Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, August 8, 1993 TAG: 9308080169
SECTION: HORIZON PAGE: F-6 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MELISSA DeVAUGHN STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: MANCHESTER CENTER, VT. LENGTH: Long
What many long-distance hikers don't realize is that hiking the Appalachian Trail is much more than a wilderness trek.
It is also a social experience that involves sharing the path with people from all walks of life.
Before we came to the trail, we had jobs or attended school, living the sort of life most people are accustomed to.
However, once on the trail, we've evolved into a subculture of our own.
I first experienced the sense of separation on a particularly cold and snowy day back in April when I was hiking through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
I stopped to eat lunch at a highway crossing near Clingman's Dome, the highest mountain on the Appalachian Trail at 6632 feet.
Tourists in Winnebagos, vans and big Cadillacs whizzed by or stopped to take in the view from the overlook near where I sat.
I began to notice the way people were looking at me, as if they had just seen one of the black bears the Smokies are so well known for.
I realized then that I had joined a different breed.
I'm a curiousity to many people I've met both on and off the trail during my hike. They want to know what kind of person would undertake a such a journey, and why.
After four months and 1,600 miles on the trail, I have learned that hikers are strong individualists, with his or her own qualities and reasons.
I've come to appreciate the different personalities of everyone I've encountered, and their particular motivations for hiking the trail.
Eighteen year-old "Hansel" is on the trail after a discouraging first semester in college. Wispy-thin, with curly red hair and honest, friendly eyes, Hansel is deciding which of life's larger paths to take: back to college or to work on his family's small sheep farm in western Pennsylvania.
I hiked a long, cold, 20-mile day with Hansel in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park that ended as I dragged into a trailside shelter, too tired to cook yet another meal of macaroni and cheese or to wash up.
Hansel, on the other hand, didn't seem any the worse for wear. I looked at him and thought, "Oh, to be that young again."
Although he's the youngest thru-hiker I've met, Hansel is also one of the most mature - willing to solve problems on his own, instead of following other people's expectations.
"The Beast" is another hiker who is on the trail trying to get beyond a time that left her bruised and unfulfilled.
I feel kindred to her, because before the trail she wrote for a newspaper. But she says the job was demanding, the hours were long and the work was unsatisfying. A relationship that was destinted to fail only intensified her sense of gloom. "I just wanted to do something different," she says.
The Beast had never worn a backpack. Yet she has become a strong and enthusiastic hiker who, like Hansel, has learned to be responsible for her own happiness rather than depend on others to supply it.
Some people are on the trail simply to accomplish a goal. The challenge of hiking step-by-step from Georgia to Maine is a strong attraction.
"Big Bear" is adjusting from life in the fast lane of show business to life on the trail. A strong-legged guy from New Jersey with a small pony tail, he used to work with performers such as the Grateful Dead and Gregory Hines. But Big Bear wanted to slow down and enjoy life.
Now he fights the personal adversities of the trail - sore feet, dirty clothes, long miles - rather than the New York City public relations crowd.
As we hiked along the Blue Ridge Mountains near Waynesboro, Big Bear told me he has always pushed himself, a trait he feared would overwhelm the goal of his thru-hike.
Now, after seeing him at various points of our journey, it's obvious that Big Bear has learned to carefully balance his personal drive with an appreciation for trail life - a feat many of us aspire to.
I've often asked hikers why they are on the trail - knowing full well it's not an easy question to answer. You feel compelled to give a complicated, profound answer, if for no other reason than to convince the questioner that you aren't crazy.
For the last month or so, over the 500 miles of trail between Pennsylvania and Connecticut, I've been hiking with two retired military men who have managed to simplify their reasons for being on the trail.
"Grandpa Bruce" and "Rude Dog" made for some upbeat company through a stretch of trail with too much heat, too much civilization and too many blood-sucking flies and mosquitoes.
I don't remember when I asked him - probably through some tedious rock-covered section in Pennsylvania - but Grandpa Bruce's answer to "What made you hike the Trail?" was, "Because it is there."
His answer wasn't unique - Sir Edmund Hillary said that about climbing Mount Everest - but I thought it profound, nonetheless.
Grandpa Bruce is a retired pilot from Newport News who has seen almost every country in the world. I've listened for hours to the stories of the places he's seen, and daydreamed of seeing them myself.
As I sit in my tent, fretting over how many miles I need to hike, Grandpa Bruce might break out his razor for a shave, or sing some silly song or make some pudding for dessert.
In the morning, we get up to hike and often he will say, "It's time to see what this day has in store for us." Or "I wonder where the trail magic will come from today?"
I didn't have to ask Rude Dog, a retired seaman from Virginia Beach, what made him want to hike the trail. He's been a nomad since he was 18, living on ships sailing from port to port all over the world.
He's a born adventurer, who compares hiking the Appalachian Trail to being on a ship.
"You carry just enough supplies to get by," he says, "and you always look forward to each port when you can get off the ship and explore."
We were sitting at the Doyle Hotel in Duncannon, Pa., one of the "ports" along the trail. Rude Dog turned to me and Grandpa Bruce, a big grin on his face, and said, "This is really the life."
He has echoed those sentiments over and over, even on the worst days - hot sun, pouring rain or tough mountains.
As a woman hiking the trail with only my dog, Ruby, as a companion, I was particularly interested in meeting other female hikers to learn their motivation for being on the trail.
Thusfar, I've only met one other woman hiking alone. So I was excited when I finally caught up with the "Wildflowers," two female hikers who have been ahead of me since I began.
It was exciting to find out that we were not alone, and we spent two days talking about "girl things" - cute guys, facials, clean hair - just for the sake of being able to do it.
It doesn't really matter, though, that there is an uneven gender ratio among thru-hikers (about 80 percent male, 20 percent female). We are all equal out here and it is refreshing to be treated so. We cover the same terrain, eat the same tasteless food and live the same simple life. We've earned each other's respect.
Perhaps the one common bond all the hikers I've met share is an appetite for adventure. A constant feeling of "What's going to happen next?" or "Can I push myself just a little farther?" keeps us going.
It's also a willingness to toss aside familiar ways for a life that may or may not prove to be enriching.
As I make my way through the beautiful Green Mountains of Vermont and head toward the treeless summits of the White Mountains in New Hampshire, I am beginning to realize the end is in sight.
With only a little more than 500 miles left to hike I am saddened that the journey cannot last forever, yet excited to reach my destination - Mount Katahdin, Maine. Then, not only will I have met many inspirational people but also I will have fulfilled a dream.
P.S. - Thanks to all who wrote to me at my last maildrop in Kent, Ct. It's inspiring to know I have support and it helps me out on those long, 20-mile days. I'll return everyone's greetings - but it may take awhile!
by CNB