AWOL on the Appalachian Trail

by David Miller

What Benton MacKaye did not anticipate was anyone touched with the desire to walk continuously from end to end. No one did until 1948, when World War II veteran Earl Shaffer lugged his army rucksack from Georgia to Maine. Shaffer’s accomplishment came to be known as a “thru-hike,” and everyone who does the feat is called a “thru-hiker.” This story is about the year I became one of them.

The typical thru-hike takes six months with an average of twelve miles walked per day. Hikers must reach Katahdin by October 15 when the park containing the mountain closes for the winter, so they usually start in March or April. Most thru-hikers go it alone. About three out of four hikers are men, but the percentage of women is increasing. The majority of thru-hikers have recently graduated or retired.

Thru-hikers love to tell how steep the trail is and how much it rained because the difficulty of the endeavor is also part of the appeal. Many of the most gratifying experiences in life are those that are the most demanding.

I’ve been told that taking this trip at this time in my life is irresponsible, a charge I won’t contest. Maybe doing it later in life would make more sense. But my father had bypass surgery and my mom is fighting cancer. My opinion of “later” is jaded. I’m headed for Maine.

Crocs are rubber cloglike shoes that are running rampant on the trail this year. Everyone is trading in their sandals because Crocs weigh about a pound less. I buy a pair.

I catch up with sarcastically dubbed Patience while she is waiting restively for Snail. She gives me some miniature Hershey bars, but I cannot find any food with which I can reciprocate since she is a kosher vegetarian.

Right from the start of my second day in the Smokies, the trail goes into a number of PUDs (pointless ups and downs), some of them very steep.

When the path is clear to pursue a fledgling goal, the path is also clear for deeper insight into your desires.

On my walk in the rain, I came to the odd realization that I was happy. I would be okay. Being annoyed at my misfortune had been overtaken by my sense of coming alive when presented with obstacles. I was pleased with myself. I felt resilient and resourceful.

Experience is enriched by reliving it, contemplating it, and trying to describe it to another person.

During my stay in town, I never tire of eating large meals at restaurants. Four days of bingeing hardly adds back any of the weight I had lost. I watch the movie Finding Nemo at the Millwald Theater, the oldest continuously operating movie house in Virginia, open since 1928.

Thoughts are the most effective weapon in the human arsenal. On the upside, it is powerful to realize that goals are reached primarily by establishing the proper state of mind. But if allowed the perspective that our endeavors are propped upon nothing but a notion, we falter.

Anything that we consider to be an accomplishment takes effort to achieve. If it were easy, it would not be nearly as gratifying. What is hardship at the moment will add to our sense of achievement in the end.

Having a rough time on the trail is not the same as the irredeemable frustrations of urban life, such as being stuck in traffic or wading through a crowded store. Difficulty on the trail, like this long and rainy day, is usually reflected upon fondly. There is the soothing, rhythmic beat of rainfall, the feeling that the woods are being washed and rejuvenated, the odors of the woods awakened by moisture. There is appreciation for the most simple of things, such as a flat and dry piece of ground and something warm to eat. There is satisfaction in having endured hardship, pride in being able to do for myself in the outdoors. There is strength in knowing I can do it again tomorrow.

And the insole is pointed, tapering off much more rapidly than do my toes. I’ve seen no one with feet so pointed. There seems to be a fundamental mismatch between the design of shoes and the feet that go into them.

The cub scampers away, and the mom hops up on the trunk of the fallen tree and walks away, sneering back over her shoulder. I fumble with camera settings, hoping to get a shot before she gets too far, when she turns around to have a word with me. I get one picture as she growls and advances toward me. The growl sounds like that of a horse expelling air through its jowls, but much more effective at communicating a threat. I backpedal as fast as I can without turning to run, still trying to click pictures.

take my time getting on the trail this morning, knowing that there is a pizza buffet in town six miles down from Mount Greylock and trying to schedule my day accordingly. But the godless people of North Adams have allowed their Pizza Hut to go out of business. I

This seems to be an attitude worth striving for when I return to work, to perform my job as if I was doing it under my own guidance—as I would want it done myself—not to limit myself to the role of employee, and not to refrain from giving more of myself to the job than is warranted by my pay. It is I who would benefit. Time is most enriching when spent industriously.

The AMC huts implement a number of environment-friendly features. They are lit by 24-volt battery systems charged by solar, wind, or hydro generators. Stoves run off propane. Food waste is composted. There are no napkins, and there are no paper towels in the bathrooms. There are no showers. The bathrooms have composting toilets, and they are as odorless as any public restroom I’ve ever used. Guests are expected to pack out their own trash. Twice a week the croos pack out garbage and return loaded with supplies. There is no road access.