I saw this bingo card the other day for thru hikers. It's funny because it's true. It's not like the weather, when you talk about a long hike there is almost zero potential common ground and most folks will vacillate between disbelief and an uninformed attempt at humor.
But then there are those that want to know the "Why?" of it. Why do you want to hike thousands of miles? What possible motive could you have for doing something like this given modernity's many comforts and conveniences. It all sounds so uncomfortable, sticky, sweaty, dirty, and painful.
And truth be told, hiking long distances is all of those unpleasant things and there are times on a long hike that you'll seriously question why you're doing what you're doing given these plentiful challenges. Yet, some select few of us still brave these chronic problems every year.
Which is why I think it's important to know your "Why?" before you tackle something like this.
Personal History
When I was fourteen my Dad handed me his well read copy of Colin Fletcher's "The 1000-mile Summer." He probably did this because I've always been a slow reader and he was looking for something, novel length, that might light my fire.
It did, this was one of the first novel length books I ever finished and then went and re-read. Also my first exposure to both the concept of long-distance hiking and to the early concept of the Pacific Crest Trail. (Fletcher made his pilgrimage in 1958 and the PCT wasn't a connected route until 1977).
I gobbled up this book as quick as I was able and in doing research on his route for a book report at my local library I also discovered the existence of the trail (this would have been about 1986, some nine years after the PCT's official route completion). Much of what I read back then came from magazines and local news papers. Often fluff pieces like "Local Dude Hikes Stupid Long-Trail." In these articles the journalist would often ask questions from the aforementioned bingo card.
The following summer I got my first real taste of living outdoors for an extended period of time when I volunteered with the Student Conservation Association to work on a segment of the then still-being-constructed Colorado Trail. (Thanks Mom!).
Armed with a huge backpack, a sleeping bag, and boots which weighed an appreciable fraction of my body-weight I spent the first two months of that summer cutting trail and learning. And we, me and the other students, learned it all. Everything from how to use a cross-cut saw to construct complicated rock-work from local resources. I lived just inside the San Juan Wilderness, south and west of Silverton, Colorado slowly creeping down a series of survey stakes with a Pulaski and a rock bar in hand.
When our volunteer work was done we took a ten day backpacking trip together which concluded at the foot of Engineer Pass and then got trucked back down to Durango, CO. On that ride I recall thinking that I didn't want it to end.
This book and that summer awakened a passion in me for doing something. I don't think I realized how special this milestone was in my life at that time, but when I look back on it now it's clearly marked on the map of my life.
Learning What I Like
As any functioning adult can tell you, there is an absolute buttload of things we feel compelled to do. Pay your bills to keep the lights on and water flowing. Do your taxes to avoid jail time. Take the trash out to avoid becoming a filthy troglodyte. Play video games or watch TV to stave off boredom. We serve the system, not the other way around. As I've aged I've realized that I do almost nothing in my life that I like doing. Well, almost nothing.
I like being with my family, and I love being with my wife. I miss these people when I'm not around them. So I'm passionate about that aspect of my life. I do my best to make sure they're taken care of ostensibly so they can be there to care for me when I need it.
In 2021 and 2022, in the depths of a chronic health crisis I got back into hiking ... a lot! At one point I even drew a SOBO permit and was intending to hike from Canada to California (about 1000 miles Colin), but life had other things in store for me.
When your trajectory changes, I've learned to accept these inflection points with grace. Or at any rate, with as much grace as I can muster in the moment. There were a lot of wonderful things about living in France. I've liked my time in Vermont well enough. However, what I miss, what I want to reclaim for myself, are moments mostly along the Crest that I once enjoyed.
Wilderness represents a kind of personal freedom which is exceptionally rare in my experience. Each step can be a meditation and an act of intentional personal growth while still satisfying my particular personal itch. It is me making a better me.
"Family and this," those are the things I want to tell the curious when I'm old and can't do this sort of thing any longer. I will sit and soak in these memoires and be the kind of person they like being around.
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