Distance changes utterly when you take the world on foot.

A
mile becomes a long way, 2 miles literally considerable, ten miles
whopping, fifty miles at the very limits of conception. The world, you
realize, is enormous in a way that only you and a small community
of fellow hikers know. Planetary scale is your little secret.

Life takes on a neat simplicity, too. Time ceases to have any

meaning. When it is dark, you go to bed, and when it is light again
you get up, and everything in between is just in between. It’s quite
wonderful, really.

You have no engagements, commitments, obligations, or duty;

no special ambitions and only the smallest, least complicated of
wants; you exist in a tranquil tedium, serenely beyond the reach of
exasperation, “far removed from the seats of strife,” as the early
explorer and botanist William Bartram put it. All that is required of
you is a willingness to trudge.

There is no point in hurrying because you’re not actually going

anywhere. However far or long you plod, you are always in the
same place: in the woods. It’s where you were yesterday, where you
will be tomorrow. The woods is one boundless singularity. Every
bend in the path presents a prospect indistinguishable from every
other, every glimpse into the trees the same tangled mass. For all
you know, your route could describe a very large, pointless circle. In
a way, it would hardly matter.

At times, you become almost certain that you slabbed this hillside
three days ago, crossed this stream yesterday, clambered over this
fallen tree at least twice today already. But most of the time you
don’t think. No point. Instead, you exist in a kind of mobile Zen
mode, your brain like a balloon tethered with string, accompanying
but not actually part of the body below.

Walking for hours and miles becomes as automatic, as unremarkable,

as breathing. At the end of the day you don’t think, “Hey, I did
sixteen miles today,” any more than you think, “Hey, I took eight
thousand breaths today.” It’s just what you do.

Bill Bryson, A Walk in the Woods

 Stories From The Trail
Trail Journals by Edward “Walkabout” Herod......................................5

Yogi-ing by “Jack the Shark” Donahue.................................................6

Watching by SixStringShadows..............................................................9

Trail Magic by Philip “Earlylite” Werner.............................................13

Rain by David “JASH” Grim...................................................................14

The Psychology of a Trail Name by Evans “Jukebox” Prater...............16

Are you crazy?! by Stacey “Iron Will” Kozel..........................................18

Summiting Mt. Katahdin by Katherine “Ringleader” Imp...................20

Dogs On The AT by Maija “Two Dogs” DeSalvo..................................23

How Black Books Lit My Way by Rahawa Haile...................................26

Appalachian Trail Angels by Zach “Good Badger” Davis....................30

7 Things The AT Taught Me by Ash “Pringles” Schellhase...................33

2,189.2 Miles Just to get This Photo by Elle Anne.............................34

 The Appalachian Trail
Running more than 2,100 miles along America’s eastern seaboard, through
the serene and beckoning Appalachian Mountains, the AT is the granddaddy
of long hikes, the longest hiking-only trail in the world. From Georgia to
Maine, it wanders across fourteen states, through plump, comely hills whose
very names—Blue Ridge,Smokies, Cumberlands, Green Mountains, White
Mountains—seem an invitation to amble. The majority of the trail is in forest or
wild lands, although some portions traverse towns, roads, and farms.
The trail was the brainchild of Benton MacKaye, a New England regional plan-
ner who published the idea in 1921. He originally envisioned wilderness com-
munities along the trail where visitors could stop and renew themselves in a
natural setting. Hikers and outdoors enthusiasts embraced the idea for the trail
and promptly started building. The first portion was opened in New York in
1923, and the full trail was completed by 1937, constructed and maintained
by volunteer groups along the Eastern seaboard. The trail fell into disrepair in
the 1940s as manpower and resources were drained by World War II, although
after the war its supporters banded together to restore it by 1951. The Feder-
al Government named the AT a National Scenic Trail in 1968, and today the
full length—almost all on public land—is maintained by a network of nonprofit
groups and protected by the National Park Service.
Trail hikers who attempt to complete the entire trail in a single season are called
“thru-hikers;” those who traverse the trail during a series of separate trips are
known as “section-hikers.” A thru-hike generally requires five to seven months,
although some have done it in as little as three months. According to the
records kept by the Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC) which was formed in
1925, there have been 14,485 successful thru-hikers of the Appalachian Trail
since its creation.
The wonders of the AT are also open to hikers with less time to spend on the
trail. More than 2 million people do at least one day-hike on the trail each year.

4 Stories From the Trail

 Trail Journals
by Edward “Walkabout” Herod
On April 1, 2003, I stood on Springer Mountain, Georgia, my eyes gazing north
toward Katahdin. The morning was frigid, and I, at age 53, was to begin my hike
of the Appalachian Trail. Approaching the first white blaze, the Trail marker atop
of Springer Mountain, I saw two young hikers writing their first Trail journal en-
tries. I could see their heartfelt reports, telling of aspirations for the upcoming
adventure they were about to depart on. Trail journals line the entire Appala-
chian Trail from Georgia to Maine. They are found in every shelter, every Trail
town restaurant, and every hiker outfitter store. These journals traditionally
have been a form of hiker communication; letting hikers behind you know when
you have passed, what you have seen, and what you are feeling. These journal
entries are usually creative, often illustrated, and fun to read. They become part
of the history of the Appalachian Trail.
During my career as a dentist, I took notes and made patient chart entries on a
daily basis. I dreaded the thought of trail journals but I also wanted to partici-
pate in the tradition. I was trying to think of a rational compromise while waiting
for the young hikers to finish expressing themselves and it came to me. While
standing there in the brisk mountain air of Georgia, I struck upon an idea that I
would carry out for the whole length of the Trail.
Throughout my life I have been a fan of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. I es-
pecially like his poem “Song of the Open Road,” which begins, “Afoot and
light-hearted I take to the open road.” I decided right then and there to use this
line as my journal entry. I used this single entry in every journal I wrote in over
the next 2,000 plus miles.
On July 4, 2003, I stood on Bear Mountain in New York overlooking the Hudson
River. I had hiked 1,394 miles since leaving Springer Mountain. It had been a
very wet and long hike to this point. One of the more interesting sections on
the AT is the walk through the Bear Mountain State park Zoo. This zoo is located
at the base of Bear Mountain and the AT hiker can enjoy a change of pace by
following the white blaze through the zoo, passing the bears, the wild cats, and
the monkeys. A favorite of all hikers is buying an ice cream sandwich from one
of the zoo vendors. The Trail eventually exits the zoo and the hiker begins a
scenic crossing of the Hudson River.
I was one of the first visitors that morning and I could not help but reflect on
the ultimate freedom I felt while hiking the Appalachian Mountains. During my
walk through the zoo, I looked up and unexpectedly found myself standing
before a wonderful statue of Walt Whitman, entitled, Song of the Open Road. I
was stunned. I had a lump in my throat and mist in my eyes. As I carefully read
the very weathered inscription on the statue, I could make out the very words
that carried me along on the Appalachian Trail: “Afoot and light-hearted I take
to the open road.” When I arrived at the Ranger Station in Baxter park on Sep-
tember 11, 2003, about to climb Katahdin, I made my final journal entry: “Afoot
and light-hearted ...”

Trail Journals by by Edward “Walkabout” Herod 5

 Yogi-ing
By “Jack the Shark” Donohue
It was Memorial Day weekend and hundreds of cars, trailers and mobile
homes loaded with vacationers, weekenders and day-trippers poured into the
200,000-acre Shenandoah National Park in northern Virginia. Within 24 hours
the park’s four campgrounds and 600 campsites were filled to capacity.
Very quickly tents and hammocks were erected, sleeping bags were unfolded,
fire pits were stacked with wood, and the coals in portable grills were ignited.
Most importantly plates, eating utensils, and condiments were placed on picnic
tables in anticipation of devouring the smorgasbord of food most vacationers
brought with them.
While some campers fished or hiked, the majority were content to remain at
their campsite relaxing, reading, napping and eating. Their primary objective
was to find some peace and quiet. But they should have paid better attention
to the 6x2 inch white blazes on many of the trees in the park. The white blazes
mark the path of the Appalachian Trail that extends 105 miles through the park
and through the center of the park’s campgrounds. Any hope a camper had of
peace and solitude will be short lived.
Because, unfortunately for the campers, the leading wave of Appalachian Trail
thru hikers were entering the park! For the past two to three months these
half-starved hiking machines have hiked twelve to fifteen miles a day on a diet
of instant oatmeal, ramon noodles, mac and cheese, stove top stuffing, peanut
butter and freeze-dried foods. Many hikers have lost at least 20 pounds and ate
far less than the 5-7,000 calories per day that their body now demands. Every
step of their journey since they began their hike 850 miles ago in Georgia has
been focused on food and how much of it they will eat at their next meal.
As the hikers entered the first of the park’s picnic areas the aroma of grilled
and frying food was overwhelming. Then their eyes were greeted by open ice

When was the first thru hike on the AT?

Though completed in 1937, gaps in the Trail soon opened right back up again,
and it remained in disrepair throughout World War II. By then Myron Avery (the
long-time chairman of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy) and a few others had
hiked the entire Trail in sections. But no one did it in a continuous backpacking
trip until 1948, when Earl Shaffer, a World War II veteran from Pennsylvania,
decided it would be ideal for walking “the Army out of my system.” “I almost
wished that the Trail really was endless, that no one could ever hike its length,”
he wrote in a memoir. Shaffer would hike the Trail two more times over the
course of his life: in 1965 and again in 1998, at age 79. Thru-hikers do not
have to be in prime athletic condition. Emma Gatewood, nicknamed “Grandma
Gatewood,” was 67 years old, with 11 children and 23 grandchildren, when she
became one of the first thru-hikers in 1955. Since then, hikers as old as 81 and
as young as 5 have completed the trek, as have several blind hikers, a paraple-
gic hiker, and an above-the-knee amputee.
6 Stories From the Trail
chests full of cold sodas,
potato salad, watermel-
on and ice cream. Was
it a mirage? They saw
picnic baskets over-
flowing with fresh fruit,
cheese, and cookies. If
it was a mirage it was a
cruel hoax. It was all the
hikers could do to re-
strain themselves from
swarming the unsuspecting tourists and devouring everything in their path. But
each seasoned thru hiker has learned self-control and now the thru hikers begin
the “yogi-ing” phase of their hike—“accepting” food from strangers without
actually asking for it. If you ask for food it’s “begging.” And there is a difference.
The basic yogi-ing technique is to hike until you spot picnickers at one of the
many picnic areas, scenic overlooks or campgrounds in the park. Then the hiker
must appear as helpless, tired and exhausted as possible before flopping on
the ground in the general vicinity of “the food.” If done properly, a cold drink or
plate of food should be hand delivered to the hiker in short order.
There are many refinements to the basic yogi-ing technique and seasoned
hikers have developed unique ploys over the years to extract food. While
yogi-ing opportunities may be found throughout the park not all hikers leave
it to chance. Hikers like “Car Bomb,” “Bar Fight,” and “Nervous November”
prefer to stake out a picnic area at sunrise and wait. “August Rush,” a lover of
grilled food, lets his nose choose in which direction to hike. In a form of reverse
psychology “Vermonster” wears a sign around his neck that reads, “Please
don’t feed the hikers”.
“Sprained Rice” and the “Italian Scallion” are very selective and will only tar-
get grilled food, in particular ribs and sausage. “Wildflower” looks for fresh
produce while “Mountain Roamer” can’t get enough watermelon to eat. “Not
That Vicious” and “Lothar of the Snake People” indicate “we need to extract as
much food as possible from tourists before introducing ourselves. We find that
strangers tend to back away slowly once we tell them our trail names.”
While some hikers develop a respectable yogi-ing technique it is widely accept-
ed that “Deviled Eggs McQueen” is the master. Legend has it McQueen re-
ceived his trail name many years earlier when one night he was spotted swing-
ing in a hammock outside a large Florida motor home. With three empty plates
of food and several watermelon rinds lying on the ground beneath the ham-
mock he was heard pleading with the hostess “no more deviled eggs please!”
It is believed Deviled Eggs once spent two weeks at the large Big Meadows
campground in the park, “visited” a dozen different campsites, and left the
campground ten pounds heavier. When asked by others hikers about his yo-
gi-ing techniques McQueen is always non-committal. Some observers have
seen him dragging his right leg while crossing a busy picnic area, like a bird’s

Yogi-ing by “Jack the Shark” Donahue 7

“broken wing” technique. Another time he was discovered exiting the shower
of a large Winnebago where his host was handing him a freshly laundered set of
cloths. His host told a passerby “when Mr. McQueen stumbled into the camp-
ground he was caked in mud so I rushed out to help him!”
Some hikers believe Deviled Eggs’ “puppy dog” eyes and large hanging jowls
are an unfair advantage as tourists that see him want to go up to him and give
him a hug. Veteran hikers concede Deviled Eggs McQueen could retire anytime
he wished living off the generosity of tourists for the remainder of his days.
While there can be only one “Deviled Eggs McQueen” most thru hikers devel-
op good yogi-ing techniques by the time they exit the northern end of the park.
With three months and 1,200 miles of the Appalachian Trail remaining before
they reach the northern end of the trail in Maine thru hikers will have many op-
portunities to practice the yogi-ing techniques they mastered in Shenandoah
National Park.
While the thru hiker experience for picnickers and vacationers is often a mem-
orable and enjoyable one, that is not always the case.
A notable example is the day a park ranger encountered Nate Watkins exiting
the park in his motor home. The ranger seeing a dazed look on Nate’s face
asked if he had encountered a bear. Nate replied “no, just a large thru hiker.”
Nate explained, “Initially, I offered him a hot dog. By the time he left my camp-
site there was nothing left but watermelon rinds, egg shells, banana peels, and
bones.”
Continuing in a dazed fashion, the motorist mumbled, “All night I kept having
flashbacks of the National Geographic TV Special from East Africa. It’s the one
documenting the annual clash of a million migrating Wildebeest that must cross
the Wara River where hundreds of hungry crocodiles are waiting. I kept dream-
ing I was one of the Wildebeest and that large thru hiker was a crocodile.”
The park ranger could
only shake his head
as he asked Nate for
his exit pass from the
park. Absentmindedly
and still in a daze Nate
handed the ranger a
Polaroid photo instead.
The ranger saw it was
a photo of Nate and
a large hiker who had
his arm around Nate’s
shoulder. The photo was
autographed: “To Nate-
Best Wishes, Deviled
Eggs McQueen.”

8 Stories From the Trail

 Watching
by SixStringShadows
A few years back my girlfriend and I, having hiked several other parts of the
Appalachian trail, decided we wanted to give the southern portion of Virginia’s
trail a shot. It is about 166 miles long and runs through George Washington and
Jefferson National Forests from Roanoke County to Pearisburg in Giles County.
This is definitely one of the more remote and less traveled parts of the trail.
Which is exactly what we were looking for.
We gathered our gear and made our way to the start of the Virginia Creeper
Trail to begin our journey. We had planned our journey to end at Damascus
and figured that by the time we got there we would be more than ready to get
home to our own beds.
It was early October and the changing of the leaves and colors were amazing.
The air was crisp and cool. Perfect hiking weather with beautiful scenery. The
majority of the trip was pretty uneventful. Just your typical hike. But, our last
couple of nights is where things got weird.
On this portion of the trail, you are supposed to camp on the trail or a desig-
nated shelter. We didn’t really want to run into other people and didn’t want
anyone coming up on us in the middle of the night. We decided to ignore those
suggestions and find our own little spot off the trail. A little searching around
and we found a spot a little ways off the trail in the middle of a small clearing.
It was perfect. We set up camp, cooked some food, talked for a while then
snuggled up and went to sleep for the night.
Somewhere around 2 AM I was awoke by my girlfriend shaking me awake tell-
ing me “Get your gun! Someone is outside walking around our tent!”. She in-
formed me that she woke up to what sounded like someone right outside the
tent running a knife or something along the side while circling us. When hiking
I carry a 1911 and a Judge with me. You never know exactly who or what you
might run into when on such a long hike in a remote location. I got the Judge
out of my pack and then we sat silently listening for any sounds.
A few minutes of nothing but the breeze blowing through the trees and then
I heard it.. SNAP CRUNCH SNAP....someone...or something walking in the
woods behind our tent. I got the flashlight and silently made my way out of the
tent. Our fire had gone out so it was nearly pitch black, illuminated by only the
dim glow of the October moon. I told my girlfriend to stay put while I checked
it out. I didn’t flick the flashlight on right away so as to not give away that I was
out of the tent and have it become a shining beacon of my location. Instead,
I waited to hear more noises. After a few minutes SNAP CRUNCH CRACK...it
sounded like it was bipedal based on the way the steps were paced. I turned on
the flash light and flooded the area with light. I thought I saw someone move
behind a tree. I yelled out and told them to go away and that I was armed. I kept
the light on the area with my gun drawn and slowly approached towards the
area where I thought I saw the figure. Then, from my right I hear what sounds
like someone running away through the woods. I spin and face my light that

Watching by SixStringShadows 9
 way, and then from the original spot hear who or
whatever was there take off into the woods. There’s
no way I am giving chase, so I return to the campsite.
I tell my girlfriend about what happened and I end
up sitting guard outside the tent, in the darkness
until daybreak.
In the morning, I looked around a bit for signs of
who or whatever it was and I discovered a bootprint
in some soft moist dirt not far from our tent. It wasn’t
mine and it wasn’t my girl’s. This freaked me out as
it confirmed that someone, perhaps more than one,
was skulking around our tent in the dark. I kept it
to myself because I didn’t want to freak my girl out
anymore than she already was. At this point we were
pretty deep in and still had 2 days left. That day we
walked a little faster than normal and covered as
much ground as possible.
When it came time to setup camp, I found a spot near a cliff where we could
place the tent in a small overhang and prevent anyone from coming up behind
us. The whole day up to this point I had a feeling we were being followed. I had
no confirmation of this as I hadn’t seen or heard anyone else, but it was just a
gut feeling. We set up camp and made some food, then retreated to the tent.
I gave my girl the 1911 and I kept the Judge right next to me and I assured her
that IF I slept at all it would be with one eye open. After a while, she drifted off
to sleep and I stayed awake listening to the sounds of the woods at night.
I was awake for a few hours, just waiting to see if anything was going to happen.
At some point I guess my exhaustion caught up with me and I drifted off. I
awoke sometime later to what sounded like someone going through our stuff
outside the tent. I grabbed my gun and woke my girlfriend shushing her to be
quite. From the faint glow of the fire I could see someones silhouette against
the tent. There was really someone out there. I yelled out to them something
along the lines of “WE ARE ARMED, GET OUT OF HERE!” They dropped what
they were doing and bolted. I came out of the tent, gun drawn and ready to
shoot someone. Our stuff was strewn all about. They had rummaged through
quite a bit of our stuff. I walked to the edge of the woods in the direction who-
ever was out there had fled. There was a creek nearby and i walked to the edge,
where there was a small trail running along side it. Down the creek I could see
a light, it looked like a lantern the way it flickered. Then I saw 3 more emerge
from the other side of the woods.
I told my girlfriend to start packing up whatever she could and that we were
leaving, now. We packed up everything of value. Left the tent and a few other
items and headed back onto the trail, in the middle of the night. I kept hearing
people talking off in the woods and hearing branches snap for quite some ways.
I kept looking behind us every few seconds to make sure nobody was coming
up on us. It was completely nerve wracking. If something happened, we were

10 Stories From the Trail

still a long ways from
anywhere and quite lit-
erally on our own, since
we hadn’t seen another
hiker the entire time we
had been out there. I
really felt we were in se-
rious danger.
We had been walking
for quite some time
when I heard something
in the woods behind us.
As we rounded a corner
I turned around and saw
someone step out onto the trail and just stand there watching us. It was just as
the sun was coming up and barely any light, I couldn’t make out any features..
just the silhouette. I stopped and looked at them for a sec and asked them who
they were and what they wanted, they just stood there silently, watching us and
then turned and walked back into the woods.
We picked up the pace and kept going, looking back every so often. We didn’t
see them again. But my gut told me they were still there for quite a ways.
We eventually reached the end of the trail and got to where we had parked,
extremely exhausted. We made it out of the Virginia woods without becoming
a meal for a clan of cannibalistic inbred hillbillies, which is what I pictured hap-
pening in my head the whole time.
I have no idea who they were, or what they wanted. Maybe it was someone just
messing with us? Maybe it really was a clan of deformed hillbillies who were
hunting us. I will never know, because I will not be returning to find out.

How long is the Appalachian Trail?

The precise length of the AT is a matter of interesting uncertainty. The U.S.
National Park Service manages in a single leaflet to give the length of the trail
as 2,155 miles and 2,200 miles. The official Appalachian Trail Guides, a set of
eleven books each dealing with a particular state or section, variously give the
length as 2,144 miles, 2,147 miles, 2,159 miles, and “more than 2,150 miles.”
The Appalachian Trail Conference, the governing body, put the length at exact-
ly 2,146.7 miles, then changed it to a vague “more than 2,150 miles,” returned
to a confident precision of 2,160.3 miles, and currently says 2,190 miles.
What is certain is that it is a long way, and from either end it is not easy. The
peaks of the Appalachian Trail are not particularly formidable as mountains
go—the highest, Clingmans Dome in Tennessee, tops out at a little under 6,700
feet—but they are big enough and they go on & on. There are more than 350
peaks over 5,000 feet along the AT, and perhaps a thousand more in the vicinity.

11
 Tips for the Trail
Hiking even just a portion of the Appalachian Trail is the adventure of the a
lifetime, but you’ll enjoy that adventure even more if you’re prepared. Differ-
ent hikes require planning for different contingencies, but all AT hikers should
keep in mind some basics as they prepare for the Trail: How to hike responsibly
(Leave No Trace), Camping, Equipment, and how to handle essential issues
such as Food, Water, and Sanitation.
Leave No Trace
The future of wilderness camping, hikes, and other sustainable outdoor recre-
ation depends on more people adopting what’s known as “Leave No Trace”
principles. These 7 principles are the golden rules of outdoor recreation. Simply
put: Leave the wild places you visit the way you would like to find them.
1. Plan ahead and prepare.
Evaluate the risks associated with your outing, identify campsites and destina-
tions in advance, use maps and guides, and be ready for bad weather.
2. Travel and camp on durable surfaces.
Stay on trails, and don’t bushwhack short-cuts across switchbacks or other
bends in the path. Keep off fragile trailside areas, such as bogs or alpine zones.
Camp in designated spots, such as shelters and existing campsites, so that
unspoiled areas aren’t trampled and denuded.
3. Dispose of waste properly.
Also known as “Pack it In, Pack It Out.” Bury or pack out excrement not de-
posited in privies, including pet droppings. Pack out all trash and food waste,
including that left behind by others. Don’t bury trash or food, and don’t try to
burn packaging materials in campfires.
4. Leave what you find.
Don’t take flowers or other sensitive natural resources. Don’t disturb artifacts
such as native American arrowheads or the stone walls and cellar holes of his-
torical woodland homesteads.
5. Minimize campfire impacts.
Campfires are enjoyable, but they also create the worst visual & ecological im-
pact of any backcountry camping practice. If possible, cook on a backpacking
stove instead of a fire. Where fires are permitted, build them only in established
fire rings, & don’t add rocks to an existing ring. Keep fires small. Burn only dead
and downed wood that can be broken by hand—leave axes and saws at home.
Never leave your campfire unattended, and drown it when you leave.
6. Respect wildlife.
Don’t feed or disturb wildlife. Store food properly to avoid attracting bears,
varmints, and rodents. If you bring a pet, keep it leashed.
7. Be considerate of other visitors.
Limit overnight groups to 10 or fewer; 25 on day trips. Minimize noise and
intrusive behavior. Share shelters and other facilities. Be considerate of Trail
neighbors. Carry and use cell phones out of sight and sound of other visitors.

12 Stories From the Trail

 Trail Magic
by Philip “Earlylite” Werner
There’s a tradition of charity unto others called Trail Magic on the Appalachian
Trail and other long distance trails in the US. It takes many forms. Sometimes,
people will leave cold drinks and snacks at trail crossings for thru-hikers, or
they’ll pick hikers up on the road and take them home for a few days of rest and
food. It’s a great tradition & one of those magical things I like about hiking trips.
I’ve benefited from it many times myself, mostly in the form of rides in remote
places from complete strangers who have kindly picked me up, sometimes in
pouring rain, and gone out of their way to make sure I made it safely to my
destination. Just last month, I came out of the woods about 5 miles from a
paved road in the middle of nowhere and a guy in a pickup truck, stopped,
rolled his window down, and asked me if I needed a ride. I wasn’t even hitching.
He used to hike in those parts 20 years ago and was just visiting the area for
the weekend after moving 1,000 miles away. I was back at my car in 20 minutes.
Stuff like that can’t be chance.
I go out of my way to contribute to the pool of trail magic whenever I can by
doing what I can for other hikers who need a hand or by giving people who I
know are regular trail angels a little extra cash to pass along to someone who
needs it more than I do. It evens out in the end, and you never know when you’ll
need a little trail magic yourself.

Trail Magic by Philip “Earlylie” Werner 13

 Rain
by David “JASH” Grim
When I think about rain, the first thing that comes to mind is the rain I expe-
rienced living in Louisiana. The rain can come down so hard in that part of
the country you literally can’t see the hood ornament on the front of your car.
Wild Cajun drivers have been known to have head-on collisions when driving in
these heavy monsoons by driving down narrow streets with their heads out the
window for visibility. They physically bump heads. Ouch!!
The second thing I think about when it comes to rain is the Summit Venture. The
Summit Venture was a large seagoing ship that tried to navigate the waters of
Tampa Bay Florida in just such rainy weather. The ship knocked out the center
span of the southbound lane of a four-lane bridge sending a busload of unlucky
people to their deaths in the murky waters of the bay. If you travel south across
the new Sunshine Skyway today, look west and you’ll see the remains of the
old bridge.
As I hiked North along a stretch of the AT just past Unaka Mountain in Septem-
ber of ‘96, I kept thinking about rain. It had been raining on and off all day. As
do all hikers, I had a dilemma on my hands: Should I get rain-wet or sweat-wet? I
elected sweat-wet and kept hiking up the mountain with a limited view because
of my backpacker’s poncho. Just after the eerie green light on the top of Unaka
Mountain, I began happily cruising down the backside of Unaka on my way to
Cherry Gap Shelter.
The rain let up so I could take a dry water break, which is probably some kind of
oxymoron like military intelligence or something. Anyhow, as soon as I put my
poncho away for the umteenth time that day, it began to rain again. On came
the poncho and I hiked on with only the sound of rain pattering on the leaves
of the ever so green trees about me and the swish of my wet poncho against
my body. Being low on water I began to worry when I would cross water again.
As a hiker I am constantly thirsty and water is the only beverage that does it for
me. Finally, the rain quit and I found water.
Hurricane Fran was coming my way and I had been out section hiking long
enough this trip to not
know if the rain was the
hurricane coming my
way or just normal rainy
weather in September.
I was watered up and
having just crossed the
highest point for the day,
according to the liar’s
legend at the bottom
of my map, was ready to
get to the shelter and off
my feet. As usual, the AT
had other things in mind.
14 Stories From the Trail
I picked up my pace from about 2 to 4 miles per
hour. The Trail had become relatively level and I
wanted to be out of the impending witches’ brew
of weather. At first I smelled the change in weather
and felt the wind pick up. The trees began to sway
vigorously back and forth and the thunderstorm
began to move in. To add insult to injury, with my poncho on, I couldn’t get to
my water easily. My pack was relatively dry and I wanted, at all cost, to keep it
that way.
Suddenly I heard thunder and saw lightening all about me. Let’s see how does
that work? For every second you can count from the flash of lightening until
you hear the thunder is a mile. Flash, I began counting, one thousand one,
one thousand two, one thousand three….bang. I repeated the process until I
couldn’t even say one before the thunder would sound. I’m a fatalist and don’t
believe in mother nature but do believe in God. I believe that your days are
numbered and you can’t leave this life one minute before or one second later
than HE has determined. Just to play it safe I prayed as I hiked figuring he may
be busy and wanted to be sure if it wasn’t my time yet, I wouldn’t fall into the
oversight category when entering heaven. Did you know if you’re alone and
laugh out loud at yourself in the wilderness, nobody can hear you?
With each step I became thirstier and yet was surrounded by water. The rain
began to pour down now. This was Summit Venture quantity rain and I was
dying of thirst. Just about then I noticed something I had overlooked with my
limited visibility, a pocket of water forming in the crook of my poncho covered
arm as I hiked. What the hay, I drank from the pocket. As fast as I could drink
it was refilled. Yep, who says prayer doesn’t work?? You do have to keep your
eyes open though.
Did you ever wonder why The Trail looks like a small riverbed in places? I found
out. As the rain poured down I saw places that the map indicated would be
okay to camp that looked like lakes. As I hiked up a small hill, down came a cha-
meleon floating on a log in the torrent. Yep, he was going white water rafting
today and I could tell he wanted off in the worst way. My gortex lined boots,
designed to keep me dry, were filled with water inside and out. I didn’t have
one dry spot on my body under my sweat-wet poncho by the time I pulled into
Cherry Gap Shelter.
My first order of business upon arriving at the shelter was to hang up all of my
wet clothes to dry. As I sat in the shelter, alone except for a ground squirrel and
wearing nothing but a smile, I momentarily considered changing my Trail han-
dle to “Buck Naked”. I knew that wouldn’t do though because I could just see
myself meeting someone on The Trail and having them ask my name. Yes sir,
my name is “Buck Naked.” Nope I decided to leave bad enough alone. When
people ask me who I am, I tell them I’m Just A Section Hiker or unimaginatively
shortened to JASH.
Happy Trails!

Rain by David “DASH” Grim 15

 The Psychology of a Trail Name
by Evans “Jukebox” Prater
Twelve Percent. Kickapoo. Aviator. Sparky. Iron Chef. Bobcat. Sloth. The Pope.
Rain. Lotus. Einstein. Jersey Girl. Bama. Egret. Tum Tum. Hard Times (San
Quentin). Robin Hood. Cartwheel. All In. Mama Bear. Ginger. Gilligan. These
are all trail names of people I have met in 29 days on the Appalachian Trail – and
this is just a fraction of them.
For most of these people, I have no idea what their real name is, nor where
they are from, what they did in the real world, why they’re out here, or what
they plan on doing when they’re finished. There are simply too many people to
get to know every single one very intimately. What has intrigued me, though,
is that 99% of the people I’ve met go by their trail name only—and being a
psychologically conscious person, I got to thinking about what these seemingly
playful, innocent names represent for hikers.
Quite obviously a trail name represents a new identity, a new beginning, and a
chance to leave everything that was once represented by “John Smith” or “Jane
Dougherty” behind. People don’t come out here to talk about their jobs as
lawyers or bartenders or car salesmen; they come out here to leave the hassles
of everyday life – the stresses of rent, insurance, bosses, student loan payments
(and rightfully so, those things suck).
So doesn’t it seem fitting that, in escaping all these discomforts modern society
loves to bombard us with, we should form a new identity, a new perspective,
and a new way of approaching this adventure we call life? All this would seem,
to me at least, a healthy psychological process which a trail name is a merely a
vocal signifier for.
But let’s go deeper: names are simply that, names. Human vocalizations afford-
ed to us by the movements our mouths and vocal chords are capable of. That
is all. Nothing actually has a name. In Spanish exist the words “un arbol” and
“un calle”—different names to portray what we call a tree and a street, respec-
tively. But again, they are just that, human names for things; human attempts
at labeling and simplifying and explaining. Really, we are nameless, no true
label exists for anything. There are easily a million “John”s, “Brian”s, and “Sar-
ah”s each. These names
do no service for each
individual, apart from
giving other humans a
way to get their atten-
tion and getting in the
way of explaining their
unique story, their pas-
sions, and their history.
The things that have
shaped them to be the
person you see stand-
ing in front of you.
16 Stories From the Trail
Eckhart Tolle tells us that, for a split second, when
you look at something, you see it as it really is. You
look at a tree and before your mind jumps at the
chance to label it, to make it known, to explain it,
there is a gap: there is a moment when you see just
a form the universe has created, and it is in this gap
of thought that the key to presence, awareness, and
peace exists. In this gap lies an acceptance of the
universe completely as it is—nameless, formless.
The trail allows this gap to be extended, if one is
aware of it, because at least for the first few weeks,
you know no one’s name. You see a person and you have no thought of “oh
that’s Stephanie” or “look at Jacob’s pants”—you have a formless, thoughtless
gap in which you don’t label or identify with anything. Cultivating and becom-
ing aware of this gap can be opening the door to a beautiful spiritual journey.
But when you do finally discover someone’s trail name, it is, for the most part, a
completely new name to you. No more “Rebecca”s, no more “Luke”s: true indi-
viduality becomes easier, more accessible, and easier to associate. Trail names
often describe a quirk, a habit, or a comical mishap of a hiker, adding to the
sense of uniqueness of each one, to the sense of escape, personal discovery,
and soul searching each of us is out here to experience. We are no longer con-
fined to the shackles a “normal” name places upon us from birth. We are given
new life and opportunity by the simple act of changing our namesake, and the
psychological implications of such freedom seem to be incredible.
Famous hikers over the years, for the most part, are known only by these names
in the hiking community. This, I feel, is not only a true testament to the lasting
effects the trail has on a person, but the closeness and communal nature of
hikers in general. We know we’re different, we know we’re weird. That’s why we
take these odd names, use them, and keep them. We’re different now, forever,
and we’re all in this together. We’re hikers of the Appalachian Trail.

Camping
If you’ve planned something longer than a day-hike, anticipate where you might
spend the night once you’re on the Trail. On most sections, you have 2 basic
choices: a shelter or pitching a tent. More than 270 backcountry shelters are
located along the AT at varying intervals. A typical AT shelter, sometimes called
a “lean-to,” has an overhanging roof, a wooden door, 3 walls and is open to the
elements on one side. Most shelters are available on a first-come, first-served
basis. You should always carry a tent or tarp in case the shelters are full or you
find yourself behind schedule and can’t make it to the shelter before dusk.
Motels, B&Bs, and hostels tend to be clustered in towns near the Trail. Those
towns may be up to 50 Trail miles apart at the northern and southern ends of
the Trail, but are closer together in the middle regions. The best opportunities
for “inn-to-inn” hiking on the AT can be found in Shenandoah National Park.
A system of full-service huts can be found in the exceptionally rugged White
Mountains of New Hampshire, but most are open only in summer.
17
 Hiking the Appalachian Trail Paralyzed…Are you crazy?!
by Stacey “Iron Will” Kozel
“Are you crazy?!!” This
is a question that is
probably common for
many thru hikers that are
about to trek 2,200 miles
on the Appalachian Trail.
In my case, being par-
alyzed might not help
when trying to get peo-
ple to understand why I
want to hike the AT, but
I do not mind trying to
explain it to them.
People hike the Appala-
chian Trail for many dif-
ferent reasons. For me,
it is difficult to explain in
a quick simple answer.
First, I love the outdoors!
I have always wanted to
hike the AT, but when
I became paralyzed
in March 2014 I think I
wanted it even more. I
remember laying in my
hospital bed looking out
the window and wondering if I was going to be able to walk down the street or
even sit up on my own. It is really amazing how much can go through your mind
when you are laying there. When I left the hospital I needed a power wheelchair
to get around and had limited mobility in my left arm only (tetraplegia). I was not
able to maneuver myself out of my house (or bed for that matter!), let alone think
about hiking the AT. Life became exhausting just trying to sit up, get dressed or
do any basic daily living activities.
When I was finally released from the hospital it did not take long for me to start
researching ways to get on my feet. I remember propping myself up in bed using
my only working (well, sorta working!) limb to type on my laptop. I came across
this high tech brace, called the C-brace. At the time, I knew I was a long way from
qualifying for this brace because I still needed core and upper body strength
(and I could barely hold my head up!). I just continued to focus on my rehabil-
itation with my physical and occupational therapist, but kept the brace in the
back of my mind at all times. In an attempt to keep the story short, months later
I eventually gained strength in my upper body and core, while figuring out ways
to compensate for parts of my body that would not cooperate. It was not always
pretty (still isn’t!) but I started to compensate enough to find other ways to get
18 Stories From the Trail
around and regain some independence. It started giving me hope. After getting
through all the tests (to make sure I was a good candidate for the C-brace) and
loads of paperwork that my physician, orthotist, physical therapist and occupa-
tional therapist needed to do…the major road block was getting it approved
by my insurance company. This process took over a year because my insurance
deemed the claim “not necessary.” FINALLY, after many prayers, appeals, phone
calls, more paper work, etc…it was approved! My goal is to bring awareness to
these braces and hopefully get more people out of wheelchairs and have the
ability to be out exploring the world. When insurance companies deny people
due to “it is not necessary,” I hope my story will prove the opposite.
I don’t think there’s anything more painful than regret. On the tough days hiking I
remember my days in the hospital…The worst day on the trail is alway better than
even the best day in the hospital…I don’t ever want to take the fact that I am able
to push myself in my wheelchair or balance on my braces for granted.

On October 9, 2016, Kozel summited Katahdin, becoming the first

paraplegic hiker to complete a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail.
She plans to hike the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail) in the summer of 2017.

19
 Summiting Mt. Katahdin
by Katherine “Ringleader” Imp
“We got this, B! We got this! Katahdin!!!!!!!!!!!!!” There are 9 miles between the
AT’s entry into Baxter State Park and The Birches (a campground for north-
bound thru-hikers at the bottom of Mt. Katahdin). I don’t remember any of
those miles. As soon as we set foot in the park, we saw Mt. Katahdin in the
distance, and the emotions came flooding in. We made it. We did it. We are
summiting Mt. Katahdin. After spending a few hours next to a waterfall, Bran-
don and I put our packs on and ran to The Birches. Everything hurt, but it didn’t
matter. Katahdin!!! Katahdin!!! We got this!!! Katahdin!!!! We laughed, we cried,
we ran. It was one of the best days of my life.
The next day, August 12th, 2010, Brandon and I summited Mt. Katahdin.
We began the hike with our parents, who drove all the way up from New Jersey
to root us on. About 2 miles in, we left them to sprint up the mountain. The
climb up Katahdin is only 5 miles, but it involves some serious rock climbing.
It was hard to get back into that meditative hiking rhythm we had so enjoyed
during the 100-mile wilderness leading up to Katahdin. There was just too
much going on—parents, boulders, and a mind-blowing number of tourists. It
made us anxious. This is our day!
As we neared the summit, I tried to bring back the emotions from the day
before but I felt nothing. I was tired, hungry, and annoyed with all the ‘back-
ground’ noise. When we got to the top, we pushed our way through 40 tourists
and touched the sign together. Before we could finish our sighs of relief, the
questions came: You came all the way from Georgia? How long did it take? How
many miles do you do each day? What do you eat? What was your favorite part?
Normally I love answering these questions, but not on the summit. This is my
day. Bran and I fled to a corner of the mountaintop, away from all the people
and sat down. We didn’t speak for a few minutes. We just sat and looked at the
view. Then we looked at each other and smiled. We did it.

20 Stories From the Trail

After we ate lunch, we went back over to the sign and began our festivities. We
took pictures by the sign, we popped open champagne bottles, and we gave
our congrats to fellow thru-hikers. And then we saw them. Our parents.
I was in shock, I was in awe. This is no easy hike, and my 60-year-old, 110-lb
mother was standing on top of Mt. Katahdin. Seeing her on top of that moun-
tain, grinning from ear-to-ear, was again, one of the most memorable moments
of my life. That’s my mom.
After a brief celebration, and a few swigs of champagne, our parents began
their descent down the mountain, and Brandon & I went back over to the sign.
The crowds had begun to disperse, so the mountaintop was ours for the taking.
I looked out into the distance and recited my favorite poem, “The Road Not
Taken,” by Robert Frost. Then I sat down on a rock and listened to Brandon
recite, “Oh, The Places You’ll Go,” by Dr. Seuss. It was so well done. I felt my
emotions coming back to me. What an amazing person to share this experience

Summiting Mt. Katahdin by Katherine “Ringleader” Imp 21

with. When he finished I clapped and gave him a
hug. We did it. Katahdin.
It was time for me to have my last experience on the
summit. I grabbed my brother’s ipod and found my
song from Lady Gaga. Just Dance. I sent my ipod
home 3 months ago, but for the first 2 months it was
Lady Gaga that got me up those mountains. Now
it was time to pay tribute. I turned up the sound,
closed my eyes, and...just...danced. I was free. I was
alive. I was happy. Katahdin.
As Bran and I scrambled down our last mountain together, we realized that a
new problem was on the horizon. It was 7:15pm, our parents were nowhere near
the bottom of the mountain, and our headlamps were in the van.
We got to the van around 8:30pm, threw our stuff in the back seat, grabbed
the headlamps, and then began our sprint back up the mountain. There was no
time to think about the fact that we were done with our thru-hike. We had to
rescue our parents.
We charged back up the mountain, screaming for them, but heard nothing.
When we finally found them, they were huddled together, wrapped in a gar-
bage bag for warmth. It was one of the most hilarious things I’ve ever seen.
Brandon and I tried to be sympathetic but they were laughing so we started
laughing right along with them.
The hike back down was long but memorable. Bran and I told stories about our
thru-hike to make the time go by. Every so often we’d look up at the stars. We
made it to the car by 11:30pm, safe and sound. When we got there, Bran and I
looked at each other, smiled, and touched the car simultaneously. We made it.
We summited Mt. Katahdin.

Equipment
What you carry depends on how far you’re going, where, and when. If you’re
backpacking, we suggest you consult a good book for details about what to
carry, or talk to an experienced hiker. Renting gear or buying used equipment
are low-cost options when you’re first starting out. Hope for the best weather;
pack for the worst. Clothing to protect you from cold and rain is a must—even
in midsummer and especially at higher elevations. Avoid cotton clothes, partic-
ularly in chilly, rainy weather, which can strike the mountains at any time of year.
Wet cotton can be worse than nothing and can contribute to hypothermia, a
potentially fatal threat. Shoes should fit well and be broken-in. Nothing spoils
the fun or ends a hike quicker than blistered feet. On a day-hike, broken-in
tennis shoes can be a better choice than brand-new boots. When carrying a
backpack or hiking on rocky terrain, more substantial hiking boots may be de-
sirable, but some hikers walk the entire AT in running shoes or cross-trainers.
Backpackers can expect their feet to swell; long-distance hikers should buy
boots half a size too big to allow room for this.
22 Stories From the Trail
 Dogs On The AT
by Maija “Two Dogs” DeSalvo
Earlier this spring I hiked over 500 miles of the Appalachian Trail with my two
dogs, Griffin and Little Bear, known on the trail as Mooch and Diva. Taking my
dogs with me on my hike, especially both dogs, was a huge undertaking but
the decision was easy. I knew I wanted an adventure, I didn’t want to leave
the dogs behind, and backpacking was something we loved to do together
already. It was a no brainer. I knew also that hiking with them would be incred-
ibly different than choosing to go solo, I just believed whole heartedly that the
ways they would enhance the experience for me would far outweigh the extra
work involved. I spent hours, days, months, looking for information from people
who had done the same thing, but I found very little. The few resources I found
were good, so I studied them, met with my vet multiple times, and talked to
other canine professionals. I also solidified sponsorships and relationships with
canine outdoor-gear companies, and used my knowledge in the dog-training
world and my understanding of my own dogs and the bond I have with them to
be sure that we were capable of what lay ahead.
On the trail, there were days that we were all on the same page, but there were
many days we weren’t. Sometimes the heat was hard on them, and we stopped
what seemed like constantly to cool off in the shade or a stream. Sometimes
we didn’t make it as far because of this, and the amount of water we needed
to carry was ridiculous. We needed a maildrop once a week to resupply dog
food, which proved to be a pain at times. There were times coming into towns I
couldn’t find a vacancy for a dog-friendly room, or it would be more expensive
than anticipated. Many nights I crawled into a tent with soaking wet and muddy
dogs, on occasion giving up my sleeping bag liner or an extra piece of clothing
to wrap their shivering, wet bodies. We dealt with poison ivy, ticks, and hot
spots as well as sore paws and muscle aches. These were regular occurrences
& I find the fact that we didn’t deal with more severe injury and illness to be a
blessing.
Trail life isn’t easy and
trail life with two fur
children is full of its own
challenges. Ultimately I
sacrificed hiking my own
hike as I was constantly
focused on the care of
the dogs. I knew them
well enough to notice if
something went awry,
but I had to be paying
attention to them very
closely. Dealing with so
many aches and pains
myself, pushing myself
through challenges, I
Dogs on the AT by Maija “Two Dogs” DeSalvo 23
had to remember to check in with them as well. They are two dogs that would
follow me to the ends of the earth if I asked them to, and in a way that’s exactly
what I did. It was my job to keep them safe, healthy and happy on the trail. In
return I was given the most amazing hiking partners I could have ever asked
for. They were there with me to listen to my ramblings, to share in the joy of
our victories and support each other when we felt defeated, to share physical
warmth when mother nature chose to bring the rain and cold, to bring even
momentary happiness to those who had left their four legged companions back
home, and we were there to look out for one another.
In everyday life Griffin and Little Bear are my constant reminders to live life to the
fullest with their exuberance for every moment. Out on the trail they reminded
me constantly of the amazing journey I was on, how lucky we were to be spending
weeks out in such an incredible place, and to absolutely soak up each and every
moment. One of my biggest goals for hiking the AT was to be more present in
my life. The most significant time I accomplished this was laying on the trail, my
legs a tangle of leashes, frustrated with our lack of synchronicity. Almost imme-
diately my frustration was masked by slobbering dog tongues covering my face
and I was laughing out loud. As I opened my eyes I realized I was in a beautiful
valley, completely dis-
connected and on my
own, soaking up rays of
sunshine with the two
most devoted compan-
ions I could ask for. Life
could not have been
better and without the
dogs and our mishap I
may have missed that
magical moment I still
find myself returning to
months later.

What is “The Triple Crown” of hiking?

“The Triple Crown” of hiking informally refers to the three major U.S. long-dis-
tance hiking trails: the AT, the Pacific Crest TRail (PCT) and the Continental Di-
vide Trail (CDT). The total length of the three trails is about 7,900 miles; vertical
gain is more than 1,000,000 feet, & a total of 22 states are visited if the three
trails are completed. It’s no easy feat, and many people don’t have the time or
physical stamina to accomplish this. Every year the ALDA (American Long Dis-
tance Hiking Association) presents an award to the Criple Crown Hikers. So far,
only 260 dedicated hikers have recieved this award since its inception in 1994.
One of the most famous thru-hikers is public speaker and endurance adventur-
er Heather “Anish” Anderson , who claimed the Triple Crown in 2006 and also
happens to hold the records for fastest self-supported hiker—man or woman—
on both the PCT and the AT. “Have a plan, and yet be willing to completely
deviate from it,” Anderson wrote. “The magic of the trail and serendipity are
some of the most beautiful parts of any long distance hike.”
24 Stories From the Trail
Our adventure turned out incredibly well. Thanks to all the preparation, we
were ready for almost every scenario. We hiked to the top of dozens of moun-
tains, trudged through days of rain and stormy skies, stayed hydrated through
heat waves, kept ourselves and each other warm on cold nights, hitched rides
with dog lovers and found trail communities that were welcoming and accom-
modating to us all. I can’t say I would recommend a thru hike or other long
distance hike with a dog, as it depends entirely upon your outlook and most
importantly on your dog and. It takes a toll on us mentally and physically, and
my dogs were no exception.
Throughout this venture I needed to be able to accept hiking my dogs own
hike instead of my own, and they needed to be able to traverse mountains
along side of me, carrying their own supplies. Though we’ve decided to section
the Appalachian Trail instead of our initial plan to thru hike, I believe we were
incredibly successful in what we set out to do and I wouldn’t change a thing.

Dogs on the AT by Maija “Two Dogs” DeSalvo 25

How Black Books Lit My Way Along The Appalachian Trail
by Rahawa Haile
There’s a great deal of privilege that goes into thru-hiking. The idea of broke
hikers in the wild, where you don’t have to pay for a place to live and your only
expense is food—that’s bullshit. You have to buy your gear. You have to travel.
You have to take six months out of your life. You have to find a way to feel safe.
That’s one of the reasons the trail look likes it does.
I knew that going into this hike it wouldn’t just be a hike: There’s no movement
in America for black women that’s just about movement, especially throughout
the South.
At the end of January of 2016, I quit my job. My boyfriend and I had split up. I
packed all my belongings. I moved my things into my friend’s basement, hand-
ed my cat to another friend, and flew to Oakland, where friends were letting
me crash for a month. There’s a ton of hiking in the Bay Area, and it was a good
chance to prepare. People think that the thru-hike was the biggest thing I did
in 2016, but my relationship ended, I moved out of my apartment on January
31, I quit my job February 1. And then I flew across the country on February 2.
Those were three very big days.
I’ve always been outdoorsy. In Florida, where I’m from, that means the swamp,
the Keys, the Everglades, the beaches. I try to explain to people that this was a
very important factor toward what gave me the confidence to hike the trail—I
never felt that nature was a place where I didn’t belong. I know that, historically
and through systemic racism, the outdoors was the purview of wealthy, white
men. But, growing up, endless exposure to nature was a huge thing to me.
In 2015, I started a Twitter project called Short Story of the Day. This was a way
to say, “This is the extent that I can participate in literature at this moment.”
Diversity matters to me. Many of the most celebrated short story collections
are by white men, so on Twitter I published one short story a day by underrep-
resented groups.

26 Stories From the Trail

When I thought about 2016—how can I participate in literature this year?—I
thought, I want to bring books by black authors to places no one likely has. I
want to document where black brilliance belongs. There’s so much talk about
where the black body belongs. Most of my hike was saying, this is a black body,
and it belongs everywhere. These books were a way of me saying, black in-
tellect belongs here, too. I was hoping that by carrying these books and tak-
ing them to these incredible vistas, fellow people of color might say, “If those
books can go there, so can I.”
I would leave the books at the shelters. I attempted to create a library of black
excellence along the Appalachian Trail. That’s why I focused on short story
collections, poetry collections, essay collections—something that people can
spend a half-hour reading. People would message me and say, “I found this,
and I liked it.” Or, “I read this, and it didn’t resonate with me but thank you for
leaving this material.”
There are two sides to the trail. There’s hiking the trail, but there’s also having
to go into trail towns. You need food, you need to do that laundry. It’s not the
trail that’s the problem with the trail. It’s what it’s like to be bothered in places
that don’t expect to see you.
People were kind. Some people said, “I don’t see many people of color hiking,
and it’s great that you’re hiking, and I hope that’s okay for me to say.” One
hostel owner in Virginia was incredible. His name is The Captain, and he came
up to me and said, “It’s so good to see a black girl hiking.” He said, “I’ve been
doing this for years, and I’ve barely seen any people of color—I demand to see
a summit photo when you get to Katahdin.”
One of my favorite days was in Maine. I was hiking the Saddleback range. It was
so beautiful. My body felt so strong. I felt complete freedom. Many people say
the White Mountains are their favorite section, & granted I think the single most
beautiful place I hiked was Franconia Ridge in that range. But the Whites are also
swarming with tourists: you can drive up to the summit of Mount Washington!

How Black Books Lit My Way Along The Appalachian Trail by Rahawa Haile 27
Food, Water and Sanitation
You should carry some kind of food and water on even the shortest AT hike, but
anything longer than a short day-hike presents special considerations. If you’re
out for the day, you can pack along whatever foods you like best—even fresh
vegetables and fruits. But since these spoil quickly and are heavy, they’re not
good for backpacking trips. Backpackers generally carry dried foods such as
pasta that they boil and prepare on their portable stoves. There’s no need to
carry more than a week’s worth of food on most parts of the AT. For hikes longer
than a week, hikers typically leave the Trail periodically to resupply in nearby
towns. Some ship food parcels ahead to post offices, hostels, and businesses
near the Trail; others buy food along the way. Backpacking burns a lot of ener-
gy. Plan on a tasty diet of 3,000 to 4,000 calories a day, including high-energy
snacks to eat while you’re walking or during breaks.
Staying hydrated is an important part of safe hiking because it helps prevent
both hypothermia and heat exhaustion. AT guidebooks and the AT Data Book
list water sources. Usually these are springs or creeks, since rivers and ponds
tend to be polluted. Plan on treating water in the backcountry. Drinking untreat-
ed water can make you vulnerable to a variety of water-borne diseases. Equally
important in staying healthy is proper hygiene. Just as many hikers get sick from
inadequate hand-washing as from “bad” water. Use hand sanitizer whenever
you defecate, and periodically wash hands with water and/or biodegradable
soap (as little as possible, 200’ away from water). When sharing food, do so in
such a way that does not involve another person’s hands touching your food.
Restrooms are few and far between. Many AT shelters have privies, but often
you will need to “go in the woods.” Proper disposal of human (and pet) waste
is not only a courtesy to other hikers, but is a vital Leave No Trace practice for
maintaining healthy water supplies in the backcountry and an enjoyable hiking
experience for others. No one should venture onto the AT without a trowel,
used for digging a six to eight inch deep “cathole” to bury waste. Bury feces at
least 200 feet or 70 paces away from water, trails, or shelters. Used toilet paper
should either be carried out in a sealed plastic bag or buried in your cathole.
Hygiene products such as sanitary napkins should always be carried out.

28 Stories From the Trail

In Maine, there’s hardly anyone. The difference is night and day. It was so free-
ing. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I was above treeline. The state has one of
the most racist governors in the country, and I was thinking, I don’t know how
many people who look like me have stood here. I felt so lucky that I got to make
myself into what I’d become by the time I reached Maine.
I remember holding the flag of Eritrea in front of the northern terminus AT sign,
knowing that I’m probably the first Eritrean to thru-hike. So much of the news
that comes out about my country is depressing and rightly so. To have this one
positive meant a lot to me, and I know it meant a lot to my parents and to other
Eritreans.
There’s already a debate about who the outdoors are for. There are many Amer-
icans, especially white Americans, who don’t understand why that question is
being asked at all—who say, all are welcome in the national parks, do what I do,
go outdoors. Nothing is stopping you. There’s no sense of history whatsoever.
What gets lost in talking about diversity isn’t just [a question of] how can we
can get more people of color outdoors. We have to address how we can get
white audiences to acknowledge there are barriers and why that matters. I’ve
seen so many people who are like, I don’t understand why we’re talking about
race, the outdoors are where we go to get away from it all, why does no one ask
why there are no white people in the NBA, etc. There needs to be more work
focusing on educating individuals about this country’s history.
One of the most the important things I did on the trail was talking to people.
Trying to be patient. I shouldn’t have to be a black ambassador, but I also know
I got through to a lot of people, and I hope I can get through to more. I can
encourage first steps, even the smallest of starts. They are the only thing of
which I am certain.

How Black Books Lit My Way Along The Appalachian Trail by Rahawa Haile 29
 Appalachian Trail Angels
by Zach “Good Badger” Davis
Trail Angel:
A person who delivers trail magic.
Trail Magic:
A random act of kindness uniquely provided to long distance hikers (mostly
the Appalachian Trail) whereby an individual delivers a good deed to a hiker
in need; most commonly in the form of food, beverage, and/or transportation.
Trail Magic has a knack of occurring when a hiker’s spirits are approaching the
danger zone. Pure serendipity.
Scenario:
It’s 6:30 pm. The sun is already getting close to tucking away behind the moun-
tains. We had just completed mile #19 in order to get away from another hiker
who has consistently and independently scared the bajesus out of numerous
fellow thru-hikers with his erratic and fugitive-like behavior (demanding pic-
tures of him be deleted, keeping his contents locked inside of his backpack, eye
color: black, etc). I kid you not when I say this guy is by far and away the most
widely talked about individual on the trail this year. Apparently giving off serial
killer vibes is good publicity.
Just as we drop our packs in a state of complete exhaustion (but mostly relief
to have escaped) and start to mentally prepare for our short 4 mile jaunt into
Franklin, NC the following morning, there, in the distance, heading toward the
very same shelter is none other than Captain Crazy himself. I had hiked an extra
six miles already to avoid becoming the sequel to Deliverance.
At this point, we realized there were two options:
1) Force a few extra calories into our system, ignore the our body’s signals of
over-exhaustion, and go the extra four miles into Franklin.
or
2) Fall victim to RapeMurder.
So, as we’re hiking back to Franklin, Badger, Whoop, and Road Dog (who has
formed the third head of our hiking trio of late), unpleasantly discover that the
majority of these four miles are uphill. For those who have never tried hiking
uphill with 30 lbs on your back, after already expending all of the day’s ener-
gy, you can experience this pain for yourself by having someone push a fully
stacked library bookshelf on your defenseless body. And the bookshelf shall
remain there for two hours. And then you must birth octoplets. Five of these
octoplets must go onto be offensive linemen in the NFL.
Two hours of hyper-misery later, we arrived to our destination, the highway—
but we’re still 12 miles outside of Franklin. It was now time to find a hitch into
town. Again, there were a few problems:
1) There were three of us. Three people + three packs is simply too much
matter for most vehicles.
2) It’s dark. Not only has the traffic flow dropped drastically, but cars usually
can’t see you until it’s too late to pull over.

30 Stories From the Trail

3) We’re too tired to get up from the lone patch off grass which sits about 30
yards off the road.
There we are, easily the three most pathetic guys on earth at that exact mo-
ment, hopelessly waving our thumbs at the rare occurrence of a car racing by.
None of us get cell service, and quite frankly there’s not enough blood flow left
in our brains to brainstorm options.
Then arrives Jeff.
Out of nowhere a hatchback sedan bypasses all the parking spaces in the lot,
and pulled his car directly in front of us the small patch of grass we had sprawled
out across. A gentleman in his late 20s/early 30s steps out of his small car.
“Hey guys.” (Whoop, Road Dog, and Badger share a general sense of con-
fusion). Jeff chuckles to himself, “You guys sure look tired. How far did you
hike today?” “23 miles.” “Whooaaa. That’s crazy! You guys are insane. That’s
way too far!” We offer a mixed bag of chuckles and shrugs. Too tired for any-
thing more. “Hold on one second.” (Jeff goes to his car to get something. He
starts passing us business cards.) “Here, take these. My name is Jeff. I live
in Waynseboro, VA, which as you probably know, is right on the trail. My wife
says that I’m ‘allowed to’ take in one group of hikers each year. You’re the first
group I’ve come across and seem like a good group, so definitely let me know
when you’re in town.”
This is awesome. Awesome in the way of future events though. Our current
situation was still broken so we couldn’t yet fully appreciate how awesome this
was. And then right on cue….
“I’m guessing you guys are looking to get into Franklin, right? I just came from
that direction. Boy, I wish I didn’t have all that junk in the back of my car.”

Appalachian Trail Angels by Zach “Good Badger” Davis 31

There was a lot of stuff (from a guy’s perspective, definitely not “junk” though):
a kayak, a fully packed backpack, cables, and misc. boxes. With that said, we
wished so too. At this point, it was apparent that Jeff was seriously perturbed
by the dilemma that lay in front of him—as was clearly demonstrated by the
intense head scratching. “You know what, let’s see if we can’t make this work.”
I don’t know how, but Jeff made it work. He took what was already a very small
car with a very large amount of “junk,” tied some things to the roof, waved
a magic wand, did a tribal Indian dance, and voila—we piled our bags & ex-
tra-smelly bodies into the perfect Tetris shape needed to fit our total mass into
the car. There wasn’t a square inch of available space left in the car. It smelt as
if a port-o-poty was hosting a burnt hair convention. I’m guessing he has since
torched the car.
It was at this point, it occurred to me… “Wait, didn’t you say you just came from
this direction? Where were you headed?” “The other way, but that’s fine. Don’t
worry about it. I was just going to go camp somewhere closer to Asheville.
I have a flight to catch tomorrow morning.” “Are you sure?” Enthusiastically,
“Yeah! I love helping hikers. Not a problem.”
Not only did Jeff take us to our motel in Franklin (a half hour out of his way, after
getting lost a couple of times due to not knowing his way around the area), he
waited for us to check into our room so he could join us for dinner.
As any decent human beings who have just received the world’s largest series
of favors would, we insisted upon buying Jeff’s meal. When the waiter arrived
to our table, Jeff immediately announced our meals were going on separate
checks.
“You guys need to save that money for beer.” He was right. He’s so wise.
At 6:30pm we were living with the very real fear of RapeMurder. By 9:30pm
we were eating burgers the size of our head, slathered in pimento cheese, and
BBQ sauce, drinking cheap pitchers of extra cold beer, and having passionate
conversations about frisbee golf and sociopaths with our new friend, Jeff.
We all got a tad drunk, Jeff included. To err on the side of not getting a DUI,
Jeff sheepishly asked if he could crash on the floor of our motel. We were
negative 94 in the favor department so not only did we oblige, but we forced
him to have his own bed (also we were tired enough
that we could have easily slept on a mattress made
of chainsaws, sandpaper, and Draino).
Jeff’s flight was extra early the following morning,
much earlier than three exhausted bodies were
going to wake up. By the time the first person fi-
nally arose, there was no trace of Jeff to be found.
We wondered if perhaps Jeff was some sort of ex-
haustion induced delusion, a hiker’s mirage. Then,
when I walk into the bathroom, this is what I see:

How fitting the term trail angel is!

32 Stories From the Trail
 7 Things The AT Taught Me
by Ash “Pringles” Schellhase
1. Patience:
As I climbed switch-
back after switchback,
I would look up and
realize that the top was
nowhere to be seen.
I acquired much pa-
tience in my breathing,
the trail’s taxing terrain,
and in the miles to go.
Some days were harder
than others, but I had
to focus on the fact that
the good days were
worth every bad day.
2. To have an open heart:
The trail is a magical place full of diversity, kindness, and unconditional love.
No one knew your history. No one knew where you came from. We all just knew
that we had the same passion and dream inside of us. Judgment free, happy
souls taught me how to better love and support those around me.
3. Less is more:
Also known as minimalism. Everything I need fits in my backpack. After being
home for almost 2 months, I still don’t sleep on a real mattress. I sleep on an
air mattress in the corner of my sister’s room. I live out of 1 storage container
of clothes, and I own a total of 3 said containers full of vinyl, books, pictures,
and more miscellaneous items. If it doesn’t add value to my life, I don’t need it.
4. I can do anything:
I don’t mean to sound braggadocios, but walking across 14 states has made
me realize that I can literally do anything I set my mind to. Oftentimes we let
our negative thoughts control what we do and do not accomplish. The mental
game often led me to believe that I would fail, but I have chosen to no longer
let that be the way I live.
5. Indoor plumbing is luxurious:
An all seriousness, this is the best part of being home. A daily shower and sit-
ting on a toilet… it’s the little things that I no longer take for granted.
6. Walking > driving:
I would rather walk than drive any day. I felt safer in the woods for 5 months
than I do in my car on the way to work everyday. My Atlanta commute tests the
patience I gained while on the trail.
7. Ultralight is worth it:
Save up the extra money for lighter gear. It’s in your best interest to carry the
lightest pack possible up what feels like endless mountains.

7 Things the AT Taught Me by Ash ”Pringles” Schellhase 33

 2,189.2 Miles Just to get This Photo
by Elle Anne
Time feels like it’s flying. Wasn’t it just last week that
I was summiting Springer Mountain in Georgia, two
thousand miles away, and wondering if I’d even make
it out of state #1? Wasn’t it yesterday that I broke
down before Lehigh Gap in PA and almost quit to
go home with my family? Wasn’t it this morning that
I was crossing Mt. Washington, so happy and proud
that I made it that far? Where did these 6 months
go?
I don’t even know what to write. I want to be deep
and profound and thoughtful and say something su-
per-duper meaningful but honestly I’m just excited
and a bit numb. It’s surreal that this moment is final-
ly here and it feels like I’m watching a movie about
myself at end of this amazing adventure. I’m in awe
of the mountain and this journey and I can’t quite
comprehend that I’m finished.
My thru hike of the Appalachian Trail was as empowering as it was humbling. It
was incredibly exciting and sometimes awfully boring. It was freezing cold and
hot as hell and terrifying and beautiful and insane and the best and hardest
thing I’ve ever done. The people I met along the way who became part of my
‘trail family’ will always be the greatest part of this journey (...but the mountains
were pretty damn awesome too) and I could never have done it without my
support team of friends and family.
Now at the end of it all, I’m happy to be finished and proud to be an AT Thru
Hiker, Class of 2016.
Time to go home.

34 Stories From the Trail