The nearest shelter on the north side of Hot Springs was only about 11 miles away, so I took my time getting out of town. My day started with breakfast at Smoky Mountain Diner which included one of those huge cinnamon buns I mentioned in my last post alongside more food than I could possibly eat. This seemed to be my pattern with town food – my eyes and cravings for real food are far larger than what I can actually consume. Luckily, I’m typically surrounded by male thru hikers with faster metabolisms and bigger appetites than me who are happy to take my donated food and spare such precious luxuries from being wasted.
The rain from the last couple days transitioned to sunshine and moderate temps, perfect hiking weather. The trail goes right through the middle of Hot Springs, over the French Broad River, then tracks alongside the river for a short time before turning into the woods and traveling up the mountainside overlooking town. Though it’s a tough climb, the views are spectacular the whole way up the mountain.
The AT travels alongside the French Broad River for a short time before it winds back into the woods and up the mountain.
The view looking down over Hot Springs and the French Broad River.
Never Quit on a Bad Day
A strange thing happened a little ways into my hike. So much was going right — the weather was beautiful, the views were making me happy, the compression sleeve seemed to be helping my knee pain. Yet, I suddenly had this overwhelming feeling that I just didn’t want to be hiking anymore. It’s probably not fair to say that it came out of nowhere, because as I’ve written about (but maybe not explicitly stated), the idea or question of whether I want to keep going followed me since the Smokies. These thoughts were usually loudest right before I arrived in town where inevitably their volume was turned down little by little as the reasons for my misery were taken care of one by one. Fed, rested, dry, warm, clean, happy again. I experienced this dance over and over as the longings and deprivations central to the thru hiking experience were replaced by contented ecstasy at the fulfillment of even the most basic needs in town. Typically this dance was enough to propel me on through the next 30-50 miles and several days. Yet here I was, barely out of Hot Springs and for the first time, seriously considering turning around and hiking back to civilization to end my thru hike attempt of the Appalachian Trail. I was giddy at the thought.
Those who know me know that I don’t typically make big decisions without a lot of thought, weighing of pros and cons, and trying to get to the root of my motivations. In other words, I typically don’t make big decisions without some overthinking and analysis overkill. So while a big part of me wanted to be impulsive and turn around and hike back south toward Hot Springs, that’s just not my style (sometimes this is a gift, and sometimes it is a curse). And so I did what I would do off trail – texted my friend Steffany from the top of Rich Mountain Lookout Tower (a blue blaze trail) to see if she was available to talk.
The view from the top of Rich Mountain Lookout Tower.
She was available, and so I headed off the tower and far enough into the woods to escape the wind but not too far to lose cell service. I told Steffany that I needed someone to help me sort through my thinking. On the one hand, I knew that mental endurance and strength were key elements of a thru hike, including not lingering too long with our thoughts and certainly not reacting to every discomfort and inconvenience. I understood that, and I’ve had several opportunities where I pushed through some tough mental and physical challenges, so I knew I was capable of doing that or continuing to do that.
On the other hand, there was one specific reflection that kept cropping up and signaling for my attention. That reflection had to do with my propensity to choose really challenging things in life that tended to make my day-to-day reality difficult. There were other things these challenging life choices had in common, too. For one, they tended to foster a lack of balance in my life because of the amount of energy going toward the challenge. And two, they tended to garner praise and admiration (which inevitably feeds my ego and unconscious desire for validation). On the positive side, these choices and experiences helped me develop my resiliency muscles. And that’s exactly where I was getting caught up — I knew I was resilient; I knew I was mentally tough and could persevere. The motivation to try and prove that again, by continuing along on my thru hike of the Appalachian Trail when I wasn’t sure I wanted to, just wasn’t there.
All of this would be moot if I was having the kind of experience I had hoped for, one where I basked in the simplicity and peace of walking in and convening with nature everyday and taking time to reflect on life’s big questions while I walked. Despite my best attempt at not idealizing a thru hike of the Appalachian Trail, I’m afraid I idealized my thru hike of the Appalachian Trail. That’s okay, because there’s no way I could know what I didn’t know until I got out there to do it. I really, really, really wanted to be enjoying this whole experience, and I hated to admit it, I wasn’t. My rational brain pointed out that the parts I did enjoy could be enjoyed in a number of other ways that weren’t so extreme as thru hiking. I knew from the other great challenges I had taken on in life that the payout at the end would feel worthy of the sacrifices and difficulties, but maybe for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to give up the peace and happiness of each day along that journey in order to get to the glory at the end.
By the end of my conversation with my friend, I was 85% sure I was ready to end my hike. Steffany suggested that I aim to get off trail soon and spend some days in a nearby hotel with no plans, nothing to do, but rest and give myself the space to connect with my feelings (not easy for someone as cerebral as me). The hope was that the time and space would get me to a place of clarity about what to do next, without being up against the time constraints of town chores and planning that typically ate up my energy during town stops. With a plan in place, I felt better and forged ahead.
300 Miles on the Appalachian Trail
That night I stayed at Spring Mountain Shelter with three other thru hikers I met either before or in Hot Springs. Two of them were former marines. They set up their tents, so I was the only hiker sleeping in the shelter. Remember how I mentioned reading about the bear attacks from the flyer hanging in a shelter in the Smokies? It defied logic, but it seemed my nighttime (and occasional daytime) fear of bears had grown even as the number of nights I’d survived in the woods added up, as did the number of uneventful bear sightings. Maybe it was the dwindling crowds or the awareness of how many bears were really out there, but I began feeling a little more unnerved once darkness fell, vulnerable and defenseless against the attack of a curious and hungry black bear sniffing out the crumbs from dinner cooked just hours ago. I slept with the red glow of my headlamp that night.
In the morning before setting out, my fellow thru hikers encouraged me to go for my biggest day yet, about 16 miles to Jerry Cabin Shelter where they were headed. I wouldn’t commit, but instead said I would see how the day goes. During the first part of the day I came upon a delightful surprise – the Southern Cookie Lady whose cabin is just steps away from the trail. She posts a sign on a tree encouraging hikers to stop by for a cookie, fresh cold water, and a place to unload trash. On top of that, if you want to stop and take a quick break, you can sit beside her on the porch in a rocking chair, enjoying the beautiful view of her property and conversation. I took advantage of this. I also donated money to recovery efforts supporting the Hot Springs Library. This earned me a slice of homemade peach cobbler and scoop of vanilla ice cream. I probably should have made that decision prior to eating the free cookie. About a mile out from this stop, I started to feel unwell. I stopped to dig out some salami slices from my food bag, hoping to offset the sugar crash with a little protein and fat. My diet up to that point in the day consisted of about 99% sugar; even though I’m sure I burned most of it off through activity, I learned that there is a limit to the amount of sugar one should consume while thru hiking.
During the second part of the day, I made my way to Little Laurel Shelter to take refuge from impending rain. Several other hikers filed in, with plans for this to be their last stop. I chatted for a little while, before setting off again, finally committing to the 16 miles. By the time I was a few miles out from Jerry Cabin Shelter, it was clear I’d be hiking in the dark. There was a section that consisted of some very exposed rocky trail. I didn’t realize I’d come across this and was grateful to arrive before full darkness and before the looming rain/storm clouds opened up again. Despite the push from my anxiety to rush though this section, I lingered long enough to admire the sunset views. I also reached another milestone — 300 miles on the Appalachian Trail! I hiked the last few miles with my headlamp on full brightness as I made my way through some of the most grassy, overgrown trail I’d encountered. I was relieved when I arrived at the shelter and the other hikers were still awake, giving me time to eat, change, and set up my sleep area before calling it a night.
The view from the rocky outcrops at the top of Big Firescald Knob.
Stick art marking 300 miles NOBO on the Appalachian Trail.
Pondering Big Decisions in Johnson City
The next day, I really felt those 16 miles as sharp pain shot through my knee, on the downhills, on the uphills, and even on the few level stretches of trail. I had hoped to make it to Erwin, Tennessee and Uncle Johnny’s Hostel before my decision-making sabbatical off trail, but the increasing knee pain motivated me to seek other options. I was able to secure a shuttle at Devil Fork Gap for the next day, so I took my time getting into Flint Mountain Shelter. This meant I only had a few miles to go the next morning to meet my shuttle.
I opted for a hotel room in Johnson City, Tennessee to ponder my next move, trying to remember to focus on how I was feeling and not just what I was thinking, as my friend encouraged me to do. I spent the next several days eating, journaling, bingeing tv, swimming, going to see the new Wes Anderson film, “The Phoenician Scheme,” and I even did a few meditations from my Headspace app. Because this blog post is getting really long, I’m going to summarize where I landed, then write a follow-up post to explain more.
To my surprise, I decided I wanted to hike a little longer, completing North Carolina and Tennessee, and ending past Damascus, Virginia and Grayson Highlands State Park, ultimately covering a little over 500 miles. I would take the summer off for sure, and if I still wanted to, head back on trail in the fall to complete some additional miles. I also decided I would pick up bear spray and take the weight penalty for a little peace of mind and hopefully more restful sleep.
I’m embarrassed to tell you what happened next, but if you’ve read this long, you deserve to know the full truth. I got back on trail on a Monday morning and headed toward Hogback Ridge Shelter, about six miles away. By that evening and after some additional journaling, I reached back out to my shuttle driver and arranged for a pick up at Sams Gap the next day. Turned out, I was really, actually already done with my hike. For now. Type two fun can be insidious in that way, near total misery while you’re in it, and complete amnesia of the misery once you’re done. I decided I would just trust myself and the experience I was having, call it quits, and leave things open for what might be next.
As if to taunt me, the bear paw print I spotted almost as soon as I returned to trail near Devil Fork Gap.
Sights from my last couple days on trail. Can you tell the humidity has arrived?
Call me crazy; this was my view when I decided I was done, done.
The spooky forest returned for my last morning on trail. And of course, the AT sent me off with a good rain soaking.
Stay tuned for a final wrap up post where I plan to go over lessons learned, further explain my decision, and discuss what’s next or could be next on my Appalachian Trail journey.
Happy Trails, even when the decision is to leave the trail behind, for now.
