That my adventure is coming to an end. I felt like I was able; I believed my knee was ready despite reservations; but after several days of pounding descents, I know that I simply will not continue at a pace and a level I am comfortable with. Good folks of the Blogosphere, my Appalachian Trail days of 2011 are over. My hike will not be continuing.
I was back to the Trail last week, and headed out with an eagerness that I have never felt. I was going mad internally, wanting to return to something that gave me focus and purpose. After all, this was the only plan I had. I carried a 'do-or-die' feeling deep inside, and so when I set foot on the Trail in central Virginia a calm settled over me.
That calm, however, did not last long. Uphill climbs were tough, and I missed my trail legs immensely. The heat was overwhelming to me at times; I had just stepped into a scenario that was far different than the one I had left at the Smokies. However, despite the toll I took climbing hills, I knew I would get stronger and more acclimated. The downhills, on the other hand, were brutal. Not on the lungs, or the legs necessarily, but the knees. The left one, in particular. It did not take long to realize that I was in for a steady dose of pain with every hill I walked down. And, you know....damndest thing about climbing a mountain....seems like every time you get to the top of one, you have to walk right down the other side. Weird.....
The day reality started setting in was when I came down Bluff Mountain at dusk. It was a rocky mile and a half, some parts with a pretty steep grade, with multiple switchbacks that zig-zagged you all the way down to the valley below. The hike itself was gorgeous, and full of wildlife--in fact, in about three miles of trail, I saw the largest buck I'd ever seen, a large doe and a fawn, a fox, and a black bear; the first black bear of my trip, my first ever in the wild, and I stood about 100ft from him without him ever knowing I was there. When I made my presence known so as not to startle him, he gave me an awnry, guttural snort and shot up a tree like he was a house cat. It was inspiring, and frightening, and exhilarating.
However beautiful the scenery was, I cannot say the same for my condition after the descent from the summit. Uneven footing led to a lot of stumbling and fumbling for stable walking position. Twisting and turning and jolting of my legs and knees grew with every five yards. Large steps cut into the trail felt like mild jumps where nothing was to catch me but my joints. I got about a quarter-mile from shelter when a light sprinkle set in, and I dropped my bag in the middle of the path and sprawled out on top of it for about fifteen minutes. I began to truly face the reality of my condition versus the impending conditions of the rest of my journey. I mean, this is no isolated incident in the middle of nowhere; it ain't like you only come across a rocky patch once every month or something, nor do you encounter steep climbs down only rarely. I gathered myself, made it to camp, pitched my tent, and had a soul-searching night listening to a summer rain move in and out. On a brighter note, the site I stayed at is reputedly haunted, so I had hopes of an encounter....I'll save that story for a later date.
The next day I pressed on, amid the bugs and humidity. I faced another long stretch of downhill about 6 miles into my day, and that proved to be the final sign. I made it into camp with a slight limp, indicative of the problems that set in once before. I told myself that night that the next morning was decision time-- either I can go on for greater distance or I can't, and before I get farther and farther in I have to reckon which is most likely to be true. When I awoke the next day, along a picturesque creek in a storybook setting, I took one step on my swollen knee and knew the truth.
I must admit, I had a bit of a personal breakdown at that moment. Not solely because I felt defeated in some ways, which I did, but more so because this meant I no longer had a plan. I had no plan to get out, I had no plan to return to society, I had no plan to move forward in anything else at the moment. But, there I was; whatever plans I had previously laying before me, no longer viable options for my future. So, I lied down in them for just a moment and grieved. I read somewhere--I believe the words coming from Ghandi-- that one "Should not wallow in self-pity; however, it's okay to dabble your feet in it for a little while." So, that's what I did. I dabbled in a moment of sadness and fear and pity. Then, I made my morning coffee, and started thinking about my new future, and what that would entail. I hiked my way to US Hwy 60, started walking westward, caught a hitch from two nice gentlemen in a pickup, and found myself fifteen minutes later in Lexington, VA. About 34hrs later, I was back in Alabama surrounded by family.
When I returned home in May to see a doctor, I began to realize quickly how much I missed my family. I felt I had been absent from the lives of so many people that meant a great deal to me. Little nieces and nephews getting older with every day would think of me as a passing memory, I feared. Friends that I care deeply for would consider me more of an acquaintance. So, I said to myself then that I would not let any of that happen. I would not let where I am or what I'm doing hamper my chances to stay close to those that mean the world to me. One thing that I carry from the Trail is a renewed sense of faith in people, and the importance of surrounding oneself with those that bolster the spirit and work toward common good. I met a multitude of people in the woods that I probably would never have approached in daily life. I befriended truck drivers, war vets, pre-med students, union laborers, musicians, retired doctors, psychologists, chefs, and many more. I felt privileged to have come in contact with such high-caliber people...I'm just a vagabond at this point, with no real direction, and I am thankful that people with such focus and character considered me an equal.
So, the next phase of my journey begins now. This one is a bit more vague, but it is a journey nonetheless. I feel I will find myself in Alabama for a bit, at least long enough to secure transportation and bolster my economic security. Then, Cincinnati beckons me, for that's where all my belongings are waiting and a host of great people as well. Two of my most wonderful friends are joining their lives this September, so at the latest the Queen City will see me then. No matter where it is, I will be reaching out to those that I care for; I will be cherishing my time with family; I will let those I love more than anything know so, and plan for a future that allows me to spend more and more time with them. I do still have stories to tell, so I'll be posting those here, rounding out the little adventure I've had over the last two months.
So, stick around. There's more to tell....I'll be in touch.
~Whispering Beard
AT Section hiker, 2011-?
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