Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, September 26, 1993 TAG: 9309240418
SECTION: TRAVEL PAGE: F-6 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE:
DATELINE: BAXTER STATE PARK, MAINE LENGTH: Long
Pain. Pleasure. Fear. Happiness. It's all part of the journey.
Atop Mount Katahdin, the end of my six month trek, I felt all of this at one time, not knowing how to react upon living a dream.
Mount Katahdin is the most majestic mountain I've seen on the Appalachian Trail. Maybe it's because I was so excited to see it. Maybe it's because upon reaching it I realized I had finally accomplished my goal. Or maybe it's just because it's so beautiful. For whatever reason, there is some sort of magic to that mountain.
When I reached the weather-beaten wooden sign marking the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trial, seven other thru-hikers were there waiting. The first thing I did, like most any other thru-hiker, is kiss that sign, then embrace my hiking friends.
Big Bear, a burly teddy bear of a guy, hugged me and said "Congratulations, Chaos, you did it." I started to cry. Then laugh. Then whoop and hollar along with the rest of the gang.
Although I didn't have a view from the summit, it still felt wonderful to be on top of the mountain with my hiking companions. There were a total of nine thru-hikers there that day, an unusual occurance. On most days, there will be one, two or maybe three hikers finishing or beginning their trek on the same day. We had all slowed down or speeded up to climb on September 11, to help Grandpa Bruce, one of my former hiking companions, celebrate his 54th birthday.
My latest hiking partner, Food Dude, and I had been two days behind Grandpa Bruce. Every day I read entries in the shelter registers from the hikers ahead, urging us to catch up so we all could climb Katahdin together. I was determined to do this because Grandpa Bruce had become more than just a hiking partner during the stretch we hiked together from West Virginia to Connecticut. In that short amount of time, we became best friends, sharing stories and trading secrets as we hiked toward our goal.
Food Dude and I decided to make our final assault to catch Grandpa Bruce. We hiked long days through the 100-mile wilderness, a remote section of trail in Maine crossed only by logging roads. It is one of the most beautiful parts of the trail with many ponds tucked away in the deep woods. Signs entering the 100-mile wilderness warn backpackers to carry a 10-day supply of food since there are no resupply points in-between. We hiked through this section in five days, reaching Abol Bridge Campground exhausted but exhilarated. It was all worth it to see the look of surprise on Grandpa Bruce's face.
As we all prepared to climb Katahdin, Baxter State Park rangers at the base said it was a Class 2 day, Class 1 being the best and Class 5 the worst as far as weather conditions go. We looked from our spots at Daicey Pond campground, 7 miles away from the summit, the sun shining and a cool breeze blowing, and thought, "That's not too bad at all."
However, it was another world on top of Katahdin. As we reached treeline everything changed. We had to stop and put on every piece of our winter gear. My thermometer read 35 degrees. With the winds gusting to 60 MPH, the windchill temperature on the summit was below zero. I couldn't see more than 20 feet in front of me, which made the mountain seem mysterious and forbidding.
I huddled between some rocks for as long as I could take the cold, watching everyone around me. I knew I was not alone with my feelings. One minute someone would be laughing and the next I'd see them embracing another hiker, tears in their eyes.
I thought of my family at home, and wondered what they were doing at that particular moment. I thought of my grandmother, who passed away in an automobile accident only one spring ago, and wondered if she was watching me. I certainly felt closer to her there than anywhere else.
I remembered the beginning of this trip, back in March, when I was still getting used to having a pack on my back and hiking in thigh-deep snow. When hiking 10 miles a day seemed like big miles. When reaching Fontana Dam, N.C., seemed like a huge accomplishment. Now I was at Katahdin, a place I knew I'd reach but didn't dare to visualize for fear I would jinx the whole adventure.
As I hiked down off the windy summit, making my way across the tableland to the trees below, a sadness overcame me. All of a sudden I was no longer "hiking the Appalachian Trail." Now I had done it and there was no more goal to push for, no more miles to make. As we hikers half-heartedly joked to one another we were now "through hiking."
And just as I came down the mountain, leaving that part of life behind me, so too, did I come down to level ground where another world was waiting for me. Before long there would be bills to pay, a job to go to, a car to maintain. There would be people and noise and lots of buildings.
And here I am, back home in Southwest Virginia, still living in the world of the Appalachian Trail.
Since my return 10 days ago from Maine, I am learning that my Appalachian Trail journey is long from being over. I relive those moments in the woods with my hiking companions every day. I can feel the sense of peace I had out there and know that it will never be the same in the world I have re-entered.
People call me Melissa now and I almost forget to answer. I have this urge to correct them and say, "My name is Chaos," the trail name I answered to for six months.
I see a post office and instinctively feel as if I should stop by to see if there is a maildrop waiting for me. When I see a pay telephone I immediately feel as if I should call my parents to let them know I'm okay. When I see water spigots on the side of a building I look around for my water bottles to see if I need to refill them.
Perhaps the greatest challenge of all awaits me now. It's a challenge I must face while living here, not in the woods. This challenge is to re-adjust to the daily ups and downs of everyday life.
I've gone about finding a place to live. That is a challenge in itself, trying to find something as close to the natural world as I was used to while out on the trail, yet near enough to town so I don't waste precious fuel driving to and from work.
I'm having to learn all my social graces over, too. That's not easy after living in close quarters with the same people for so long. After all, we didn't notice each other if we smelled bad from not having a shower in a week or two - we all smelled the same.
We ate the same food too, and a lot of it. I realized that I must watch my eating habits the other day in downtown Roanoke when I went to a little deli shop to eat lunch. I ordered enough food to feed three people, then proceeded to eat every single bit of it at one sitting. I hope no one noticed.
I'm trying hard to adjust to life without my new friends, too. Once we were a varied group of people from all over the country, thrown together on the trail, living simple lives. I wonder how many of my trail friends will become life long friends, and I hope to keep in touch with all of them. But reality tells me this will not happen. It's saddening that the distance of miles will now keep us apart. We are back home now, back to our own separate lives.
Things might be tough for me right now, with all this readjusting to do, but my one and only true hiking partner, Ruby, seems to be handling the life of a porch dog quite comfortably. She goes with me everywhere right now - I'm not quite ready to leave her at home yet. After all we've been inseparable for the past six months.
She's had a check-up and the vet says she's healthy and strong. She's eating a lot of food and sleeping a lot, two of her favorite pastimes. She still gets excited whenever we go out in the woods, though, ready to hike into new territory and smell all the interesting woodsy smells.
Since my return my friends and family ask me if this trip was everything I thought it would be. I think back to the beginning of my trip and wonder if I accomplished all the things I set out to do. The answer is yes, it was everything I thought it would be and yes, I did accomplish the goal of hiking over 2,100 miles through 14 states.
But it's also much more than that. These things I had no way of knowing about until I reached the end of the journey, and had time to reflect. At the beginning of this trip, it was my grandmother's car accident, and that dreaded realization that life is too short that prompted me to hike the trail.
On top of Mount Katahdin, I sprinkled some dirt from grandmother's garden on the rocky summit, seeking closure to a sad time in our family's lives, and leaving a part of her life there on that majestic mountain. And though it was a sad moment, it also was a positive one.
Now I realize, after hiking the Appalachian Trail, it doesn't matter what the reason is for following one's dreams. If you work hard toward any goal, never losing sight of it, even when things seem tough, you will succeed.
I have many other dreams and now I can stop dreaming about them and start making them happen.
by CNB