My First Step on the Appalachian Trail
by Kristie Camp
Part 2: Foot Paths
As I put on my REI hiking shoes and socks, I saw two men emerge from the trail and cross the highway, over into our parking lot.
“There are some hikers now!” I whispered to Marc as if I were narrating a nature television program, reaching over to tap his arm in urgency. “Over there!” I pointed surreptitiously. I froze as I watched real, live AT hikers in their natural habitat. I saw what real hikers looked like, and they were just as I had imagined them to be when I read A Walk in the Woods or Wild. One wore a bandana on his head, and the other carried a gallon water jug. Both wore authentic backpacks that strapped across their chests and held their rolled mats for sleeping. They walked right past us, even said, “Hi,” and then stopped in front of the trail map sign. I still followed their movements, watched as they took a break, sat down, drank their water, and talked. Real hikers, and if not thru-hikers, they were at least serious overnight hikers, and I watched with unadulterated and obvious adoration.
After extending our walking sticks, we walked up a few steps, past the real hikers, and entered the trail. And honestly, at first, the trail seemed like any other trail Marc and I had walked through the Smoky Mountains or around our foothills area of Upstate, South Carolina. The trees looked the same, the sounds were familiar, and the path we walked could have been any path we had traveled in any other set of woods. But we were on the Appalachian Trail this time.
I did notice a few unique characteristics of the AT on our walk that first day, though. The trail is a narrow one: most of the way where we walked, it is just a foot path that winds and climbs and crosses over rocks and roots and creeks. Hardly ever could Marc and I walk side-by-side; instead, I usually walked a couple of steps ahead, but not too far because Marc always wanted to stay close in case my clumsy feet found themselves tangled on a root and I found myself sliding down the side of the trail into a creek. And since I do have a tendency toward imbalance, I had to watch my steps. I kept my head down most of the way as we navigated the new terrain, but I didn’t like keeping my head down. I came to the woods to observe, see all that surrounded me. So, that meant frequent stops. The only way I could really see the roots protruding from a fallen tree or examine the rock sparkling in the creek was to stop. If I saw something that looked interesting, I had to stop, veer from the trail a couple of steps and check it out. Take a break and just watch and listen.
And the trail made crazy curves in an effort, I guess, to make a sudden steep climb more manageable. In one particular area, we moved forward and then nearly turned completely around to cross directly above the trail we had just walked a few steps back only to make a sharp left turn as we climbed 20 feet farther. As we swiveled each time, we saw the path we had just walked a few feet below us in a swerving zig-zag of dirt and rocks. And each time we approached the about-face turn, the path looked almost as if it ended, almost as if we had truly gotten off track and wound up on a dead end. The moment we hit the turn, however, the path unfolded to our right or left as if it had been waiting to show us where the next step should be.
We followed the white blazes that day, and I kept looking for them for confirmation that we were following the same path, that we hadn’t veered or blindly skipped off the original trail. In fact, every time I saw one, I said, “White blaze!”
And Marc would jump and say, “Dang, you scare me every time you do that!”
“Just trying to reassure you, let you know we are still on the same trail,” I would answer.
“I feel reassured,” he offered.
A stream ran steady on our left most of the way as we climbed this section of the trail, and I often stopped when the water pooled in a unique way, washing across a fallen limb or a series of smooth rocks. We passed a group another group of real AT hikers about half a mile in. They had stopped at the creek and were sitting on the rocks along the creek bed – a boy who must have been in his early teens and two women, one we assumed to be his mom. We said “hello” and kept walking, unwilling to disturb their rest.
“We’re just going a mile in today, right?” Marc asked as he checked his FitBit for our distance.
“Yes, unless you want to go more,” I answered.
“Two miles total will be enough today, Kristie,” he replied.
“OK. I just want to get to a spot where I can’t hear the cars on the highway anymore, where I can imagine we are totally away from civilization, where we are totally immersed in the woods. You know – like when we were on our cruise, and I couldn’t wait to be far enough on the ocean so that I couldn’t see land anywhere? That’s the way I want to be in the woods just for a few minutes,” I explained.
So, we climbed a little further, shared a few more observations, and stepped around a few puddles left by a recent rain, stopping when either of us saw anything interesting. When we hit the one-mile marker on the FitBit pedometer, we looked for a place to sit for a few minutes, a place to gauge whether the engines from the highway could still be heard. We found a small clearing where we thought others had made camp at some point; the place looked like what I imagined a campsite to be, at least. We drank from our water bottles and listened.
A few minutes later, the teen and the two women walked toward us, having caught back up to us from their resting time at the creek.
“Gosh, you guys smell so fresh!” One of the women said.
“Yeah, we are just day hikers,” I said.
“Just enjoying an afternoon walk in the woods,” Marc agreed.
“We lost that smell a long time ago,” she continued.
“How long have you been on the trail?” I asked.
“When did we leave?” She thought for a minute. “Friday. We started on Friday.”
“Excellent job!” I exclaimed. “Today is Tuesday. You guys are doing great.”
“Thanks,” they all answered as they headed a little further up the hill.
When they were out of earshot, Marc said, “No way I see myself going 5 days in the woods without a bath and sleeping in a tent and using the bathroom in the woods.”
“And what do you pack to eat for that long? Don’t you think they get tired of beef jerky and trail mix?” I added with a laugh. “As much as I love this, I know that I am day hiker only.”
“Ready to head back?”
“Yep. Where you wanna go for supper?”
by Kristie Camp
Part 2: Foot Paths
As I put on my REI hiking shoes and socks, I saw two men emerge from the trail and cross the highway, over into our parking lot.
“There are some hikers now!” I whispered to Marc as if I were narrating a nature television program, reaching over to tap his arm in urgency. “Over there!” I pointed surreptitiously. I froze as I watched real, live AT hikers in their natural habitat. I saw what real hikers looked like, and they were just as I had imagined them to be when I read A Walk in the Woods or Wild. One wore a bandana on his head, and the other carried a gallon water jug. Both wore authentic backpacks that strapped across their chests and held their rolled mats for sleeping. They walked right past us, even said, “Hi,” and then stopped in front of the trail map sign. I still followed their movements, watched as they took a break, sat down, drank their water, and talked. Real hikers, and if not thru-hikers, they were at least serious overnight hikers, and I watched with unadulterated and obvious adoration.
After extending our walking sticks, we walked up a few steps, past the real hikers, and entered the trail. And honestly, at first, the trail seemed like any other trail Marc and I had walked through the Smoky Mountains or around our foothills area of Upstate, South Carolina. The trees looked the same, the sounds were familiar, and the path we walked could have been any path we had traveled in any other set of woods. But we were on the Appalachian Trail this time.
I did notice a few unique characteristics of the AT on our walk that first day, though. The trail is a narrow one: most of the way where we walked, it is just a foot path that winds and climbs and crosses over rocks and roots and creeks. Hardly ever could Marc and I walk side-by-side; instead, I usually walked a couple of steps ahead, but not too far because Marc always wanted to stay close in case my clumsy feet found themselves tangled on a root and I found myself sliding down the side of the trail into a creek. And since I do have a tendency toward imbalance, I had to watch my steps. I kept my head down most of the way as we navigated the new terrain, but I didn’t like keeping my head down. I came to the woods to observe, see all that surrounded me. So, that meant frequent stops. The only way I could really see the roots protruding from a fallen tree or examine the rock sparkling in the creek was to stop. If I saw something that looked interesting, I had to stop, veer from the trail a couple of steps and check it out. Take a break and just watch and listen.
And the trail made crazy curves in an effort, I guess, to make a sudden steep climb more manageable. In one particular area, we moved forward and then nearly turned completely around to cross directly above the trail we had just walked a few steps back only to make a sharp left turn as we climbed 20 feet farther. As we swiveled each time, we saw the path we had just walked a few feet below us in a swerving zig-zag of dirt and rocks. And each time we approached the about-face turn, the path looked almost as if it ended, almost as if we had truly gotten off track and wound up on a dead end. The moment we hit the turn, however, the path unfolded to our right or left as if it had been waiting to show us where the next step should be.
We followed the white blazes that day, and I kept looking for them for confirmation that we were following the same path, that we hadn’t veered or blindly skipped off the original trail. In fact, every time I saw one, I said, “White blaze!”
And Marc would jump and say, “Dang, you scare me every time you do that!”
“Just trying to reassure you, let you know we are still on the same trail,” I would answer.
“I feel reassured,” he offered.
A stream ran steady on our left most of the way as we climbed this section of the trail, and I often stopped when the water pooled in a unique way, washing across a fallen limb or a series of smooth rocks. We passed a group another group of real AT hikers about half a mile in. They had stopped at the creek and were sitting on the rocks along the creek bed – a boy who must have been in his early teens and two women, one we assumed to be his mom. We said “hello” and kept walking, unwilling to disturb their rest.
“We’re just going a mile in today, right?” Marc asked as he checked his FitBit for our distance.
“Yes, unless you want to go more,” I answered.
“Two miles total will be enough today, Kristie,” he replied.
“OK. I just want to get to a spot where I can’t hear the cars on the highway anymore, where I can imagine we are totally away from civilization, where we are totally immersed in the woods. You know – like when we were on our cruise, and I couldn’t wait to be far enough on the ocean so that I couldn’t see land anywhere? That’s the way I want to be in the woods just for a few minutes,” I explained.
So, we climbed a little further, shared a few more observations, and stepped around a few puddles left by a recent rain, stopping when either of us saw anything interesting. When we hit the one-mile marker on the FitBit pedometer, we looked for a place to sit for a few minutes, a place to gauge whether the engines from the highway could still be heard. We found a small clearing where we thought others had made camp at some point; the place looked like what I imagined a campsite to be, at least. We drank from our water bottles and listened.
A few minutes later, the teen and the two women walked toward us, having caught back up to us from their resting time at the creek.
“Gosh, you guys smell so fresh!” One of the women said.
“Yeah, we are just day hikers,” I said.
“Just enjoying an afternoon walk in the woods,” Marc agreed.
“We lost that smell a long time ago,” she continued.
“How long have you been on the trail?” I asked.
“When did we leave?” She thought for a minute. “Friday. We started on Friday.”
“Excellent job!” I exclaimed. “Today is Tuesday. You guys are doing great.”
“Thanks,” they all answered as they headed a little further up the hill.
When they were out of earshot, Marc said, “No way I see myself going 5 days in the woods without a bath and sleeping in a tent and using the bathroom in the woods.”
“And what do you pack to eat for that long? Don’t you think they get tired of beef jerky and trail mix?” I added with a laugh. “As much as I love this, I know that I am day hiker only.”
“Ready to head back?”
“Yep. Where you wanna go for supper?”
Part 3 – the next day – to come later…
Kristie Camp 