I’m back on trail! Lisa and I have covered 72 miles so far, from Harper’s Ferry, WV, across Maryland, and into southern PA. So far my leg is holding up.

More (and photos) to come.

It’s 1:55am, and I’m supposed to be at work in five hours.  Via a friend, who can provide a ride, I landed a $15/hr part-time gig.  It’s a super-laid back assembly job, and I only need to leave my chair a half-dozen times the whole day.  It’s exactly what I need to heal my leg, maintain my mental sanity, and bolster my hiking budget.  The Trail provides.

A little over two weeks from my Harper’s Ferry leave date, I can’t help but feel that they’re paying me in  Tarptent Aeons…

Because I’ve been bored out of my damned mind, I’ve been binge watching Vikings on Amazon Prime.  I like the series so far, and all of the rampant axe use has stirred up a latent interest of mine in Bushcraft and wilderness living skills.  Ultralight backpackers and Bushcrafters are often thought to be at opposite ends of the back country spectrum (or so r/ultralight tells me) but I have found value in both.

The primitive skills coveted in Bushcraft and minimalist efficiency of ultralight backpacking are far from oppositional.  In reality, they push each other back towards each other’s core ethos.  What I’ve observed is Bushcrafters carrying way too much shit and ultra-lighters lacking basic survival knowledge.

We’ve all seen that overweight camo-pack guy trudging up the hill, loaded out for the weekend…  Or the Yukon…  Similarly I’ve seen the Zpacks kids shivering in the wind, with blown hipbelt seams, who tell me they cannot sew.  Wisdom lies somewhere in the middle.  I have been both of these to some degree, but I certainly tend towards UL these days.

I’ve been brushing up on my Bushcraft skills over at BushCraftUSA.com, via their Bush Class sub-forum.  These lessons start with the basics like how to sharpen a knife, and how to make a basic camp fire.  They elevate to bowdrill and hand drill fire making, primitive shelters, etc.

I’ve taken several classes with Mark Warren, a naturalist and wilderness living teacher based out of Dahlonega, GA.  After spending four hours constructing a lean-to (with four people) in one of his classes, and spending an entire day trying to make fire from sourced natural materials, I had a perspective shift.  It made me value my light weight backpacking gear in a way I never had before.  I carry a small tarp on EVERY outing as a result of that class.  Where I used to see extra ounces, I now see four hours of freed up time I might need if a real situation should arise.

Additionally, as a result of his Plants of Autumn class, I truly do feel more at home in the woods.  In learning the plants I now have friends who live in the forest.  They are able to feed me, warm me, and keep the bugs off of me.  They can shelter me, break my fever, or even soothe my stomach.  They’re great friends to have!

On the ultralight end, I do not fear pack any more.  I do not take backups and multiples, because I do not need them.  I ruthlessly trim excess and push my limits by going without.  This allows me to travel light and fast.

So I think both aspects, Bushcraft and UL have so much to offer.  Both should be thoroughly explored.  If you’re stuck inside for a while, check out reddit.com/r/ultralight or BushCraftUSA.com

Here’s one for the gram weenies and gear nerds. I’ve decided to swap out a few of my venerable backpacking items with newer, better alternatives.

Headlamp

I’ve been using the Fenix HL50 for the better part of six years now. It’s IPX8 waterproof, and can be configured to run both AA and CR123 Lithium batteries. It’s durable and utterly reliable, but it has two shortcomings.

The first is that the switch is too sensitive. Even in my hipbelt pocket, I’ve had it turn on accidentally. Because of this I unscrew the battery cap just enough for the battery to lose contact. It’s an annoying task to add to my morning packing routine, but a necessary one, as there are no other lockout options.

Another annoyance, particularly in AT shelters and other crowded camp areas, is that there is no red light feature. More than one hiker has grumbled at me to turn on my red light, so I’ve decided to buy a light that actually has one.

This is the Nitecore NU25. I’ve been using its bigger brother, the HC65 at work for months. Nitecore has impressed me with their quality and reliability, so I’ve decided to give the NU25 a shot.

Not only does it have an auxiliary red light, it also has a simple lockout feature. Additionally, it’s USB rechargeable, and it has a battery level indicator. The run times are very similar to the Fenix HL50, although the NU25 is a bit more delicate and less waterproof. It’s a full two ounces lighter though, coming in at 1.2oz with my DIY headband.

Shout out to Backcountry Banter for his great review and instructional on the NU25!

Auxiliary Water Storage

Secondary water storage on the AT is a luxury item. There’s water everywhere, but when I roll into camp I only want to make one trip to the spring. I typically filter two liters to cook and have overnight, then an additional two liters to roll out with in the morning.

I’ve been using these 2-liter Sawyer bags for a while. At 1.6 ounces they’re light and fold flat when not in use. The problem is that they’re not at all durable. Sometimes failing in as little as 150 miles of use.

These CNOC bags are more expensive, and they’re heavier at 2.7 ounces. When I met a section hiker who stood on his to prove the durability me, I was sold! They also feature a slide lock on one end, which aids easy filling.  This solves another issue with the Sawyer bags, which are difficult to fill from pools and slow moving water sources.

Water Purification

The AT has changed a bit, particularly the availability of some products, as others have gained popularity. It is because of this that I had a more and more difficult time finding Aquamira on the trail.

Aquamira has been my water purification of choice for many years, because it’s light, compact, and impervious to cold weather. The two downsides are that it takes time to work, and it’s a consumable. The filter time is much faster than similar products, a total of twenty minutes from stream to mouth. The bottles are opaque though, and it’s difficult to accurately gauge how much you have left. More than once I’ve run out in the middle of a weekend trip, or on my first day out from town. No biggie. I always keep backup tablets, three days worth, in my first aid kit.

With limited on-trail availability, and at $15 a pop, I’ve decided to go back to the Sawyer Squeeze filter.

The Sawyer Squeeze has two points of failure. As noted above, the squeeze bags are garbage. Secondly, If you freeze the filter itself, it becomes garbage too. This is very easy to do in the mountains, with temperatures dropping below freezing in places like the Smokies, even in mid-May.

That said, with the new CNOC bag, I’m pretty confident this will be my new go-to system. In the summer months especially, having instantly drinkable water is really nice. Additionally, these filters will thread onto just about any water bottle if needed.

At $30 for one filter, it pays for itself overtime. As for weight, the full sized Sawyer is 2.9 ounces. Full Aquamira bottles are exactly the same weight.

Cables & Cords

Weight creeps in where you least expect it, and charger cables are no exception. I have saved no less than 1.5oz by switching from a 6ft USB C cable, to a 1ft version.  Additionally, instead of carrying a full cord to charge my MP3 player, I’ve found this adapter instead. While the weight savings is only .3oz, it’s 50% reduction in weight for this item.

Often when going lighter, looking at percentages is more valuable than weight itself. A 50% weight decrease is a big deal. If you can do that across your whole kit, think of the implications!

Other Ideas

Before hoping back on trail, I am considering two other major gear tweaks. The first would be to go stoveless, and cold-soaking my food instead. This shaves 3 oz out of my cook system right off the bat, and it can save an additional 3-12oz in fuel.

Much like Aquamira, fuel for alcohol stoves is becoming less and less available on the trail. My assumption is that most of us alcohol stove users have gone to cold-soaking, and I’m just late to the game. It would be nice to never have to worry about sourcing fuel again. Cold-soaking is also very efficient from a time perspective. You simply pour your dinner into an empty ice cream or peanut butter jar, pour in some water, and seal it up. Roughly 30min later, you have edible pasta/mashed potatoes/oats, etc.

While I do love hot food during the winter, I really don’t mind cold food in the summer. Instant coffee just goes straight into my water bottle these days.

The second big change I can make is swapping my tent for a tarp and bivy. The tent pitches faster, and is more weather proof, but the tarp is roomier and less prone to condensation. An added benefit is that the bivy can be used in a shelter, adding comfort on buggy nights.

I’ve used tarps extensively, with and without a bivy, for years. I’ve been hesitant to use one on a thru-hike, and I really don’t know why. I suppose it’s the “home” factor, the privacy, or just the simplicity of pitching the tent in a single unit. Regardless, the 12oz+ in weight savings is pretty alluring!

Thanks to my dear friends, Bowman and Sherre, I’ve been able to attend some Dharma talks lately.  They’ve both become extremely important mentors to me, the kind of people who know you need help before you even ask for it.  It’s difficult to express the gratitude I feel for their unfailing kindness.

I’ve sat with three Sangha’s for the past few years.  One was instrumental in teaching me basic meditation.  The second, taught by the same teacher, lead me down the path of sobriety I have walked for nearly two years now.  Sadly that Sangha has dissolved.  The third has become my real home, and we meet at the beautiful Heron House in Roswell every Monday.

My daily meditation habit has been anything but daily for nearly a year now.  It’s amazing how fast that happened!  About a year ago, I allowed another person to enter my practice.  I allowed them to sit with me at 5am on the dot, as I had for many many months previous.  It wasn’t a problem until I fell in love with her.  At that point waking her for meditation evolved a new temptation; crawling in and cuddling with her instead 🙂

I have no regrets for those happy moments, but I realize now that in taking them, I began to forfeit the relationship as a whole.  It was the first of my boundaries to be set aside, the first of several more to come.

I’ve been sitting much more lately.  I even had the opportunity to do a one day silent retreat with Lucinda Green last weekend.  She’s a wonderful teacher, and restored the integrity of my metta practice by having us do metta exercises with a partner.  We took turns sending loving kindness intentions towards each other, and I felt that energy palpably in my heart-space.  I haven’t felt that sensation in a very long time.

As an experiment, Lucinda asked us to then throw up a wall, and refuse to receive the energy from our partner.  As my partner put up that wall I felt sick to my stomach.  It was instant!  I had the same sensation when I put up my own wall.  Nearly everyone reported this.  We didn’t end like that thankfully.  Instead we re-balanced our energy equally between us, and parted slowly back into ourselves.

I felt that my metta was restored, because I could feel the intentions flowing outward from my heart-space again.  Lately I would repeat the words of intention in my mind during metta practice, but I wasn’t feeling them flow out from my heart anymore.  They were empty.  It reminded me of Christ’s words:

“And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words.” 

The last time I had heart-felt metta like that, I was sending it to Molly.  We were meditating in a candle-lit room together, and I was trying with everything I had to heal an emotional wound that festered between us.

During the retreat I realized that I’ve done all of the work I’ve needed to around that relationship.  I’ve seen it clearly, and I can reflect on her with love now.  I’ve let it go.

Five months isn’t bad.  The last break up took 1700 miles and nearly three years of celibacy to processes.  I had a lot of growing to do though, and I needed that space.

This last one taught me about boundaries.  I’ll never let anyone treat me the way she did again.  Hopefully I’ll never be that needy again either.

Mark Manson wrote a wonderful book on relationships called Models.  This title has become far lessor known after the success of his other book, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck.  Both are great, but Models is particularly helpful.  I’ve had this pattern of “getting the girl” and then becoming impossibly needy until I drive her away.  Passive always becomes aggressive in time.  Assertive is the magic middle ground of healthy relationships.

I’m the kind of person who feels bad for taking up space in a grocery line.  Assertiveness doesn’t come naturally to me.  This is probably why I feel most comfortable in the middle of nowhere by myself.

At least three times Molly and I went out to dinner, only for me to stare off into space the whole time.  This was a function of me agreeing to go out, when what I really wanted and needed was time alone to think.  I’ve also become aware that if another person requires your effort to hold their boundaries, they’re not in a place to be assertive either.  It’s unwise to date such a person, or date if you are that person.

Of course these ideas extend outside of romantic relationships as well.  All of my friendships have improved, the more assertive I’ve become.  There are some people who’s phone calls I ignore a lot.  Sometimes for days.  I do this so that I can call them back when I am in the best space to speak with them; when I’ll give them my best self.  It seems counter-intuitive, but I’ve never once had to explain myself.  As Elbert Hubbard pointed out, good friends don’t generally require much explanation anyway.

What does this have to do with the AT you might ask?  Who knows?  Relationships are pretty critical out there, why not seek to be better at them?

 

 

One of the side-affects of being home and necessarily still, is that a lot of the emotional processing I had hoped to do on trail, is happening now instead.  I had been kicking a proverbial shit-can of feelings down the road for months in anticipation of this hike.  Despite my best efforts to keep it rolling during this hiatus I’ve failed, and it’s leaking shit everywhere.

A big motivator for my hike this year was making sense of my last relationship.  Not putting the pieces together mentally, so much as channeling the residual sadness, and anger somewhere.  There’s a lot of pain still there, and I had hoped to callus an open wound with miles.

For this reason, I doubt I’ll be writing much until June.  I’ll be taking a bus to DC, and from there to Harper’s Ferry, WV on the 5th.  My Northbound hike has officially become a Flip-Flop hike.

To hike a Flip-Flop, you start somewhere in the middle of the trail.  Traditionally, it is started at the ATC headquarters in Harper’s Ferry.  The first leg involves a 1167 mile hike to Mount Katahdin in Maine, then a bus ride back to Harpers Ferry.  From there, the next leg is 1025 miles south to Springer Mountain in Georgia.

The Appalachian Trail Conservancy tries to encourage this route, as it minimizes crowding and overall impact on the trail itself.  Much the opposite of my 2016 hike, where I was utterly desperate for company, I found myself wanting much more solitude this year.  Two-thirds of the North Bounders have typically quit by Harper’s Ferry, so the trail north of there is pretty quiet.  In fact, the contrast was so stark, loneliness nearly sent me home in PA twice during 2016.

The trail is surprisingly flat north of West Virginia into Maryland.  This continues through Southern PA, which is mostly farm fields.  From an injury/recovery standpoint, it’s an ideal place to return.  The Northern half of PA is virtually all highly technical rocky hiking.  It’s total bullshit actually, but it’ll keep my daily mileage low by default.  When you ascend into New Jersey the trail becomes dumbfoudingly beautiful again.

Then there’s the 500 miles on the northern quarter of the trail I’ve never seen before.  I can’t wait!

Until then, I’m going to keep mashing my keyboard with word-processor-therapy till the wee hours of the morning.  In true INFP fashion, I can write a doctoral dissertation after every breakup.  I’d rather be hiking!

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, but I know that I’m lucky.

I’ve hedged some bets on this hike, and I’m all in. So in, I’ve sold my car, and the last five months of my car insurance policy. I allocated that money as an emergency fund of sorts. So far it has covered all the zero’s I’ve needed due to my leg, an orthopedic boot, and my meals for the next five weeks. I haven’t even touched my trail budget yet. It’s an absolute wonder what abundance can arise when you put to death a few vices.

In the past few weeks I’ve gone from being one of the strongest hikers on trail, to having my wings clipped by injury. Now I’m home and I’m bound by the fact that I can no longer legally drive myself anywhere, nor can I reasonably walk more than a few hundred yards a day without re-injuring myself.

This would be emotionally debilitating, if not for the fact that I have an amazing family. Family willing to pick me up at a bus station at 11pm, no questions asked. Family willing to let me live in a guestroom, even if my “rent” comes in the form of doing dishes, laundry, and a few odd electrical jobs around the house. Family willing to let me tag along to the grocery store, so that I can buy my food for the week.

My lifestyle has gone from free range, in every possible sense, to monastic; in a very real sense. I have such immense gratitude though. For the first two or three days, I ate food that I had failed to consume before I left for the AT. I salvaged half a bag of spinach, nearly a full container of Greek yogurt, and some frozen berries. Millet, yerba mate, and several bags of frozen vegetables too, made for a stark contrast to my trail diet. A diet filled with sugar, which I am now always craving.

Those few days making do with what I had, made me appreciate my first trip to the grocery store in a way I haven’t in years. In the same way, I’ve never appreciated my ability to walk or run before now. There is the conceptual “I should be grateful” and then there is the visceral reality of “I am grateful” when threatened with loss. Much in the way that you’re told to finish your plate as a child, after being presented with the idea of “those less fortunate.” Fast-forward fifteen years, and a few sketchy months in your 20’s… I’ll never waste a bite again.

I’ve heard of the Stoics performing similar exercises. Men like Cicero, and Seneca dressing themselves in rags, and sleeping on the streets a few nights a month, just to truly appreciate their status. Also, to realize the fanciful absurdity, and transience of the notion of “status” itself. The exercises also extended to the physical body in the form of various meditations. Imagining the difficulties of navigating the world as a blind man, for example.

Sure, I’m in a lofty place. It’s 1am, I’m drinking freshly brewed tea, and I’m typing away on a laptop in a climate controlled space. The point is, I am grateful, and I appreciate all of these things.

It is exactly the cultivation of this kind of awareness, and the appreciation for simplicity, which lured me towards backpacking in the first place. At first you come to understand that indoor plumbing, and HVAC are magical things. Spend enough time in the woods however, immerse for a few months or more, and soon you’ll realize deeper truths. The truth that it takes so very, very much food to keep one human alive. That those calories are so rare and precious in nature.

Then you learn, quite literally in your core, that your entire existence is really just a little spark of warmth. That you’re only here, because hundreds of generations before you didn’t let that little internal fire go out. Little fires came together to warm themselves as a tribe. We may as well call that little spark “love.” Spend enough time cold and wet, and you’ll see how delicate it really is. You’ll see what a miracle it is that you’re even breathing right now.

The truth is, I’m blessed to be home, and have a home. I’m quite lucky to be learning these lessons in such a gentle way. Best of all, I’ll be back on trail in about a month. Being able to hike the trail at all is a very, very lucky thing. I’ll appreciate that even more now.

I woke early, as hikers do, in our Fontana Lodge hotel room. Remarkably, none of us snored during the night. Compton gave us the “curtain warning” and threw back the heavy canvas blackout shade. We were met with bright Appalachian sunlight, and vibrant green mountains in the distance. The rain had cleared at last.

I had actually awoken about an hour before this. Being the first one up, I stayed quiet, and decided to do some research on my phone.

“Localized, swelling, easily replicates with the same activity, often in a very predictable manner. Recovery time is six to eight weeks, failure to cease activity will result in a complete fracture. Medical intervention is required when the pain no longer ceases, even in the absence of the activity.”

I felt as though I had read all of this before, but on that morning I really comprehended the words. The edema on my left leg had shrunk considerably over the past week, but it still guarded a two inch ring just above my ankle. For the past two nights, the ache extended overnight and into the morning. Previously I could time the pain with my guide book, it always occurred at the ten mile mark.

I had had the best evening. My previous post failed to capture the feeling of that night. There was a warmth in my chest I hadn’t felt in a while. The five of us laughed and talked, played and bonded. The hike thus far had been pretty quiet, but this felt like my first real trail family. Having had such great time the night before, the decision to leave trail was much easier. At the risk of being renamed “Buzz Kill,” I explained this to everyone.

I was ready to roll out into the Smokies that morning. I knew my leg was not healing, but I made all of the preparations anyway. The food, the permit, I had poured over my guidebook and formed a plan. Even at ten miles per day, I figured I could cross the park within a week. 

When I woke and felt the pain and swelling however, my gut told me firmly that it was a bad idea. Fourteen pounds of food and the climb up Shuckstack seemed stupid. Even with a resupply in Gatlinburg to lighten the load, ten mile days would invariably cause a fracture anyway. Going home was the mature decision, and the one that would ultimately save my hike.

The person I was in 2016 would have pushed, and would have broken himself. Thankfully, I’ve grown a bit since then.

Fontana is not an easy extraction point. The closest attraction is Tail of the Dragon, a scenic stretch of mountain roadway boasting 318 curves over eleven miles. Motorcycle and car clubs come from around the world come to race it.

The kind folks at the Fontana Lodge gave me a list of shuttle drivers, and Fred Laney seemed the best option. Based seven miles away from where I was standing, he assured me we could make the trip at any time. His price, $110 was pretty fair given the distance and time he needed to travel. The fact that the bus ticket itself was only $22 was a little annoying, and I decided to cover all my bases before agreeing to the shuttle. I could either head to Knoxville, or Asheville. Both had bus stations. Fred told me Knoxville was the better of the two cities, as the bus would be a straight shot down I-75.

Phone service was extremely difficult to come by, even with Verizon. This ultimately led me towards shuttling out. Hitching off the Dragon seemed both unlikely and dangerous. Years ago, my buddy Armin had to hike a large extent of it due to this. Getting stuck in the middle of nowhere without service also seemed possible. Knoxville was far, and the farther you hitch off the AT, the weirder things get. My last hitch into Murphy the week before was proof of this.

Fred was a nice man, but quite the chain smoker. I really wish that was explained before hand. Ten minutes after hopping into his truck, my meditation teacher in Woodstock sent me a message via Facebook. He was offering to come get me. I should have waited just a little bit longer. Hindsight.

My brother-in-law was kind enough to pick me up from the bus station in Marietta, GA around 11pm. I found my room much as I had left it.

Still in trail-mode, priority one was unpacking and drying my wet tent, something I had intended to do during my first afternoon in the Smokies. I completely emptied my pack, and opened every dry bag, pouch, and my cook kit. My body was oddly weary from sitting all day. Having spent the past many hours diverting negative thoughts, my mind was fatigued as well. Finally, I curled up on my small Japanese futon bed, and fell asleep.

Birds woke me around seven in the morning. My tent was pretty damp, so I opened both doors to take advantage of the cool breeze coming in off the lake. The canopy seemed to be perfectly aligned, and soon I had a nice wind tunnel blowing through, drying the interior condensation. 

I walked to the bathrooms at the Hilton, which were surprisingly nice. On the men’s side are two bathroom stalls, a large single shower stall (with hot water) and two sinks. The most critical feature though, was the plug strip zip-tied in the upper corner of the bathroom. A spiders nest of charge cables, batteries, and phones were suspended there, blue and red lights blinking with life.

I packed and threw a Cliff bar in my mouth, and gathered with a few other hikers, who were waiting for the 8:30am shuttle into Fontana Village. I spoke with Rain Dancer, a class of ‘99 Thru-hiker out for her second hike of the AT. She’s always super upbeat, and even when her shoes were giving her trouble the other day, her expletives were said with a smile. A hiker from New York decided to quit that morning, and Rain Dancer and I talked to him, and made sure he had what he needed.

I had just enough service for him to call a shuttle, but it wouldn’t arrive for a few hours, so we went to Fontana Lodge for breakfast. The three of us sat and discussed a myriad of topics, from putting hiking on your resume, to building tiny houses. The coffee flowed, the eggs were fluffy, and soon our plates were spotless. 

While we ate, more rain rolled in, so I took my time and sat in the hotel lobby for a while. I had time to kill, because the Post Office wouldn’t open until 11:45am, I struck up a conversation with Special Brew, and Compton. Jolly Green Giant happened to be there, and soon we hatched a plan to split a room and zero for the night. Grubber joined in, and we split the $80 hiker rate five ways.

The Fontana Lodge is awesome. Not only were they cool with five of us in one room, they even gave Grubber an air mattress to sleep on. They let me use their computer, and print my Smokies permit for free.

We settled into the room, and Jolly asked for gear advice. Special Brew, Compton, and I gave her pack a good shakedown, probably eliminating six pounds overall. Jolly was carrying three sets of clothing, all of which were high quality, high performance brands. We convinced her that she only really needed one set, but made concessions where needed. Shakedowns are such an individual thing, so compromise is inevitable. My louffa for instance, is one piece of gear I’ll never part with on a long hike.

After picking up my resupply box, and padding it with an extra three days of food, I stopped at the grill for lunch. I had just placed my order when I saw Librarian, Pippy, and Salamander roll in, trail worn and hungry. I went over and sat with them, because they’re the kind of people who fill the air around them with positive energy. I had intended to say at the Cable Gap Shelter with them the night before, but I got annoyed with one of the guys there, which is saying something. They had a similar experience with the same hiker.

The rest of the evening involved food, and more food! I attempted to give Grubber’s pack a shakedown, but there wasn’t much to trim. Our room ended up back at the grill, wherein some patrons were already quite drunk. One of them made a point to cat call and heckle our server, who was all of sixteen, maybe seventeen years old? The ladies at our table, Special Brew in particular, assured her that she never has to put up with that. Eventually, the manager got him under control.

We headed back to the room for the night, and traded Instagram info. I was quite amazed by the quality of everyone’s photos. Far less personal (and political) than Facebook, Instagram is becoming my social media of choice. We called lights out around 10:30pm, and I slept quite satisfied at having all of my town errands complete.