15 Pieces of Advice for Future Thru Hikers

It’s been a couple years since I posted here. I have a friend leaving for her AT this week. This is a list of my advice for a future thru hikers.      

1. Dream big. Be willing to fail.

Thru hiking the Appalachian trail, i.e., hiking the entire length of the trail from Georgia to Maine in one go, is no small feat. A thru hike consists of traversing nearly 2200 miles of some of the most rugged terrain in the country. That’s 14 states, 6 million steps, and an elevation gain and loss of half a million feet, equivalent to climbing up and down Mt. Everest 16 times. In other words, the Appalachian Trail is HARD, perhaps one of the hardest things you’ll ever do in your life. If quitting your job, moving out of your apartment, and putting your life of comforts and everyday routines on hold for 6 months so that you can go by yourself and live in the woods scares you a little bit, that’s ok. I would give anything to have what you’re feeling right now, that feeling of excitement and trepidation before your first thru hike.

You have this big dream, that’s great. Now be willing to fail. Understand that out of the thousands of hikers that attempt a thru hike, at least according to the Appalachian Trail Conservancy, only about 1 in 4 are successful. I’m not sure how accurate these numbers are but nonetheless it’s true that the attrition rate is pretty significant. Have a plan for what to do you don’t make it for whatever reason. How will you feel? Where will you go? What will you do?

2. You are a thru hiker. Own it.

You are a thru hiker, accept it. When someone asks you if you’re actually planning on walking the whole way to Maine, respond with the affirmative and say it with conviction: “Yes, I am hiking to Maine!”

The wrong response: “Well that’s the goal, we’ll see how far I make it.”

3. Don’t quit on a bad day.

Let me be the first one to tell you that it’s ok to quit. Just don’t do it on a bad day. Maybe it’s cold and rainy and you’re starting to feel the “Virginia blues.” Let’s say you’re in the Shenandoah’s and feel like you’re making any progress because you’ve been in Virginia for a month already and you’re still in Virginia. That state never ends. You’re lonely because you’re separated from your friends and hikers that started way after you start passing you up by now. Or perhaps you’re hiking through Pennsylvania in 100-degree heat, you’re dehydrated, and your feet ache because, well, you’re in PA and those rocks hurt your feet. My point is that you will likely have some shitty days out there, and once again, that’s ok. Those are not the days to quit. If it turns out that you reach a point where the trail is no longer enjoyable for you generally, then by all means, end your hike, but do it when you have your friends with you on top of a mountain on a nice day. I’ve seen a hiker make it as far as Connecticut before declaring that he gained whatever experience he wanted from the trail and he was ready to go home. At the time I questioned his judgment, as in my opinion, the best parts of the trail were yet to come. But this guy seemed pretty happy about his decision to get off trail. There was a big group of us in town and we had a little going home party for him.

4. Take candy from strangers.

 

Disregard what they taught you in preschool about taking candy from strangers. Out here you’ll meet people along the way, complete strangers, that are inspired by your journey and think that what you are doing is amazing. They want to help you succeed in this ridiculous goal of yours in whatever way they can. These people will give you candy and snacks on the trail, a ride to town, a warm shower, a bed to sleep, or perhaps a meal. These are called trail angels and what they give you is trail magic. Go ahead and take it. You’ll have the opportunity to provide some trail magic of your own once you’re done.  

5. Hike your own hike.

Perhaps a little cliché by now, but it’s true. Care about other people and how their hike is going but don’t concern yourself so much with how they are doing it. If someone wants to carry an 80lb pack, that’s their deal. If someone wants to yellow blaze up and skip parts of the trail, that’s their choice. Some people will hike way faster or way slower than you and that’s ok. Don’t feel the need to compare yourself to them or modify your hiking style. HOYH, but this doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t s peak up when you see someone violating LNT principles, or being disrespectful to others.

6. No rain, no pain, no Maine.

My walk to Maine was actually pretty dry and pain free but that doesn’t mean it was easy. Walking a couple thousand miles over rugged terrain with half a million feet of elevation gain is hard. It’s hard for everyone. The point here is that if you’re going to get to Maine you will have to endure and hike through conditions that are beyond your comfort level.  Maybe it’s mid afternoon and the last thing you want to do is hike another ten miles but you do it anyways because you’re a thru hiker and that’s what you do.   

7. Don’t plan too much.

 

Leave room for spontaneity. It’s actually really difficult to plan ahead during a thru hike. Maybe you don’t feel like hiking and just want to spend the afternoon hanging out in the stream.

8. Every person you meet has the potential to become a lifelong friend.

Some of the most interesting people I’ve ever met were from the trail. immerse yourself in this trail community and you’ll find yourself part of this eclectic group of people who are fun, creative, smart, talented, and all a little crazy. I hiked with high school kids, a 74-year-old female (AT record holder for oldest female thru hiker), a US astronaut, millionaires, and legit homeless people. Here’s something Bob Peoples, the legendary trail angel / trail maintainer, said to me: “The biggest difference between the friends you’re with now and and those hikers ahead of you or behind you is that you haven’t met them yet.”

9. Everything you carry should be light.

The idea here is pretty simple. The more stuff you have, the heavier your pack weighs and heavy packs are not uncomfortable. Of course, if you want to carry a heavy pack, that’s fine too (see number 5).

10. When faced with a gnarly bushwhack, sometimes the best thing to do is set up camp and deal with that shit in the morning.

You won’t be facing any bushwhacks on the AT but this trail will ultimately ruin your life (see number 15) and you might find yourself uncontrollably binge hiking other trails in the future such as the PNT where you will have to bushwhack. What will you do when you come across a gnarly bushwhack where you have to walk through an impenetrable forest of thick brush, downed trees, and thorns? My suggestion would be to take a break, snack on some wild berries, or just set up camp and deal with that shit in the morning. As much as I number 6 is about having to endure, here I’m saying well, if you can’t, then don’t.  

11. Take photos.

Take lots of photos. And not just of the scenic overlooks, mountain vistas, and idyllic landscapes that you come across but also of those crazy, unique, and amazing people that you’re with (see number 8).

12. Your journey is worth sharing.

I kept this blog while I hiked the AT and then the PNT. But I didn’t post at all when I biked across the country last year and I regret that decision. There were a few reasons why I didn’t blog during my bike trip. First, I knew I would be putting in big mile days and felt I would be overwhelmed with the additional task of trying to document my journey. I was trying to log big mile days because I had made plans to be in certain places by certain times thereby putting deadlines on myself (see number 7). The reality is that I still would have had time to write, just less frequently. Second, I wasn’t confident that I would even finish my trip and unfinished journals are just sad. I did finish though. I guess I just wasn’t wiling to fail so I just never made the commitment to document my trip in the first place (see number 1). And third, I didn’t think my trip was going to be that interesting. My stories from this last trip turned out to be even wilder than the first two. Lesson learned: a human-powered journey of several thousand miles is going to be interesting and worth sharing. You’ll also be less likely to give up if there are others that are invested in watching you finish. Writing also forces you to take time for self reflection. As Benton MacKaye, one of the originators of the Appalachian Trail, says, the purpose of the trail is to “to walk. To see. To see what you see.”

13. Never trust a marmot.

You won’t find them on the AT but you will out west. They are not to be trusted. These creatures are really cute but they don't give a damn about you, your feelings, or your personal property. I learned this the hard way when I was camping in Glacier on the PNT a couple years ago. This marmot came right up to my tent one morning trying to befriend me. As soon as he gained my trust, he walked over and preceded to chew through my trekking pole. I will never forgive him. Lesson learned: Never trust a marmot! As much as number 4 is saying that people are awesome, here I say just be wary of those marmots.

14. The journey is the destination.

Mt. Katahdin. It’s one of the most epic spots on the entire AT and one of my main reasons for hiking the trail in the first place was to get back there. It is indeed my favorite place in the world and while on trail I would dream about it at night. But here’s the thing, once you reach Katahdin, your trip is over and you’re going home. Take your time and enjoy each and every day you spend out there. Cherish all the moments. It’s easy to get caught up thinking about the miles and wanting to be farther up the trail then where you are currently. 

15. The AT will ruin your life.

The trail will change you. You try to go back to a normal life after the trail but it’s weird. From Ellen Goodman: “Normal is getting dressed in clothes that you buy for work and driving through traffic in a car that you are still paying for – in order to get to the job you need to pay for the clothes and the car, and the house you leave vacant all day so you can afford to live in it.” You come home from the trail and purge yourself of all your belongings. Belongings you once thought you needed, you no longer want. Jack Kerouac once said, “If you own a rug, you own too much.” Now you understand exactly what he meant. You find it hard to concern yourself with normal tasks like mowing the lawn or putting on deodorant. It’s just grass, it doesn’t need to be manicured! You miss the trail. Your family and friends back home are eager to hear your trail stories once you return home but that fades away after a first few weeks. However, you still think about the trail every single day. Every. Single. Day. All those trail pictures you have, you don’t even want to look at for a few months because it hurts to too much. You get a job but you don’t find it very exciting and the people you work with aren’t interesting. You start to get stressed out and you quickly lose whatever fitness you had gained while on the trail despite the fact that you continue exercising as much as you can. You go to the gym but it’s hard to find the motivation. Getting up to go to the gym for an hour a day is way harder than getting up and hiking 10 hours a day. The trail exposed to this lifestyle filled with constant adventure and excitement. For you, adventure now a necessity.

Good Luck!

Pacific Northwest Trail: Port Townsend, WA to Cape Alava, WA

A few miles after leaving Port Townsend we walked up to a Shell station. Gas stations are obviously the a perfect place to stop and relax for an afternoon on a hot summer day. Fitty Shrimp is clearly enjoying his nap.

There was a bus stop across the street and to avoid the treacherous road walk ahead, we decided taking the bus was the best choice. We didn't bypass all the road walks that day. At least this road had a shoulder for us to walk on without fear of dying.

The PNT is not yet complete- road walks and bushwhacks are just part of the trail. But sometimes you find yourself in a bushwhack that wasn't planned at all, like when you end up off trail and have to make your own route back. This was one of those cases and it turned out to be the worst bushwhack ever. Just imagine having to brute force your way through one huge brush pile- you can't see the ground, stinging nettles are attacking your legs, thorn bushes are entrapping your whole body, and stray branches are trying to poke your eyes out. I was screaming out in frustration and pain but laughing at the same time. Seriously, who chooses to walk through this shit!? It was so bad that it was worth laughing about.

At least I was rewarded with blackberries, a tiny consolation for my suffering.

We had another bushwhack in the afternoon but this one I was happy to do. Sometimes you have to experience the big suck in order to appreciate what's little less sucky. I'll catch myself cursing at the dismal state of some poorly maintained trails- which there are a lot of on the PNT- but then realize, "Hey, at least there's a trail!" And with this bushwhack, at least there're no thorns or stinging nettles and I can see my way through it! Hiking the trail, even at its worst, is much better than not doing it at all.

The climb up Mt. Zion started as a bushwhack and I was prepared to whack all the way up. At this point, bushwacking up a mountain didn't actually sound that bad anymore. My earlier experience totally broke me and I was now happy to hike pretty much anything. Imagine my disappointment when I found an actual bona fide trail heading to the top. 

 Just kidding. Trails are really, really nice!

Now in the Buckhorn Wilderness, I'm trying to make my way up Marmot Pass. It got dark and I caught myself straying off trail once again. I ended up on a really steep scree slope with rocks rolling down the side at every step. It was pretty sketchy- I wouldn't want to traverse this during the day, let alone at night when I didn't know where I am and my headlight is starting to dim. Realizing I was off trail, I carefully turned aroround and walked back. I gave up on trying to navigate this this section in the dark and found a nice flat area to cowboy camp. As much as I love night hiking, there are some sections that are too nice to do in the dark. Even before I got lost up here, I felt guilty for hiking this pass at night. But fuck, the stars were spectacular!

But so was the sunrise!

The trail continues into Olympic National Park.

Home Lake is where I was planning on camping before I got lost at Marmot Pass.

I caught up with Rainbow Brite and we ate lunch in a wind shelter on Constance Pass.

I met RB way back in East Glacier before we started our hike but this was our first day hiking together as we were a always just a day apart one way or the other. Rainbow Brite rode her bike all the way from her home in LA to Glacier National Park and then started hiking the PNT. Here she is taking in some views after lunch. 

Lots of trees.

Streams are colored turquoise from glacial silt.

I hiked with Freebird the next day. Of all the people I met this summer, Freebird was by far the most interesting. After earning an economics degree from Yale but not wanting to work on Wall Street - which was was the push at the time - Freebird moved to Hawaii, became a professional windsurfer, retired at the peak of career, and started walking. Here he is some 30,000 miles later. 

We decided on an alternate high route through the Olympics rather than following the primary stretch along the river. The high route through the Olympics turned out to be one of my favorite sections of the whole trail! 

Glaciers are dying right in front us.

Clouds are incredibly dynamic. 

It got cold. My water bottles froze overnight. 

Mt. Olympus in the clouds.

I hitched into Port Angeles. Here I'm in town with Rainbow Brite, Freebird, and Belgian Babe. 

Art.

Watching for harbor seals. 

Lots of birds!

Belgian Babe was our trail angel in town. She invited us to her house for the weekend and she fed us!

Dinner by candlelight.

Fitty made pancakes in the morning.

If it weren't for Belgian Babe, who knows what we would have done. We probably would've been dining at the Nasty Chinese Restaurant down the street. 

And when we were finally ready to leave, Belgian Babe hiked out with us for a few miles to see us off!

The view from Hurricane Ridge.

After a 5000 ft. decent into the Elwah Valley, I'm greeted by this guy.

We crossed the Elwha River.

This used to be a lake.

And this used to be a dam. Actually, this is the site of the largest dam deconstruction in world history! Dam deconstructions are a big deal and this site is also now home to the second largest environmental restoration project in the country. Dams are destructive to the ecosystems in which they're built. Hundreds of thousands of salmon used to swim the Elwha each year. With the building of the dam, salmon were blocked from swimming upstream to spawn, reducing the salmon run to a mere few thousand. Dams also stop movement of sediment, causing erosion and loss of habitat.

Just ahead, the Olympic Hot Springs!

There were a series of tubs like this.

Waterfalls! 

Fitty climbing up Appleton Pass while trying not to think about the impending rain clouds that were headed our way.

The next day, I think it rained for 24 hours straight. In a futile effort to stay dry, we we didn't get out of our tents until afternoon. Even with the rain, this section I hiked turned out to be another favorite of the whole trail. The mountains were outstanding! Here's Heart Lake in the Seven Lakes Basin. 

The Sol Duc Falls were raging!

At the Sol Duc Resort for the night. The manager at the gave us a reasonable rate on a cabin. Can you guess which cabin we stayed in?

Unlimited use of the hot springs was included!

This is Tory. She was just a solo section hiker that chose to tag along with me for a couple days. I didn't mind. I met her in the rain heading up the High Divide Trail. She didn't want to hike alone and while everyone else she met that day appeared miserable, I wasn't fazed at all by the weather. 

This is a temperate rainforest. 

Our last trail town, Forks. Author, Stephenie Meyer, used Forks as the primary setting for her well known, vampire themed Twilight series. On this day, the vampire threat was high.

Now on the Olympic coast, we see brilliant sunsets behind towering sea stacks. 

Hole in the Wall.

Bull whip kelp.

Sea anemones.

Jellyfish.

Shipwrecks. 

All sorts of trash gets washed up shore - everything from bottle caps to small appliances. 

We had to wait at this spot several hours for the tide to pass. At high tide, some sections of beach are not passable. Bad timing could get a person trapped against a cliff in a dangerous situation. We used tide charts that told us the predicted times for high and low tides.

There are so many different patterns.

Something is make tracks through the sand.

Here, the beach is a flat, empty expanse, shiny and reflective.

At the end of the day, we came to this little grassy mound.

At the top.

Watching the rare supermoon lunar eclipse.

The Olympic coastline is wild. We walk along some nice sand beaches, but also over downed trees, slick rocks, and piles of rotting seaweed. 

Check out this old abandoned ranger station. 

People used to live here. 

Bat droppings.

Cape Alava, the westernmost point of the contiguous US. This is the end of the trail but there was no sign marking the spot, no jubilation - just three friends posing for a photo next to a pile of rotting seaweed and a dead fish.