The Appalachian Trail

New York City, although exciting and fun, can be compared to a running vacuum. It sucks you in quickly, while a feeling of confinement gradually consumes your life. You become situated in the belly of this small compact area, "crap" piling on top of you, and a struggle to get away begins.

It was time to reacquaint myself with nature and regain a piece of my sanity. I can't quite remember when or why I came up with the idea to hike a part of the Appalachian Trail, but I immediately became obsessed. Walking through the woods, alone, for seven days and six nights intrigued me. I decided to backpack 120 miles from Sheffield, MA, North, to Stratton Mountain, VT, but there was just one problem. My hiking experience only consisted of two years at sleep away camp and a one-month Colorado Outward Bound trip in 1991.

Below is a daily account of my adventures through the woods….The amateur hiker from New York City.

8/20/99: My sister, Thea, happily agreed to shuttle me to the Massachusetts-Connecticut border where Sheffield is located. We drove around town and questioned numerous people before pinpointing the trail entrance. There was a good amount of uncertainty associated with my hike and we both felt a bit awkward. A watermelon-sized knot crept into the depths of my stomach as I stepped from the car and glared into the thick woods. I was embarking on a trip through the unknown!

My seven-day journey began at 11:54am and I was interested to see what, and who, lay ahead. I began to walk up what I thought was the trail, but quickly realized it was an old abandoned road. Confused and embarrassed, I turned back and flashed a "what the hell am I doing out here" smile to Thea who was still in the process of pulling away. I then noticed a white painted blaze on a tree to my right and knew that had to be it. I glided up the two-foot wide trail and listened to my sister laugh from the street….I missed her already. Complete silence surrounded me as she sped away.

Within the first hour of hiking I came across a southbound hiker who stopped to chat. I was a little surprised because, for once in my life, I had nothing to say. Sensing my uneasiness, he quickly told me of a clearing ahead caused by a freak tornado and trudged on. I didn't think much of it at the time, but as I walked through the "hole" in the middle of the forest, I understood the power and beauty of what happened here. The tornado's path was completely bare, leaving a wake of trees and debris along the rim of the opening. It slithered across the AT like a wide ski slope. It was then that I noticed my water supply was virtually gone and knew there wasn't a stream for four miles. I became a little nervous and wished I had brought two water bottles.

While crossing a small dirt road, I caught a glimpse of a little house 100 yards away. I was about to knock on the door when a man in the back kindly yelled for me to leave the backpack outside and enter. I strolled in and immediately found myself in the middle of an art gallery. Leonard Weber introduced himself. He was a thin, pale man, about eighty years old and a hell of a talker. He decided to lecture me on male and female traits, giving me his thoughts and opinions. According to him, men are born with internal traits giving them the instinct to kill and survive, whereas women have external traits leading them to nurse and raise families. I became anxious to leave and was hoping the lesson would end soon. He was very kind, but I noticed the clouds were moving in fast and I needed to get going. Roughly fifteen minutes later I found the opportunity to politely depart.

I reached the Wilcox Shelter with eleven miles completed and my legs felt surprisingly strong. I was excited to spend my first night in the wilderness! I cooked up a quick dinner and had a conversation with a couple camping behind the lean-to. The dreaded rain began to fall steadily, making it an easy decision to sleep inside the dry shelter. A sudden sense of exhaustion came over me but, for some reason, it was difficult to fall asleep.

A man joined me in the shelter later that night. He was thin with beady eyes and went by the trail name, Mental. He had short brillo-like hair with side-burns extending down past his cheekbones and I instantly knew he had been out here for months. His wet cloths were soon scattered all over the lean-to and they released a lethal smell. A stench similar to that of my high school football locker-room. When I told him of my plans to reach Stratton in seven days, he sarcastically said "good luck." It was not the optimistic response I was looking for, but I had to stick to my schedule. A porcupine kept us up all night, scratching and chirping underneath the shelter. I woke up many times thinking the prickly beast was about to sit on my face.

8/21/99: My travels happened to coincide with many northbound thru-hikers on their fourth month of hiking. Mental was heading in that direction and was off before I woke up. I got moving quickly and by 12:30pm a torrential downpour filled the sky. Hiking in the rain seemed to entrance me and I was beginning to find my groove. I found there was little to no thought involved, but it required intense drive to continue on for hours. I received some advice from a passing hiker and planned to hike 18 miles to Goose Pond Cabin. For the steep price of $2 you get the luxury of a wooden bunk, a warm fireplace and a caretaker that makes pancakes in the morning. How could anyone pass that up? I was a little concerned about the distance, but I was pretty confident in my body and mind that I could do it.

Of the 18 miles I hiked that day, the last four were brutal; Drenched socks were turning my feet raw; wearing a shirt became useless; and my backpack was 5 pounds heavier with water weight. I rolled into the cabin exhausted and was shocked to see the place filled with Thru-hikers. I was able to grab the last wooden bunk and contemplated on whether to eat dinner or just sleep. I felt like death!

I forced myself to cook some noodles and met a few people doing the same. They were a diverse group of hikers who had been traveling through the desolate woods for months and full of many stories involving the trail. Mental was there; Kernel with his dog Heidi; Paranoid, who was afraid to light her stove; Slugface, who woke up on the trail one morning with slugs on his face; an older couple with two dogs and many others. The caretaker was a little wacky but added to the atmosphere. We stayed up talking, trying to keep the fire going with wet wood. I felt as though I was a part of a secret fraternity out there, all of them understanding what I was going through. They passed around tips and suggestions and there was no talk of the outside world.

I learned three things about thru-hikers that night: they prefer to hike alone; they love to camp together; and they are not always 100% nature oriented. These were regular people that occasionally succumb to the many perks that lay ahead in upcoming towns. They truly enjoy their lives. I slept like a rock that night..…

8/22/99: I woke up and enjoyed pancakes on the porch with the others and was able to catch a misty view of the pond. I moved on quickly and planned a short day of about 10 miles. It was the right decision considering the previous day's punishment on my feet. The sun began to creep through the clouds for the first time, greatly lifting my spirits. After venturing across the Mass. Turnpike I ran into Susan, who had just begun a four-day trek going in my direction. I struck up a brief conversation and the next thing I knew we were hiking together. She worked for Planned Parenthood in Boston and had been in the Peace Corp for two years. She reminded me a lot of Janet from "Three's Company."

We stumbled into the October Mountain Shelter around 3:00 and made the decision to set up camp. I called my brother, Bob, and was able to tell him I was OK. Kernel rolled into camp a few minutes later and hung out with me in the lean-to, while Heidi, his dog, found a patch of dirt to pass out on. In the corner of my eye I saw Susan rushing toward me. She jumped in the shelter and said with a tight lip, "There's a fucking bear right behind me!"

I was working on my aching feet, dangling them over the edge, so I quickly picked up my head to witness a black bear 20 feet in front of me. It staggered by without even a glance, front paws swinging around with every step, and made its way over to Susan's tent. I haven't felt that scared or nervous since I played hide-and-go-seek as a child. The anticipation of what's going to happen next mixed with excitement and fear. He ripped her tent open and squeezed his head through the slit. Everything I had read about bears was lost somewhere in my brain, leaving only instinct and fright. This thing could destroy me within seconds!

Heidi, now tied up, was barking frantically and the bear still didn't bother to acknowledge us. Per Kernel's suggestion we began to yell and bang pots. The bear then discovered Susan's food sack, situated it perfectly in his mouth, and slowly walked away. It was a five-minute moment that felt like five hours. We stood in amazement! After reliving the experience for a bit, Kernel decided to move on his way. He was not even phased by the bear and actually seemed pleased that he had caught a glimpse of one. My knees, on the other hand, would not stop shaking!

Shortly after the incident Mental walked through and we filled him in on all the details. He and I gave Susan some of our food and encouraged her to re-supply in Dalton. It was her first day of hiking and we could see that she was ready to give up. This is an example of "Trail Magic"- when you are in a rut, something or someone will surprisingly pull you out of it and keep you going. It could be as minor as sharing a piece of chocolate or as severe as someone saving your life. I was actually glad to give up some food because I over-packed by about 10 to 12 pounds.

I then heard a snap outside so I jumped from the shelter to explore. I stared over at Susan's tent knowing exactly what was there….the bear was back!!! This time his entire body was in the tent, shaking it furiously as rods snapped with ease. We began to bang pots again and he finally acknowledged our presence. He slowly slid his body from the tent, stood straight up on his hind legs, and stared directly at us. We all froze! Was he about to charge us? With his thick brown coat glistening in the sun, he challenged us to an old-fashioned showdown. A few seconds passed and he gradually got down on all fours and staggered away with nothing. Susan's tent was demolished.

We all decided to sleep in the lean-to and immediately built a fire, as I had seen it done in the movie "The Edge." A unanimous decision to call the bear "Little Shit" was made. It was a perfect nickname for a beast that continuously tries to steal your belongings. The fire began to relax us a bit and we stayed up telling stories and jokes. I don't think you could have found three more different people, in different stages of life, out in the middle of the woods. Mental was 35 years old and searching for something to change his life, Susan was around 30 and exuded a lot of confidence and strength, and I was still trying to figure out why the hell I was out there. I had a shaky sleep ahead of me that night…every snap in the woods and crack of the fire still made me jump.

8/23/99: I unexpectedly woke up around 6:30am to the sound of heavy breathing outside the shelter. It was Little Shit. It's scary to see a bear so unafraid of people. My heart immediately stopped, then began to race out of control. I was too afraid to reach for my camera so I closed my eyes and rolled the other way. I listened to him rummage through the camp, then fade away into the distance. Thank God we had hung our food up in the trees.

Anyway, Suzanne, after calling her Susan the whole time and feeling like an idiot, and I began hiking together but split up after two miles. I wanted to visit a Blueberry Farm Paranoid told me about when we were at the Goose Pond Cabin. The farm was beautiful with rows of blueberry bushes as far as I could see. I picked some berries and chatted with the owner for a bit. Coincidentally, I had been her child's ski instructor two years ago at Stratton Mountain, and somehow she remembered me. She then said that Little Shit had visited a couple of her blueberry bushes the day before. She explained that bears shake off the fruit by rolling around in the bushes, destroying them in the process. I could see in her face that she wasn't too happy about it.

A few miles up the trail I ran into Suzanne again and we stopped for some lunch. I felt a sense of relief running into her and realized that I enjoyed her company. Together we hiked 13 miles through an unexpectedly flat stretch of trail to Dalton, a small rundown town that reminded me a lot of Leadville, CO. By the time we reached town my feet were throbbing with every painful step I took. I immediately bought a bag of Sour Cream Potato Chips and a Gatorade at the General Store and sat in a chair, exhausted, with my head down. Everything melted deliciously in my mouth! My next mission was to tend to the enormous blisters on my feet by locating some comfortable socks. I had only packed half-cut sport socks for my trip in the wilderness….another stupid move by the amateur!!

I went to the town Laundromat and looked through their lost-and-found basket. Fortunately they were located off the Appalachian Trail and harbored a large selection of heavy-duty socks. I chose wisely and walked out with a brown sock on my left foot and a blue sock on my right. "This isn't a fashion show," I told myself, "it's survival from here on out, God damn it!"

We heard about a guy named Tom who allowed thru-hikers to camp in his backyard so we were off. What a great move! Tom listened intently to our stories and kindly gave us some pie, soda and banana splits. It's not roughing it but it sure was tasty. Mental surprisingly climbed up onto the porch. I was sure he had lapped us, but quickly realized he was having trouble motivating himself to continue. How thru-hikers keep it up for six months is perplexing. It's an intense mental and physical roller coaster, without the security of a safety bar.

We decided to hit town for a beer and some food and thought we deserved it after the whole Little Shit incident. We ran into Slugface while looking for a pub and he joined us for dinner in a crappy little pub. It was my kind of place. Slugface's trip was sponsored by The Cancer Society and everything he needed for his journey was paid for. They were monitoring his travels on their website and he seemed more than anxious to finish. We all ordered a beer and I had the chicken Caesar salad. I was saving the cheeseburger for when I finished my hike.

We got back to Tom's with a nice buzz and I asked Suzanne if she would like to join me in my tent. Her tent was demolished but she still refused to sleep in my tent. What a lady-killer I am! I passed out within seconds.

8/24/99: I woke up at 7:30am and was a little upset with myself for not leaving earlier. Mental was already gone so I said a quick goodbye to Suzanne and left. On my own again and it felt a little weird. Mount Greylock's Summit was 17 miles away and I was hoping to reach it today. I decided not to pop the blisters on my heels so I covered them with two layers of moleskin. The blister on my right heel was the size of a golf ball and was beginning to worry me. My feet were finished.

On my way out of town I saw another hiker sitting by a payphone. It's hard not to notice a thru-hiker, so I walked over and struck up a conversation with him. He was short and thin and looked exhausted. His trail name was Roadrunner and he had just called his mother to come pick him up. Apparently, Roadrunner had gone home for a week to participate in his sister's wedding. Upon his return to the trail, he found that he was tired, aching and could only average 10 miles a day. "I have Lyme disease," he said, "there is no other explanation. I used to average 25 to 30 miles a day."

After chatting for a bit I awkwardly wished him luck and said my good-byes. There are so many different elements on the trail that can prevent you from completing your goal. I instantly knew Greylock was out of reach when I began the incline out of Dalton. Holy shit!! Getting out of Cheshire wasn't an easy task either. Both towns were buried deep within valleys and the declines began to hurt just as much as the inclines. Despite the pain, I was able to enjoy the beautiful hike and was grateful for the sun.

I straddled a few ridges, giving me first-hand views of the Green Mountains and their famous rolling hills. I also came across a desolate pond and decided to stop for some lunch. As I hiked around the pond, I was stunned to see an enormous beaver dam. It towered over me and held the water at eye level...wow!!! I was very tired and decided to cut my hike to 13 miles and camp at the Mark Noepel site. I set up my tent quickly and took some time to relax.

As the sun went down, a crisp full moon filled the night with an unusual glow. Its perfectly round shape protruded through the trees like a picture, using the branches as a frame. I had to take a picture myself. A group of Yale freshmen were out that night on a camping orientation, similar to the one I participated in at Ohio Wesleyan University. I can't really explain why, but I was starving for their attention. A few of them finally came over, and I found our conversation amusing. They viewed me as a rugged person, I didn't quite see it, but I liked to be viewed that way.

Kernel had just walked into camp and, in my eyes, he was the ultimate rugged person-- tall, lanky, bearded, hiking in sandals and with a loyal dog. It's funny to think he was once a computer programmer. Time for bed…..Vermont border here I come!!

8/25/99: I woke up early and had a quick breakfast. The steep incline to Greylock was directly ahead and the Vermont border was 14 miles away. It was an unbelievable feeling when I reached the summit. It felt as though I had accomplished a large portion of what I set out to do. I peaked the highest point in Massachusetts, a mountain covered with roads and tourists, and did it on my own two feet. I was so moved, I forgot about my time constraints for the day and spent two hours up there. It was then that I knew why I was out there. When it was time for me to continue I ate a quick snack and left my sister a reassuring message that I was OK.

The descent from the summit was intense….inflicting non-stop abuse on my knees, feet and surprisingly, my left hip. I finally reached North Adams and was ready to call it a day. It was 4:00pm and my body felt horrible. I staggered through a residential part of town where a woman offered me a ride to the nearest mini-mart. She was a nice old woman who didn't understand that I would have to backtrack from wherever she dropped me off. It was a very genuine gesture, so I opted to say nothing.

She drove me a mile out of the way to a gas station where I bought a couple of sodas and began my trek back to the trail. I was pretty upset with myself at this point and ready to quit….a feeling that had enveloped my thoughts the past few hours. How easy it would be to get a hotel room. When I returned to the trail entrance I was shocked to see Mental and Heidi lying out on a grassy patch. Kernel was in town re-supplying and, upon his return, he motivated us to move on. I felt obligated to continue, not wanting them to think of me as a quitter. These guys were hardcore!!

Four miles to the border and the two thru-hikers dashed ahead of me. Heidi would appear every fifteen minutes to make sure that I was OK. She was a sweet dog that reminded me a lot of Klondike, my childhood dog. At 6:15pm I reached the border where both Kernel and Mental were waiting for me. It was my second feeling of accomplishment and it meant a lot that they waited.

Mental gave me a swig of Old Crow Whisky and Kernel took a picture of me crossing the line with his camera. I guess I was picture worthy…. I was also exhausted, in a lot of pain and the next campsite was three miles away. They both encouraged me to continue on, not leaving me to hike alone this time. I can honestly say that Kernel and Mental, with their encouragement and support, were my "Trail Magic" on that day.

Our pace was about three miles an hour and we stumbled into camp at 7:30pm. It was packed and I met a few other thru-hikers that I had heard about. I began to set my tent up next to Hooter, a stocky bearded man who reminded me of both Papa Smurf and Wes, my Colorado Outward Bound instructor. He was virtually deaf, had calves the size of submarines, and would talk your ear off for hours. By this time I was so exhausted that I made dinner and passed out with my tent only half erected.

8/26/99: I awoke to Hooter snoring with such ferocity, I mistook him for a bear. The fact that Little Shit haunted my dreams didn't help either. I forged on and the weather did not look promising. I bumped into Kernel and Hooter a few miles up at a lake and sat down for a snack. Hooter was complaining about his rain fly and how useless it was. I had a brand new McGregor fly and knew it would fit his pack perfectly, so I traded with him. It felt good to hand out a little more "Trail Magic" and I could see a sense of relief in his eyes. He definitely needed it more than I did.

It became rainy and cold and I was seriously considering whether to continue on with my hike or not. Stratton was 27 miles away from the next shelter and easily reachable in two days. I had spent seven days, six nights and hiked 90 miles in the woods.

Route 9 into Bennington was four miles ahead and I felt in my body and mind that it was time for me to leave the trail. I hiked the remainder of the trail slowly, wanting to appreciate all that I had experienced. The descent to Route 9 was the steepest I had encountered yet and solidified my decision to stop. I took a picture of Hooter along the river, walked to the side of the road and stuck out my thumb.

Roughly 10 minutes later Aaron, and his cat, Problem, picked me up on their way back to college. There must have been a serious stench associated with me because he gave me a funny glance as I piled into his minivan. I thought of Mental and how badly I thought he smelled my first night in the woods.

Aaron dropped me off at a gas station and I bought him some beef jerky for his troubles. It was raining hard and all I wanted to do was eat, shower and sleep. I stumbled into the Autumn Inn and immediately called for a Little Caesar Pizza. I sat by the window for an unknown amount of time and watched the rain pound the pavement. Hooter entered my thoughts and it felt good to know that he had my rain fly.

I began to think about Thea dropping me off at the trail entrance and all that I encountered in the seven days since..…bears, blisters, fascinating people, scenic views, rain, etc. I then began to question whether my trip could be considered a success without fully completing the 120 miles. Did I regain some of my sanity through this natural experience in the woods or was it a failure? I then realized that I gained more than just my sanity out there in the woods. I now have confidence that I can survive in, and adapt to, many different situations; I can be passionate about my goals, whether I complete them or not, and still feel fulfilled; I can now stop and appreciate the simpler things in life, without worrying about the everyday pressures. It also dawned on me that, although the time by myself was special, the interesting people I met along the way helped create and shape my experience. I couldn't wait to plan my next hike. I forgot about my pizza and fell asleep…..