AT Day 74

Miles Today: 7.25

AT Mile: 1349.1

(SOLA Appalachain Christian Retreat)

This is the journal entry that I drafted in my head during the early-morning miles today:

“This is pure misery. I don’t want to be here. Walking through hell.”

And that’s about all that I thought I was going to have to say at the end of the day… if I was even going to be able to muster that.

Here we are though, and I’ve already put that onto the page and more. So here’s a story about how a Christian Retreat in the town of Unionville, New Jersey saved our collective ass today.

—

Last night I didn’t even bother taking out my sleeping quilt. It was so hot and I was already so sweaty and wet and sticky that there was no way I was going to want or need insulation at any time during the night.

It was 88 degrees last night when I fell asleep, and when my alarm sounded at 4am it had only dropped by 4 degrees. It was 84 before sunrise and so humid that the first miles out from camp felt more like swimming than hiking. We were all three drenched before we could even break a mile!

Plinko and Stranger stayed in the shelter, and neither of them slept very well. Stranger set his bivi and tried to sleep in that, inside the shelter, but said it was basically a sauna overnight. Plinko cowboyed in the shelter and said he was up all night swatting at mosquitos. I opted to set my tent, mostly for the bugs, and I’m glad that I did.

I didn’t get to sleep early enough, but I got significantly more sleep last night than the night prior. Even with adequate sleep however, waking up in a tent to a 4am alarm is hard.

Alarm sounds, and it’s still pitch-dark. It’ll be dark for another hour or two in the deep parts of the forest; the sun lights there last, and well past the time that it’s brought morning light to the rest of the world.

My body aches in the mornings. I’m uncomfortable and need more sleep. The sound of the river beside our shelter is nice, but it’s hard to appreciate in context with all the discomforts.

It’s 4am and you have 30 minutes to get to trail. Twenty-five minutes if you’re doing it right. Let’s hope you don’t need to dig a cat hole.

Deflate sleeping pad. Pack away everything. Break down tent. Pack away tent. Try to sip lukewarm instant coffee that you made last night in a SmartWater bottle. Resist the urge to rest your head for just a few more moments. You have to go.

Outside the tent the mosquitoes haven’t slept. They quiet in the night hours, but the moment there’s exposed skin, they’re on you. So we begin the day with a sticky coat of bug spray over the top of sticky sweat from yesterday and from overnight.

The three of us started to trail together, more or less. Stranger was out first by about two minutes, then myself and Plinko were within a minute of one another. Which is to say that although we hiked “together” out of camp, we didn’t hike so close that we were talking or in pace with one another.

We barely spoke this morning. I’m sure I tried to crack some smart ass comment about how lovely it is that the mosquitos woke up early enough to greet us first thing, but otherwise there wasn’t a lot of conversation.

Stranger has been carrying coffee with him for a few hundred miles, but he quit drinking it a month back, so now he’s just carrying it. Plinko drinks coffee like an addict when he needs to, but he doesn’t like to start out with coffee; says he prefers to wake naturally and only add caffeine later. So I was the only one with any caffeine in my system, and I’d been so exhausted and catatonic in my break down of camp that I barely took a couple of swigs, thinking that I’d have the rest within an hour up trail.

We all walked like zombies this morning, the trail only lit by three headlamp beams, the other two that I could see just in the distance, mostly obscured by trees and foliage.

But within the first mile, things were bad. It was too hot. I don’t know how to put it to words, but I’ve never been in anything like this before. The heat was even worse today than it had been yesterday and the humidity and mosquitos were worse.

Within a mile I had made the decision in my head–I was getting off trail.

It was less than an hour before I started to feel dizziness and disorientation.

I turned my headlamp to my side, so Plinko could see that I was “looking” his way before I said, “I’m calling it man. This isn’t reasonable or safe anymore. I’ve got to get off trail in Unionville.”

Plinko and Stranger were both quick to agree.

It was 7 miles from the shelter into Unionville.

The town is nothing except for a pizza place, a small general store, a bar, a public park, and a few churches. But there’s a place called Sola Christian Retreat, basically something like a hostel but run by a local minister out of his house, right near the church. It’s closed on Mondays, but we got word at the general store that he’s keeping it open for hikers out of concern for the heat wave that’s hitting the eastern US right now.

The doors weren’t supposed to open until 4pm and he doesn’t normally let people here on Mondays, but I reached out saying that we were in a bad spot with the weather today and that we’d volunteer to work or pay to stay if he could open his doors.

I asked Plinko before sending the message, and he agreed. “As long as he doesn’t have us doing landscaping or something like that.” We both laughed.

The owner, Doug, messaged me right back and said come over as soon as we’re able. Now, I can’t pretend that the work we were given when we arrived was “landscaping” exactly, we did a couple of hours of manual work in his yard, garden, and building a chicken coop while temps crept higher and higher.

I should be clear though–we were abundantly grateful for the chance for a place to stay tonight. And if I’m being completely honest, I think we all enjoyed working on something other than northbound progress for once. I wouldn’t have offered to work if we hadn’t meant it. It was just funny that after we got here, soaked through with sweat and Pecardian bug spray, that we ended up going right to work–shovels in hands.

But Doug is an AT thru hiker from 2013, and his whole family is extremely kind and welcoming. He stepped downstairs to make us coffee and sit in the air conditioning with us after we finished in the yard. He’s highly educated–double masters degree and four published books. But it’s funny; we all compare ourselves to others. He has an identical twin brother who is a PhD’ed professor who writes super high level stuff about history and theology, and I could see the bit of comparison that it felt like Doug was doing with his brother.

We are all so human.

There isn’t much here at the retreat except bunks, air conditioning, laundry, shower… well… basically everything we needed to stay alive today. So it’s definitely enough.

We saw other hikers leaving town when we arrived, saying they were going out into the heat and back to trail, but I just can’t wrap my mind around how they’re alright in this! Every time we step outside it’s worse and worse. I’m hearing reports of heat index readings at 108 degrees! Tomorrow’s calling for 111 heat index. And as I see news stories about hikers dying of heat stroke back in AZ this week, it makes me want to be all the more cautious. I know it’s different hiking here compared to back in AZ, but I’m not sure that this is all that much better. I’ve never experienced humidity and heat on a trail like this! It’s a completely different monster that will no doubt take me a long time to figure out how to properly describe.

—

Temperatures tomorrow are expected to be even higher. We’ve heard predictions of anywhere from 1-5 degrees hotter. It doesn’t matter how much hotter it’s going to be though; if it’s like this or hotter, I don’t think that hiking is a safe option until temps drop, which they are predicted to do by Wednesday.

For now, I’m the only one awake here. It’s 3 in the afternoon, but Plinko and Stranger are both in the asleep, as well as a fourth hiker who stumbled in to find air conditioning.

It feels like the end of the world outside.

Parts of me feel broken and guilty about not being on the trail. But parts of me felt broken before I left my other life to come out here to start the trail, so what’s “broken” anyways?

I have a close friend who told me that people are never broken. Maybe I’ve told the story already; maybe I haven’t. But I remember she’d correct me any time I said something like that–about my being broken or damaged. She never let it stand. And I appreciated her for trying to change that in my head. I’m still working on it. But the point did land.

I need to lay down.

I need to get some rest.

Wormwood.

AT Day 73

Miles Today: 27.70

AT Mile: 1342.1

(High Point Shelter [tent])

I dont think that I’m going to write much this evening. I am extremely uncomfortable.

I’m sitting here at the High Point Shelter picnic table with Plinko and Stranger. And it’s so humid and hot that I have my camp towel wrapped around my neck. Every 30 seconds I have to wipe the beading sweat from my arms and face.

It’s 8:12 at night and the temperature is reading 88 degrees. The humidity… it’s so hot and wet that I can’t stand it. Add to that, as the sweat becomes so heavy that it’s a film of liquid over every exposed surface, the mosquitos and flies are so thick that the moment they land on you they start to flounder and drown and writhe. So I’ve spent the day soaking wet, itchy, breaking out all over my legs, covered in mosquitos, and sometimes hating everything in the world.

Today was rough.

It could have been a lot worse. I try to count those blessings. But fuck man… today was rough.

One of the things that I dislike the most about hiking is being wet and sticky. And I’ve become nothing but that.

Oh–let’s add to the fun: Ticks!

Before today I had seen 2 ticks in total. Today I got one imbedded in me, and picked 4 more off of me. More than double the amount I’d seen the entire trip, just in one day.

Everything is so wet. It’s like being in a steam room. It’s extremely hard to handle this.

The next two days will be significantly hotter. It will become dangerously hot, with heat indexes well above 100 degrees.

We started today on trail at 4:30 and it was already 82 degrees and humid.

It rained for a couple hours mid morning and that saved us!

We stopped at BBQ with the other group we’ve been around. They’re a group of 5: Haribo, Pleasure Thief, Caboose, Worm, and Goodwill. The three of us–Stranger, Plinko, and myself–have been connected with the other 5 for about as long as the three of us have been hiking together.

As I talked to them today about our plans moving forward, it looks likely that we’ll all end up in Greenwood Lake on Tuesday afternoon (day after tomorrow). I’ve got a package mailed there, and have to go in anyways, and we may all split a room… if they have air conditioning.

Fuck it’s so hot out right now. And it’s going to be so much hotter tomorrow. There is only one point in all my thru hiking that can be compared to this. It was a spot on the PCT and it only lasted for about 2-3 hours. But it was so miserable that it made me want to end the hike.

This is rough.

I’m almost out of food.

Plinko and I will go into Unionville for food resupply tomorrow, Stranger will continue up trail to the town just north of here with a drive in movie theatre. The group of 5 and him are going to camp there and watch movies, I guess.

Then the next day we’ll hit Greenwood Lakes.

Shit… it’s so hot out. I’m struggling here.

I have to end this.

Tomorrow we’re getting up again at 4.

Boots joins me on Friday. She’ll hike with me Friday and the first part of Saturday. Then a friend in CT will pick us up, bring us into his place, and we’ll zero together for the weekend. She flys back on Monday. So we’ll have two full days and two part days together on this trip.

We’ve been talking most days still. Texting daily. I’m looking forward to seeing her. Not looking forward to her seeing me in this condition… this reduced and awful and broken, but looking forward to the time off trail.

Finishing it now.

It’s too hot to keep writing. Too much sweat.

It’s going to be a long night. A longer few days.

Wormwood.

AT Day 72

Miles Today: 22.98

AT Mile: 1314.1

(Tentsite overlooking Fairview Lake)

Stranger’s funny, but who isn’t out here on trail? It’s all relative. We’re all strange out here. Regardless, I’ve found our crossing of paths to be surprisingly enjoyable these last two or three weeks. And while I’m at it, I should just as readily add Plinko to the list.

The three of us have been losely hiking together for around two weeks. It’s a humbling feeling, to be hiking with two others who are physically faster and stronger than me. Soldier is younger, only 20 years old, and only a few days out of the Marines when he started his hike of the AT. Plinko is about the same age as me, has about as many trail miles as I do, but is very much more into the ultra lite gear set than I have managed to achieve for myself. Add to it, Plinko is just a fast f*ucking hiker, and you have me at the tail end of three–Plinko fast as all hell, Stranger, who is mostly carrying literal military-issue camping gear and is just strong and tough as f*ck, then finallly me, slow and steady at the rear. It’s been humbling, but hiking with them has also dramatically enriched my hike since we’ve been around one another.

We normally don’t even hike together, as our speeds are so different. But tonight we set camp together, had dinner together, and smoked cannabis together (well… Stranger doesn’t smoke, so Plinko and I shared a joint), and we had the first thing that’s felt like a trail family to me in the entirety of my Appalachin Trail hike.

It’s also a bitter-sweet feeling, because I can see that it’s only a temporary thing. Even though I keep saying that these last few days–that we’re not going to be hiking together much longer–I realized today that next Friday I’ll almost certainly split from them. I mentioned it to Plinko this evening and he asked a few questions, leading me to wonder if he was thinking about whether taking the same time off trail to coincide with my own would be reasonable.

Boots arrives next Friday afternoon, and I’m unequivocally glad that she’s coming up. But today I realized that this also means that I’ll be taking time off trail, which will seperate me from the group and the lose community of other guys I’ve been around since the 501 shelter. In that same thought, I also realize that there are hikers behind me who I either have met or will connect with after next weekend, but I share this to highlight how much this trail has to teach about impermanence.

Boots will fly up from Tennessee to spend next weekend with me, then Plinko, Stranger, and the other 5 guys I’ve been loosely hiking around will continue on, and I am at peace knowing I may or may not see them again.

It’s why I stopped to cry a few days back–realizing and accepting that this thing that I’ve built over the last 72 days will have to come to an end within a couple of months. In less than 1,000 miles… That the magic of *being in* a thru hike comes to an end in Maine. I didn’t cry in protest of that reality, but in acceptance of it as a part of all things that do not last.

Nothing lasts.

Any impression otherwise is an illusion.

But so too, “nothing is lost.”

—

I didn’t think that I’d see Stranger or Plinko when I woke up this morning, but I was wrong again. Plinko had dropped a 37 mile day to get into Delaware Water Gap last night after sunset, and I assumed Stranger may have done the same since he wasn’t camped at or around the shelter. But when I got to trail this morning, I found Stranger in his military-issue bivouac, only a half mile down trail from where I had camped.

Plinko had already checked out the bakery (one of the best I’ve ever visited IN MY LIFE!), so he was back to trail before I even finished showering at the Catholic Church Hiker Center, but he also said he was going to stop at the Mohican Outdoor Center in 10 miles, so we might still catch him.

It’s growing late, and I’m extremely tired, so I need to make things short. But Stranger and I hiked together for more than half the day today, which was unusual for me and I think for him too. Goddam he reminds me of my little brother in a lot of ways, and he probably even looks more like me than my little brother does. He also doesn’t smoke cigarettes, but he found a pack in the hiker box today, so he’s been smoking them all day, if you see them in the photos.

Temps were insanely hot before the day even got started. I got a reading at 94 on my Garmin at the high. We’re expecting the same for the next 3 days.

We made it to the MOC and hung out for around 2 hours, charging electronics, and trying to resupply. Unfortunately the options were limited and expensive.

Oh–almost a forgot to mention that two guys at the bakery from New York set me up with a bit of flower. They asked if I had a lighter and when I told them about hiking the AT they were blown away. When I asked if I could have a drag, they happily said they were from New York and had extra to share.

Plinko, Stranger, and I all went down to a lake to swim for an hour or so after the MOC. The water was delightful, and my only regret was that there wasn’t a psychedelic in my system as I floated around on the lake on my air mattress, staring aimlessly up at the mostly cloudless sky.

We hiked out of the swimming hole together and set camp early. The plan had been to hike late, but there just wasn’t need. This spot was as good as any. We all had enough water.

Tomorrow we’ll wake early. Four o’clock. On trail by 430.

We’re all solo hikers, but we’ve somehow loosely planned out the next two to three days, and it’s looking likely that we’ll remain together in this very informal family, until Plinko decides to drop another 37 mile day, or I drop off trail next weekend.

For now, I need to crash.

Crazy early start tomorrow.

Wormwood.