One spring, nearing retirement, I set out to hike
portions of the Appalachian Trail through the Smoky Mountains. It was a short
loop hike of around 35 miles, starting and ending at the far northeastern part
of the national park. I wanted to see what it was like for I had dreams, once
fully retired, to someday thru-hike the entire trail.
But, after a couple of days, I discovered that such
a feat was not for me. I think I wouldn’t have a problem physically tackling
this 2000 plus mile beast. Instead, what I discovered was the difficulty I
would have in overcoming the five to six months of trail life one would have to
endure while walking from Georgia to Maine.
That’s not to say that a one or two week hike isn’t
nice. In fact, doing so is just the opposite. Spending time in the woods and
physically exerting oneself is a tonic that cures the malaise caused by the
routines of daily life. But like most medicine, small and measured doses
usually do the trick. Too much, and your condition is no better off than what
it was when you started.
On this hike, most days do not allow one to be distracted
by any distant views. Instead, I focused my attention on the little things all
around me – a bee buzzing from flower to flower, a snail slowly making its way
across a wooden log, a thick and fuzzy caterpillar climbing up a trail side
rock face, the soft sounds caused by the gentle movement of a trickling stream,
and the hundreds of leaves, some close to the forest floor, all perfectly
still, save one that fluttered noticeably in the light breeze. These simple expressions
of nature were all very nice. But, you don’t have to go to the Appalachian
Trail to see them. You can experience these as close as your nearest forest
preserve.
Life in the trail shelters and at various rest stops
was not so sublime. A young twenty-something couple were passing through and
stopped for a mid day break at one of the shelters I was having lunch in. They
alternated between being nice and sweet to each other to then being vicious and
combative. “You’re an a-hole” and “f-bomb you” punctuated the verbal abuse they
heaped on each other. They eventually moved on, holding hands as if the past
half hour of mutual disrespect alternating with love and tenderness had never
occurred.
Late one the afternoon a 60-ish couple came into
camp. They too had recently retired and were doing a similar “test run” to see
what life would be like should they take on their own potential long distance
thru-hike. While discussing the pros and cons with them, a young man walked
into camp. He was thru-hiking the AT and so far had done 200 miles in 20 days
to get to this point. He was having stomach problems and couldn’t keep any food
down. He said he’s had to regularly detour off of the trail and into the woods.
I cannot image having to deal with that while out on the trail.
More and more hikers arrived, some as late as dusk.
All of these later arrivals were attempting a through hike. They all seemed to
know one another from previous encounters, bragging in a passive way, trying
hard to show their indifference to the daily grind of trail life. They called
each other by their trail names. There were “Sticks” and “Pockets”, followed by
“Argo”, a solo female hiker. A little later and in came “Booberry” and his
buddy whose name I didn’t catch.
These latter two hated sleeping in the shelters,
which was just as well since this shelter had since filled up. They set up
their tent in a nearby clearing. I felt envious. I have slept fitfully. The
noise from the others, the rustling of those getting up to use the latrine (I’m
just as guilty here), and the pitter patter of mice and other little critters
in the shelter have kept me awake for most of the nights. Wondering how much
mice “dust” I was breathing in while trying to sleep didn’t help either.
Early in morning, with the sun barely above the
horizon, the shelter was abuzz with the hustle and bustle of fellow hikers
cooking, washing, and packing up their gear. I commented to my 60 year old
friends that after this week’s experiences, dreams of taking my own thru-hike
someday have been dashed. They too had been disabused of any notion of taking a
thru-hike, mostly for the same reasons.
It’s not that the trail is particularly hard – I
would grade it as a “moderate” hike – but it is, oddly, kind of boring. There
are very little views per mile gained. For the most part, it’s a keep-your-head-down-there’s-nothing-to-look-at
hike in the deep woods through, as some guide books put it, a “green tunnel.”
Also, I can’t see doing the shelter thing night
after night. I don’t consider myself a prude or stand-offish. In fact, I like
people and I like conversation. But, I don’t like having to keep up the
pretense of proving I am tough and trail worthy day after day. In the shelters,
there is too much commotion, too much of not being yourself, too much of having
to be guarded about what you say and do, and very little good, restful sleep.
So, could I someday do what I hoped would be a
thru-hike on the Appalachian Trail? The answer, unfortunately, is a resounding
“no.” The trip had its interesting points resulting in some good stories to
tell. And the one week I was out was ample time to experience them. But I can’t
imagine doing this for five, maybe six months straight.
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