My stomach was in knots and my eyes welled up with tears. Here I was, standing in front of the arch at Amicalola Falls State Park in Georgia, about to embark on my 2,193.1 mile journey along the Appalachian Trail (AT) to Maine. I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up. Thankfully, I didn’t.
Four months earlier, I was sitting on the couch with my now husband, toasty warm in front of our wood stove. I remember turning to him, saying, “What would you think if I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail next year?” His immediate response was, “I think you should do it!”
Having recently finished a summer section hike of the 273-mile Long Trail in Vermont, I was ready to take on a new challenge. I’ve been hiking and backpacking since I was 15, but never truly pushed myself physically. I’m a 5’2″ woman with wide hips and short legs. I’ve only ever played one sport and I don’t have the body type that screams athlete. I’m easy to underestimate.
No pain, no rain, no Maine
For months, I obsessed over gear, looked at maps and joined every Facebook group I could find. I packed and repacked. It didn’t matter that I had been hiking and backpacking since I was a kid. I questioned every piece of my gear over and over. To this day, I appreciate all the people in my life who put up with my nonstop Appalachian Trail talk. There’s a phrase NOBO (northbound) hikers use on the AT, “No pain, no rain, no Maine.” I learned this firsthand on Day 4, when it started raining an hour into my day. My weather app said it was going to rain, but I didn’t know a large storm was coming my way, bringing high winds, heavy rain, and lots of thunder and lightning.
After some consistent, but mild rain, there was a break around mid-day, so my friend Hatter (most thru-hikers take on trail names during their hike; mine is Pikachu!) and I stopped for a quick lunch. That’s when I met my Trail Sister, Hoagie. She’s the kind of person with a chill you can’t explain. Even when things suck, she’s super calm. I will never be that person. We discovered that we were all headed to the same shelter that night because the tent site we planned to go to was at a lower elevation and sure to be flooded. While shoving a handful of crackers in my mouth, the sky opened up with heavy rain that hurt when it hit me. We packed up and started walking at our own paces, knowing we’d meet at the shelter later.
It rained so hard that my jacket soaked through and my hands pruned up. I could hear thunder rumbling in the distance for hours as I hiked, getting closer and closer. After a while, I was so miserable I was talking to myself out loud, “Just a little further to go,” I’d repeat again and again. Then I got this weird tingling sensation, and CRACK, a lightning bolt struck a tree 100 feet from me. I burst into tears and started hiking even faster.
Mentally and physically exhausted
I cried, and I cried, and finally, I came across the side trail leading to the shelter. I was in the home stretch. Or was I? Every step I took was heavy, as my shoes were waterlogged. No matter how fast I thought I was walking, it didn’t seem like I wasn’t getting anywhere. At one point, I stopped and screamed, “Where is the shelter?”
I was mentally and physically exhausted. When I finally saw it, all the weight of the day melted away. I was greeted with hugs and smiles by hikers I knew and some I was meeting for the first time. I saw Hatter and he pointed to the corner of the packed shelter and said, “That’s the ladies’ changing room.” All I could do was laugh. And I’ll be honest, you lose all modesty when you’re wet and cold. Taking off your clothes in front of strangers isn’t weird anymore.
The power of the trail community
Once I was in dry clothes, we started hanging rain flys to try to prevent the rain, which was blowing sideways, from entering the shelter. A bunch of us had water boiling for hot drinks. I gave out hand warmers. The rain soaked through one girl’s backpack and her sleeping bag was useless. One hiker gave her a jacket because he had an extra. We didn’t know each other, but we had each other’s backs. It was the first time I experienced the power of the trail community along the AT.
Reflecting on that day, I realize it changed everything about my AT thru hike. That day, I discovered the experience was more than the hike itself. It’s about embracing the elements, no matter what Mother Nature throws at you. It’s about having a restored faith in humanity and trusting in the community around you. And most importantly to me, it’s about knowing that when things are most challenging, I’m mentally strong enough to persevere.
Not a day goes by
There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t miss the freedom and community of the trail. When I started off on the Appalachian Trail, I thought it would be a one and done experience for me. By the time I summited Mount Katahdin, 188 days after I stepped through that arch in Georgia, I knew I had found my true self. Since then, I’ve made long-distance hiking a regular part of my life, completing the Ocean to Lake Trail (in Florida) and the Liechtenstein Trail (in Europe), to name a few. In 2025, I’ll set out on the Continental Divide Trail with the goal of walking from Mexico to Canada. I’m excited to see what else Mother Nature has in store for me and who I’ll meet along the way.
This article on the Appalachian Trail by Retha Charette was originally published in Girl Camper Magazine.
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