Final Summary of 2023 AT Hike

If you’ve read any of my previous posts during this hike, it’s probably obvious that I don’t spend much time polishing and editing content. I greatly admire hikers with the time and energy during a long thru-hike to document detailed, pithy observations complete with stunning photos and expertly edited videos, but my stuff tends toward the simple and unadorned. That’s mostly because I do this simply to capture a few memories during the journey and provide anyone else that’s interested a chance to follow along with my progress. I’m usually exhausted during my hikes and struggle to muster the energy for even the most basic chores like brushing my teeth and researching upcoming resupply and water source locations.

Having said that, the final post of a hike is always a bit different. I’m usually back at home, rested and have time on my hands. Also, I’m working from my computer instead of a tiny cell phone keyboard and feel an urge to try and sum up what I think I’ve learned along the way and comment on how this particular hike was different from others. It tends to be the only post of a hike where I actively try to anticipate and address questions others may have about the journey.

To recap a bit, this was my fourth completed long distance hike and my second time walking the Applachian Trail. The single most common question I’ve been asked this time around was which of the “triple crown” trails (AT, CDT, PCT) I have enjoyed the most. Along those same lines, I’m often asked which I’ve found the most difficult, and since the AT has been my only repeat so far, whether I think hiking Northbound (2023) or Southbound (2015) was more challenging.

Unfortunately, my answers to these questions are not all that relevatory or interesting and fall under that boring headline of “Well, it depends.” As you may anticipate, the three trails are sufficiently different from one other to defy rigid comparisons. I’ve thought about this a lot and honestly don’t think I have a “favorite.” The steepness of climbs and descents on the Appalachian Trail are definitely unmatched by the other two, so in that measure I’ve found the AT the toughest. But then in other considerations such as remoteness of the trail heads, the presence of shelters and priivys, the distance of food and water carries, the relative difficulty of resupply, the availability of hiker hostels, exposure to the elements, opportunities for trail magic and so on, the AT is quite a bit easier than the other two.

What I have a bit more to say about is what I’ve learned along the way. One thing that definitely caught me by surprise this time around was that I finished the hike two full months faster than it took me to complete it back in 2015. I’m not sure why it never occured to me before, but looking back now I realize that even an activity as routine as walking can be significantly improved upon with constant practice. The “practice makes perfect” reality has always been obvious to me for things like learning a language, a musical instrument, mastering a complicated domain of knowledge, etc., but I guess up until now I’d always assumed that since walking is something I’ve done since before I can remember that one’s skill level of putting one foot in front of another wasn’t something that would improve over time. But it definitely has. It turns out that the act of dodging rocks, roots and mud while maintaining a steady pace, the ability to walk long hours with only minimal breaks, the skills associated with climbing and descending comfortably and the management of wear and tear on feet, ankles, knees, back and so on have all continued to improve as the miles have piled up.

Another significant observation during this particular hike was how much I enjoyed the experience of going Northbound, for several reasons. All three trails have similar profiles in terms of the direction most people hike in: the vast majority thru-hikers walk from south to north (NOBO) compared to the small percentage that choose to go the opposite way (SOBO). My initial triple crown hikes (AT-2015, CDT-2019, PCT-2021/2022) had all been SOBO and therefore- due primarily to waiting for much of the northern snow to melt off- all started around the end of June or early July. Notably, this means beginning the hike after the summer solstice. But by contrast, my NOBO journey in 2023 began in the last week of March, meaning that I benefited from the subtle pyschological advantage of hiking for the first few months knowing that each morning when I awoke the day would provide a bit more daylight than the day before. It was my first experience of hiking without the feeling of “racing against the clock” that I’d been accustomed to going SOBO when each day would be slightly shorter than the previous.

Another surprise was how much I enjoyed being around so many other hikers. As a northbounder this year, nearly every night when I set up my tent I was camping among a large number of other hikers. By contrast, as a SOBO I only experienced that for a few brief weeks as I passed through the “bubble” of hikers moving in the opposite direction. Toward the end of the hike this year I did start getting a bit annoyed by the reality that I was rarely alone in the woods, but for most of the hike I enjoyed meeting so many new people and though not formally part of a specific “trail family” of hikers that I walked with throughout the trail, I ended up feeling quite close to dozens of hikers and made more good acquaintances than any of my previous hikes.

And then there’s the trail magic! During my previous hikes as a SOBO, the most I ever saw of trail magic was an occasional cooler left in the woods with perhaps a soda or two the NOBOs hadn’t managed to drink. But this year as a NOBO, I was treated to many fully prepared meals with fresh fruit, salads, grilled burgers, chicken, hotdogs, and even people with car trunks open full of complete resupply provisions free for the taking. Some of the gracious trail angels who provided such (like the incredible ‘Sir Stops A Lot’) even spend weeks or months gradually travelling northward following various groups of hikers, setting up elaborate grill stations every 30 or 40 miles! That probably explains why I lost less weight during this hike than I’d ever lost before, ha!

And now, a couple of more personal and individual lessons. When I set off on my first thru hike eight years ago, I was certain it would be a once-in-a-lifetime type journey that I never expected to repeat. I had never heard of the “triple crown” and had no interest in hiking any other trail. Furthermore, I was dead set against ever hiking the AT again as I found that first hike so difficult. Eight years later and with nearly 10,000 miles of long distance hiking now under my belt, I don’t see any particular end in sight beyond the limitations imposed by aging. Not only has my interest not faded, it has grown stronger and more whole-hearted than I had ever anticipated. I can’t say for sure whether I’ll undertake another thru-hike in the future, but if I don’t it won’t be due to lack of interest. It has become a primary passion- nearly an obsession- and despite a couple of dangerous incidents I’ve experienced along the way I feel more energized and excited by the physical and mental benefits of long distance thru-hiking than ever before.

I’d also like to comment again on my earlier post “The 10 Seconds.” It’s hard to say this without sounding overly dramatic, but it was the closest brush I’ve had with death during a hike. I’ve often commented over the years on the incredible, positive feeling of smallness one develops while walking alone among mountains, forests, lakes and rivers. It’s always felt reassuring to me to be so acutely aware of my own insignificance, that feeling of utter relief to know that my shoulders cannot possibly bear the weight of the world or the grandness it contains, and therefore that such cannot be expected of me. This year I discovered a close corollary to this idea, that the natural world- in all it’s expansiveness and grandeur and sublimity- has absolutely no regard for me whatsoever. The land, the flora and fauna, the weather, the universal powers-that-be were all here before me and will remain long after I return to dust. While I still feel a degree of comfort in that idea, its now newly tempered with the sobering reality that I’m nothing more than a leaf or twig that can be carried downstream in an instant without so much as a reaction, regret or even acknowledgement from the natural world. I’m pretty sure I’ll never see the wilderness in quite the same light again. Nature is both a source of deep inspiration and beauty as well as a heartless, unfeeling adversary. I suppose this represents a kind of growth but it also feels like a loss of innocence.

Turning the page from that more sobering note, I feel nothing now but a sense of deep gratitude for the successful completion of another thru-hike. To those that followed along, thank you again, sincerely, for listening-in, for your support, encouragement, comments, thoughts and prayers. I still can’t believe I’ve been fortunate enough to do these hikes and come home in one piece and I hope you’ll be there again with me if/when there’s a next one.

I don’t know every hiker in the above gallery of pictures from Shaw’s, but I know some in every photo.

Finally, Wendy and I have always preferred to keep our feelings for each other private, but its also important to me that others know how incredibly generous and encouraging she’s been over the years and how grateful I am for a wife, partner and friend who understands me better than any other person. There’s simply no way I could do any of this without her support and while the filth, stench, mud, bugs and so on are not her cup of tea, she’s been there walking every step of every hike with me.

With love and best wishes to you all for a fantastic conclusion to 2023, your hiking friend, Maxheap.

P.S. As always, feel free to check out the new videos uploaded to my Youtube channel (#153-173).