Part-1
I often read that people "romanticize" the trail or thru-hiking, etc. Is that true? Have I done it myself?
Based on the quote above from hikerboy, I want to share some things about my yearnings to take a long walk.
And ya know what...? I'm going to do something I usually don't do online - be 100% honest. Not that I BS my way around, but I often just omit parts of the truth when it comes to my plans for a hike. I just don't feel like reading all the criticism or even negative crap that is usually sure to follow at some other websites. But WTH, I don't fear that or feel that in the Cafe. So here ya go...
I love hiking, I love camping, and I love doing/learning all sorts of bushcrafting stuff in the woods. I'm really in to the idea of self-reliance and taking a multi-use/minimalist approach to everything in life, but especially outdoors. But I don't like the idea of doing any of it for any extended period. I wish like hell I had the spirit of Jeremiah Johnson, Henry David Thoreau, or even that kid that ran off to Alaska and lived in the wild (until he stopped living in the wild, I don't wish for that part.) But, damn, I like air conditioning, I like the internet, and I hate sleeping on the ground. Worst of all, I really hate the woods at night! <* cringes and prepares for the verbal lashings...>
I was raised in the downtown area of Cleveland. I didn't get my first taste of true nature until I was in my 20's. I sort of got hooked on it, but by then some habits just weren't going away. And being able to "see" everything going on around me was one of them.
I'm not afraid of the dark itself. It's more a comfort issue for me. I remember back when I was an undergrad and I took a year of ASL (sign language) and the professor used to talk about how hard it was for the hearing impaired to deal with simple things, like walking down the street because you couldn't hear if a car was coming or if someone was walking up behind you. And, while I could empathize with those plights, I couldn't help but selfishly think to myself, "That sucks, but I'd rather lose my hearing than my eyesight, any day of the week." Perhaps it has to do with the way I grew up and my lifestyle - being a skinny white kid raised in the downtown projects of Cleveland sort made me a very paranoid minority (but that's a whole different discussion.)
Anyway, hiking the AT has been a dream of mine since I first read about it as teenager. I don't remember what I read, but after the first time it was mentioned in the story-line of some book or something, it seemed to pop up a few more times in print or on television, etc. But I do remember when I finally decided I wanted to know more about it, and I made my way to the library and was directed to some shelf where I found this big ol' book (remember those huge book sets Time-Life used to put out on various topics?) and started getting addicted right then and there. The appeal for me at that time was more about solitude, safety, and the fact that kids on my school bus wouldn't step foot near such a place, if they could even find it. So, I spent some years reading and imagining and dreaming. And somewhere in life, as things became safer and more stable, the obsession quietly faded away.
Jump ahead about 20 years to 2004. I was sort of immobilized and confined for a bit during a medical procedure and recovery period. I asked friends and family for magazines and books based on outdoors or adventure topics so that I could at least get my mind free for awhile. And in a copy of Backpacker magazine I read an article about great weekend trips or something like that (an article I have searched for ever since to no avail) in which I read about some interesting places to visit. But one location in particular stood out to me because of its proximate location to something special.
In that article, one of the locations mentioned was the areas of Hazel Creek and Proctor - areas abandoned so that the gub'ment could build a big ol' dam in there (thus flooding out nearby towns.) There were maps of the area, and pictures of Fontana Dam, as well as pictures of the ghost town remains of Proctor. The article mentioned that the best way to get to Proctor was via canoe or boat across the lake. (I've since found other ways.) And, because of my limited mobility at the time all I could think about night and day was hiking and exploring through this area. So, I swore someday I would go visit this location in the middle of nowhere. (I've tried every thing possible short of contacting the magazine to find a copy, or even mention of that damn article, anywhere online or off and I've recently begun to wonder if I didn't just imagine the whole damn thing - excepting the fact that Proctor really does exist, or did at one time.)
Now, fast forward to the year 2007. I just randomly stumble across a video on Amazon or NetFlix or whatever, about hiking the Appalachian Trail. It was anything great, a documentary called, "2,000 Miles to Maine." But it opened the floodgates, and renewed the obsession stronger than anything else in history. I've spent the last 8-years hoping, planning, and dreaming. Reading all the books, watching all the videos, reading all the journals, etc., etc. - and yes, terrifically lost in the romance of hiking, adventure, and trail culture.
A few months ago, my business venture started doing that southbound trend on me again that it seems to do over the Spring and Summer months. I began talking with the wife about me finding a job somewhere instead of dealing with another year of ups and downs. It would require a pretty big mental adjustment to go work for someone else right now (or worse, some corporation - yikes!)
That's about the time she told me that if I was going to be making some major life-changing decisions, maybe I should consider finally hitting the trail while all the stars were perfectly aligned for just such an adventure. (Neither of us knew that damn movie was coming out when we discussed this.)
It sounded perfect! I spent a week or so finding every passing moment interrupted by imaginative thoughts of the great hike and the adventures and the freedom and relaxation and... Yeah, I was as romance-stricken as someone could get. But the romance started to ebb after that first week when we found ourselves out for one of our little stealth camping trips that we venture out on occasionally. While using a cat-hole and swatting industrial-sized mosquitoes, I found myself realizing that I just volunteered for six months of this kind of fun.
Upon returning home the next day, my thru-hiking ambitions were fading fast. I began reading some more journals and watching more trail videos on YouTube with a wary eye - taking more notice of the lesser joys of the long-term experience. Somehow I had, to date, deluded myself in to not even noticing some of the more unappealing aspects of this journey. I pretty much only seen the Hollywood aspects of a true long-distance hike. (To me, "long-distance hike" used to mean when we went out and knocked down around 20 miles in day, but that view of mine has changed drastically over the last few months.)
So, after 40 some years, hear I sit. Soft, lazy, and complacent. I'm not lazy in the typical sense, we get outside at every opportunity. But I feel lazy compared to how I felt 20 years ago, and even more so when the dread creeps in as I think about hiking everyday for months on end. And I feel soft. When I'm carving a camp mallet with a hatchet or using a bow drill to start a fire I feel pretty cocky - but then when I read Thoreau or (especially) watch videos about Richard Proenneke or Heimo Korth I just end up feeling like a paper bag full of shaving cream.
I've had a long and very interesting life up until now. But at some point, thoughts of adventure seemed to be replaced by analysis of possible consequences. (Is that called "getting old"? If so, some of you are far younger than me!) I don't really want to volunteer for hardship. I don't really want to challenge myself anymore. And I find myself deeply ashamed of those facts.
Which is why I have to get out of my comfort zone and go take a very long walk. Actually, there's more reasons than those, but the above reasons have become very powerful motivators to get my ass in gear.
As hard as a long-distance hike might be physically (and even more so mentally) it still has some appeal. I'm far over romanticizing the trail or a LD hike. As matter of fact, every time some doubt creeps in to my head now, I have to stop and remind myself that every minor indication of not wanting to do it is a major indication of why I NEED to do it.
hikerboy wrote:
the romantic notion of a thru hike is more appealing than the reality.
i think the reason i love long distance hiking so much is im not a thru hiker, have no ambition towards whether i finish or not. i enjoy myself, suffer a bit, enjoy myself, and then go home.
lashers rule.
Based on the quote above from hikerboy, I want to share some things about my yearnings to take a long walk.
And ya know what...? I'm going to do something I usually don't do online - be 100% honest. Not that I BS my way around, but I often just omit parts of the truth when it comes to my plans for a hike. I just don't feel like reading all the criticism or even negative crap that is usually sure to follow at some other websites. But WTH, I don't fear that or feel that in the Cafe. So here ya go...
I love hiking, I love camping, and I love doing/learning all sorts of bushcrafting stuff in the woods. I'm really in to the idea of self-reliance and taking a multi-use/minimalist approach to everything in life, but especially outdoors. But I don't like the idea of doing any of it for any extended period. I wish like hell I had the spirit of Jeremiah Johnson, Henry David Thoreau, or even that kid that ran off to Alaska and lived in the wild (until he stopped living in the wild, I don't wish for that part.) But, damn, I like air conditioning, I like the internet, and I hate sleeping on the ground. Worst of all, I really hate the woods at night! <* cringes and prepares for the verbal lashings...>
I was raised in the downtown area of Cleveland. I didn't get my first taste of true nature until I was in my 20's. I sort of got hooked on it, but by then some habits just weren't going away. And being able to "see" everything going on around me was one of them.
I'm not afraid of the dark itself. It's more a comfort issue for me. I remember back when I was an undergrad and I took a year of ASL (sign language) and the professor used to talk about how hard it was for the hearing impaired to deal with simple things, like walking down the street because you couldn't hear if a car was coming or if someone was walking up behind you. And, while I could empathize with those plights, I couldn't help but selfishly think to myself, "That sucks, but I'd rather lose my hearing than my eyesight, any day of the week." Perhaps it has to do with the way I grew up and my lifestyle - being a skinny white kid raised in the downtown projects of Cleveland sort made me a very paranoid minority (but that's a whole different discussion.)
Anyway, hiking the AT has been a dream of mine since I first read about it as teenager. I don't remember what I read, but after the first time it was mentioned in the story-line of some book or something, it seemed to pop up a few more times in print or on television, etc. But I do remember when I finally decided I wanted to know more about it, and I made my way to the library and was directed to some shelf where I found this big ol' book (remember those huge book sets Time-Life used to put out on various topics?) and started getting addicted right then and there. The appeal for me at that time was more about solitude, safety, and the fact that kids on my school bus wouldn't step foot near such a place, if they could even find it. So, I spent some years reading and imagining and dreaming. And somewhere in life, as things became safer and more stable, the obsession quietly faded away.
Jump ahead about 20 years to 2004. I was sort of immobilized and confined for a bit during a medical procedure and recovery period. I asked friends and family for magazines and books based on outdoors or adventure topics so that I could at least get my mind free for awhile. And in a copy of Backpacker magazine I read an article about great weekend trips or something like that (an article I have searched for ever since to no avail) in which I read about some interesting places to visit. But one location in particular stood out to me because of its proximate location to something special.
In that article, one of the locations mentioned was the areas of Hazel Creek and Proctor - areas abandoned so that the gub'ment could build a big ol' dam in there (thus flooding out nearby towns.) There were maps of the area, and pictures of Fontana Dam, as well as pictures of the ghost town remains of Proctor. The article mentioned that the best way to get to Proctor was via canoe or boat across the lake. (I've since found other ways.) And, because of my limited mobility at the time all I could think about night and day was hiking and exploring through this area. So, I swore someday I would go visit this location in the middle of nowhere. (I've tried every thing possible short of contacting the magazine to find a copy, or even mention of that damn article, anywhere online or off and I've recently begun to wonder if I didn't just imagine the whole damn thing - excepting the fact that Proctor really does exist, or did at one time.)
Now, fast forward to the year 2007. I just randomly stumble across a video on Amazon or NetFlix or whatever, about hiking the Appalachian Trail. It was anything great, a documentary called, "2,000 Miles to Maine." But it opened the floodgates, and renewed the obsession stronger than anything else in history. I've spent the last 8-years hoping, planning, and dreaming. Reading all the books, watching all the videos, reading all the journals, etc., etc. - and yes, terrifically lost in the romance of hiking, adventure, and trail culture.
A few months ago, my business venture started doing that southbound trend on me again that it seems to do over the Spring and Summer months. I began talking with the wife about me finding a job somewhere instead of dealing with another year of ups and downs. It would require a pretty big mental adjustment to go work for someone else right now (or worse, some corporation - yikes!)
That's about the time she told me that if I was going to be making some major life-changing decisions, maybe I should consider finally hitting the trail while all the stars were perfectly aligned for just such an adventure. (Neither of us knew that damn movie was coming out when we discussed this.)
It sounded perfect! I spent a week or so finding every passing moment interrupted by imaginative thoughts of the great hike and the adventures and the freedom and relaxation and... Yeah, I was as romance-stricken as someone could get. But the romance started to ebb after that first week when we found ourselves out for one of our little stealth camping trips that we venture out on occasionally. While using a cat-hole and swatting industrial-sized mosquitoes, I found myself realizing that I just volunteered for six months of this kind of fun.
Upon returning home the next day, my thru-hiking ambitions were fading fast. I began reading some more journals and watching more trail videos on YouTube with a wary eye - taking more notice of the lesser joys of the long-term experience. Somehow I had, to date, deluded myself in to not even noticing some of the more unappealing aspects of this journey. I pretty much only seen the Hollywood aspects of a true long-distance hike. (To me, "long-distance hike" used to mean when we went out and knocked down around 20 miles in day, but that view of mine has changed drastically over the last few months.)
So, after 40 some years, hear I sit. Soft, lazy, and complacent. I'm not lazy in the typical sense, we get outside at every opportunity. But I feel lazy compared to how I felt 20 years ago, and even more so when the dread creeps in as I think about hiking everyday for months on end. And I feel soft. When I'm carving a camp mallet with a hatchet or using a bow drill to start a fire I feel pretty cocky - but then when I read Thoreau or (especially) watch videos about Richard Proenneke or Heimo Korth I just end up feeling like a paper bag full of shaving cream.
I've had a long and very interesting life up until now. But at some point, thoughts of adventure seemed to be replaced by analysis of possible consequences. (Is that called "getting old"? If so, some of you are far younger than me!) I don't really want to volunteer for hardship. I don't really want to challenge myself anymore. And I find myself deeply ashamed of those facts.
Which is why I have to get out of my comfort zone and go take a very long walk. Actually, there's more reasons than those, but the above reasons have become very powerful motivators to get my ass in gear.
As hard as a long-distance hike might be physically (and even more so mentally) it still has some appeal. I'm far over romanticizing the trail or a LD hike. As matter of fact, every time some doubt creeps in to my head now, I have to stop and remind myself that every minor indication of not wanting to do it is a major indication of why I NEED to do it.
*
For once I'd just like to hear myself say, "Great job, self! Why don't you just take the day off."
For once I'd just like to hear myself say, "Great job, self! Why don't you just take the day off."