The Appalachian Trail 2015

I did it again.  I hiked the "AT - The Appalachian Trail." No. Not the whole thing. Don't be crazy. This was only my second year on the AT.

Last year:  1 day: 17.6 miles. This year: 8 days: 52.5 miles. Next year? (For all you math SAT fanatics out there, the answer to that question should be: 64 days and 156.6 miles.)

I was blessed to have my daughter Jillian join me for the first part of the hike and my daughter Lesley and her husband Robin join me for the last part. I was on my own in the middle. I hiked from Arden Valley Road near Route 17 in New York to the Mountain Top Deli in Stormville, NY.

So, ok there is a huge difference between last year’s “walk in the woods” with nothing on my back but some water and a candy bar or two and walking with everything I needed to survive “in the wild” on my back.

Here is what you need to know about that: You have to carry all your food, water, shelter, first aid, toiletries and other necessities ON YOUR BACK every time you move from one temporary location to another.  Yeah, I know. Nuts, right?

I get exhausted wheeling my suitcase from the airport baggage check area to the curbside pickup area. This is different. It is miles - up and down mountains - with lots of rocks. Oh SO many rocks. 

“Necessities” gets redefined pretty quickly and is a simple calculation of weight v. need. When Joyce came to pick up Jillian at Bear Mountain to take her back for her return flight to Atlanta, weight won nine out of every ten battles over need and I lightened my load considerably. Quite honestly, reading the book “Paris to the Pyrenees” which I brought along for entertainment could wait. (More on that later.) Extra clothing? Who needs it? Cook stove, fuel and pot? Cold food is just fine. I opted for the essentials: Tent, sleeping bag, sleeping mat, hammock (oh yes, essential with a capital ‘E’), headlamp, first aid, food and water. All other needs would have to met Bear Grylls style.

This is what I learned:

I am not so sure anymore that I need to do the whole thing. Don’t get me wrong. I truly admire those who hike the entire 2,168.1 miles from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine or vice versa. And I told them so. Virtually each and everyone of them I encountered. It is a “life accomplishment” in my view; akin to graduating from college or getting married or becoming an Eagle Scout or reading the complete works of Shakespeare. I am just no longer certain that it is something I “need” to do. I have moved it from my bucket list to my “Well if there is nothing else to do” list.

Plus it is hard. Actually, I do not know how hard it is. I know how hard eight days are. And those were eight days hiking considerably less each day than those who do the whole thing. It is not necessarily an age thing either because while the average age of the thru-hikers I encountered is about half my 60 years, there were older men and women too. I take a tiny bit of comfort in hearing that the first week is actually the hardest. Unless they let you hire a Sherpa after the first week, I cannot imagine it gets that much easier though.

Thru-hikers (North Bounders or “NoBo’s” - those who hike from Georgia to Maine - and South Bounders or “SoBo’s) are a unique bunch. 

They smell, of course. But everyone smells pretty much the same. Really. You get used to it.

They are focused. Head down. Straight ahead. It is all about the miles.

And they like to talk about one thing and one thing only: The Appalachian Trail in every single one of its manifestations: the terrain, the nearby food, the water, the shelters, the animals. That conversation is significantly enhanced by smoking pot.

But enough about them.

The highlights of my hike?

Watching the sunset with Jillian from the top of West Mountain for 40 glorious minutes. (Apparently sunsets last longer from high places. Who knew?)

Sitting beside Joyce at Bear Mountain and appreciating fully and deeply just how blessed I am to have a wife who indulges and understands my whims.

Singing “A Hiking We Will Go, A Hiking We Will Go” (sung to the tune of “The Farmer in the Dell”) with Lesley and Robin while “slack packing” on the last leg.

Talking to my 4-year-old granddaughter Violet and hearing the excitement in her voice when I told her we would go on our own hike to the Palmyra Nature Cove when I returned.

Taking off the backpack at the end of the day and knowing it would not get picked up again until the next morning.

Setting up my one-person tent and hammock correctly and standing back to admire my handiwork.

The very occasional sighting of wildlife: Deer, mice, snakes, frogs, chipmunks and hawks. (I see more wildlife every day during my daily walks to Palmyra Nature Cove, less than 8 miles from Center City Philadelphia!)

Ordering Asian take out and pizza from the RPH Shelter, which has been described by some hikers as “The Hilton of Appalachian Trail Shelters.”

Walking across the Bear Mountain Bridge at 7am on a delightful summer morning and remembering that when it was completed in 1924, it held the record as the longest suspension bridge in the world. (But only for 19 months when it was surpassed by the Ben Franklin Bridge in Philadelphia.)

The “little things” like tossing a rope over a high tree branch to secure my food away from bears; having a cup of coffee I made myself atop West Mountain; and enjoying a good and hard-earned sweat.

Being startled while laying in my hammock at 9am at Fahnestock State Park by a man in a NY Yankee cap staring at me and asking, “Why didn’t you drop by last night?”  Turns out the gentleman stays at the park all summer long and treats hikers to food, coffee and conversation. He was really after thru-hikers so I did not go. Plus it was 9am and and he was holding a beer.

Admiring once again the rugged beauty of my childhood playground - "Upstate" New York - particularly Bear Mountain where we camped as Boy Scouts.

Sitting amazed at Bear Mountain State Park and seeing firsthand that virtually the entirety of NYC unloads on the park on a Sunday with massive amounts of food for a picnic.

When Jillian and I reached our very first "landmark" - The famous AT "Lemon Squeezer" - after a long and arduous first climb at the start of the hike and shortly before Jillian had to invoke the "No Whining Rule" on her dad.

The Appalachian Deli at the intersection of Route 9 and 403. A true hiker’s blessing!

Making fun of a sign on the last day near the end when our spirits were high anyway because we were almost finished. And saying, "Doesn't water ALWAYS do that?!"

Mostly just being with family in a remote location and talking about whatever popped into our minds.

And the not so high lights?

The very, very bad decision to think that just because I had not used my water filtering system on the first three days that I would not need it on the last five. Not very bright. Even the "good water" was bad.

Being lonely and bored to tears and regretting that I had relinquished the one book I had brought along. I broke down at the concession  stand at Fahnestock State Park and bought a used novel: "Vineyard Shadows:" A Martha's Vineyard Mystery.

Hurting my back. Not hiking. Not lugging the backpack. But trying to avoid the very icky floor outside the shower while putting my socks and hiking boots on at the State Park. Flip flops might have been worth the minimal extra weight.

The two very long nights in the shelters. First at Fingerboard Shelter and then at RPH. You can hear every single noise, roll over, snore, sneeze and other bodily activities that make noise. Definitely not conducive to a good night's sleep!

The bottom line?

I am glad I went. I am more glad that this time I finished what I set out to do. I credit the better hiking shoes and the many words of advice and wisdom from Godson Nick, son-in-law Rick and the countless number of you who told me what I did wrong in response to last year’s Appalachian Trail blog.

Would I do it again? And longer? As soon as my back stops hurting, I will think about it. Not before. Perhaps next year I will start in Connecticut.