Tater traverses a short snow field on the CDT in Glacier National Park
Coming home from a long trail kills my desire to write. I’ve spent many a night illuminated by monitors, headphones on, baffled at the immediacy of the change. The blog has been down for ages, hidden and private. The reasons for this are mixed.
What I’m envisioning for this space going forward has less to do with writing about long trails, and more to do with providing instruction around skills. Especially those useful to beginners. I was asked by some folks in my local running club for this kind of advice; after what was the first backpacking trip for many of them. I’ll see if this a sufficient medium. Offering advice around ultralight backpacking was part of my reputation in Atlanta Outdoor Club, and I enjoyed that thoroughly.
I never became a trip leader because, I hate planning and liability, most especially when they invade my leisure time. I do however, enjoy writing and teaching. I’m stoked to get back to it!
If you have any questions around backpacking or adjacent skills let me know!
I spent part of my birthday watching Barry Lydon. Probably my favorite movie.
“Eric?” I asked.
“Mr. Nelson.” He corrected.
“I know this can be a little nerve wracking,” he continued.
To be honest, I wasn’t nervous until his giant, Steve-Austin-esque frame dominated the doorway. His handshake might be called that, though it seemed to envelope a portion of my arm as well. He spoke in a gruff baritone, the kind best used for selling men’s shaving products. …Or AR-15’s.
“And this is the main hanger, we currently have six aircraft, those two belong to Mr. Byrd.” He pointed.
I found it encouraging that the director of the school had provided two planes on his own dime. That is the kind of teacher and level of dedication I was searching for.
“Community is big for us. Mechanics almost always work in teams, so we try to correct behaviors as we can. You will be graded on both your integrity and your character here. I don’t want my classes producing jerks out in the field.”
Mr. Nelson continued:
“If something isn’t right, you’ll redo it. I have a class on Monday who will be re-doing their entire safety-wire lab. When you leave here you’ll be ready to go, no question marks over your head.”
We continued the tour, and stopped for a moment in front of an enormous jet engine donated by Southwest Airlines the previous year. The turbofan put an inexplicable smile on my face.
Over the following hour, I saw all of the classrooms, the welding lab, the battery labs, rooms full of piston, turbofan, and turbo prop engines, even a library with maintenance manuals dating back into the 1950’s. Ancient microfilm machines were needed to read some of them, and the school had at least eight of these. What impressed me most were the detailed mock-ups of various systems, condensed onto eight foot boards. One featured a braking system, will all the controls, cylinders, calipers, and piping in one neat package. Another showed a typical airline HVAC system, still another displayed a typical retractable landing gear setup.
The room I enjoyed most was their avionics training lab, where a central computer controlled by the instructor could simulate various instrument and electrical system failures on the fly. Students then have to troubleshoot and repair the issues for a grade. Additional mock-ups were found here too, VOR’s, NDB’s and navigation radio clusters. I also saw a fully featured auto-pilot setup with yaw damper, approach hold, and the basic control surface functions as well. That single room incorporated more resources, teaching aides, and attention to detail for teaching electronics, than the entire Independent Electrical Contractors school I attended the year before. The Aviation Training Center at Georgia Northwestern Technical College was everything I had been looking for in a school.
I shook Mr. Nelson’s colossal hand once again, and thanked him for letting me take a full hour of his time. Then I found the secretary and promptly put my name on the waiting list for attendance. Thankfully, the school has so much demand that the earliest I can begin training is January of 2021. This gives me ample time to align a few more ducks, not the least of which is figuring out how to attend classes over an hour away from my current home.
I’ve been on the fence about going back to school for a while now. Debt free for nearly five years, the idea of taking on tens of thousands of dollars in debt for a degree seems like quite a gamble. With over a hundred listings for A&P mechanics hitting my inbox every week however, this looks like a safe bet. After just two years, I’d be able to overhaul just about any piston or turbine engine, weld, form sheet metal, and have a better command of electronics than I currently do. If airplanes get boring or too demanding, there are hundreds of facets within which to apply these skills. I’d never be without a job.
I’m early enough in this process that I cannot officially apply for my semester, nor even get a FAFSA rolling. So while I am excited to this new chapter of my life, it takes a necessary back-burner for now. My search for decent full-time employment continues.
In the meantime, I have been offering my time to the Roswell Insight Meditation Community; a sangha I have been sitting with for nearly three years. I have been assisting with the beginner’s meditation instruction, which takes place before our main session on Monday nights. I’ve only been doing this for a little over a month, but it has been tremendously rewarding. Interacting with every new person who comes through the door by name, has forced me out of my shell and into a new stage of growth. I have always wanted to teach (something) so this is a welcome venue to refine my communication skills, and share my personal experiences.
Meditation, specifically the vipassana (insight) variety, has been the most useful tool I’ve found for managing the highs and lows of life. While I haven’t shared my history of addiction or depression with the new members, for obvious reasons, I have explained that at the very least it can be used to address incessant thought loops. This resonates well with my fellow over-thinkers.
Recently I met a man who just had a divorce, and came to the sangha as a way to stop sitting at home alone every night. After class I shared my similar past with him, and it was rewarding to aid him in the tiniest way along this new path. So many have aided me along mine.
Becoming more active in the Atlanta Outdoor Club is also on the agenda for this year, and something I hope to discuss with the leadership soon. On that recent meetup, I had a blast helping new backpackers find a little more comfort on the trail. The AOC is a bit more regimented, with literature to adhere to, and several supervised event completions required, before a member can lead their own trips. Additionally, I’d like to finally knock out a wilderness first aid course, due to the remote nature of the trips I’d prefer to host.
I realize that going back to school will impact my ability to put time into both of these organizations, the sangha and the club. So, I am prioritizing them while I still can. There are a half-dozen soft-skills to be mastered through these efforts, which are every bit as valuable as schooling or employment experience. Using volunteer opportunities to rack up hours in leadership roles is a safe, win-win, for the organizations and myself. I’ve begrudged such efforts for years, but I’ve matured a bit over the past six months.
I just want to end this year as a better man than when I started. I turned thirty-four on Tuesday, and for some reason that number carries more weight than the others did. I alternate between feeling a desperate need to get my shit together, and yet having to ward myself from the paralysis of overthinking and negativity at what little I’ve done. I heard once that you should compare yourself only to who you were yesterday (Jordan Peterson) and that seems the only logical choice.
Recently I met someone. In sharing time with her, I discovered that there is in fact a second part to the Rainer Maria Rilke quote I’ve mentioned in previous posts:
“I hold this to be the highest task for a bond between two people: that each protects the solitude of the other.
This is the miracle that happens every time to those who really love: the more they give, the more they possess.”
How many times have I intruded on the solitude of past lovers? How many times I have surrendered my own? This, of all lessons, is the one I wish I could have learned first! The scarcity mindset is precarious enough on its own, but it is absolutely fatal in relationships. What is necessary, as Rilke describes above, is the exact opposite.
So we went from gruff-voiced aircraft mechanics, to love, with a little mention of hiking and meditation along the way. Typical. I’m going to bed now, where I hope to dream up some kind of amazing second date idea…
This past weekend I tackled the first seventeen miles of the Benton MacKaye Trail with my buddy George. It was about as good as a winter backpacking weekend can get, with perfectly clear skies, great trail conditions, and even a few AT thru-hikers along the way. Both trails begin on Springer Mountain, and crisscross each other several times over the next 288 miles. Early on near Three Forks the trails are coincident with each other, so the trees sport double blazes, the BMT white diamond on top, and the AT’s iconic white rectangle blaze underneath.
Screen Shot from a free app called “Big Hike.” The Red is the AT, the Green is the BMT
Big Hike in “Night hike” mode for increased contrast.
This was the second weekend in a row that I had the pleasure of interacting with AT hikers at the very beginning of their trek. I offered what encouragement and positive energy I could towards them. Beginnings are always difficult.
While driving in we noticed snow and ice, enough to strand George’s adventure van, which he calls “Little Sasquatch.” Erring on the side of caution, we opted to park at a BMT trailhead a couple of miles from Springer. We looped south on the BMT, then picked up the AT to go north and get back to where we began. Then we continued north on the BMT to the beautiful suspension bridge which spans the Toccoa river.
We camped next to the bridge for the night, near a tiny waterfall which serves as quite the tourist attraction. There is an immense amount of foot traffic at this bridge, as the nearest parking area is less than a quarter mile away. I counted at least eighteen teenagers, who apparently came to the site simply for Instagram selfies. Some fifty people visited the spot during our time there.
On a past trip to the Foothills Trail in SC, I made fun of George for wanting to take this 7lb, four-season mountaineering tent. This weekend however, with temperatures potentially dropping into the teens, I said nothing, and agreed to carry the poles and stakes. For the record, the poles and stakes weighed more than any shelter I have used in the past five years, nearly 2.5lbs!
When I crawled into this 35F sauna at 9pm, I thanked George for carrying in the bulk of this palace. Its fully enclosed one-way breathable interior provided a surprising amount of insulation. In theory, all condensation passes through this layer, and if it does freeze, it does so on the outside fly of the tent. With snow flaps, and an exterior frame rated for 80mph winds, this tent is a beast! So much overkill. So much comfort!
The glorious inner layer
While cooking dinner we both noticed a horrible dead animal smell. Soon enough we found the culprit, washed ashore amid several tons of arboreal flotsam. It was a dead fawn, which must have been swept down river with all of the rains and flooding of late. George named him “Ralph” for… obvious… reasons:
With so much driftwood on along the shoreline, we had a fire going with ease. Soon enough the smell of wood smoke was predominant over the smell of decay. As night fell and temperatures dropped with it, the odoriferous Cervidae became far less noticeable.
The hike back was fairly uneventful, though both of us at a hell of a time getting moving the following morning. Whereas the descent down to the river was a fine way to end the previous day, ascending over 1000′ first thing was tough. The temperature had climbed thirty-eight degrees in under three hours as well, so I spent the first half of the day stripping a layer every mile. By the time we reached Little Sasquatch, I was down to my running shorts and button down shirt. I started the day in head to toe thermals, shirt, shorts, a fleece, a hooded insulated jacket, gloves and a hat!
As a result of this trip I have since purchased the updated BMT Thru-hiker’s Guide and I am considering doing a quick end to end hike before I go back to work. This weekend taught me that I still possess a twenty mile per day fitness level, which would make a full thru of the BMT very doable in two weeks. Given that I am home with access to real grocery stores and Region-B USPS boxes, I could feasibly do the whole hike for less than my last paycheck from Kroger. It’s tempting!
With all of the thru hikers on trail this weekend, I have effectively caught the bug again. Before April I will either do a BMT thru hike, or a full out and back on the Foothills Trail, which would be a far easier jaunt at 154 miles. I’ll keep you guys posted!
Daytime temps never quite got above 33F. It was as if my body recognized the rafters of Peck’s Corner, and put me into a grave-like slumber when I got there. I woke twelve hours later, despite the 20F overnight temps. It was easily the best sleep I’ve had in two months.
It was so good to talk to Myra about her PCT adventures. She’s come out of her shell quite a bit, which I had hoped would happen. Nahid was also there, a very solid hiker from Iran who I’ve hiked with for many years. Lee, new to the club but already a veteran hiker, was kind enough to pick me up and drop me off at my front door. I think he’ll be a trip leader with the club in a few months.
This trip was a welcome respite, one I needed more than my friends could have known.
This morning I received the best news I’ve had in a month. My buddy John is willing to drive over an hour out of his way, so I can catch an AOC backpacking trip next weekend. The latter part of his text nearly moved me to tears:
“The Trail provides brother. Even when we aren’t on it anymore.”
The reason this gesture had such impact, is because the past few weeks have felt like an absolute shit-slog. The sinusoidal nature of my mother’s condition day to day has gotten the best of me at times. One of the very few things I have complete control over however, is my demeanor towards her. I refuse to be anything less than kind and patient. It tires a man most, that which requires him to act like one.
It’s difficult to speak in a calm voice at 3am, when she’s getting up yet again, and usually when I’m just falling asleep once more. Still in need of an escort to the restroom, and really everywhere else in the house, my sister Kelly and I have traded off sleeping next to the baby monitor. Kelly has taken most of the shifts, and for that I am grateful.
Coming home from a long trail is challenging in ways only those who have done it can fully comprehend. Coming home in the middle of this transition in my mother’s health has been a shock. Thirteen days in the hospital, three flash pulmonary edemas, which are scary enough as a bystander, and her ever-present lack of hunger. From an acute kidney failure diagnoses on day one, to needing to be monitored every three months to make the final call on dialysis; everything feels in flux. This is nothing to say of her countenance, which ranges the whole of human emotion.
Before the stroke in March, I watched my mother cry twice in thirty-three years. It’s nearly a daily occurrence now.
The only real reprieve I’ve felt from this has been an evening at the Heron House. Sitting with my Sangha after a five month absence was beautiful. I received six hugs before I made it into the meditation hall. The support, the words of my teacher that night both gave me the space to let go and just cry quietly. Lisa taught on gratitude, and touched on how much of it we owe our parents. Apropos.
Amid the chaos, I’ve been reading Viktor Frankl, and watching Jordan Peterson excerpts. During one morning meeting, my last boss explained that inspiring rhetoric should be treated like a shower, that is, it should be repeated daily. Rinsing away negativity with the the truth of men who have endured difficult things; this is always a comfort to me.
My favorite maxim for action during difficult times comes from Amy Dresner:
“Stability does not create discipline, discipline creates stability.”
The only way to make a situation better is to start improving a few small things, repeatedly. For me in this moment, that means consistent sleep, going for a run or walk everyday, and getting ample time on the cushion to meditate. I can at least make two of those three happen, and life will be much improved.
A good woodsy distraction is welcome too. I haven’t seen some of the friends on this upcoming trip in years. It will be great to remedy that!
Also in the past three weeks, I’ve managed to visit my nephews school to talk about my hike. Sage started building out his camper van, and we both still wear our Melanzana hoodies on the daily. Jelly is moving to Roanoke, and will be hiking the Virginia Triple Crown with a mutual friend of ours, Crotchidile. Myra (Wonder), a great friend and backpacking mentor of mine, just finished her 2,650 mile PCT thru hike!
I love that he has the Four Agreements written on the drawer. We need to talk junction boxes though 🤣
I’m nestled next to a third floor window, on a small couch which folds into a twin bed. I’ve lived most of this week out of my “city” backpack, a Patagonia Refugio. It’s filled with all manner of oddities which I haven’t required in months. Items like a stick of deodorant, underwear, a belt, and my glasses; the not-so-essential essentials of daily life. My Facebook and Instagram feeds have been filled with the post-hike ramblings of my friends, and I suppose it’s time to add my own observations.
When I hiked in 2016, the only experienced former hiker I knew was a guy named Lost. Lost had “hit and quit” that AT twice before, starting at Springer each time. I met him five-hundred miles into his third attempt, which would be his final and successful one. He provided my first insights into what post-trail life would be like, because he had been there twice before.
He related the gut-dropping disappointment of having to go back to work after so much freedom. He explained the pain of failing to realize a dream, and then the drudgery of working to realize someone else’s. As we continued he north, he also told me that he’d be going back to work the day after summiting Katahdin. This seemed odd at the time, but in retrospect it makes perfect sense. If all hikers could go back to a job, any job, immediately following their adventure, post-trail depression would be far less common. Money is far less important than purpose during the transition back into civilization.
My strategy this year has been to weigh every financial decision on trail, against post-trail financial freedom. I had this in mind with every second, or third entree ordered at a restaurant. I thought about it every time I decided not to stop and pay for a shower, for an additional three to five days. Yes, I consciously opted for food over showers many times this trip! Those decisions have payed off, and as a result I do not have to go rushing back to work. Oddly, I am attracting money into my life pretty easily regardless.
As far as purpose goes, my mother’s medical needs are providing that for now. She’s been hospitalized again since my last post. I am uniquely blessed with the time and lack of obligation to be an advocate for her. My sister Kelly and I have been alternating overnight stays in her hospital room, which features the aforementioned window.
Care taking genuinely freaks me out, and it’s one of the reasons I don’t have kids. The past week has forced a lot of growth on me in this regard. Till now, my sisters have had to bear the bulk to this responsibility, usually while I’m in a waiting room being all emotionally paralyzed about it. As it turns out though, spoon feeding, and hand escorting my mom around isn’t so bad. If anything, worrying about another person’s food, water, and waste needs is a pretty easy transition for a hiker, because it’s all we think about on trail. That, and thermo-regulation. I’m pretty much camping with my mom, and taking her on .2 mile day hikes. The window at the end of the hall even provides a sunset view.
Internally, during the downtime, I am letting go of a lot of anger.
Years ago as a young teenager, I attended my best friend’s church camp. One exercise required us to write down two things we wished our parents did better. Everyone had two of these three answers:
“More Trust”
“More Communication”
“Less arguing”
My answer was unique among them, as I’ve always had a pretty excellent and open relationship with my parents. This was the only answer I could come up with:
“Better care of health”
It’s the kind of answer you give, when you and your siblings trade advice on how best to keep your parent’s cigarette smoke smell out of your clothing. It’s the answer you give, when you’ve learned to have all meaningful conversation with your dad before 12pm on a Saturday; because he’ll be drunk soon. When having your learner’s permit means you’re now a free designated driver. When you watch your mother spark a cigarette ten minutes after you just watched your dad hurl his cancer-ridden lungs onto the bathroom floor.
It’s the kind of answer you give.
It hurts because, there is a reason I am writing this from a hospital room in the middle of the night. It hurts because I can’t go camping with my mom for real anymore.
After a decade of my own alcoholism, I do have compassion. Truly, I do. My parents didn’t have the resources I’ve been given. Fuck if it doesn’t hurt though.
So for whatever path comes after this, this is my trail right now. I’m grateful to be feeling and slowly shedding the burden of this anger. I’m happy I can be here for my mom, because these feelings have to be healed with love. I had the same opportunity with my dad, but he passed long before I realized it.
One thing the trail has repeatedly taught me, is just to take things as they come. Things rarely go as planned, but its taught me to have faith anyway. Often the results are better than imagined, or you find yourself on a trajectory you could have never foreseen. I’ve learned too, that the faster you open to the present experience, and learn what it has to offer, the faster it begins to move on and leave you alone.
Stay well out there friends. Be kind, because everything can change.
Dirty Girl Hikes 