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Lana's Suggestion

I haven't posted a blog for some time and wasn't even sure if I should since my blog is entitled "Georgia To Maine", and that part of my life journey is over. But I received an email from my sister, Lana, who informed me I needed to either post a message that said I'm done with this blog and won't be adding to it anymore, or continue posting on the blog to update everyone on what's going on with my life as of now.

So I've decided I will essentially retire this blog and simultaneously create a new blog for me to keep everyone up to date on my whereabouts and happenings. I will link the new blog to this one so it will only be a mouse-click away from all who are interested.

But before I sign-0ff on this blog, I'm going to post some more pictures from the Appalachian Trail.

(new blog...coming soon)

Walking Through the Seasons: Spring

When Megan and I started our hike in early April we were immersed into shades of brown. Brown, leafless trees; dead brown leaves on the ground, and dirt. But as the days and weeks melted away, tiny wildflowers began to push through the dead leaves on the forest floor, flowering trees began to bloom and form leaf buds, and before we knew it, the dead brown forest was alive and colorful.

Walking Through the Seasons: Summer

Summer seemed to last forever. The spring flowers had disappeared, the trees were completely leafed out, and the humidity was nearly unbearable. Many days we walked in 100+ degree heat, and savagely fought off the swarming insects. The only color in the forest was that of tiny trailside mushrooms or huge fungus growths on fallen logs and other decaying matter. We found momentary relief in random water holes where we could take a quick dip before trudging onward. Summer is also the time when all of God's creepy crawlies venture out of their hidden homes. Every single summer day was a true test of stamina and mental fortitude. One word sums up my summer A.T. experience: Misery.

Walking Through the Seasons: Fall

We walked into Maine at the beginning of fall and enjoyed the reds of the maples, golds of the beeches and birches, and the consistent greens of the firs, spruces, and pines. Fall is a perfect time to hike, with the cool, crisp air during the day and cold nights that make for good sleeping.

The Conflicts I Now Face

After walking away from my Appalachian Trail life almost two weeks ago, my thoughts and feelings about the past journey, the present moments, and the future decisions seem to conflict and even contradict each other at times.

Past: The excitement of entering into Maine and knowing we had finally crossed the last state line. The rush to Katahdin, as if it wouldn't be there if we didn't arrive by a certain date. The need to be done with this journey. Done walking. Done eating Lipton's Rice Sides every night. Done choking down instant oatmeal every morning. Done pulling on the same dirty clothes each day of the week. Done reading the signs of the sky in an attempt to forecast the daily weather. Done digging holes to go to the bathroom. Done walking. It was almost an urgent feeling to get to the finish. Maine was beautiful in every way. But I fear we may have missed important parts of it in our blurred vision as we focused only on the prize at the end - Mt. Katahdin. I thought I was ready to be done. Was I?

Present: Feelings of nostalgia mixed with a bit of sadness as I look through the 700 pictures that Megan and I took of our 6 month journey. I can only relive moments now as I look from picture to picture, trying to recall the expressions of our trail friends, the emotions of the day, the highlights of the adventure. Questions - Why did we rush to the end? What will become of our dear friends that we met enroute to our common ground, Katahdin? Have I learned enough to change the parts of my life that need changing? Am I strong enough to resist the opressiveness of the cultural norms and societal influences? Who am I, now? Can I fit back in to this fast paced, selfish world? Do I want to? The questions keep coming. The answers are not aparent. I wonder, will they ever appear?

Future: Apprehension mixed with a slight bit of urgency. Apprehension - because I know not the road I will follow. It is not as clearly marked as the trail I have recently left behind. The doorways and avenues that are before me present conflicting options. Urgency - because a plan for my future is what the people around me expect. The world expects it. Society nearly demands it. Sadness now. My mind is filling with this junk, this clutter that took me months to effectively push back and eventually discard. And I am left searching for answers that I may never find again.

Can these two worlds coexist. The conflict between the simple and the good vs. the complexities and distractions of life in our "convenient" world. It is a puzzle I will be striving to solve. Meanwhile I attempt to make each day count, instead of counting the days.

Bald Mountain Pond, Maine

Bald Mountain Pond at dawn.
Bald Mountain Pond in afternoon.

Katahdin, The Queen of the A.T.

Pictures of Katahdin as we approached. And pictures from the top.

Photos of Katahdin Summit

September 25, 2006


"There are only two ways to live life, as though nothing is a miracle, or as though everything is."

Albert Einstein

Against All Odds

1,500 thru-hikers, full of passion, hope, and dreams, began a long and arduous journey at Springer Mountain last spring, with the goal of reaching the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. Starting in February, throngs of veteran and rookie hikers began the trek that passes over mountains, across rivers, around villages and always north toward Mt. Katahdin. Hikers begin this journey fully aware that the odds of actually succeeding in this endeavor are relatively low, even though, every step they take increases their chances of completing the exasperatingly long footpath. The odds of finishing what they have started become greater and greater as hardships appear and hikers disappear. Hardships: illness, rain, cold, injury, heat, insects, loneliness, fear, floods, boredom, disappearing finances, loss of desire. Always, there are more reasons to quit than there are to continue. Always, hikers are trading comfort for such things as misery, pain....yet there is freedom in this. A freedom of mind and spirit that cannot be mirrored in regular, everyday life. There is satisfaction in each step, no matter how pained, knowing that each step is one less step they will have to take in their quest for Katahdin.

I began this journey with the 1,500 other hikers last spring. I was hiker #901 when I started in Georgia. 900 hikers began before me, and many more were to follow in my footsteps. I experienced the jubilation of climbing hundreds of granite pinnacles reaching toward the sky. I experienced the camaraderie and fellowship of a community of people all in pursuit of the same goal. I experienced pain and misery, both physical and emotional. I walked, I stumbled, I fell, I got back up and I walked and walked. The odds were against me, yet I thought not of them, but of the sign on top of Katahdin that would one day welcome me home. Not a day passed where I did not think of that last mountain, and the desire and dreams that it encompassed, not only for me but for hundreds of others. And then it happened: I woke up one morning, put my boots on, like every morning in the last six months, strapped my pack on my back, started toward the first white blaze I saw on a tree, and realized -- this is it. I am at the base of Katahdin, 5.2 miles from the finish line. 5.2 miles from the sign I've been dreaming about for over a year. 5.2 miles from the culmination of a lifetime of memories. 5.2 miles from home. Is it possible?

September 25, 2006: Summit Day
Hiker #324 - that is me. 323 other thru-hikers paved the way for me to follow this year. Here I am finishing what I started on April 4th, nearly six months ago. It is now a reality, a dream no longer. I am steadily climbing the longest sustained vertical rise on the entire Appalachian Trail. Over 4,000 vertical feet to reach the peak of Katahdin, which rises a stunning 5,267 ft. With my fellow thru-hikers I climb for four hours, trying in vain to let it all soak in. Stopping to look about at the expanse of earth that lies directly below me at my right and left. One foot in front of the other, one hand hold and then another. Slowly, carefully. Do I want to rush this? It will be over soon enough. After the sign at the top...then what? No more white blazes, no more of this life that I have grown accustomed to. Good-bye to my life long friends. Good-bye to this dream that I have been living for half of a year. Half of a year! Could it be possible that I am here? Ascending the last few steps of a journey that has built me up and torn me down? A journey that has rocked the core of who I am. A journey that has helped me look through all of the layers of protective walls that I had built around myself to survive in society, and see who I really am. To confront the ugliness that lies within. To realize the strength that had lain untouched. This journey is about to end.

These are my thoughts as I grew closer to the final peak. The excitement, satisfaction, and elation were nearly masked by the dread of the job nearly complete. I was not expecting those feelings to aggressively come forth. Only a few more steps and here I was wrestling with these thoughts which were fighting to steal my joy.

Fortunately the emotion of taking the final step, seeing and touching the Katahdin sign at the top of Baxter Peak, overcame the battle within. With a feeling of reverence I approached the sign, ran my hand over the letters, and shouted for joy. Against all odds -- I made it! #324, that is me. I too, completed the 2,174 mile journey and gained so much more than I lost.

Trail Magic Photos

We experienced random acts of kindness by strangers in nearly every state that we walked through. Sometimes we found gatorade and other assorted drinks cooling in a stream. Other times the trail magic was quite a production, with many folks coming together to serve the stinky hikers. Regardless how simple or extensive the trail magic was, magic was magic. It instantly brightened our day. Many thanks to the selfless people who thought to encourage us along our long journey with food and drink.

The Community

Thru-hikers form a very tight community as they make their way from Georgia to Maine. We laugh together, we cry together, we eat together, we sleep together, we celebrate together, we even play together.

Water? What Water?

Crossing brooks, streams, and rivers in Maine occurred numerous times a day. The difficulty of the crossing depended on many factors. Here are a few pictures of the different types of water crossings thru-hikers attempt. The last picture is our friend "#2". He hiked the trail in 1980 for the first time. This year was his second thru-hike, thus the name, #2.

The Reason I Love Maine

These pictures speak for themselves. Oh Maine, how I love thee!

The Mahoosic Notch

The most technical mile of the entire Appalachian Trail took us 2 hours and 15 minutes to complete. The Mahoosic Notch was definitely "all it was cracked up to be". The boulder pile that is essentially known as the Mahoosic Notch is situated in a steep-walled valley that rose high into the sky blocking any morning sun that might warm our bodies. The stones were still wet from the two days of rain previous. The toe and hand holds were crucial, yet nearly impossible at times. We went in as a group of four in order to help each other. Success was dependent on the team effort. We were forced to take off our packs twice to fit through the tight places. Exhaustion met us at the far side of the notch, and this was just the beginning of the day!

Mt. Washington

Mt. Washington had generated a lot of buzz since the beginning of the trail (way back in April/May) due to the fact that it is unofficially the second highest mountain on the trail. Second only to Clingman's Dome back in Tennessee. It felt like some sort of rite of passage to step over and past the summit of that great mountain. A day or two later we were looking back at Mt. Washington from the Wildcat Peaks (across the valley). It was so strange to look backward at the granite pinnacle. We had been talking and thinking about it for so long and now the challenge of it was gone. The mountain had been climbed. We stared at it for a long time not really knowing how to feel. The pictures turned out great, though.

There were easier ways to get up and down Mt. Washington. The "Cog Railway" pulled one boxcar at a time up the steep winding tracks that led to the top. I was kind of glad I was in control of my own transportation up and down that mountain. It looked kind of scary.

Above Treeline

After passing into New Hampshire we quickly became acclimated with hiking above treeline. Franconia Ridge was our first taste of what the White Mountains might dish out: beauty, solitude, escape, raw power, entrancement. See for yourself!