Appalachian Trail

West Virginia to Maine from June 9-August 29

By Miyoko Fulleringer (aka Sunflower)

“Do your best, zero expectations, you’re not here to prove anything, the journey of 1,167 miles begins with a single step.” For me, the scariest part of any challenge is getting to the starting line. Whenever the self-doubt crept in as I booked my tickets, quit my job, explained to my friends and family where I was headed, I repeated those words and it helped to quiet the fears.

On June 9, I sat alone on the one-hour train ride from Washington, DC to Harpers Ferry, W.Va., all my nervous energy being poured into doodling in my journal. I had bought the new pack, dehydrated 60+ meals and shipped them off to various post offices and hostels along the way, my first Guthook Guides map was downloaded. It was almost anticlimactic when I got off the train, tied my shoes, and started walking; it was already after 6:30pm so I headed straight out and over the bridge into Maryland (my second state already!) so I could make the first shelter before dark.

I started this trail solo, but you are never really alone on the Appalachian Trail. Thousands of hikers attempt to thru-hike the trail each year and numerous road crossings bring out day hikers, section hikers and trail angels. Shelters, mountain views, hostels and restaurants in towns, and water sources all become reunions and meeting points as hikers pause to rest and reenergize. Through most of Maryland and Pennsylvania, as I got my trail legs, I kept my own pace, which meant hiking mostly alone.

I had no daily plan, just an approximate idea of my next resupply and/or where I had shipped my next box. In everyday life, I tend to overthink, overanalyze, overplan. On the trail I learned that the best moments come from going with the flow, listening to your body, taking a longer break to chat with another hiker, or pushing on to town because you’re craving pizza and ice cream. 

Trail Families and the “Impermanence of the Trail” – About 80 miles from the Pennsylvania-New Jersey border, I met Raisin. We hiked together for a day and a half, I talked him into stopping early at a shelter near a road where a local restaurant will deliver pizza, but the next day he hiked on to town and I set up camp to avoid a steep descent in the forecasted rain. Another hiker once said as we parted ways, “Well, the trail is linear, so maybe I’ll see you farther up... or maybe I’ll never see you again” – while the statement is vague to the point of being meaningless, it is also very true. I ended up seeing Raisin twice more before we started hiking together; then we caught up with Buddha and the three of us hiked through New Jersey, New York, and most of Connecticut together before I got off trail for a few days.

When you share the highs and lows of a challenge like this, the connections are meaningful and develop into strong friendships faster than most. But you also learn to accept that you have to “hike your own hike” and sometimes they are fleeting, especially if paces and schedules are different, or you don’t think to take someone’s contact information.

When I got back on the trail, I crossed paths with two sets of women, BugBite and Sunrise, and OneTrack and Nonstop, in Connecticut and Massachusetts. When I saw them again in Vermont, they were hiking together and I made a plan to meet up with them at a shelter. From there, our trail family, the “Angry Women,” was born. For over 500 miles, from Vermont all the way to Mount Katahdin (the northern terminus of the 2,189-mile Appalachian Trail), we bonded over sore feet, bad trail food, and, of course, our playlist of songs by angry women that motivated us up and down the rugged trails of New Hampshire and Maine. While I loved hiking with my guy friends, I am so grateful to have met and hiked with these four women. Their strength, support, and the thought-provoking conversations I had with them added a dimension to my hike that I had not expected.

The most surprising, however, and humbling, were the pure selflessness and generosity of the trail angels. These are members of the AT community who may have thru-hiked or section hiked in the past, or know someone who is hiking, or locals. They set up coolers, barbecues, host hikers, or just drive by to see if there is anyone in need. The boundless generosity and kindness I was shown has left an indelible mark and I will forever be grateful to each person who helped me along the way, and even to those I never met, because they are what make the Appalachian Trail so special.

I could not have done it without the trail angels. The section hiker who insisted on buying me ice cream because “It was the least he could do;” the day hiker who gave me a lighter to save me a mile walk into town; the countless smiling faces offering food and rides at road crossings; and Water Queen (NOBO ‘20) whose cheerful disposition and encouragement as she offered you food from her bottomless fridge brought joy to every hiker who met her.

It’s Not All Laughter and Views... – Starting out, I knew this was going to be a physical challenge, but that’s really only one small aspect. After around 500 miles, barring any serious injury, I knew that my body was physically capable. During those three months, I had poison ivy, Achilles tendonitis in both feet, pack rash, pain from a sprained ankle years ago, plantar fasciitis. Everyone suffered from some kind of ailment at one point or another, a lot of them similar to mine. For me, that part was manageable.

It was the fatigue that slowly grew every day as my body walked marathons fueled by junk food and amplified by nights on a tiny air mattress. Or the heat wave through the Mid-Atlantic states where temperatures reached 95°F by 10am. Followed by record high rainfall and tropical storms in Massachusetts and Vermont, which meant packing up wet gear each morning and trudging through ankle-deep water for three weeks. And, of course, the boredom. Sometimes you don’t sink into that meditative flow state where the miles float by, sometimes you’re just counting down the miles to camp, hyper aware of the sweat dripping down your forehead and the pain in your feet, hearing, but not enjoying, the same downloaded songs playing through your headphones.

...But That’s What Makes It Worthwhile – There is no tangible reward for completing this, no party or trophy. You’re not even done hiking at the end; you’re standing on the top of a mountain in a remote state park nestled in the north Maine wilderness. There are so many reasons to quit, and yet 99% of the time, there was no place I would have rather been. Even on days when I was feeling slow or tired, there would be a moment that reminded me how grateful I was to be out there doing what I loved: I’d arrive at a stream and find my friend waiting around for me to catch up; or once, walking across an interstate overpass in a downpour and looking down on people sitting in traffic; or on a steep descent when my joints were screaming. I thought about how far I had come and how proud I should be.

Hiking 1,167 miles on the Appalachian Trail showed me that I can do hard stuff and it’s given me the self-confidence to try more. It taught me balance, learning to recognize when I am rising to a challenge, and when to slow down because I am pushing myself beyond my limit. Hours of reflection helped me look back on difficult times, find meaning in them, and an appreciation for what they brought me. I am more cognizant and grateful for the conveniences we so often take for granted in the real world (like faucets). I am overwhelmed and inspired by the people I met and their extraordinary strength, generosity and kindness.

STATS: 1,167 miles, 81 days (including eight zero days), three pairs of shoes, five pairs of socks, 65 dehydrated meals, two broken pole tips. 

Will I hike the southern half? I’m not sure yet, I would love to if time and money permit. To paraphrase French alpinist, Maurice Herzog, there are other mountains in the lives of women.

Non-Comprehensive Glossary of Thru-Hiking Terms

White blazes – The AT is marked by white blazes all the way from Georgia to Maine, purists will not skip a single one.

LASH – Long a$$ section hike.

NOBO – Northbound, typically refers to thru-hikers who start at Springer Mountain in the Blue Ridge Mountains in northern Georgia, and end on Katahdin, as opposed to SOBO, southbound.

Trail name – Usually a fun or silly name given to you by fellow hikers, although some people choose one themselves, that you go by while on trail, as opposed to your “government name.” Examples include: Nonstop (who never gets tired), Raisin (who often neglected to drink water), and Firelace (who had an unfortunate incident involving trying to dry his shoes over a fire).

Trail angel – An amazing person who offers you help in the form of food, transportation, gear, or any random act of kindness

Tramily (trail family) – A group of thru-hikers who hike together, often meeting and becoming friends while on the trail.

Zero day – Doing 0 miles, often done in town so you can sleep in a bed two nights in a row, and enjoy unlimited access to food.

Nero day – Hiking short miles, usually done into or out of town so you can spend half the day relaxing, eating and doing chores.

Miyoko Fulleringer (miyoko.fulleringer@gmail.com) was born and raised in Montreal, Quebec, and formerly lived in Saratoga Springs. She has explored hundreds of miles of trails in the Northeast, including the Adirondacks (ADK 46r #8226) and the Long Trail in Vermont (NOBO ‘20).