“My Name is Wormwood”

-37 days to trail

Next month I’ll begin hiking the Appalachian trail, northbound from Georgia to Maine. And I suppose that if I’m going to tell the story along the way, this is where it should start. 

It would also help to have some context. 

I’ve hiked long trails before. The AZT, PCT, TRT, CT, and CDT respectively. 

But I’ve never been to any of the states along the AT. This trail will all be new to me.

There were readers who followed me on some of those other trails via postings like these. On some trails I’ve been almost obsessive about writing and documenting everything that I could. I don’t know what I’ll do with the AT. But I’ll begin here. 

I’d at least like to write along the way. Smartphones made vlogging so accessible that I’m drawn back to the written word for its comparative rarity in today’s world. Like it’s sort is a dying art. 

—

I left my last long trail, the Continental Divide Trail, on a completely different life trajectory than I had before the trail. 

I started the CDT by myself and walked alone for a long time–around 700 miles. Then I met friends. I met a girl. We fell in love. We started lives together after the trail. 

Years passed. 

Things fell apart. 

I wish I could tell all the stories and explain. There’s no time for it now though. It’ll wait for another time. 

The 18 months since then have been very hard. But the time and miles I’ve spent on trail in the past year have kept me going. In the hardest times, I still found hope and something like fulfillment when I spent a day on trail. 

I have my trail initials and dates tattooed on the back of my ankle. And at least once a month someone will ask the question: “when are you gunna do the AT?” Like it’s implied by my having completed the other two long trails of the Triple Crown.

It wasn’t something I thought I’d do before 6 months ago. But when I went to trail over this last year, it gave me more hope than anything else I could find. 

So after two or three weeks of seriously thinking about it, I made the choice. It was about 6 months ago; 7 months to trail. 

There’s a story to why I chose to start on April 11th, but that’ll wait for later too. 

For now, I’ll share these pieces, in case this is our first time meeting one another:

—

My government name is Brandon, but I go by “Wormwood” on trail. 

It was a trail name I took 800 miles into the Pacific Crest Trail in 2015. There’s a story of course, but it will wait for later. 

I was born in Alaska and spent 20 years there before moving to Arizona for college. I’ve stayed in Northern Arizona since then; almost 20 years now. Proximity to the Grand Canyon has had a lot to do with that. 

I hike the Grand Canyon obsessively and it’s been my training for the last 6 months. I’m there almost weekly. It also keeps me sane. 

I come to the AT in a very different place in life than I was for my other trails. 

Much of why I’ve chosen to go to the AT is to escape from terrible things and to find some space to breathe and be at peace again. My life here has been challenging and it’s come too close to killing me. I’ve tried to stay here and live a normal life like a normal person who does normal things. But it’s clear to me that this isn’t where I’m going to find my answers or my clarity. 

If there were such a place, then I suppose that it would be back on trail. And if I’m going to trail, I may just as well answer the question about the tattoo on the back of my ankle by finish up the Triple Crown this year. 

There are so many stories to tell later on, and maybe that will make sense of why I have to go back out to trail. 

I start walking north on the AT in about a month–April 11. 

I leave Arizona, where I’ve called home on April 5. I’ll spend a week before the trail with family in California. I’m grateful to still have this opportunity to see my grandmother and my mom. It’s been too long. 

From CA to GA. From Atlanta to a hostel near the trailhead. And then north from there. 

The hiking part is nothing new. 

The AT is. 

I don’t know what to expect, but I’m open to believing that there’s something out there worth walking 2,170 miles for. 

Wormwood.