A note from Webster...
Hey fellow adventurer! Welcome to my tramily! In the hiking community, “tramily” (that is, trail family) captures how the shared experience of miles and mountains supersedes conversational barriers and creates an tight-knit community of strangers. We all have a funny nickname and know what it’s like to dig a hole, tackle a steep ascent, and put on wet socks in the morning. I may not know you personally, but if you like walking with a heavy pack, we’ll get along just fine :))
Why I want to set the fastest known time (FKT) on the Appalachian Trail...
In sixth grade, I wrote my first research report on the Appalachian Trail. Exactly ten years later in 2022, I stood atop the Katahdin sign in Baxter State Park and cried tears of joy, relief, pride, sadness, and exhaustion. The only thing I managed to say was, “I walked here from Georgia. That is so stupid.”
After my thru-hike, I made long distance backpacking a permanent fixture of my life. Even while navigating scholarships and graduate school, I have always found the time for a new backcountry excursion. Over the past four years, I completed a 700 mile section hike of the Pacific Crest Trail, solo backpacked across Estonia, Scotland, and England, and ran my first ultramarathon. Nothing, however, will ever compare to the Appalachian Trail.
I often think about the moment my lifelong dream of hiking the Appalachian Trail become a memory. It turns out that life a lot less enjoyable when Katahdin sits in my soul like an old polaroid, fading into a set of fuzzy features that are indistinguishable from the hundreds of other mountains in my memory. I think I’ll spend the rest of my life hiking towards Katadhin. For me, there is no greater symbol of strength, perseverance, and wonder than that 5,269 foot peak, especially when it takes 2,194.3 miles to get there.
In 2027, I will attempt to set the fastest known time for a self-supported female on the Appalachian Trail. I want to challenge my physical and mental limits in a landscape I so deeply cherish. I left a piece of my heart on Katahdin. I think it’s time to check up on it. And I might as well have some type II fun in the process.
Why my pack will always be heavy...
Every ounce matters on a thru-hike. Hard decisions have to be made regarding clothes, gear, and luxury items. Why bring a full toothbrush when I can break it in half? Should I rip the pages out of my book as I read them? Do I really need a third pair of socks?
For all the wisdom of the ultralight movement, long distance backpacking often comes at a point of transition or reflection in people’s lives. Physical items account for only a small fraction of the weight resting on a hiker’s shoulders. On the Appalachian Trail, for example, I met a woman who carried a rekindled sense of adventure and youthful curiosity. Another, regret for the years spent absent from her children’s lives. I spoke with a man whose grief weighed far more than his resupply. We all pack in the spaces between our warm layers and camp shoes yearnings that can’t be translated into ounces and pounds .
I don’t believe that hiking is a form of resolution or redemption. I don’t believe the trail can answer any proverbial questions. Most importantly, I don’t believe that walking another hundred miles will transform us into the people we want to be. Rather, the trail teaches us how to carry things. Our soles become calloused, our legs strong, and our backs sturdy. We spend so much time, money, and energy trying to cut weight, but if we hike enough, something amazing will happen. One day we’ll realize that we can, in fact, bring a whole jar of Nutella or a week’s supply of Land O’ Lakes Mini Moo’s half & half creamers or an obnoxiously large chair. We can bring it, because we can carry it.
I don’t hike to find answers. I hike because there are many things I am still learning how to carry…