We had a hike scheduled for June, 2018 that was set to begin at Davenport Gap and end at Hot Springs. The day before we were scheduled to leave, the hike was cancelled - the possibility of too much rain, news that had been received, and not being prepared were all listed as reasons. Like it or not, we were not meant to hit the AT that summer. Trust me when I say that it took me a while to get over that one. But, I've learned to accept the fact that these section hikes simply don't mean as much to others as they do to me. Oh - and like I said at the beginning of this post - everything happens for a reason, whether we like it or not. Who knows why we didn't go? Maybe something awful would have happened to one of us - or to someone back here at home. Oddly enough, the exact same thing happened this summer - June, 2019 - when we made the decision to call it due to potential inclement weather. After our experience in the Smoky Mountains two summers ago, none of us were up for spending day after day hiking in the pouring rain. I have no doubt that we made the right decision, but it was still very disappointing.
Life does go on, but that little voice that calls one back to spend a week in the woods never really stops whispering to you. I wish I could put my finger on just what it is about the whole process that makes me long to go back. I mean, it's by far the most physically challenging thing I've ever done - I tend more towards being overweight and out of shape in my "real" life. I've said before that I've experienced more in one moment than I ever have: tired, wet, cold, hungry (I mean, like steal-the-little-kid's Cheetos hungry), muscle failure, blisters, stomach aches - all things that I avoid like the plague in my day-to-day life. But then, I come across a picture like these...
...and I remember why I love being on the AT so much. Gone are all the problems I face in my every-day life. Gone are the demands placed on me. The cell-phone is shut off. My concentration is focused solely on waking at first light, eating, packing, and heading off to put in whatever miles I have to cover that day. The people I've encountered are kind - we've had some great times sharing a shelter with 12 other hikers - where we probably looked more like sardines packed in a can than people in sleeping bags. I was speaking to someone recently about the way things are at home, and she said "this is where I live. This is my reality." And she's right - we all have our own versions of "reality" into which we've been placed. But for those few wonderful days, I get to change my "reality" and just let myself relax into the person I really am.
Today, I'm sitting here, looking out into a future that's even more uncertain than ever before - but I'm okay with that because I've set my sights on completing a section hike early next summer. I can't say with any degree of certainty whether or not it will actually happen - but at least it gives me something to look forward to. Life has changed in some pretty big ways these last few months - but, change usually ends up being a good thing once we're in a place that allows us to look back on things. And I, for one, have to pushed into change. It's something I've avoided at pretty much all costs over most of my adult life. One thing will never change, however - and that's the way being out on the trail makes me feel - even if I don't always know it until after the hike is done and I've had time to reflect on it.
Someone will often ask, "Can you actually miss something like the Appalachian Trail?" Oh yes - you most certainly can. And that's where I'm at today, in this moment. I miss being out in the woods - and not just being out in the woods, but the whole "reality" that being on the AT allows me to live in for a few precious days. Yes, my friends - the struggle is real - but for now, I've got my photos (most of which aren't very good and only I'd appreciate) and my memories of time spent with my brother and sister. And for that, I am grateful. As I look upon those mountains, I know that I have not said, "Goodbye..."
...but, "Until we meet again..."
