Thirst: 2600 Miles to Home

by Heather Anish Anderson

Somewhere along the way I learned to stop letting fear stop me.

Inevitably, they were superficially interested—few comprehended the actuality of what I planned to do—so

Humans have always gone on journeys. Whether as mass migrations following game or fleeing climatic changes or setting out on vision quests or to establish a new life, as a species, we move.

I was no different. Even though I walked alone, there were continual reminders that I was not forging a new path. Thousands of people had walked here before, as had I.

Suddenly I felt like a skittish coyote relegated to a life of slipping through shadows on the edge of civilization—removed from its circle.

Once again, I remembered one of the greatest lessons of a thru-hike: the restoration of faith in the goodness of humanity.

Perhaps thru-hiking was the only way I could cope with modern life. Some people drank. Others used drugs. Some zoned out in front of the screen. My escape was the trail, where life was not easy or comfortable.

“As false summits are to mountain ridges, so too are the kinks and bends of a canyon. With each, what was hidden is revealed—the world is recreated right before your eyes.”

I’d chosen this challenge for many reasons, and one of the greatest was to face the darkness, both without and within. Daily my body preferred to quit hours before I did. Instead I continued on, because of my stubbornness, yes, but also to allow scars to form when I wrestled with grief, memories, loss, and destiny on a sliver of trail in the moonlight. I was opening myself to true healing by finally dealing with my wounds. Sometimes all I had to do was acknowledge my own stubbornness. Others I had to rip off old scabs and let new ones form into thicker, beautiful scars.

For the first time, I accepted that I could not meet the expectations of others and make myself happy at the same time.

The up and down feelings that came and went daily seemed to have no real triggers, though chronic sleep deprivation was likely the root cause. I yearned for sleep even more than for food. Yet, I was enraptured by the rolling beauty around me. Birdsong and babbling springs were the only music I desired. Every sunset and sunrise held a special beauty. I was stronger than I had known. I was also hungry, sunburned, and lonely.

I learned how to put aside my emotions to get where I needed to go and, so far, that was the lesson that I had brought

Every day I let the irrational emotions spill out while I walked. I cried, yelled, pouted, swore . . . whatever I felt. But I never stopped walking.

I did not know what the trail conditions ahead of me were like, what the weather would be, or how many logs I would clamber over in frustration. I couldn’t know how many heart-stopping wildlife encounters lay between me and the end of this trip. It was this promise of something new and unknown—this tantalizing mystery—that fueled my addiction. I was desperate for discovery. Perhaps curiosity was why, feeling dead in a well-ordered life, I had left it behind to roam all those years ago—and kept returning.

“There’s something about thru-hiking . . . living out here. It makes you feel alive in a way that nothing else can.

“What happened, happened. Nothing I can do now will change it. Stop wasting mental energy and just move forward. One step in front of the other.”