Appalachian Trail Hiker Quotes

Distance changes utterly when you take the world on foot. A mile becomes a long way, two miles literally considerable, ten miles whopping, fifty miles at the very limits of conception. The world, you realize, is enormous in a way that only you and a small community of fellow hikers know. Planetary scale is your little secret. Life takes on a neat simplicity, too. Time ceases to have any meaning. When it is dark, you go to bed, and when it is light again you get up, and everything in between is just in between. It’s quite wonderful, really. You have no engagements, commitments, obligations, or duties; no special ambitions and only the smallest, least complicated of wants; you exist in a tranquil tedium, serenely beyond the reach of exasperation, “far removed from the seats of strife,” as the early explorer and botanist William Bartram put it. All that is required of you is a willingness to trudge. There is no point in hurrying because you are not actually going anywhere. However far or long you plod, you are always in the same place: in the woods. It’s where you were yesterday, where you will be tomorrow. The woods is one boundless singularity. Every bend in the path presents a prospect indistinguishable from every other, every glimpse into the trees the same tangled mass. For all you know, your route could describe a very large, pointless circle. In a way, it would hardly matter. At times, you become almost certain that you slabbed this hillside three days ago, crossed this stream yesterday, clambered over this fallen tree at least twice today already. But most of the time you don’t think. No point. Instead, you exist in a kind of mobile Zen mode, your brain like a balloon tethered with string, accompanying but not actually part of the body below. Walking for hours and miles becomes as automatic, as unremarkable, as breathing. At the end of the day you don’t think, “Hey, I did sixteen miles today,” any more than you think, “Hey, I took eight-thousand breaths today.” It’s just what you do.

A significant fraction of thru-hikers reach Katahdin, then turn around and start back to Georgia. They just can't stop walking, which kind of makes you wonder.

To tell you the truth, I'm amazed we've come this far," he said, and I agreed. We had hiked 500 miles, a million and a quarter steps, since setting off from Amicalola. We had grounds to be proud. We were real hikers now. We had shit in the woods and slept with bears. We had become, we would forever be, mountain men.

The woods were full of peril—rattlesnakes and water moccasins and nests of copperheads; bobcats, bears, coyotes, wolves, and wild boar; loony hillbillies destabilized by gross quantities of impure corn liquor and generations of profoundly unbiblical sex; rabies-crazed skunks, raccoons, and squirrels; merciless fire ants and ravening blackfly; poison ivy, poison sumac, poison oak, and poison salamanders; even a scattering of moose lethally deranged by a parasitic worm that burrows a nest in their brains and befuddles them into chasing hapless hikers through remote, sunny meadows and into glacial lakes.

In later days, I would always tell south bound hikers not to miss out on the Holy Cow Burger at Bob’s Dairyland in Roan Mountain, Tennessee.

There really is no correct way to hike the trail, and anyone who insists that there is ought not to worry so much about other people's experiences. Hikers need to hike the trail that's right for them...

The unwritten rule for hikers is to take one of whatever is provided. If there is a large selection or quantity, then you might take one of each or one of a couple things, then move on. You have to be considerate of the people hiking behind you that haven’t arrived yet and give them a chance to get in on the magic whenever they get there. 

When this sort of thing happens (and about a dozen people a year are injured, usually at picnic sites, usually by doing something dumb) or when a bear becomes persistent or aggressive, park rangers shoot it with a tranquilizer dart, truss it up, take it into the depths of the backcountry, far from roads and picnic sites, and let it loose. Of course by now the bear has become thoroughly habituated both to human beings and to their food. And who will they find to take food from out in the back country? Why, from me and Katz, of course, and others like us. The annals of Appalachian Trail hikes are full of tales of hikers being mugged by bears in the back country of the Smokies.

I'm not sure who started it, but we have taken up the habit of signaling our arrival with a woot woot call. When everyone is present, we take a group photo of the Moving Village: Overdrive, Big Foot, Downhill, Soho, Halfway, the Kid, Jolly 3-0, Doc, Trudger, Kevin (now Tower, named for his childlike love of fire towers and his tall frame), and a hiker who has finally accepted his trail name, Mr. Fabulous.

Out there in the woods, there’s no one to impress and no one to judge you. The only people you’ll see are your fellow hikers, and they don’t care what you look like, or what you wear. It’s when you get past this attitude of judging people by their surface appearance that you’re able to genuinely get to know someone on a deeper, more personal level. This is why relationships formed on the trail are so strong. In

All kinds of people have completed thru-hikes. One man hiked it in his eighties. Another did it on crutches. A blind man named Bill Irwin hiked the trail with a seeing-eye dog, falling down an estimated 5,000 times in the process. Probably the most famous, certainly the most written about, of all thru-hikers was Emma "Grandma" Gatewood, who successfully hiked the trail twice in her late sixties despite being eccentric, poorly equipped, and a danger to herself. (She was forever getting lost.)

On this road I found two large coolers and a short note explaining that it was “Trail Magic” left by a thru-hiker who completed the trail in 2012. I opened the first cooler to find that it was full of Gatorade.  It must have been left the day before, because the ice had turned to slush and those babies were as cold as Antarctica! I can say with complete honesty, that the blue Gatorade I consumed at that spot was the single greatest drink of liquid that I’ve ever had in my entire life. Never had a cold drink tasted so good to me before. The positive psychological affect this had on me was unbelievable.

Gumption is the most important thing for a thru-hiker to maintain. Compare rounds of golf, one played while keeping score and one in which you hit a mulligan every time you are unhappy with a shot. In the latter case, being on the golf course loses significance. Rounds that are memorable are the ones that you make count. In a broader context, all rounds of golf are of no consequence, whether score is kept or not. But you are the center of your own universe. You are free to create meaning for yourself. When you attempt to capture the highlights without burdening yourself with the tedium, the highlights lose the foundation that elevates them to the status of “highlight.” Analogies abound because a focused attitude defines the quality of all that we do. In playing a game, dieting, or hiking the AT, you benefit

I finally began loving every last bit of the experience; the good, the bad, and the ugly. The indifference, acceptance, disdain, and hate for all the obstacles and challenges I encountered out there had all but vanished. Now, all that was left was this crazy maniacal love for all of it… the mud, the rocks, the cold, and the terrible weather. I was done trying to ignore or curse them, and instead embraced all of it. I finally realized that it was an attitude such as this that set thru-hikers apart from every other person that couldn’t or wouldn’t complete this adventure. Aristotle said, “Suffering becomes beautiful when anyone bears calamities with cheerfulness, not through insensibility, but through greatness of mind.” That quote pretty much sums up the state of mind that you have to adopt in order to overcome the challenges of the Appalachian Trail.

the morning, I drove to Pennsylvania, thirty miles or so to the north. The Appalachian Trail runs for 230 miles in a northeasterly arc across the state, like the broad end of a slice of pie. I never met a hiker with a good word to say about the trail in Pennsylvania. It is, as someone told a National Geographic reporter in 1987, the place “where boots go to die.” During the last ice age it experienced what geologists call a periglacial climate—a zone at the edge of an ice sheet characterized by frequent freeze—thaw cycles that fractured the rock. The result is mile upon mile of jagged, oddly angled slabs of stone strewn about in wobbly piles known to science as felsenmeer (literally, “sea of rocks”). These require constant attentiveness if you are not to twist an ankle or sprawl on your face—not a pleasant experience with fifty pounds of momentum on your back. Lots of people leave Pennsylvania limping and bruised. The state also has what are reputed to be the meanest

I am reinforced in my belief that walking a continuous path and sticking with the white blazes is the best way for me to hike. My attitude about this is not rigidity for the sake of principle or unfeeling discipline done out of habitual compliance. More at issue is doing things in a way that enables me to sustain purpose and drive. I will do some things on this hike that will make purists cringe. But if I were to blue-blaze away a chunk of trail, or leave miles to be done “later,” then it would be tempting to pare away even more of the trail, eventually concluding that there is no purpose to it. Gumption is the most important thing for a thru-hiker to maintain. Compare rounds of golf, one played while keeping score and one in which you hit a mulligan every time you are unhappy with a shot. In the latter case, being on the golf course loses significance. Rounds that are memorable are the ones that you make count. In a broader context, all rounds of golf are of no consequence, whether score is kept or not. But you are the center of your own universe. You are free to create meaning for yourself.

In consequence, we had shelters to ourselves each night, which was a big treat. You know your life has grown pathetic when you’re thrilled to have a covered wooden platform to call your own, but there you are—we were thrilled. The shelters along this section of trail were mostly new and spanking clean. Several were even provisioned with a broom—a cozy, domestic touch. Moreover, the brooms were used (we used them, and whistled while we did it), proving that if you give an AT hiker an appliance of comfort he will use it responsibly. Each shelter had a nearby privy, a good water source, and a picnic table, so we could prepare and eat our meals in a more or less normal posture instead of squatting on damp logs. All of these are great luxuries on the trail. On the fourth night, just as I was facing the dismal prospect of finishing my only book and thereafter having nothing to do in the evenings but lie in the half light and listen to Katz snore, I was delighted, thrilled, sublimely gratified to find that some earlier user had left a Graham Greene paperback. If there is one thing the AT teaches, it is low-level ecstasy—something we could all do with more of in our lives.

In the end, we are all existential pathfinders: We select among the paths life affords, and then, when those paths no longer work for us, we edit them and innovate as necessary. The tricky part is that while we are editing our trails, our trails are also editing us. I witnessed this phenomenon firsthand on the Appalachian Trail. The trail was modified with each step we hikers took, but ultimately, the trail steered our course. By following it, we streamlined to its conditions: we lost weight, shed possessions, and increased our pace week after week. The same rule applies to our life’s pathways: collectively we shape them, but individually they shape us. So we must choose our paths wisely.

Starting with the Whites, the mountains after a certain height are huge slabs of rock, so you might have trees and vegetation on both sides but the trail itself is just rock. The real challenge though is that they tend to always be wet and I do not do well on wet rocks. I didn’t fall too many times, though this was mostly because my pace slowed so much. I did enjoy some of the whites, though—Mt. Washington, the Wildcats, and Mt Lafayette. For the most part I was not a fan. Along with the tough climbs there were the crowds, the lack of camping options, and the harsh weather above tree line.

I even talked my way into staying at a pay campsite when I was on my own. I asked him if he had a work-for-stay option. The only one he had was for in the morning and they make you do an hour of work. I was not interested in working in the morning when I could be hiking (and catching the group–which, of course, was actually behind me). I told him this and asked him if he knew of any stealth sites further on the trail. It was 7:30 or so at this point and he did what I was hoping he would do and said I could just stay there.

I sat down in a patch of large, perfectly ripe fruit growing in cluster of four to six berries and just kept filling my hand and pushing them into my mouth. In half an hour or so I ate what seemed like a quart (at least) and finally had to give up when I could eat no more (imagine that on the AT!).

Truth be told, I don’t think most thru-hikers hike the 3.5 miles of trail outside of Monson. Shaw’s, the famous hiker hostel in town, runs a morning shuttle right to the 100-Mile Wilderness trailhead on Route 15, and it’s easy to miss these miles unless you’re an AT purist and make a point to hike every step from Georgie to Maine.

When I arrived at the river, I sat on the bank for a while just looking at the water level and considering my options. I could camp on the riverbank and wait for the level to drop, which would take a least one day; I could walk down to the highway and back up to the opposite bank—a 15-mile detour; or I could find another place to cross. I scouted up and down the river for a while, looking for a better place to cross, and secondarily, for a nice campsite. In the end, I came back to the crossing and sat there for a while, looking at the beaver dam which people normally walk on to cross this river. One third of the dam had washed out completely and the river was pouring through here faster than the section that was overflowing the dam outright. None of this was good.

My menu for this trip was pretty simple, mirroring the multi-day menu I typically use on longer backpacking trips. For dinner: ramen noodles cooked in miso soup with a 1 oz shot of olive oil for extra calories and fat (700-1400 calories.) Breakfast: pound cake or other quick bread, smashed flat to save space, and packed in plastic bags (1000 calories.) 3 snacks per day consisting of Snickers, cookies, salami and crackers, Cliff bars, nuts, or licorice (1000-1500 calories.)

The Kennebec River was the largest river we had to cross without a bridge. The stories of peril and even death as a result of wading across haunted the Trail registers. Not to worry . . . the wonderful state of Maine provided a “ferry service” for Appalachian Trail hikers. It was a low-budget program featuring a scruffy guy and his trusty canoe. According to rumours, he would be there twice a day to perform his service. A bunch of hikers hung out patiently on the south bank to wait.

Porcupines will frequent shelters as they like to gnaw on the salt-encrusted edge of the platform floor – exactly where hikers tend to sit and congregate with their salty legs hanging over the edge.

Yellow blazing is also referred to as “Bill Brysoning” amongst thru-hikers. If you’ve ever read the book “A Walk in the Woods,” then you’ll know what I mean.

At the start of the Wilderness, there’s a sign warning hikers that they should be prepared with food for at least ten days when entering the section.

HIKER GLOSSERY AT- Appalachian Trail - The most populated and most difficult terrain of the three longest trails in the USA Aqua Blazing- Canoeing instead of hiking a section of the trail in the Shenandoahs. Bear Cables- A system to easily hang up food bags. Bear bagging- Hanging food up high in a tree. Bivy Sack- A lightweight waterproof shelter that has bad condensation Blow Down- A fallen tree or limb blocking the trail Blue Blazer- A hiker that takes short cut trails or more scenic trails that lead back to the main trail Bushwhack- To hike where there is no trail /to clear a trail with a machete. CDT- The Continental Divide Trail - The most secluded and least populated of the three longest US trails. Cowboy Camping- to sleep on the ground with no shelter Cairn- Pile of rocks to depict where the trail is located when above treeline Day Hiker- Usually a novice who is out for the day or several days. DEET- A heavy duty bug spray. Drop Box- Food or gear sent by mail. Five Fingers - Shoes with toes. Flip-Flopper- A thru-hiker who hikes one way, then skips ahead to hike the opposite direction Gators- A piece of gear worn around the ankle to keep dirt from entering shoes Giardia- Parasites that cause diarrhea from drinking unclean water.

another hiker at the hostel warned me that I had now reached the southern edge of the 85 miles of notorious Pennsylvania rocks. My Altra Lone Peaks were not going to cut it. They both recommended the Merrell Moab Ventilators for their sturdy rock-plate: a feature within the sole of the shoe that limits flexibility but protects the bottom of your feet from stress fractures or injury.

On passing the woman for the third time, I stop to ask how it was that we continued to meet like that. She and her husband are thru-hiking the trail together, and they have their car with them. On most days, one will drop the other off at the south end of the trail to hike north. The driver then drives to a point where a road crosses at the north end of the trail, parks the car, and hikes south. They meet at midday on the trail. The northbound hiker will reach the car at the end of the day, and drive back to the south end of the section to retrieve the partner. Having the car offers them many options; they can camp, sleep in the car, or drive to a nearby town. They carry little more than a water bottle and lunch.

My job dissatisfaction was just one factor in my decision to hike the AT. Most thru-hikers, when asked, will offer up a single motivation. In part it is the reason currently dominating his thoughts, in part it is the type of answer that is expected, and in part it is the type of answer that is easiest to give. It is not that simple. The reasons for a thru-hike are less tangible than many other big decisions in life. And the reasons evolve. Toward the end, possibly the most sustaining rationale to finish a thru-hike is the fact that you have started one.

When these great perennial plants die, they nurture the ground they fall on and give life to other plants. Where else is the end of life so impactful, or so graceful in appearance?

She lacked most of the pieces of equipment that hikers consider absolutely essential, but she possessed that one ingredient, desire, in such full measure that she never really needed the other things.

The trail provides,” I said, smiling as I recited the mantra of hikers everywhere.

Not everyone needs to be a hiker, but using “not my thing” is too convenient. Activities that even momentarily cause discomfort, that don’t provide immediate positive feedback, are subtracted from the realm of experience.

The cultured New England states of Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Vermont contrast with the haggard look of hikers who have endured months on the trail.

Thru-hikers are easy to spot; they shop wearing rain suits while laundering their trail clothes; they wear sandals exposing feet papier-mached with moleskin and duct tape. Most men make the trip without shaving.

It’s a peccadillo to take from a hiker box at a place where you are not staying.

hotel in the village, at a dirt-cheap thru-hiker rate. Rain is forecast, so I plan to take a zero day tomorrow.

10 A “zero” is a day in which a thru-hiker does not hike. Hikers will use it as a noun or verb: “Yesterday was a zero” or “I’ll zero tomorrow.” I used the term “nero” for a day in which I walked only a few miles.

other hikers who were

It's not about getting to the end but the process it takes to get there. It's the sense of strength, endurance, and accomplishment that makes this experience worthwhile.

It was quite literally in the middle of nowhere and came as quite the surprise to us. We came to find out, the older gentleman who owned the cabin had a son that thru-hiked the trail years ago, but had passed away in the last year. Now the man stayed at the cabin for months on end providing trail magic for passing hikers in memory of his son. It was an incredibly touching gesture and as far as locations for trail magic go, this was by far the most unexpected.

Most people live in this world asleep. We go through our routines, have our habits, are seduced by the illusions of advertising and consumerism, which create a life lacking in authenticity and integrity and sometimes real love.

A large metal plaque affixed to the rock said: GRANDMA GATEWOOD MEMORIAL TRAIL THIS SIX-MILE TRAIL IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF GRANDMA GATEWOOD, A VIBRANT WOMAN, SEASONED HIKER, AND LONG-TIME HOCKING HILLS ENTHUSIAST. THE PATH BEGINS HERE, VISITS CEDAR FALLS, AND TERMINATES AT ASH CAVE. JANUARY 17, 1981