Day 207-Finishing the Appalachian Trail | And then I walked — sarah robison · on the appalachian trail & a life unconventional

On the afternoon of September 29th, 2019, I eagerly entered the Appalachian Trail Conservancy’s Harpers Ferry visitor center. Still shell-shocked from my first taste of life on the trail- a life that came without running water, avocado toast, vitamin C serum, or cell phones, but that was blossoming with blisters, a shoulder-clad 40 pound home, a stove the size of a Matchbox car (the convertible variety, not the tractor model, mind you), and more allure than could be measured, I was a kid in a candy store. A tie dyed silicone pint glass, a coffee tumbler, a stack of decals, not one- but two blaze embroidered baseball caps (one for me, and one for Dad), and a yearly membership to the ATC. I had to support the trail in the most immediate way possible, and living 3 hours away from the nearest trailhead, that meant that I would donate to its governing body. Soups, a volunteer at the center and veteran 2018 thru hiker, asked if I needed any assistance. “Yes. Yes, I do. I’ve just been out for my first 4 day backpacking trip on the AT, through ALL of Maryland…and, well, I’m obsessed with it…but how does one maintain adequate supplies to support themselves over the entire 2,200 miles?…Would I have to pre-package boxes of food, of socks, to send to myself for the entire trek before I left home?…And I’d send them to a post-office?…That gives me chest pain…It ends in Maine?…Did you hike North or South?…I’m feeling South…Did you tote instant coffee or could I bring a percolator?…How did you get to the hostels? Uber?…Did it snow?…How much did it cost?…Did you quit your job?…How many months did it take?…And how did you clean your pot? Did you bring dish soap? Didn’t it leak?…So, like, how do you thru hike? ”.

Soups had categorically drawn the short straw.

It was then that the story that this photograph, so beautifully told without caption, caught my attention and brought me to a pause.

I stopped. I stared.

His triumph. His exhaustion. His success. His disbelief. His relief. His commitment. His pain. His power.

It was a palpably dimorphous show of emotion.

And I couldn’t even see his face.

I wanted to take whatever journey that he had just subscribed to. The one that had brought him to his knees.

I didn’t choose the trail.

The trail chose me.

At 11:20am on Monday, October 11th, after 207 days of life on foot, I summited the majestic 5,269 feet of Mama K. Mount Katahdin. Not only does the wooden sign that rests atop her peak signify the Northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail, but my arrival to its legs signified my evolution of self. My confidence. My courage. My strength. My fearlessness. My acceptance. My patience. My wanderlust. My willingness. My dedication. My grit. My pain. My faith. My trust.

I did the thing. The f$&@!#g thing.

Which was, to let go.

It is estimated that only 18% of attempted Northbound thru-hikes are successful in their completion. However, of these 18%, not of the total attempts, only 9% of hikers are purists. A “purist” believes only in hiking uni-directionally north while physically passing each and every single white blaze on foot, in sequence, while carrying their own pack and its contents. Their travel does not include aqua-blazing or yellow-blazing (traversing portions of the trail by water or vehicle, respectively) and encompasses Every. Single. Solitary. Mile. This minority comprises a mere 1.62% of the total number of hikers that set out on foot this spring.

One. Point. Six. Two. Percent.

That’s less than 2 individuals per every hundred, and my estimate is that there were close to 3,200(ish) attempts in 2021.

That’s roughly 64 people.

I pride myself on being one of the 64. One of the 1.62%. One of the elite.

There were 2 separate, but equally poignant, successes for me within this venture:

1.) My decision to make it to the starting line. To resign from my respected position of 14 years. To relinquish my earning potential. To cede my home. To manage the logistics of my life from a telephone. To part with the relationships and comforts of home. To get to Georgia. And start walking.

Success #1…check.

2.) To, in absolute purism, walk the 2193.1 miles of the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine, while navigating its in-betweens, and lay my hands on the wooden sign that had ignited a fervor inside of me back in September of 2019.

Success #2…check.

It was about the journey and the destination.

I fully, fully respect and support the journeys of others that differed from mine. Success is individual, and if authentic to thine self, then it is true. What felt like success to me is by no means the gold standard, nor is it superior to the finish of those that spent part of their time in a kayak, a Volkswagen, road walking on pavement, or who fell short on miles.

As I approached the summit of Barren Mountain at mile 2096.8, it was 8:17pm on the night of October 5th, I was once again relying on my headlamp after the sun had set. I stared at the scramble of rocks that I would need to scale in order to secure water for the night. Water rules the world. There is no dinner, no dental hygiene, no morning oatmeal, no quench for thirst- without water. And I was dry. As a bone. I wanted to stop. I needed to stop. I couldn’t…walk…another…step, I cried to Wallflower. “I’m done. DONE! I’m tired of climbing. Tired of being cold. My knees. It’s not worth it. F&#k this! I CAN’T.CAN’T.”, I sobbed.

“I can’t”.

Think about that.

I could. But I didn’t want to.

Because it was tremendously difficult. Because I had been hiking for 14 hours and still had one more. One more that was hard. That was up. Straight up. Because I already had 2 layers of gloves on, and the tips of my fingers remained numbed from the cold. Because once I found somewhere to rest my head, it would only be the beginning. The appetizer to the bear bag hang, the water retrieval, the tent up, the ramen on, the wet socks off, the bath by moonlight and baby wipes. Only to do it all again.

I could, and you can.

And if you don’t want to take your run after work, to tell her that you love her, to grab ahold of that mic on karaoke night- then that is completely okay. The choice is yours. But take ownership for your actions or lack thereof. It’s empowering. By saying that we “can’t” allows us to hide behind another causation for our decisions in an attempt to free ourselves from responsibility or self-perceived shame. I challenge you, just as I have challenged myself, to use “I want”, “I don’t want”, or “I am afraid” in the place of “I can’t”.

When one must, one can.

You can.

“It’s mostly flat from ‘er on ‘aht. The trail’ll just do a little bit ah ‘dis…”, an intersecting Southbound hiker was proud to share at mile 2152.1 as he raised his arm at a ninety degree angle and undulated his hand in subtle waves, suggesting that our terrain ahead was nothing but grassy balds, occasionally interrupted by a bump or two.

This gentleman was sporting denim jeans on his thru hike.

This day, I reaffirmed that an individual that is long distance hiking in denim cannot be trusted.

The 100 Mile Wilderness presented challenges unforeseen. Roots. Boulders. Clandestine climbs. Rivers sans footbridges, requiring fording. Ankle deep. Knee deep. Even waist deep, in rapids. Aggressive chipmunks. The kind that show their teeth. That make eye contact. That impale an innocent hiker (not mentioning any names) with acorns to her back.

Dr. Warren Doyle, age 71, has hiked the Appalachian Trail in its entirety nineteen times. Nineteen times. He shares with warning, “The trail can and will change you. Your life won’t look the same as when you started. If you don’t want to change, then you need to reconsider your thru hike.”

I have returned to a world that is the same, yet I am different.

I fried my first egg after an internal debate over whether butter or EVOO was the appropriate choice of lubricant over a cast iron skillet. At 10 & 2, I’m handling my vehicle with credence and caution, as I am now capable of traversing in 2 days what I previously was in 207. Despite having in my possession, a duffle bag full of clothing, I have chosen to wear the exact same outfit for the past 7 days. It is comfortable and remains considerably clean; therefore, it is the most reasonable option. I spent the past weekend sleeping in the day bed of a dear friend’s 7 year-old daughter, sharing the room with her hamster, Peanut. Peanut is nocturnal, and I found comfort in the sounds of him spinning in his hamster wheel throughout the night. Reminded me of the critters that I was relieved to find shelter from over the recent months. Had I missed their company? Or was it the sense of earned safety? I also slept with the window open, allowing me to sleep with the rain. Was I relieved to be protected from its discomfort, or was I longing for its familiarity?

When I embarked on this journey, I wasn’t hitting “pause” to return to the album as it had been spinning.

I hit “play”.

I have more to share. More adventure to be had. More answers that are to be lived into.

I will continue to show up in your inbox, if you’ll still have me.

And I will continue to walk.