into the town of Boiling Springs, where I reunited with a group of people I hiked with for a while earlier named Team Vortex (called so because they "vortex" each other into staying in town longer due to peer pressure). While they got a traditionally late start in town, I decided to slackpack to the next town called Duncannon with the help of Trail Angel Mary, who had a very interesting life story and who gave her heart and soul to making the hiker community a better place. In exchange, I housesat for her while she went east for a pool tournament, and I got to wait for Team Vortex to catch up. The next day, we had plans to head out, but we heard that a severe thunderstorm was supposed to come through, so we decided to wait it out at a house owned by an older couple who caters to thru-hikers. We spent the evening playing our favorite card game called gumball, and they let us stay in the upper level of their garage, which we were very grateful for.

Right after Duncannon is where the rocks of PA started to become very annoying and unforgiving. Not only did they force our feet into weird angles, but some were sharp against our already tender feet and others were unstable, causing us to almost lose our balance on each and every step. The heat and humidity during the last couple of days had also been above average, putting us in a cloud of delirium regardless of our water intake. And on top of all that, a certain kind of aggressive, persistent bug became part of our lives, constantly threatening to fly into our eyes and ears. Taking into account our foot pain, bug bites, and heat chafing, I honestly can't remember a time in the past couple of days where I wasn't in pain. I feel like PA has taught me an important lesson--that despite my feeling strong and unstoppable, I have a limit that I'll eventually hit and will simply have to deal with. All of these recent factors made hiking very hard through eastern PA, and it would easily be the worst part of my trip so far--if it weren't for the trail magic. That's right, I've found the trail magic in this area to be extraordinary with their friendliness and selection of items. It's almost like people from eastern PA are trying to make up for a bad reputation or something....

On the bright side, I only have two days left until I enter New Jersey, which I'm very excited about. I'm now spending the night with an aunt in Allentown, PA, and will be enjoying some all-you-can-eat wings tomorrow before hitting trail. I love experiencing new places and things, but I'm definitely looking forward to the familiarity of Jersey.

Hardcore, Spy Rock, Bear Scream

You read that right. Those seemingly random quips would be the three most influential things that happened to me in the past few weeks. But this is the trail after all, so there are many more things that have happened in between which I feel obligated to share with you as well. So here we go.

I was originally going to take three zero-days with my family, since I was feeling the shock of being out of my trail element pretty strongly. But thanks to my begging sisters, I was forced to spend four and a half days off trail. I survived somehow, occupying my time with normal people activities such as cooking in a kitchen and walking without an intent. I also was able to import and organize some pictures, which I will be sharing very soon. After being dropped back onto the trail, I had a day's worth of elevation gain close to 5000 feet to conquer, which proved to be very tough for me, especially after several days off. However, what seemed like hell to me barely phased other hikers who were passing me on the upward-facing mass, which felt somewhat discouraging. At the beginning of the trip, almost everyone has to develop their "trail legs", which allow them to ease into big miles and will stay with them until the end of the trip. The couple of days I spent back on trail required me to build back some of the trail legs that I lost.

I eventually got to the road crossing near Buena Vista, VA, where I made my way down to Trail Days in Damascus, VA. Disclaimer to my Mom: if you don't like the idea of me hitchhiking, consider skipping this paragraph. Now that I got that out of the way, my journey down to Trail Days proved to be very tough. It took me four hitches to get to Interstate 81, down to basically the bottom of Virginia, and over to Damascus, a journey which usually takes 3 1/2 hours but took me 7. After getting to an Exxon station close to the I-81 entrance ramp in the back of a pick-up, I spent almost an hour and a half asking around seeing first off if anyone was heading south. Most people were heading north, which they may have said because they actually didn't want to pick up a grungy hiker, but I like to think more positive. Eventually, a Christian father of four from the North Carolina backwoods offered to bring me south on I-81 under one condition: that I drive so he could enjoy a couple of Bud Lights. That's right, he handed me the keys, I nervously remembered how to drive until I could put his rickedy 90's model Saturn on cruise control, and we got to talking about life, faith, and everything else under the sun and over the asphalt. It was great getting to know him, but he eventually needed to head eastward to get home, so he dropped me off and I took two more hitches which were less eventful before I headed into Damascus.

The town of Damascus, VA is occupied by about 600 full-time residents, but it swells to about 3000 during Trail Days. Among these are current and past thru-hikers, locals who consider it their version of a county fair (complete with smelly creatures, though the ones here wear packs apparently), and numerous trail angels such as Miss Janet (all hail the Oracle). Most of them set up their tents on the outskirts of town, which becomes aptly named "tent city". I can tell you first-hand that it is closer to a tent metropolis, as you can walk almost a half an hour through fields and woodlands and are constantly surrounded by tents of all shapes and sizes, makes and models. The buzz of energy and merriment and the smell of sizzling meats and bonfires is all consuming and constant, as you pass by "camps" manned by big-name trail angels and their assistants, each one surrounded by thru-hiker tents. A short walk outside tent city brings you to an extensive string of gear vendor and food booths, all meticulously engineered to satisfy the thru-hiker in everyone. The ATC, Gregory packs (the one I have, offering free repairs and exchanges), and even David "Awol" Miller (author of the AT Guide) all had booths set up. In all the public areas of town, historians, botanists, and notable hikers were giving seminars and workshops. I got to listen to the second person to ever thru-hike talk about his journey back in 1951 with an 80 lb pack including a canvas tent and a lead canteen (a stark contrast to the modern thru-hiker's gear). The second day had a hiker parade, with past thru-hikers grouping up and sporting banners and current thru-hikers peppered among. Marching down the main avenue, we were sprayed with water guns by townsfolk, a tradition started in order to clean off dirty hikers. Evenings were spent around a bonfire, jamming on whatever instruments one had or could fashion (my ukelele was a big hit). 

While most people headed back on trail after the festivities, I decided to participate in a trail maintenance opportunity called Hardcore, hosted by a Chuck Norris-esque trail legend named Bob Peoples (jokes abound on the walls of a shelter outside of his hometown in Hampton, TN). A major perk in participating is that everyone gets dropped back onto the trail from wherever they came from through a ridesharing system, a lifesaver for me considering how far north I got off. Our group was one-hundred-strong and shared in communal dinners  For two days, we combated erosion on one mile of the trail in the Roan Highlands, sweating and toiling our way toward an even better trail. It was a wonderful experience, and I got to opportunity to meet some wonderful people :). And plus, I even got the views that I missed the first time through the Roan Highlands. 

After finally getting back onto the trail, I felt the onslaught of bugs for the first time on this trip. The fact that my buff covers my ears was a godsend (actually, the thanks goes to my Aunt Patty for giving it to me for Christmas, I've also gotten many a complement over the AT map design), considering how many flies attempted to kamikaze into them, but got stopped. However, I had to wear my sunglasses just to keep the bugs out of my eyes, despite the weather being fairly cloudy and them almost fogging up due to the extreme humidity. As I got to my campsite at Spy Rock, before me stood a stone mass rewarding me with a 360 degree view from to top to melt away the troubles of my day. The sunset from there was indescribable and probably the best view I have gotten so far on my trip.

The next day, I made my way over The Priest, notorious for it's long and rocky descent. But first, I stopped by The Priest Shelter and read from the blog that has traditionally become a catholic-style confessional, due to the mountain's namesake. The confessionals ranged from comically innocent to downright shocking, but were all accepted on part of the log being a confessional. It's just one of those gems of the trail. The day ended with a visit to Devil's Backbone Brewpub, which was offering half-gallon jugs of award-winning beer for half-price that day, as well as an assortment of great pub-style dinner options. These were all enjoyed by the ravaged thru-hikers, who were also allowed to camp along the field next to the brewery. The next morning was very special though, as we got to enjoy an incredible breakfast made specially for us thru-hikers, complete with eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and homemade sausage that was out-of-this-world (or at least out-of-this-country, as the founder is of Polish descent).

The day that awaited us was cold and rain, but filled with high spirits from the incredible breakfast. We headed into Waynesboro and zeroed the next day, filling up on the acclaimed chinese buffet in town. The next day, I entered Shenandoah National Park, which is renowned by hikers for it's wayside snackshops and abundant wildlife. The second day in, I saw my first bear, which I became aware of when I heard a scream from a fellow hiker a couple of yards ahead of me. The scream scared me way more than the bear to be honest, but I apparently learned that the scream was meant to get the bear off the trail, not as an initial response. The bear was cool, but the scream became the talk of camp, as it reminded us all of a trademark horror movie scream.

In the middle of the Shenandoahs, I got to visit with my cousin for the evening, which was very rewarding, and I made my way uneventfully through to the end of the park yesterday. Today, I will be spending my day in Front Royal, VA and will be staying at a historic hostel called Mountain Home Cabbin (spelt with two b's to honor the original owner who built it in the mid-1800's). I will be crossing the 1000 mile mark very soon and will finally be heading into my next state--West Virginia! I can't wait to tell you all about the next states to come!

Virginia is for lovers.........of the trail

So where I last left you all, I had just crossed into Virginia. So far, it has been my most enjoyable state. Maybe I say this because I'm now well accustomed to the trail and the challenges that come with it, but I think that Virginia presents a little bit of everything. I've seen rocky landscapes with views every couple of hundred feet, lush forests with gradually sloping hills, and ascents with layers upon layers of blue tinted ridges. I've felt chilly nights, warm, breezy evenings, and blazing hot mid-days. Alone, these circumstances would leave a hiker exhausted and thoroughly frustrated with the state, but it is because Virginia has a little bit of everything that makes it so spontaneous and unforgettable.

Out of Damascus (where I got sucked into an extra zero day because of some friends), I headed up the flank of Mt Rodgers and into Grayson Highlands State park. This region is known for open grasslands and wild ponies, which came right up to us! I was very tempted to pet one, but park rules state that it is best not to, so I erred on the side of respect for my pony friends. However, I wished that I brought some carrots with me to feed to them. Me and my group were blessed with wonderful weather, but it caught me off guard how rocky the trail was. Miles of jagged and awkwardly-shaped rocks made the bottoms of my feet really hurt for the first time.

Another thing to mention about Damascus is that I had decided to send my winter gear home, anticipating that the weather would stay as warm as it had been. Even though I kept my winter sleeping bag for a while longer, I quickly realized that it was a mistake to send some layers home, especially as it got near freezing in the evenings and mornings at camp. Alas, I trucked on, and eventually made it to Partnership Shelter, which is right by the Mt Rodgers Visitors Center. A special thing about that shelter is that hikers are able to order a pizza and pick it up right next to the shelter. It was a novel, well-deserved treat to eat pizza at a shelter. Because I couldn't even finish my crusts, I zip-locked them and took them the next day to warm back up over a fire. Truly, pizza for days.

From there, I headed through several farm fields, which offered different but nonetheless beautiful vistas down the trail. I even passed by a settlers museum with a school house building where a local church left trail magic of soda, chips, fruit, and other hiker needs (including Ibuprophen, which I promptly took for my aching feet). The Next day, I went to a fully enclosed shelter at the top of Chestnut Knob, which offered incredible views to the north of a formation known as "God's thumbprint", called so because the mountains seem to form a thumb-like indentation. The shelter was beautiful, but that the water source was essentially a frog pond located 0.2 miles down (I definitely needed to backwash my water filter the next day). This particular mountain was significant because it is the highest elevation the trail hits (~4400 ft) until the White Mountains all the way up in New Hampshire. I guess it will now be lower hills for a while (not a bad thing, but just as a matter of perspective).

A couple of days later, we heard that the same church that left trail magic at the school building was hosting a free, all-you-can-eat breakfast for thru-hikers every Monday, so we timed our pace to end up there at the right moment. The breakfast was crowded with hikers in the small church building, but that didn't seem to phase the elders and members from being hospitable and just incredible to us. I was very grateful to be able to experience that. Later that day, I headed to a shelter that seemed to have an inconveniently far water source, and it wasn't until I got back up that another hiker told me that there was an alternate source only 100 yards in the other direction. Oops. I know that in the context of walking in society, a lot of people tell thru-hikers that a mile should be nothing for them and that it makes no difference, but I can assure them that at the end of a full day of hiking, every dang foot of extra walking counts.

A couple of days later, me and my group stayed at Woods Hole Hostel, which is in a renovated cottage from the late 1800's. What makes this place special is that it has its own farm and prepares community meals from locally harvested and grown products (we had mountain gumbo that night, which was incredible). The owners have a strong focus on sustainable and healthy living, and they offered messages and yoga sessions (which I gladly participated in, my body really needed it). Later that night, one of their goats gave birth to a kid, so we were all able to welcome him to the world. It was definitely an amazing moment. The next day, we headed to the town of Pearisburg, where we ate at a Chinese buffet, picked up supplies, and nursed our food babies in a motel watching survivalist shows on History Channel, all the while laughing at how dramatically their tribulations are presented. I guess that when we are in the middle of hard days and circumstances, it doesn't seem as entertaining without a camera crew waiting on us.

The next day, we hiked many miles to a house right near the trail across the river, where a man named The Captain lets thru-hikers camp out in his backyard. The only way to get there is to zipline across the river, and some people almost got their feet and the bottoms of their packs wet. We jammed by the fire, and I fried slices of summer sausage to make trail bacon, which momentarily whetted the hiker appetite in me. The next couple of days, the weather started to get very warm, and we were greeted with open views from rocky ledges. The most famous of those were Dragon's Tooth (a stone monolith which requires a scramble to the top) and Mcafee Knob (the most photographed section of the trail). Though the weather was wonderful, many of us started getting rashes below our shoulders due to the extra sweat and friction from our straps. Gross, I know, but it is a reality of hiker life (at least at the beginning of the warm season).

For Cinco de Mayo, I decided to host my own trail magic at a shelter right after a town. I got the idea a while ago of carrying up a baking sheet as a griddle and quesadilla fixings for hikers to make their own. It went really well, and it was great to be giving back to the trail, especially after how much it has given to me thus far. The next day, I hiked 16 miles in 4 1/2 hours to meet up with my sisters for one of their graduations, and it has been a great time sharing my experiences first hand and  recuperating for the next leg of my trip. From here, I'll hike for a bit more, and head back down to Damascus for a hiker festival called Trail Days. I'm excited for the rest of Virginia, and I'll be sure to tell you how it all goes!

Miss Janet "The Oracle", and the threat of rain

Boy have I got a lot to share with you all. Since I left you all at Hot Springs, I've gone almost 200 miles to Damascus, VA, where I am writing to you now. I've seen weather of all sorts, and have met some awesome new people. I got out of Hot Springs later in the day to a shelter that was missing floorboards between the sleeping spots, which was a shame, because we couldn't squeeze more people in since it was misty and rainy that night.

The day after Hot Springs, I went 0.6 miles off the trail to a hostel where I had sent myself a dropbox. I went with some other people and had lunch at the cafe connected to it. It was a nice place, but we still had farther to go. Thankfully, they gave us a ride back onto the trail so we wouldn't have to walk back. From there, we were greeted by thunderstorms and then really cool views from an open, rocky ridgeline (lots of dramatic clouds and sunbeams reminiscent of the opening of The Lion King). The next day, we sloshed through deep mud but beautiful weather to Sam's gap, where we got picked up by the wonderful Miss Janet, who lets hikers stay at her house in Erwin, TN, and lets them slackpack from points on the trail (holds our packs for us as well as dropping us off and picking us up at the end of the day). Staying with her was enjoyable because she knows so much about the trail, is very helpful and sweet, and loves to make community dinners, which we indulged in every night. She took us downtown for resupplies and has a lot of great stories which she told us (if you meet the author of the AT Guide "Awol", ask him about breaking into houses for a dropbox, haha). The longest day we slackpacked was almost 25 miles, which sure was great without our packs. Because she's such an integral part of the trail, we nicknamed her "The Oracle".

One thing I really like about the trail is the culture, and I mean that regardless of age, nationality, or upbringing, everyone seems to be on the same page because we are all accomplishing the same thing. Everyone seems to be more honest about relationships and things they've had to learn the hard way, like there's a sense of forgiveness and turning the page that the trail and wilderness brings. People seem to be open to more things, like it's easier to talk to someone much older than me and to share musical tastes on a guitar being shared around. One good example of this is when some people from my group tried starting a thing called "LC Bands", where one can choose to wear either a red bracelet (symbolizing that they are already in a relationship or not looking for one), a yellow one (they are looking for something more long term), or a green one (they are "single and ready to mingle"). It was pretty entertaining seeing them selling the idea to people and noticing how many people they got to catch on, based on who agreed to let them tie a bracelet onto their wrist.

From there, we hiked to the base of Roan Mountain, and were greeted the next day by wind and rain. The shelter we stayed at was an old barn converted into a shelter and was probably the coolest I've stayed at so far. Unfortunately, the next two days were solid rain and I could certainly see a drop in moral from myself and the rest of my group. Everyone's stuff was soaked, and most people were getting blisters on their feet and strap sores on their shoulders because of it. We were sliding on wet rocks and roots all day, and were craving a warm bed and a place to dry our stuff. Fortunately, our prayers were answered when a road came up with a hostel in each direction. From there, our group awkwardly split, but I was grateful to find a cheap bunkhouse owned by a man named Bob Peoples, who was really cool to talk to because he's so involved in trail maintenance. He hosts an event after Trail Days (a hiker event in Damascus from May 15-17) called Hardcore, where hikers volunteer to do trail maintenance, and he drops you back onto the trail from wherever you came off. Since I'll be far above Damascus during then, I think I'll be taking advantage of that.

The last couple of days have been great weather, and I've been in high spirits looking forward to Damascus. For those who aren't familiar, Damascus is the epitome of a trail town, with outfitters, hostels, and restaurants with hiker deals galore. I'm definitely looking forward to staying here today and tomorrow. I'm also happy because I passed into my fourth state today--which is Virginia! So look out Lauren and Netty, I'll be seeing you guys soon! As for the rest of you, I'm thinking of you as well, and I'll be filling you in when I can. I'll be posting some pictures and videos soon, so be on the lookout for that!

On top of Ol' Smokey

Hey everyone! So I rolled into Hot Springs yesterday to make it to an Easter service, and have been hanging out since then. It's definitely a hiker-friendly town (the trail actually goes through downtown), and it has been my favorite stay so far. I started 8 miles from Hot Springs (which I did in about 2 hours, thanks to caffeine drink mix), and made it just in time for a service at the first baptist church in town (ironically next door to the presbyterian church). Despite cleaning up a bit and changing into my least stinky clothes, it finally dawned on me how badly I smell. It took a lot for me not to be ashamed of my odor at the church, trying to remember that God cares about the heart, and not so much the stench. After the service, I reunited and hung out with old hiking buddies (including Uncle Roj who I met my first day, he really caught up!) at the Spring Creek Tavern. I barely finished an 18 ounce hiking burger, and then camped in town (which they let thru-hikers do).

Rewinding a couple of days, I left Fontana Village and entered the Smokies last Sunday, narrowly missing a snowstorm that hit the day before (other hikers I met had to go through about half a foot of snow, which mostly melted before my arrival). A note about Fontana: I obviously couldn't post this while still there, but we found it to be very expensive and somewhat of a trap for hikers. The frustrating part is that it is so convenient for hikers about to enter the Smokies, and they are hence able to have the upper hand. It was relaxing, but I'm glad to be out. The first night in the Smokies was cold and windy, and because the park requires people to stay in shelters unless there's absolutely no room, we squeezed more than twenty people into a 12 person shelter. The next day, I hiked a strenuous 15 miles to the next shelter, due to the mud. If you know what it's like exerting the extra energy to walk on sand rather than stable ground, you can understand what hiking 15 miles through mostly mud was like. The next day, I started early to make it to Clingman's Dome in morning light. The weather was perfectly clear, and it was probably the best view I've ever seen in my life (if you know how much I've hiked, that's saying a lot). I also entered the canadian zone, which is made up of a unique spruce-fir forest (reminded me of the Adirondacks). There was still some ice on the trail (better that than mud in my opinion), so it was slower going, but I was already enjoying the scenery anyways.

Later that day, I received trail magic at Newfound Gap and hitched down to Gatlinburg. I'd heard a lot about the city (that it's tourist central), and I can say that it was definitely a shock compared to being in the woods for a long time. All of the t-shirt, fudge, and trinket shops reminded me of the Jersey shore, minus the ocean. One characteristic thing about Gatlinburg is that there are numerous moonshine bars that apparently offer free samples, so from what I could see, one could potentially get drunk for free. I did fill up on dip and hot sauce samples at a cooking store, though. I shared a room with some other thru-hikers and hitched back up the next morning. They are called the fantastic four, and one carries a travel guitar and another carries a melodica (look it up, it's hard to describe). They're writing a book about their adventures, and they play music at open mics and on street sides (apparently making decent money).

After making it out of the Smokies, I stayed at a shelter with a deformed floor (there was some shifting toward the center that night), and it thunderstormed, which made for quite a show. The next day, I received trail magic on top of Max Patch, which was originally cleared for cattle, and looks just like the background on a Windows computer. It was clear and beautiful, but the windchill was brutally cold. There was a family trying to fly a kite, but it kept trying to escape from them. I camped right before Hot Springs that night. I'll probably put in 10 miles later today, and will be picking up my first dropbox from the Hemlock Hollow Inn the next day. I feel like I am starting to get into the groove of the trail more, and I'm starting to recognize more names and faces. I feel like I'm part of a close knit community. Of course, the feeling is almost instantaneous whenever one walks into a hiker hostel, but hey, that's the trail. I'm gonna hike on, but I'll fill you in about 2 weeks from now!

The adventures of Seinfeld

So this post encompasses the first thirteen days of my trip. Before I reflect, let me tell the gist of it.

On the 15th, I took a shuttle from northern Atlanta to 1 mile north of Springer Mountain (the start of the trail). I then hiked south to the official starting point and headed north from there. I decided to forgo the approach trail from the south because I had heard that it makes for a challenging and quite unenjoyable start. Later on, I heard from others that it was indeed hard and quite unredeeming when it came to scenery (pretty much all ascent and no views), so I was glad I skipped it. The first people I met on the trail (Jocelyn and Uncle Roj) named me Weedle after a Pokemon because the clothes I was wearing resembled it (I couldn't see it, but it stuck nonetheless). The next day, I hiked to Gooch Gap, where there was trail magic giving out hot dogs and soda to hungry thru-hikers (very much appreciated). I also met two people assembling an AT yearbook; this was their second year doing it, and they basically compile pictures of as many hikers as they can along with their trail names, as well as other action and fun shots. I will definitely be ordering a copy at the end of this year when it's ready. The following day, I left my pack at Gooch and hiked with the bare necessities to Neel's Gap, with the intent of getting a ride back to Gooch for a St. Patrick's Day cookout for hikers (followed by a ride back to Neel's with my pack the following day). I decided to try this idea of slack packing because I had never heard of it, and the opportunity presented itself. Though some purists may call it cheating, but I thought it made for a more pleasant hike without my pack.

The day after, I hiked to a shelter where I met a girl named Honeybee and a guy named August. He has hiked the AT multiple times and is actually now filming a set of videos about the trail, so he is carrying a fancy camcorder, a laptop and many other things that make his pack excruciatingly heavy (he's an army vet though, so he can handle it). He had been showing Honeybee the ropes of hiking since she was new to it. At camp, I had been reflecting on the reasons why I was hiking, and since Honeybee was a psychologist, she figured I should start fresh with a new attitude and a new nickname. That nickname turned out to be Seinfeld because I had quoted the show and had been telling jokes later that night. A much better name than Weedle in my opinion.

The next day was rainy and windy, so we only did 7 miles to the next shelter to wait it out. The next day though, I had heard about a great new hostel called Top O' Georgia Hostel and really wanted to stay there, so I hiked ahead 20 miles. It was very grueling, but I thought it made staying at a hostel even more rewarding. They did laundry for us, and even washed the clothes we had on (giving us scrubs to wear in the meantime, we all looked like we were in a sanitarium, haha). The next day, I crossed into North Carolina (first state out of the way, woohoo!) and stayed at Muscrat Creek Shelter, where I met my current hiking group: Teach (aka the Ambassador of Lance Creek, aka Gordon Bombay; I know, right?), Chewbacca (6'8'' tall!), JC, and a mormon brother and sister named Smoothie and Pumpkin Butt (aka Jacks). A little bit from the shelter, there was a trail leading to a plane wreck and great views. Going a bit off the trail for a good view is called blue blazing, as I learned. Two days later, we went to a town called Franklin where we restocked on food, had great mexican, and stayed at the Sapphire Inn. We got dropped into town from the trail by a guy who owns most of the town named Ron Haven who was very friendly and showed us around (as we passed by his favorite BBQ joint, he explained that that was what made him fat, haha). At the mexican restaurant, Chewie and JC each had 3 margaritas (or as JC called them: Margs), which sent JC a little over the edge, causing him to speak Spanish with the tag, "as they say in Mexico....". He got renamed Mexico after that. The next morning, we had a free all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast catered specially to thru-hikers, and I picked up a free copy of Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis (which I have been enjoying very much). I cut out the margins to save weight.

The next day, I made a huge descent (about 3000 feet) to the Nantahala Outdoor Center, which I heard was a very expensive place, but we actually had great burgers for a good price. The next morning, my plastic spork broke, and I dreaded getting a new one at the NOC, but I found a titanium one for a very good price. The next day, I hiked 22 miles in order to get to Fontana Village where I would take a rest day, right before Great Smoky Mountain National Park. I was very weary by the end, but it felt very rewarding to have what's called a "zero day", where I basically sat in a hotel room and hung out with friends. This morning, I will head into the Smokies.

Overall, I have not found the trail to be too hard physically, but with the extra time I have had to listen to myself, I have found myself thinking about things that I didn't think about before, things which would normally bother me. I am very thankful to be in a place where I can sort my feelings and thoughts out, and I think I have already become mentally stronger since starting the trail. I love the friendships I have made so far, and I hope that our schedules work out such that we can continue hiking for a while (some have to finish by mid-august in order to get back to school). That is all for now, and I will tell you how the smokies and the rest of NC goes!

let's begin!

So this is my last post before I start my big hike, and I just wanted to say thank you for all of the support  and encouragement you guys have given me. I will definitely look back to that on the tough days and use it as strength. Also, thank you to those who have so far donated to Paterson through my fundraiser. I know many people who will be touched through your donations. As of now, I remain confident, but not underestimating. A common question I've gotten from people is whether the trail scares me (meaning the sheer length of it). To not overwhelm myself, I'm just going to take it one day at a time, one step at a time. After  all, my constant mission is to put one foot in front of the other. And in spirit of that, I'll share with you the inspiration for my blog name: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OORsz2d1H7s. Yeah, it's from the movie "Santa Claus is Coming to Town", and yes, I know it's kind of corny. But for the sake of endurance, this will surely be my chant. God bless, and I will check in as soon as I hit my first town!

Preparation and Emotions

What you see above is most of my gear for the trail. What I see is the fruition of many months of planning, purchasing, and compromise. Multiple hours of scrutinizing between two items in each hand at Campmor and many more of researching specs on amazon.com in multiple tabs (as well as items I already own) has led to this indispensable stash. Since then, I've shed some clothes, eliminated stakes from my tent in lieu of sticks I'll find, and even purchased a more efficient sleeping bag to arrive at a maximum weight of 37 pounds. This number includes about 16 lbs of food that I'll be starting off with (resupply points early on the trail tend to be sparse and overpriced), but I expect to be carrying less than that for the rest of the trail because I'll be used to the routine and will have more opportunities to restock.

I'll be shipping my pack and poles to my uncle outside of Atlanta who I'll be visiting with for a couple of days before I start the trail. This is because: 1) I don't trust my pack with airport bag handlers (just too many valuable items), 2) many items in my pack would never be allowed on a carry-on, and 3) I bought my plane ticket on skiplagged.com (buying a ticket with a layover in your destination, so I couldn't even check a bag in the first place (ultimately saved 50% on a plane ticket!). A few more notes about Skiplagged: it's not illegal, it's very unlikely you will be put on a no-fly list, and it was started by a young genius who is currently being hassled by the big airline companies and is looking for support. So I highly recommend using his website and even donating a bit to the cause like I did.

For those wondering (which I assume is all, kind of a crucial piece of info), I officially leave for my trip on March 12th and plan to start hiking on March 16th. The trail is about 2100 miles long and I plan to take about 5 months. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit nervous for my trip. You see, many aspects of the trail can be sorted out as they come, but it will ultimately make the trip more expensive in the long run. I've heard of people finishing the trail but blowing their budget to the point that they accidentally spent twice as much as they had planned to. I'm trying not to be that guy. As was the case when traveling around Europe, I prefer to plan quite a bit ahead of time so I don't have to stress as much during the fact. I guess it comes down to saving money now (on gear and food, for instance) so I can have more freedom later (regarding hostels and recreation). Another thing I'm nervous about is the fact that 75 percent of people who start their thru-hikers don't finish. That's right, 75 PERCENT. To put that into perspective, only ten percent of people didn't finish the boston marathon last year. I know it's one day at a time, but this is one instance where being prepared is a deal breaker. So prayers would be appreciated. 

Many hikers mail food to themselves at strategic locations in order to save money on food and to enjoy foods that can't easily be found along the trail. I decided to send out numerous drop boxes in an attempt to maintain a somewhat balanced diet and also to save money by buying in bulk from BJ's (for those unfamiliar, it's similar to Costco). Aside from the usual granola, trail mix, oatmeal, and pasta, I dried apple and banana slices at the lowest setting in my oven, made a snack i really like called Cocoa Peanut Logs (essentially chocolate, peanut butter, and rice crispies in a bar), and prepared olive oil and thai peanut sauces to be put in travel containers (I don't like the preservatives and prices of mountain house freeze-dried meals). For many days, I had stations to bag up each food item, put into the appropriate box, and weigh the boxes for shipping.

Last week, I shipped all of my boxes out before I became aware of the official rule that post offices are only required to hold boxes for 30 days. I went from an attitude of relief to full-on damage control within 24 hours, calling the post offices I mailed to seeing if they would cut this poor thru-hiker some slack. In my defense, I had almost no experience shipping packages, but I am grateful for the fact that all of the post offices but one are willing to hold my packages for an extended period of time until I get there. Through this, I was reminded of an important lesson: make sure you know how the post offices work. Haha, but seriously, being a thru-hiker means being a constant visitor, being conscious not to mooch or expect a reward for all of the tedious miles you've just put in. I'm thankful for all of the trail angels that supply food to thru-hikers, but I realize that the wilderness may shape and inspire you, but you ultimately define the wilderness. Probably my biggest take away from my environmental studies classes is that wilderness is a place of harmony among all of God's creation and all of the elements must contribute. Because we are called to be good stewards, humans lead the way, and I believe it is the duty of those who are closest to it to set an example.

In conclusion, I leave in about 2 weeks and I am mostly excited but a little nervous. I can't wait to visit with my uncle Bob and cousin Stephen outside of Atlanta, and when I get there, I'll keep you posted.