My Mountain (Day 152) (1820 Miles Hiked)

The White Mountains of New Hampshire are challenging enough even in the best weather conditions and on that particular morning, the local weatherman said it was going to be awful.

I started the day in Lincoln, NH with two sensible hikers named Coyote and Lady Sherpa. They urged me to take the day off, dodge the rain, and eat chocolate chip pancakes with them in town. I'm not sure why exactly, but I declined. Stubbornly, I hitched a ride to the trail head alone and began hiking.

Around 1:30 PM, I was approaching the peak of Kinsman Mountain when I decided that I had made a mistake. What was I thinking being out here today? Not only was I soaked and climbing a steep incline, I hadn't seen another hiker in 4 hours. I don't mind being alone, but usually, when I'm attempting to climb a waterfall during a torrential downpour, I prefer a little company. (You know, just in case I slip off a rock ledge and need someone to remove two words from the title of my blog.)

I was thinking about maple syrup and warm chocolate chip pancakes when I finally reached the so-called "scenic overlook" on the summit. It was obviously a nice spot. On clear day, I would have seen valleys thousands of feet below and miles of towering mountains fading off into the distance. Of course, on that particular day, I couldn't see a damn thing.

I was wet, cold, alone, and annoyed as I stared out into a sea of white. I couldn't visually tell if I was 200, 4,000, or 50,000 feet above sea level.

I was ready to turn around and begin the arduous journey down, when out of nowhere, a pleasantly ridiculous thought came to mind: There is no one within five miles of me. The rain has kept all the sane people inside. Thousands of tourists will climb this mountain within the next few months, but today, at this very moment, this is MY mountain.

And standing there, gazing out into the infinite abyss, I smiled. And then, for reasons I can't explain, I felt the urge to yell.

I yelled as as loud as I could. I yelled until I ran out of breath and my lungs were sore. And when I couldn't yell anymore, I took one last look at the nothingness below and chuckled a little. Then, I turned around and began the long climb down my mountain with a goofy smile on my face.

The weatherman was wrong when he made his prediction that morning--it was a nice day. And I was alive.

One Paragraph About Vermont (Miles Hiked: 1716) (Day 143)

Vermont has been nuts and I don't have much time, so I'm going to have to write this one fast.

After I spent a night in Bennington with a half blind artist who builds sculptors out of old bicycle parts, I saw a moose on my way to a hostel in Rutland that was run by a cult. I thought I'd be safe at the cult hostel because I was there with another hiker named Thimble, whom I assumed was responsible because she is a devout church going Methodist. But when the cult leader greeted the two of us with a "complimentary drink," Thimble immediately chugged it. Fortunately, the Kool-Aid ended up not being spiked and the cult wasn't all that weird other than the fact that all the men styled headbands and ponytails, their "church service" mostly consisted of square dancing, they ate with chopsticks, and they owned an old van that was used solely for ministry work and road trips to Grateful Dead concerts. (Yes, the Dead still tours--sans Jerry.) After that, I climbed up Mount Killington, only to ride down it on a ski lift where I listened to a mediocre Sublime cover band play a free festival at a ski resort that had no snow because it is the middle of the summer.

Here's a picture of a butterfly that landed on my shoe:

Sorry. I'll try harder next time.

P.S. wisconsinfan--There is no one way to do the trail, so it cost different amounts for different people but imo, it can be done for about $3k and it can be done comfortably for about $5k.

Today (Day 129) (Miles Hiked: 1520)

As we crossed the 1500 mile mark, there was a lot of talk amongst some of the other hikers about a mountain in Maine where we'll (hopefully) be in couple months. Some hikers really enjoy talking about Katahdin. I don't.

At the top of each of these posts, there's definitely a reason why I count “the miles I've hiked” and not “the miles remaining.” “1500 miles hiked” sounds cool. “680 miles left to hike” not only sounds incredibly overwhelming, it makes the whole trail seem like a six month commute toward a destination. It's not.

Yes, I want to get to Katahdin. Yes, it marks the northern most point of the Appalachian Trail. And yes, it sounds like there are going to be some great views if it's a clear day. But the sad truth is that nothing magical is going to happen when I get there. It's just a mountain.

On a day to day basis, I find it helpful not to think about Katahdin. I don't wake up and think about the 600+ miles I have left to hike.

I think about what I'm going to have for lunch. I look at my guidebook and try to decide where I'm going to fill my water bottle. I think about the mountain that is 5 miles ahead and hope there's going to be a scenic overlook at the top. I wonder if the field that's 11 miles ahead is going to be a nice place to stop and rest.

I don't think about Katahdin. I think about today. 

Katahdin is not the destination, it's just a mountain in Maine where I'm going to run out of trail. If there is a destination, I'm not walking toward it--I'm already here.

 

P.S. One of the many, many readers of this blog wrote and asked how I was doing on the "morale-meter." Well, in the past week, I experienced a brutal heat wave that only broke when the rains came and I got completely soaked. Due to the lousy weather, I'd say I'm lower on morale-meter than usual. On scale of 1-10, where 10 is as good as I can possible be, at the moment, I'm only at about a 9.6.

P.P.S. I was totally kidding when I said I had “many” readers. There's like 8 of you. This blog gets about 4 hits a day and I think 3 of those are from my dad.

These Vagabond Shoes (Day 118) (Miles Hiked: 1392)

Pennsylvania did a number on them, but these old pair of shoes made it all the way through Jersey. They were finally replaced in Fort Montgomery, New York by a new pair.

Old shoes:

New shoes (the exact same shoes with 1000 fewer miles of wear and tear):

Other than that, all is well. I'm trying not to get overconfident because I still have at least two months worth of very tough hiking left, including the two most challenging states (New Hampshire and Maine.) However, as I crossed the border from Jersey into New York, I was definitely starting to feel like this might actually be possible. As the song goes, "If I can make it here..."

Pennsylvania Rocks (Miles Hiked: 1264) (Day 111)

Fun fact: In the title of this blog post, "rocks" is being used as a noun--not a verb.

It's universally agreed upon by thru-hikers that Pennsylvania is the least fun state. It's hot, the bugs are brutal, it seems to go on forever, and the trail basically becomes a giant field of jagged boulders that wreaks havoc on your ankles and knees. The shoes you begin Pennsylvania with are destroyed by the end.

I'll enter New Jersey in 20 miles and because I'm choosing to be optimistic about this miserable rock pile called Pennsylvania, I will look back fondly on the one decent view this state offered and celebrate the fact that I'm getting new shoes.

Finally! A Facebook Picture I Can Be Proud Of! (Day 108) (Mile 1208)

After explaining how the washing machine worked to a sweet old woman at the Laundromat, she thanked me and asked, “Are you the manager here?”

“No,” I replied. “No, I am not the manager.”

It seemed like an odd question at the time considering what I was wearing, but the more I think about it, maybe it wasn’t so strange. What exactly is the proper attire for a manager of a Port Clinton, PA Laundromat?

Why yes. Yes, that is duct tape holding together my poncho. Thank you for noticing.

Happy June 26th (Day 100) (Picture taken at the official halfway point)