So far, I have done 629.8 miles.
I have walked from Springer Mountain, Georgia, to Pearisburg, Virginia.
I've been on trail for 64 days.
Now, after taking a break in my hometown, it's time to start part 2 of this crazy wonderful journey.
Tomorrow I leave for Maine!
I'm excited to walk with my friend Tommy. I had told him I was going to hike the AT for a few weeks this summer, and he convinced me to hike for a few months. I feel honored that he'll be climbing the legendary Mt Katahdin, the northernmost point of the trail, with me in a few days.
Now the scenery will change. I'm wondering, will my favorite brand of toilet paper, the striped maple, still grow in the north? Will I hear the echoey songs of the thrush that have accompanied me in the south? Will I cross anybody that I met earlier in the season, now that we are walking towards each other?
My focus is still the same. To live well. To gain confidence. To treat myself better.
I'm glad to get back in a place where my torn up feet, awkward tan, and simple wardrobe will fit in. Helloooo to the trail again.
I've missed it.
Monday, August 6, 2012
The kind of food we dream about
Hikers often fall into the same topics of conversation. Perhaps we'll discuss gear, or the dried up water sources, or the weird and wonderful people on trail. On particularly difficult days though, the topic comes back to the same thing.
Food.
Okay, so food is a tricky thing for me. Part of the reason I'm on trail is to treat myself better and to eat better. I didn't want to come home and get into old habits of overeating or not eating at all, but I knew a plethora of tempting food was waiting for me in civilization. So, one day as I was hiking, I decided I would take ownership of the food I'd eat on my "vacation" by creating the menu.
Here are some of the things I've made!
Grilled curry zucchini wraps,
with goat cheese and roasted red peppers.
These were photogenic, but I think I need to soak the spices in oil next time--they tasted sandy. The taste made up for the texture though. And I learned that putting red peppers in a paper bag after you cook them helps loosen up the skin. It pulled right off.
This dish was made with a delicious combination of cinnamon, cayenne pepper, and garlic. Also swearing. Made with lot of swearing.
This week I also made a roasted red pepper sauce over store-bought ravioli, a lavender and white wine salmon, and peach lemonade. Whew.
Food.
Okay, so food is a tricky thing for me. Part of the reason I'm on trail is to treat myself better and to eat better. I didn't want to come home and get into old habits of overeating or not eating at all, but I knew a plethora of tempting food was waiting for me in civilization. So, one day as I was hiking, I decided I would take ownership of the food I'd eat on my "vacation" by creating the menu.
Here are some of the things I've made!
Grilled curry zucchini wraps,
 |
| Recipe via Pinterest |
These were photogenic, but I think I need to soak the spices in oil next time--they tasted sandy. The taste made up for the texture though. And I learned that putting red peppers in a paper bag after you cook them helps loosen up the skin. It pulled right off.
Moroccan chicken with apricots, chick peas, and almonds
 |
| Recipe via PeaceCorp.gov |
This dish was made with a delicious combination of cinnamon, cayenne pepper, and garlic. Also swearing. Made with lot of swearing.
This week I also made a roasted red pepper sauce over store-bought ravioli, a lavender and white wine salmon, and peach lemonade. Whew.
Okay, so I still over-ate. While I was home I ate too much cereal and white floured things and sugar just for the sake of sugar and felt out of control while doing it. I hate dark chocolate but felt compelled to eat a whole bag. I was frustrated that I went from eating well in the woods to eating mindlessly and ferociously in civilization. Did I not make any progress while I was out there?
At the very least I was able to confront my fear of the kitchen and try a few recipes. For one meal a day I ate in the way that I hope to eat in the future: mindfully, in small quantities, with my family.
My recovery is long from over. But perhaps this is a start.
Trashing the trail
How do you picture wilderness? Do you think of pristine old growth forests, or perhaps rock formations against magnificent vistas and a clear, azure sky? Do you picture a landscape untouched by humans? Do you picture... trash?
I hopped on trail in May, convinced I'd be in rugged territory, and excited to be in the wilderness. I had heard so much about the trials and perils of the trail that I was surprised (and a little disappointed) when I started walking. Granted, the climbs can be exhausting, the terrain uneven and occasionally dangerous, and hikers sometimes get sent home by twisted ankles, infections, or even bear attacks. I remember the man we met who dislocated his hip and had to go home on day one. And yet, the trail in Georgia seemed more benign than I had anticipated. The AT was a very obvious, very clear, very worn one-foot-wide path going through the woods. The water sources were plentiful and well marked. The shelters, placed about every 8 miles, were clean and roomy and beautiful. I couldn't help but feel cheated. This wasn't hard. This was, as my hiking partner and I liked to say, kush.
And then there was the trash. Sometimes I would hike along and almost be able to forget about civilization, when we'd pass a campsite or trodden patch along the side of the trail. Scattered around the site would be tin foil, empty food packets, and bottles (that could have been recycled, by the way). It seemed odd that someone who enjoyed being in the woods would so freely dump their garbage and wads of toilet paper in plain view. Is this what a "wilderness experience" is really like?
The trail itself had little trash as compared to the shelters and campsites, which were littered with it. And whenever the trail crossed a road, I could have filled bags of it. It seemed that the places that would have been the most convenient to pack out trash were the places that had the most.
Perhaps I was getting too worked up. Maybe my expectations of the trail caused me to see more garbage than there really was. I suppose the AT is really quite clean as compared to a lot of roadsides. So I decided to do an experiment. I decided to collect every piece of trash I found for 100 miles. (This took me from the very end of North Carolina, through Tennessee, and up into the very southern bit of Virginia.) I decided I wouldn't pick up toilet paper, broken glass, clothing, or items larger than my plastic grocery bags. And still I collected bags and bags of it.
My dad joined me near the end of my experiment, and though he thought I was strange for doing it, he helped me pick up wrappers and soda cans when we saw them. And though he saw my garbage bag dangling from my pack as he walked, he was impressed with how little trash he saw on the trail.
"You know, sometimes I'll see something on the ground that I think is a wrapper, and then it turns out to be a flower or a leaf... I also thought when I came out here that I wouldn't be able to find a good walking stick because I expected people to gather firewood all along the trail until it was sparse looking. And I expected the trail to be a lot wider in places, more used. No, this is nice. I'm pleasantly surprised."
I find myself wishing, as I pass cell towers among the trees and hear lawn mowers in the distance, that the woods could exist without human interference. But at least the small corridor around the AT offers a sliver of woods for those who seek it.
So now, this spoiled country girl is taking a cue from her dad. Instead of looking for trash, maybe in the next state she'll start looking for good things in this world that we still have.
...Just don't let her see you drop that beer can on the ground.
I hopped on trail in May, convinced I'd be in rugged territory, and excited to be in the wilderness. I had heard so much about the trials and perils of the trail that I was surprised (and a little disappointed) when I started walking. Granted, the climbs can be exhausting, the terrain uneven and occasionally dangerous, and hikers sometimes get sent home by twisted ankles, infections, or even bear attacks. I remember the man we met who dislocated his hip and had to go home on day one. And yet, the trail in Georgia seemed more benign than I had anticipated. The AT was a very obvious, very clear, very worn one-foot-wide path going through the woods. The water sources were plentiful and well marked. The shelters, placed about every 8 miles, were clean and roomy and beautiful. I couldn't help but feel cheated. This wasn't hard. This was, as my hiking partner and I liked to say, kush.
And then there was the trash. Sometimes I would hike along and almost be able to forget about civilization, when we'd pass a campsite or trodden patch along the side of the trail. Scattered around the site would be tin foil, empty food packets, and bottles (that could have been recycled, by the way). It seemed odd that someone who enjoyed being in the woods would so freely dump their garbage and wads of toilet paper in plain view. Is this what a "wilderness experience" is really like?
The trail itself had little trash as compared to the shelters and campsites, which were littered with it. And whenever the trail crossed a road, I could have filled bags of it. It seemed that the places that would have been the most convenient to pack out trash were the places that had the most.
Perhaps I was getting too worked up. Maybe my expectations of the trail caused me to see more garbage than there really was. I suppose the AT is really quite clean as compared to a lot of roadsides. So I decided to do an experiment. I decided to collect every piece of trash I found for 100 miles. (This took me from the very end of North Carolina, through Tennessee, and up into the very southern bit of Virginia.) I decided I wouldn't pick up toilet paper, broken glass, clothing, or items larger than my plastic grocery bags. And still I collected bags and bags of it.
 |
| Your daily dose.
|
My dad joined me near the end of my experiment, and though he thought I was strange for doing it, he helped me pick up wrappers and soda cans when we saw them. And though he saw my garbage bag dangling from my pack as he walked, he was impressed with how little trash he saw on the trail.
"You know, sometimes I'll see something on the ground that I think is a wrapper, and then it turns out to be a flower or a leaf... I also thought when I came out here that I wouldn't be able to find a good walking stick because I expected people to gather firewood all along the trail until it was sparse looking. And I expected the trail to be a lot wider in places, more used. No, this is nice. I'm pleasantly surprised."
I find myself wishing, as I pass cell towers among the trees and hear lawn mowers in the distance, that the woods could exist without human interference. But at least the small corridor around the AT offers a sliver of woods for those who seek it.
So now, this spoiled country girl is taking a cue from her dad. Instead of looking for trash, maybe in the next state she'll start looking for good things in this world that we still have.
...Just don't let her see you drop that beer can on the ground.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
A day in the life
My flowery writing has caused people to believe that I
have grand adventures every day, that the trail is chock full of people, and
that trail magic is around every corner.
To give you a better idea of what it’s really like,
here’s a day in the life.
6:15--wake up and blink at the sun that’s knocking at my
hammock. Attempt to go back to sleep.
6:45--decide to stop ignoring my bladder and get up for
the day. Wiggle out of my bag and hammock. Grab a striped maple leaf and pee. Lower my bear bag and bring it over to the
shelter where my pack is. Yawn. Stretch my stiff feet.
7:00--lay everything out in the shelter. Start packing. Dump out my foodbag. Set aside snacks and lunch for the day; put
those in the front pocket of my pack.
Eat an obligatory carnation instant breakfast and granola bar. Change into my damp hiking clothes. Gather and treat water from near the
shelter. Finish packing. At the very last minute possible, shove my feet into wet socks. Shake out my boots and look for any brown recluse spiders that may have set up camp. Put my feet into wet boots.
7:30--start walking, following the white blazes of the AT.
7:35--walk into a spider web. Wipe it off my face.
7:37--walk into another web. Wipe it off.
7:38--walk into a web again. Ignore it.
Keep walking.
8:00--think about my intention for the day. (One day, when
I was alone, starting late, and attempting a long day, my word was
“steady.” Sometimes I focus on a story idea, some aspect of my future, or my relationship with food. Some days I decide to look at shadows and color and try to be as present as
possible. Other days I try not to think
at all.) Walk.
9:30--come to a landmark (a road, a blue-blazed trail that
probably leads to a water source, or maybe a labeled gap) and look at the
guide. Calculate my miles (at least 4 by
now). Take a water and snack break. Walk some more.
9:38--trip over a root. Keep walking.
10:02--take a picture of a colorful flower or fungus. Continue walking.
10:28--pass a bunch of striped maple and take it as a sign to pee. Check my guide again. Start thinking about lunch. Drink some water and eat a snack. Walk more.
11:15--daydream about lunch. Trip on a root on my way uphill. Realize it's getting hot and I've sweat more than usual. Drop my pack and gulp water. Decide to stop at the next water source. Walk more.
11:47--come to a stream. Mix my chlorine water treatment drops and let them sit. Fill my water bottles. Dump in the treatment; shake. Eat lunch. Calculate my mileage (2 miles per hour is a good pace). Decide to walk another 10 miles for the day, to the next shelter.
12:15--walk.
12:53--meet a person headed the opposite direction. Say hello, ask where they are headed. Tell them about the water sources that have and haven't dried up and warn them about that fun rock scramble they're about to do.
12:54--keep walking.
2:00--walk, snack, drink, pee, walk.
3:00--walk more.
4:00--walk. Trip over more roots and rocks as I get tired.
4:12--check the guide and time every few minutes. The shelter should be here soon. Feel dehydrated and fatigued. Walk anyway.
4:46--come across a side trail that leads to the three-sided shelter. Silently celebrate. Introduce myself to people in the shelter.
4:47--drop the backpack and read the shelter logbook. Look for entries my friends have written. Write an entry of my own. Give my feet a welcomed reprieve.
5:00--unpack, decide to sleep in the shelter tonight rather than the hammock. Lay a sleeping bag out on the wooden platform. Swat at bugs and change into a long sleeve and pants to get them off my skin. Find a rock and attach to paracord. Throw it over a branch, 10 ft off the ground and 4 ft from the trunk, and leave it there for now. Grab the mini stove and pasta and start dinner. Chat with whoever else is there.
5:45--eat. Rinse out pan, stuff in food bag. Tie it to paracord and hoist it into the tree. Tie a bear-proof knot at the base of the tree. Relax.
6:00--start to feel bored. Maybe I could take a walk? (Just kidding)
6:05--chat more. Check out the water source; treat water for the morning. Grab some striped maple leaves and check out the privy.
7:30--slip into dry socks. Journal. Work on a letter or poem.
9:00--break out the headlamp and fight sleep, despite the person right next to my elbow trying to go to bed.
9:30--give in to sleep as the mice scurry along the rafter above my head.
10:00--dream of walking.
9:38--trip over a root. Keep walking.
10:02--take a picture of a colorful flower or fungus. Continue walking.
10:28--pass a bunch of striped maple and take it as a sign to pee. Check my guide again. Start thinking about lunch. Drink some water and eat a snack. Walk more.
11:15--daydream about lunch. Trip on a root on my way uphill. Realize it's getting hot and I've sweat more than usual. Drop my pack and gulp water. Decide to stop at the next water source. Walk more.
11:47--come to a stream. Mix my chlorine water treatment drops and let them sit. Fill my water bottles. Dump in the treatment; shake. Eat lunch. Calculate my mileage (2 miles per hour is a good pace). Decide to walk another 10 miles for the day, to the next shelter.
12:15--walk.
12:53--meet a person headed the opposite direction. Say hello, ask where they are headed. Tell them about the water sources that have and haven't dried up and warn them about that fun rock scramble they're about to do.
12:54--keep walking.
2:00--walk, snack, drink, pee, walk.
3:00--walk more.
4:00--walk. Trip over more roots and rocks as I get tired.
4:12--check the guide and time every few minutes. The shelter should be here soon. Feel dehydrated and fatigued. Walk anyway.
4:46--come across a side trail that leads to the three-sided shelter. Silently celebrate. Introduce myself to people in the shelter.
4:47--drop the backpack and read the shelter logbook. Look for entries my friends have written. Write an entry of my own. Give my feet a welcomed reprieve.
5:00--unpack, decide to sleep in the shelter tonight rather than the hammock. Lay a sleeping bag out on the wooden platform. Swat at bugs and change into a long sleeve and pants to get them off my skin. Find a rock and attach to paracord. Throw it over a branch, 10 ft off the ground and 4 ft from the trunk, and leave it there for now. Grab the mini stove and pasta and start dinner. Chat with whoever else is there.
5:45--eat. Rinse out pan, stuff in food bag. Tie it to paracord and hoist it into the tree. Tie a bear-proof knot at the base of the tree. Relax.
6:00--start to feel bored. Maybe I could take a walk? (Just kidding)
6:05--chat more. Check out the water source; treat water for the morning. Grab some striped maple leaves and check out the privy.
7:30--slip into dry socks. Journal. Work on a letter or poem.
9:00--break out the headlamp and fight sleep, despite the person right next to my elbow trying to go to bed.
9:30--give in to sleep as the mice scurry along the rafter above my head.
10:00--dream of walking.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)