Reflections: Fair-Weather Hiker

It’s cold. I step out of my vehicle at the trailhead and the bitter air hurts my face. When I checked the weather down in town an hour or so ago, the forecast was calling for 15-20mph winds. I know I’ve hiked in worse. It still doesn’t sound fun. The flurries started as I was driving up out of the valley and continued to get heavier as I gained altitude in my truck. Standing here at the trailhead, I decide to don another layer as snow begins to stick to my hair. I pull my down hood up over my ears. I offer the dogs some water. I’m stalling.

Two thru-hiker hopefuls emerge from the woods opposite the trailhead and cross the road. They are bundled from head to toe, but seem to be in good spirits. They’ve been hiking since early this morning, when it was much colder than it is now. I offer them a soda, which they graciously accept. One of them is from Australia, where it is summertime right now. “I didn’t realize it gets this cold in Georgia,” he chuckles as he chugs an ice cold Coke. They have made it 69 miles on the Appalachian Trail and will be crossing off their first state by the end of the day. All this while braving sub-freezing temps, excruciating wind chills, and snow flurries.

My friend Tippy Toes, a fellow class of 2016 hiker-turned-trail angel, pulls up to the trailhead. I knew he was in the area, but wasn’t expecting him to turn up here. “Did you decide to join me for this madness?” I asked. “No, just came to see if any hikers need a ride.” He and I chat with the two hikers for a few minutes, then a van marked Top of Georgia Hostel pulls in to the parking lot. It’s Tom, another hiker I know. He is working at the hostel down the road and came to the trailhead to see if he could bring some hikers indoors out of cold. The two thru-hikers graciously accept the offer to thaw out and drink some hot coffee down at the hostel before continuing their trek up to Bly Gap.

Another TOG van pulls up. This one is loaded to the gils with thru-hikers. They spent a warm night indoors and are headed back out into the elements. Gotta make some miles. They are all smiles as they emerge. Several of them grab their phones and begin filming short videos and trying to take photos of the snow that is now falling pretty steadily. As the van pulls away and they begin donning their packs, a girl starts singing a familiar Disney tune from the movie Mulan. After a couple of notes, the rest of them join in. They begin walking north, headed for North Carolina, singing and with a pep in their step.

It’s me and Tippy Toes now. I had almost talked myself out of this hike before he pulled up. However, I had already changed shoes and adjusted my trekking poles. I kick myself in the ass. “I’m doing it,” I say as I don my daypack and leash up the dogs. “You’re really going out into this?” he asks, surprised. “Damn right I am,” I reply as I cross highway 76 amidst snow flurries and disappear into the trees.
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I don’t know how or why I became such a fair-weather hiker. Maybe it was days on end of slogging through rain in Tennessee during my first thru-hike attempt. Maybe the weeks of chronic dehydration and hiking in 100 degree temps in northern Virginia during my second attempt did it. Perhaps it happened during my season working in wilderness therapy, when I had no choice but to go out into the woods whether I wanted to or not, and I had no choice but to stay there even when temps dipped below freezing or torrential rains threatened to wash away our camp. Whatever the cause, I find myself canceling that hiking trip whenever the weather doesn’t exactly cooperate. I catch myself waiting for that clear bluebird day, when the sunshine warms my face and the birds are singing and the breeze is a welcome friend during an uphill trek.

Reality: those days don’t alway coincide with the days I have off. Like today. A partly cloudy forecast turned into snow clouds and the wind is relentless. I tell myself that I’m not a thru-hiker now. I have a choice not to subject myself to uncomfortable weather conditions. But if I’m to call myself an adventurer, do I really? If you wait for the perfect day and time to do something, you’ll likely find yourself waiting forever.

Today I almost let my fair-weather hiker talk my adventurer out of an incredible opportunity. An entire day with no agenda. The perfect day for a hike, whether the weather was perfect or not. As I set out to climb Powell Mountain, over 1500 vertical feet and more than two and a half miles from where I started, my toes on both feet had gone numb and my ungloved hands (way to be unprepared) were burning and turning red. Even as I began the hike I told myself that if my toes, which I could barely feel, hadn’t warmed by Moreland Gap, about a mile up, I would turn around and come back. I couldn’t risk nerve damage or worse. Every step was uncomfortable as I intentionally scrunched and relaxed my toes, trying to get the feeling back. Three quarters of a mile in I was sure I’d have to turn back. I still couldn’t feel my toes. But, as I rounded one of the few switchbacks on this uphill hike and the sign that marks the water source at Moreland Gap came into view, I realized I had completely regained feeling of my right-foot toes. I wiggled the ones on my left foot. Almost there. I passed the sign as the last bit of numbness faded. My feet were now warm and toasty from the effort of hauling my ass up this hill. I continued on.

Believe it or not, you won’t stay cold for long if you are hiking uphill. Even in the temperatures I described, I was quickly beginning to break a sweat underneath the three layers I was wearing. I had been pushing a pretty hard pace for the first half of the climb. I could feel the exertion in my lungs. My exercise-induced asthma was threatening to rear its ugly head, irritated both by my elevated heart rate and the frigid air I was taking in with every breath. I slowed my pace slightly as the incline began to steepen.

This hike was actually one of the very first hikes I did on the AT, way back in 2014. That’s the only other time I’ve climbed Powell southbound. I remember struggling hard on that hike, much more so than today. As I rounded another switchback amidst a green tunnel of mountain laurel, the memories came flooding back of standing in this spot before. I had stopped here, gasping for breath, knowing my friend John – who has really long legs and was in much better shape than I – was somewhere ahead, probably already taking in the views at the top. Back then I had wondered if I’d ever make it there. Today, I keep walking KNOWING I will make it. As I crested a ridge the sun peeked out, warming my face. I passed a large group of thru-hikers having a snack. What a welcome reprieve for them after hiking some of the most difficult terrain in Georgia in the freezing cold under cloud cover all day. I smiled, knowing what they’ve been through already and what they will face in the upcoming weeks.

The last half mile to the top, and then the first half mile on the way back down, was the most brutal of the entire trip. Walking a saddle between two peaks, the wind ripped across the trail with enough force to make me have to turn my head away from it to take a breath. My cheeks screamed at me, painful and burning from the cold. “Why do I go outside when the air hurts my face?” I find myself asking. The wind chill had to be in the single digits if not lower. I cinched the hood of my windbreaker tight. Not much further. As I come to the side trail simply marked “vista” and begin crossing the rounded summit of Powell Mountain, the wind dies down and I’m able to comfortably enjoy the views from the top for several minutes. I soak in the layered panorama of mountains and bask in the accomplishment.

This hike was 5.3 total miles. Not the longest or most difficult by any stretch of the imagination. When I started, I told myself I might not make it to Powell Mountain. I might have turned around a mile into the hike. I almost didn’t even start. Turns out, it wasn’t Powell Mountain that I had to conquer today. It was my own bad attitude toward hiking in unfavorable conditions. I’m making a pact with myself to no longer be a fair-weather hiker. I will be a hiker, an adventurer, whatever the weather.

This post was written after the first of three reflection hikes for my 52 Hike Challenge this year.