My Adventure: by Grace Gallagher
I can smell the lingering soap smell on the dayhiker before I see them. I’m sure they can smell me too. I step to the side to let him pass.
“How much further to the top?” he asks.
I think backwards through the ten miles or so I had hiked that morning. I don’t quite remember one exact ‘top.’ This is the Appalachian Trail and it’s just rolling, steep inclines with a green tunnel of mountain laurels, rhododendrons, and oaks.
“Not too much further, I think. Where are you headed?” I responded.
He puzzles for a moment, “Did you come down from the Pinwheel Vista? Where are you coming from?”
I hesitate. Do I say Maine? The place I slept last night in New York? Maybe I can get away with just saying North? “I’ve done a few miles on the AT this morning coming from that way,” as I point North.
He checks my pack. It’s empty of food so looking particularly small at less than 10 pounds. I watch as his eyes take in every detail from my muddy, ripped shoes to the water filter on my water bottle. He realizes I am backpacking and not just hiking, when he dares to ask: “You’re not one of them thru hikers are you? Aren’t you coming through too late? Won’t make it to Maine before it gets too cold.”
I laugh and explain how I am hiking southbound on the AT, already covered Maine, New Hampshire, and every state North of here. I end up chatting with many dayhikers, weekend warriors, section hikers, and other thru hikers about the mountains I met that day or the beauty of a single wildflower over the next hill or even a bear encounter last week.
Because I have hiked all three of America’s most popular long distance trails southbound, I have had many conversations in passing. The majority of thru-hikers (about 95 percent) hike Northbound, so I get to cross paths, chit chat, or camp with a majority of the folks on trail in that given year.
Over the course of 7,500 miles, I have walked myself back into a relationship with Land. I enjoy navigating trail on my own in the typical off-season. I have such a raw experience with the trees, animals, and people on my own standing. The human conversations are easy to capture, but the more-than-human persist too.
When hiking through Glacier National Park at the start of my Continental Divide Trail, I glimpsed the white fur of a wolf dart through trees. I followed, running quickly to catch him peek out of the forest and dart across the lake. As I remained on the edge of the forest, he sauntered across the rocky challis and turned to glimpse me. Neither of us afraid, just intrigued. But obviously I was more in awe of him, because he simply continued up and over the edge of the pass, away from the trail and out of my eyesight.
As I began to talk to trees and run with a wolf or a moose, my understanding of my own human-ness shifted. I was just as animal as the wolf, just as alive as the tree, just as hungry as the moss. Even though hiking southbound meant less human companions and frequent short chats with strangers, I became less and less lonely as I allowed myself to befriend the pines of the Northwest, the sage across the Rockies, and the newts across the Appalachian Trail.
Although the Triple Crown of long distance hiking–the Appalachian Trail, Pacific Crest Trail, and Continental Divide Trail– crosses through 22 states, some 7,500 miles or more, and three mountain ranges in the United States, I was much more blown away by the shifting environments beneath my feet. As I crossed from the Northern cascades my first few days on trail into river valleys, glacial lakes, high deserts, lush forests, volcanic ranges, more deserts, pastureland, prairies, and everything in between, the boundaries and miles disappeared. The birds do not calculate their average flight time, nor do the rivers consider their flow rate. I became enmeshed in my environment; my physical body, the knowledge keeper of the terrain around me. My animal self speaking to Land without words.
Advice to Others:
I love thru-hiking–the sport, the lifestyle, the mindset. It’s incredible to watch other hikers learn to pack or set a trail record, each individual broadening their relationship with Land. Humans are not separate beings; there is no wilderness set apart from humans. We exist to touch and listen, to taste and smell! Whether it’s a stroll in the forest behind your neighborhood, or a trek across a mountain range, everyone is building a relationship to the local environment. I am grateful for how thru-hiking shifted my ideologies about Land, but it does not require thousands of miles of wandering.
Your relationship with Land can change in your backyard, a state park, or a local river. Now that I live in Boston, I consider the geese often. They nest and migrate, calling Boston a temporary home just like me. I consider the trees lining the roads to provide us with necessary oxygen but also delight in our carbon dioxide production. I am migratory like the geese in Boston and reliant on the neighborhood trees for every breath. How might paying attention to the wilderness around you become your own journey? Can we find relationship to Land within our cities? Land is much easier to hear beyond the hustle and bustle of a city, but tune your ear, listen carefully. There is a pulse older than time, her name is Land.
