Some years ago, in a fit of dejected
depression caused by a sour relationship, I perused my local
library's travel section in search of a book to distract my troubled
mind. I don't know what it was that I was looking for exactly, I can
only remember thinking that I'd been had by the one who stole my
heart and my only concern was finding solace in that most sacred of
youthful coming of age rituals: travel.
That's when I found Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods. Published in 1998, Bryson's hilarious travelogue is a love letter not only to the
Appalachians but to the country of his birth. Having spent several
years abroad, Bryson was returning home to find his country
drastically changed since his departure, now filled with sedentary,
obese, impatient tribes of people ruefully referred to in the rest of
the world as Americans.
Settling in a small New England college town,
the celebrated humorist and journalist discovered a dirt path not far
from his house which traveled across the spine of the Appalachian
Mountains from Georgia to Maine.
The first OFFICIAL white blaze on the Appalachian Trail, found on the top of Springer Mountain. What lies beyond?
So
began his quest to travel the great American footpath.
I
devoured A Walk in the Woods in
a fit of ecstasy, marveling over the concept of a long
trail. Growing up, my family
would often spend long afternoons in our quiet Florida beachside
community, walking along the shoreline or in the trails of the nearby
state parks. The idea of an extended, really really long trail was
foreign and quaint to me, like a relic of a bygone age.
Like
Bryson, I became hooked by the concept of the Appalachian Trail. For
the past few years, I've watched the Spring arrive with a sense of
longing. Every year, as the last of the snow fall melts from the
Georgia mountains, the thru-hiking season begins, usually lasting
until around September or October.
Starting before the Spring green
has even set, a legion of hikers begins what will for some be the
greatest quest of their lives. For most, the trail will laugh at
their unpreparedness, their machismo, and their naivety. They will
not make it to the end. But for the twenty or so percent of hikers
with just the right amount of drive and luck, the end will come at Mt. Katahdin in Baxter State Park Maine, after having traveled through fourteen states and close to 2,200 miles (the trail distance changes wildly from year to year and source to source, but considering how much walking you actually do, I think 2,200 miles is actually a very, very low estimate of how far the average thru-hiker travels).
At the gates in Amicalola Falls State Park, Georgia. I do not recommend attempting to hike in sandals.
A year ago, I had the pleasure of
finally stepping onto the trail myself. I will recount this story in
a later blog post, but for now, I will offer that this brief
glimpse did not sate my curiosity—it only served to tease me all
the more. You can only hike so far in a weekend, but always the next
white blaze is calling from around the corner. There is an
overwhelming urge to see that next blaze and the one after and the
one after. When I returned home, I immediately began planning my next
trip.
For some time, I have been debating
with myself whether or not a thru-hike was in the cards for me. I now
know that I will never be completely satisfied unless I try.
At the Black Mountain Shelter.
THUS:
I hereby proclaim my intention to
thru-hike the Appalachian Trail in the Spring/Summer of 2014.
This blog will from henceforth be a
chronicle of the preparations that I make over the coming year. I
will carefully outline every detail, from the history of the trail
and the region it inhabits to the technical aspects of preparation
and actual hiking. I will explore my reasons for wanting to hike. I will outline details like gear choice and financial planning. By this time next year, I will be preparing to
depart for Springer Mountain. This blog will be my journal, offering
updates and anecdotes from this epic quest which I have begun.
SO STAY TUNED!
There is an immediate elevation gain of almost 1000 feet to the top of the falls. The steps are the last known location of my pride.
Dad posing for a photo in front of Amicalola Falls
Looking out from the top of the Falls
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