Interlude for A Few Small Repairs – Thru-Hike Reflections

Blueberries at Blue Hills Reservation, Canton, MA

Aug 3rdAs I come across other thru-hikers, listening to their stories, and seeing the passion in their eyes, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the different relationships folks have with the trail. For some thru-hikers, it’s a passion that makes everyday a joyous day, and you know that, if they could, they’d stay out on the trail for the rest of their lives, or at least they are strong contenders for the triple crown (thru-hiking the AT, the Pacific Crest Trail, and the Continental Divide Trail). For others, the passion is one of conquering the trail, of overcoming the obstacles, of proving themselves tougher than the trials they meet every day. Climbing Katahdin at the end of their hike is the final victory. Then there are those like me, having come to the trail maybe thinking they knew why they were out there, but ultimately not knowing what they were seeking, and maybe still unsure after all the miles they’ve walked thus far.

When I came to the trail, I thought it was to find comfort in being out in the woods, to learning to feel at home there, to take off the spacesuit and leave behind the need for “things” to support me. I thought it was to experience the grand adventure of a quest. I thought it was to find like-minded souls and befriend them. I didn’t think it was to run away.

What could I possibly be running away from? Well, for one thing, I hold a certain contempt for the world, and the part of myself that is mired in it. In that world, one is expected, actually forced, to engage with careers, politics, economics, and the thousands of everyday minutiae that come along with all of that. There are projects that need to be started, and ultimately, finished. I have a talent for starting things, but real trouble with the follow-through. The complexity just keeps on adding up, until it becomes muddled and I can’t keep it together. 

Or perhaps I can describe it this way: when I was in art school, I would begin a painting, and the sketches would be alive with energy, and the first strokes on the canvas would carry the same energy, and then I would work it and work it, until the painting died. Or the colors would mix together and everything would be this brown, muddy mess. I was unable to figure out how to get past that, and I stopped painting when I left the school. 

So here I am out on the trail. And although it’s not necessarily getting more complicated, it isn’t getting easier either. So I find myself thinking about home. Then I have a chance to be at home, and I find myself thinking about the trail. Wherever I am, I want to be somewhere else; I think, “There must be a place I can go where I’ll be happy and satisfied!” But everywhere I go, I find myself there.

So that’s a major learning for me: the need/desire to escape has been exposed to the light; a learning I think I already “knew”, but this time the lesson is being driven home hard!    

Another thing “they” say about thru-hikers is that they carry their fears with them. If you fear hunger, you bring more food than you need. If you fear discomfort, you bring things meant to bring you comfort (tent, hammock, extra clothes, things that are called luxury items: guitars, etc.). I may have already mentioned this, but I certainly can see my fears. And I’m still not wholey ready to unpack them.

Still, these last couple of weeks on the trail have been somewhat of a revelation for me; to some degree, I think I’ve started to let go, and the trail seems to know it, providing more rewards, showing me some compassion, reminding me over and over about what I love about being out there. And when I get a chance to be with other thru-hikers, I feel less and less a fraud. After all, I’ve done about 1/3rd of the miles. 

So I’ll do NH, and maybe I’ll do some of Maine, and then, by God, I’m going back down to Harper’s Ferry and going south. And when I reach Springer, I want to be able to say, “I did my best!”