Therese Marie

(the title is perhaps a bit dramatic.)

As time goes on, it gets harder and hard to write about the experience I’m having out here.

This week has been really interesting in that regard, actually. I feel like I’ve been doing a LOT, accomplishing a LOT, yet I also have been feeling really really terrible.

The Whites are HARD to hike. I’m having a hard time.

Moosilauke was an amazing day.

I climbed up that mountain yesterday like it was my JOB (well, technically I guess it is…) and it felt good. I got to the top with a group of people and we spent time together in the sun and wind. We also only hiked 10 miles that day, which felt great.

The climb down was hilariously difficult. There was a lot of water, a lot of steep rocks that sort of resembled steps, but not quite. It hurt my knees, but I had friends by my side, and we laughed the whole time.

Then I moved on to the Kinsmans.

And my world came crashing down. Yesterday was insanely hard for me to finish. Don’t get me wrong, the rock climbing part was fun. But being alone? In the rain? Slipping and sliding?

I mean, shit, it wasn’t even raining all day. It was mostly humid. But I felt so alone in the middle of the woods. And I pulled so many muscles trying to stay afloat and upright.

Despite riding the struggle bus all day, I finally made it to the camp my friends and I agreed upon. It was 7pm. I was for sure the last person of our group to arrive, because I was undoubtedly the slowest.

None of my friends were there.

I instantly gathered what had happened: they’re guys so they “crushed miles” and hiked really fast and got to camp before 5pm, thus making a group decision to hike the remaining 6 miles into town. Might as well right?

Yeah. Except that left me at camp with a bunch of girl scouts and no friends. I ate a hurried dinner of cheese and mustard tortillas by a quiet lake in the corner of camp and thought over my options.

By 7:45 pm I had the genius idea to attempt the remaining 6 miles.

Smooth thinking, Lil. Real good idea. High on caffeine and ready to feel something other than my own internal pain, I said goodbye to those girl scouts I just met (who were absolutely baffled that I would even THINK about hiking 6 miles so close to sunset) and set out into the wilderness. I was tired of being alone.

It was a pretty dumb idea. Mostly because, the second I left camp, I was actually alone. Alone alone.

I don’t know if you knew this, but even if it’s only dusk, the forest gets real DARK real QUICK because of the tree cover.

Maybe I was just trying to avoid my internal turmoil by putting myself in an infinitely more terrifying situation. Who’s to say.

Did I end up safe? Of course!

In a shocking turn of events I didn’t actually hike 6 miles. I showed up at the Lonesome Pond Hut around 8:30pm in a flurry of panic, on the verge of tears, and the lady working there said “oh my goodness please sleep on our floor it’s fine WHY are you hiking this late!”

Because I was feeling abandoned by my friends, and I tried to catch up with them. Obviously.

But I had an amazing first Hut experience!

The hut’s in the Whites sound very confusing, because “normal people” buy a bunk and sleep there for the night but you can do a work for stay but you have to get there early and they can’t always offer you a place to stay or food but they also have such good food. It sounds confusing and intimidating. But in reality? It’s not really. You just DO it.

So last night when I showed up late, they offered me salvation.

Turns out that was an amazing move because it RAINED LAST NIGHT. And I don’t mean simply “rained.” I mean the heavens opened up and it poured and thundered and lightninged.

Except I had no idea, because I slept through all of it. Can you believe it? Guru and Silverfish were baffled when I woke up oblivious to the havoc that was wreaked in the middle of the night.

It became very apparent it had rained hard when I tried to cross the creeks in the morning, though.

I’ve had a really difficult past 24 hours. Not the worst, but my emotions are cracking me down to rock bottom.

Eventually I hitchhiked back into Lincoln and found myself at Chet’s again.

Chet is a local who offers up his home as a place of refuge for hikers. He’s got space for you to stay in his garage and yard. It’s not much, but he’s an amazing man. If you don’t know him, you need to. And the only way you will is if you hike the Appalachian Trail, or the Whites, and talk to people. He truly is a special human and saved me from emotional turmoil this week.

So that’s how I ended up here, in this moment, at Chet’s. I’m sitting on a porch listening to GQ play guitar, he’s riffing and there’s a small group of us quietly listening as the sun sets.

This morning I felt sad enough to cry because all the people I’d been hiking with kept hiking and I felt truly alone.

But that’s not true. I’m not alone.

I’m never truly alone on the Appalachian Trail. I think I’m just experiencing change. The people I was hiking with left, but now there are new people to hike with. There’s always a group waiting to welcome you. Styx reminded me of that when we talked this evening. He welcomed me in. I am forever grateful for that.

Out here there’s always a friend right around the corner, waiting for you with a smiling face, so pumped to see you again. We’re all here for each other. And no matter how dismal you may feel, everything works out.

Everything always works out.

Fly on,

Lil.