65 Miles: Molding a Mindset
Many people dream of the day when they will complete a successful thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail, when they will look out from the summit of Mt. Katahdin and know they have traversed essentially the entire length of the East Coast on foot.
Unfortunately, as a broke college student I currently lack the time and resources to fulfill this particular dream, as well as the audacity to put my education on hold to acquire said time and resources. So, when I had the opportunity to spend the summer between my junior and senior years working as a ridgerunner for the Appalachian Mountain Club, I couldn’t think of a better compromise.
And that is how this season, instead of hiking the 2,181 miles from Georgia to Maine, I share the 65-mile section of trail that runs through Connecticut and southern Massachusetts with three co-workers.
Each day at work, I hike from one shelter or campsite to another about twelve miles north or south. Along the way I perform light trail maintenance such as clearing trees that have fallen across the trail, picking up trash, and talking to any hikers I pass, especially in situations where I can teach them how to minimize their impact on the wilderness (benefit: I have to pick up less trash).
I love my job, but sometimes I get jealous. Sometimes, while sweeping out a particularly pungent privy, I cannot help but envy the thru-hikers that pass effortlessly by me with their singular purpose to push further north, from the lush valleys of Shenandoah to the snow-capped peaks of the White Mountains, while I am forced to check in at every campsite I pass by and to turn around when I reach the end of my section.
While I still admire the thru-hikers’ ultra-light packs, bulging calf muscles, and scruffy yet simultaneously glamorous beards, I realize that my mindset has changed from the beginning of the summer. I am always looking to try new things, to go new places, but I have come to appreciate the value of slowing down and stopping to really spend time in a place and recognizing its subtle, unique beauty.
I now look forward to the view from the top of Bear Mountain after the surprisingly steep ascent up its northern slope, and to sunset swims in the tucked-away Guilder Pond when I’m scheduled to spend the night at Glen Brook Shelter. And just the other day I caught a deer using the trail for its own personal travels and it was the coolest thing ever.
I still eagerly anticipate the day when I can call myself a thru-hiker and stand on top of Katahdin with a paramount sense of accomplishment (and the slightest semblance of cockiness), but for now, I am proud of the work I am doing to make that dream possible for those who are currently taking the trek.
But perhaps even more so, I am proud of the work I am doing to help enrich the experience of the many more who escape to the trail for a few precious hours after a long day at the office. Unlike me, not everyone is lucky enough to spend a summer getting paid—to go hiking.