Welcome!
I am an artist who hikes. A hiker who arts. A traveller who revels in the journey without undue devotion to the destination. I hike to be somewhere, not to get somewhere. Thanks for joining me on this journey.
Expect reflections on long distance hiking, art-making on trail and off, hiking culture, nature and my undying love for backrests.
All in long distance hiking
Today, I find the silver lining of surviving standing room only, a parade and a circus.
Today I saw a ranger on the trail.
I’d been wondering if anyone actually worked here in the Smokies.
He told me he was out for two nights, picking up trash and checking privies since there’d been no ridge runners out this year.
Even though these 70-ish miles through the Smokies are the last 70-ish miles I have to finish the AT, I’ve both dreaded and procrastinated this section. This is the third permit I’ve bought, and I’m determined that it will be my last. This time, I finish.
Day of views, bears, moving goalposts, life-defying feats on rickety fire towers.
Day hikers continue to surprise me with their questions.
Day 24 involved an unscheduled trip to Cherokee. And Cherokee is definitely a trip.
There are always good things, even on the worst days. And today ranked up there as one of the worst if you were inclined to look at it that way.
The crowds thinned out on the other side of the long, creepy tunnel at the end of the creepily-named “Road to Nowhere.” No one left out here but me and a couple of fishermen. And lots and lots of big rushing creeks.
One of the big perks of hiking the Benton MacKaye Trail during a pandemic is how effortless it is to stay socially distant. I saw one other human on the 14.7 miles of trail I hiked today. Which is exactly how many bobcats I saw, too.
Not one drop of rain. Not one flesh-eating bug. Not one bramble.
Today was a good day to resume this obscure hiking project.
When I woke up this morning to a steady rain, I remembered the first rule of long distance hiking—Hike Your Own Hike. And I remembered my friend Pattie’s one rule of life—if it’s not fun, don’t do it.
So I said “Fuck it,” and went home. I’ll come back when the rain, the bugs and the brambles all stop.
