Walking Out

Amicolola Step Off

I shivered. It was a cold morning, and fog enshrouded the deep woods all around. I stood at the base of Springer Mountain, the southern most terminus of the Appalachian Trail, and contemplated what I was about to do. Mist and predawn dark made it difficult to see very far down the rocky trail, just as recent, and not so recent events, had made seeing into the future just as obscure. Ever the planner endeavoring to avoid possible problems, I had arranged for a local shuttle service to pick me up at 5 am so I could hit the trail very early. This is a regular M.O. for me, to always give myself plenty of time for the unknown and unexpected, because I always fear problems and difficulties. I only had 8 miles to do that day, but I had no idea what those 8 miles would look like, or me upon them.

I had passed the previous night in a frankly disbelieving state of mind. “Was I really going to do this? Was I really going to hike all of the Appalachian Trail?” Until I arrived at the rustically luxurious Amicolola Lodge the night before, I had not given much thought to the reality of what I was proposing to do. In fact, until the very moment when the door closed on me and the backpack that was to become my home for the next however many miles of hiking I would do, it had all been just planing and logistics. I remember quickly turning on the television to see what the weather had in store for me on step-off day, (like knowing what the weather might be would make any difference to walking in whatever weather appeared while walking! LOL). But really, as I know now, I turned on that TV so as not to think or feel anything. I was at the pinnacle of my ability to cut off thought and emotion, and without it ever having registered with me, I was numb unto death. I had suspected something was seriously wrong as I had been hearing for quite some time a part of me saying, “There is no reason to life, no reason to live” , yet, thanks I believe to spiritual practices that have been present for most of my adult life, a second voice always followed the first saying, “If there is no reason to live, then there is no reason NOT to live.” I was in deep trouble, and on that night before step off, I both knew and didn't know that underneath numbness, I lived in a despair of gargantuan proportions, bleakness in soul freezing whiteout, and in emptiness without end. Better not to know.

After a short night's sleep, I found myself alone in the cold, dark Georgia morning. My decision lay in front of me, and it was very real, all 2,181 miles of it. What a contrast from the day before, which had begun in the busy city of Detroit. Now, standing at the foot of Springer Mountain, I wondered at the diversity of our world. Just 20 hours previously, I had walked through the Rainbow Tunnel at Detroit Metropolitan airport. There, mechanized walkways transport one through a ¼ mile long tunnel pulsating with colored lights synchronized with 30 minutes of original music composed for just this purpose. One hell of a light show! When I passed through that tunnel, I had literally been surrounded with modern technology, one person among many. Now, I was about to step into an environment as pristine as the day of creation, alone.

                          DETROIT METROPOLITAN AIRPORT RAINBOW TUNNEL

The forest in front of me was densely silent, not even the birds had begun to sing yet. Slave Boy had dropped me off in what felt like the middle of nowhere, and now had disappeared over a ridge taking with him the last sounds of civilization for days to come. He was a sweet guy. He had brought me hot coffee when he picked me up at 5 am, and then had taken me to weigh my pack, (29 lbs), and sign into the southern terminus of the Appalachian trail, ( I was officially the 452^nd through hiker to step foot on the trail in 2008). We chatted about the AT on the drive out to the trailhead, a 15 minute ride on curving gravel roads which grew ever more narrow and wild looking. Slave Boy, who's real name is Ron, had hiked the AT several years before and shared his knowledge and advice freely. He loved the trail and the people who hiked it, which was one of the reasons he had built the shuttle business, and why he still used his trail name for correspondence with clients. All through hikers eventually end up with trail alias's on the AT; names like Banjo, Keychain, Mrs. Bigglesworth, and Serene. Some folks choose their own names, others are christened on the trail by others. My trail name would end up being Peregrine Trail Dancer, but that's another story.

I had no idea why I was through hiking the AT as I had never been a hiker. Just the same, I was utterly certain I had to do it. Hiking the AT had always been in the back of my mind, but when my marriage began to break up in 2005, the idea began to move forward more often in consciousness, and so by the time I left the Vermont Zen Center, where I lived for 2 years following my divorce, much to my surprise, thru hiking the AT was no longer was a vague notion, but a fully formed intent. I found myself astounded by the tremendous desire I had to exert myself in walking long, hard days, and, I found the amount of determination to do so even more surprising as friends and family tried to dissuade me. I was so bone deep certain of the absolute necessity of this task, I never once asked myself why I wanted to do it, a very unusual behavior for me. I had no idea where this certainty came from, but I trusted it.

Now I found myself standing on a narrow gravel road in the Georgia predawn. It was the morning of March 31, 2008. I didn't really know why I was there, nor did I care. I only knew I had to be there, and it would take years and several other long distance hikes to begin to understand, that in this epoch of life, I desperately needed to strive and struggle with something concrete. I fiercely needed to feel alive. It would take this and many other journeys to come to know how much of me was comatose on that cold, dark Georgia morning.  

The fog was cold and still.  I stood silent and motionless at the trail's beginning for what seemed a very long time, though I'm sure it was not more than a minute or two. A slight breeze suddenly gusted down the wind tunnel of road, further chilling me, and the resulting shivers quickly shook me out of musing and into motion. I gave a final tug to the backpack's adjustment straps and took a step into the shelter of trees, onto a trail which would become a 6 month journey filled with physical effort and the beginning of emotional healing. I stepped off-road, and out of all I knew; and when I fell, (which is the way balance is shifted from one foot to another when one walks), I was propelled forward onto the rocky trail and over a line marking before and after.