From Footwear Fails to a Rescued Kitten: My First Time on the AT
Looking back, arriving at my first backpacking trip was a natural progression of sorts. From daily hikes to car camping trips that became hike-in camping trips, a section hike was the only next step that made sense. Our group of four backpacking newbies locked in the dates and we were ready to tackle the 4-day, 3-night outing across (a majority of) the New Jersey section of the Appalachian Trail.
In the weeks leading up to the hike, Jay and I got our gear in order. We upgraded some of our basics and purchased the necessities we were missing. We shared our expectations of this new adventure and weighed our packs over and over again to see where we could cut the tiniest bit of weight. I was equally giddy with excitement and quiet with fear. Sure, I’ve hiked a lot. And sure, I’ve camped a lot. But it was the unknown in putting those two things together that gave me butterflies. To settle my mind, I told myself that any discomfort wouldn’t matter because this trip was only a few days. So really, what could be the worst thing to happen?
I’ll tell you.
I chose the wrong footwear. After just one day in the wrong boots my whole What Could Be So Bad It’s Just A Few Days theory went out the window. The not-so-funny funny part is our hiking partners warned us about this. “Get yourselves a good pair of trail runners,” they said. “You’ll want something lightweight and comfortable,” they also said. But why would I go out and buy a new pair of sneakers that aren’t fully broken in and try to wear them on a 67-mile backpacking trip? I have my perfectly worn boots; the boots I’ve had for a few years and that have gotten me comfortably through every hike so far.
The Woman & The Cheesesteak
Just a few hours into our mileage on Day 2 and with a sharp pain striking the outside of my knee, I was struggling to lift my right leg up and over every rock in an endlessly rock-filled terrain. I was relying heavily on my trekking poles to assist me and I was drenched in a sense of dread. Could I really do this for three more days?
Adding insult to injury, our pace was supposed to be a bit faster that day as we were on a time crunch with the goal of stopping for lunch at a well-known hiker’s deli before they closed at 2:00pm. With Jay also hurting from his footwear fail, we stuck together to encourage each other along. As very food-motivated people, it helped to know there was a reward if we made it to this pit stop on the side of the road in time.
Two things happened at that deli that changed our outlook.
When we walked in, we couldn’t help but notice a woman sitting on a bench waiting for her order. She was alone and in a full hard-cover hinged knee brace - like the kind athletes wear after ACL surgery. From her worn clothes to her dirt-streaked pack, she had clearly been out on the trail for quite some time. I don’t know the details of her journey, but I do know that she was a lionhearted thru hiker conquering the AT no matter what it threw at her and her knee. That silent interaction humbled our pain away.
When she left, we sat where she had been and waited for our order, which turned out to be one of the most delicious cheesesteaks I’ve ever had. Was it so delicious because my feet felt like bricks? Perhaps. Either way, it was the pick-me-up that we all needed before getting back on the trail en route to our next destination.
It’s Jake, From The Shelter
My favorite time of day is morning. I love the stillness of those early hours, watching the night colors seemingly fade up and into light as the sun illuminates my surroundings. Everything is quiet; there are no phone calls, text messages, or emails. The only sounds are the songs of birds and maybe a gentle breeze making its way through the trees. Waking up on Day 3 was especially intoxicating as I inhaled the steam from my camp mug filled with coffee while it warmed my hands in the crisp, chilly air. Not only was it a perfect morning in the woods, it was also a day to look forward to because our mileage was going to put us at a special shelter with a very special guest.
His name was Jake and he was a donkey.
It was late and our feet felt like a bag of bones at the end of our legs by the time we reached the shelter, but seeing a donkey walk down the path towards us was like a hee-hawing light at the end of the tunnel. Jake greeted us by stopping and gesturing for us to pet him. He then led us up the rest of the path to where we would be setting up camp for the night.
While we ate our dinner in the dark, Jake put himself to bed in his barn 100 yards away. After hearing stories of bears roaming the area and with tents sprinkled throughout the wide open, grassy field, it was comforting to know we had a small but stubborn protector not too far away. I think I slept the best that night.
“What’s In The Box?”
On our final day, the early part of this particular stretch of trail took us along the side of a two-lane highway. The road was lined with houses on both sides, so when we heard the faintest “meow” coming from a bush, we assumed someone’s cat had gotten out and would dart back to its home once we got closer. Instead, the “meow” got louder and upon closer inspection, we realized it was a tiny kitten peeking its head out from the bush.
While we were figuring out our next steps, the woman who lived in the nearest house was finishing her morning run and stopped to inform us that there had been a litter of stray kittens in her shed. It seemed that this tiny gal was the only one left. We quickly decided that we couldn’t leave this little thing so close to the road with no mama or littermates in sight. So, our next mission was to find something in which we could carry the kitten the rest of the way.
Enter: a cardboard box.
We carried the kitten in the box for the remainder of our time on the trail. For a few miles, the trail wasn’t so off the beaten path and we passed quite a few people out for their morning exercise. Intrigued, they all stopped to say: “I have to ask - what’s in the box?”
Our trailmates ended up bringing the kitten to a friend who fosters cats and within a few days a family came to meet her. They named her Appalachia and she now has a very happy home.
Backpacker’s High
When I’m out on the trail for a leisurely day hike, my thoughts are usually in a constant state of ebb and flow, switching between daily stressors or worries to being mindful of where I am and present in the beauty surrounding me. On the AT, I was slightly surprised at how little I thought about regular life. Despite having nothing but time on my hands to allow my brain to run rampant with thoughts, my mind slowed down and focused only on the essentials: food, shelter, water.
Did I eat enough to fuel today’s mileage? Will we make it to the next campsite before dark? Do we have enough water to keep us hydrated until we reach the next water source?
It was these thoughts that kept me present and smiling. I suppose that is the beautiful power of nature and why we should all strive to get outside and get in touch with the elements. It was also really cool to be out there meeting people with great energy and awesome trail names, like High-Vis and Sky Mall, who were eager to stop for a quick chat and share tips or funny stories. Maybe one of these days I too will have a trail name and hopefully it has nothing to do with my choice of footwear.
This short yet impactful journey marked the beginning of something. I’ve experienced the “runner’s high” after a marathon and a regular old “hiker’s high” during a beautiful day on the trail. Just a few hours into this trek, I was already riding a “backpacker’s high,” which hit a little bit different and is still with me today as I plan my next adventure.