The Appalachian Trail, A Mom's Eye View

My trail name is A.T. Shuttle. Everyone hiking the Appalachian Trail has a trail name. The names are usually bestowed upon the hiker by other hikers, although occasionally someone will choose his/her own name. I’ve hiked the trail in Connecticut, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Virginia and Georgia. All right, I admit it; I’m a section hiker and I’ve probably walked less than five miles total in all of these states. But every time I stand on the trail and see the white blaze, I get the feeling that I’m part of something bigger and more special than I can ever imagine.

I’m sure it comes by no surprise that I got my trail name not by hiking but by driving! You see, my son Cameron is hiking the trail. My husband and I drove him down to Georgia in March of this year. We had a slightly eschewed and romantic vision of dropping him and his friend off at the trailhead. The birds would be singing, we would be waving and off they would go.

Instead, we had to wait for the tornado warning to be lifted before we could even drive to Springer Mountain, the beginning of the trail. We waded through the rain and the mud to get to the trailhead. They threatened to dub me Mary Poppins, as I carried an umbrella! I wished my son luck as he prepared to walk to Maine, all the way from Georgia! After quick hugs, we jumped back in the car and watched them walk off into the woods in the pouring rain.

People ask, “How could you let your son DO that?” “How could I NOT?” is my answer.

I am one of the lucky ones who gave birth to a child who can’t sit still, who loves the outdoors and who is always up for a challenge! This is my son who worked with a lobster fisherman when he was ten and had his own lobster traps right here in Madison up until this summer. The son who was the crew leader on a hundred plus mile hike with scouts while on a trip to Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico when he was thirteen. The son who worked on two mission trips in the Dominican Republic. The son who had more stitches than most little kids. The son who loves to chop wood and doesn’t mind being dirty; in fact, I think he prides himself on all of the laundry soap he saves! He has talked about hiking the trail ever since the words “Appalachian Trail” became part of his vocabulary. Last fall he decided to go for it and he deferred his spring semester as an Outdoor Recreation student to do so.

So, as Red Beard (it‘s fairly obvious why that’s his trail name) approaches five months on the trail, he’s deferring yet another semester at college. “It’s OK,” we tell him. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If you wait until you’re my age, you’ll never go. Dad and I support your decision to finish the trail.”

I know what you’re thinking. But unless you’ve hiked the trail yourself or have a child like this, you’ll never understand what it’s like. The trail community is special … unforgettable. The trail means different things to different people. Cameron is really absorbing it.

My next trail experience would come in June. My husband hiked with Cameron for eight days. (That’s another story for another time!)

I drove down to Virginia to pick him up but before I left, my son called to ask if I would mind driving a hiker from Maine back down to Virginia. After a brief hiatus at home, Spicoli was heading back to the trail. “Of course  I wouldn’t mind” I said. “After all, you wouldn’t set me up with an ax murderer, right?” “That’s funny Cameron said. “He said the same thing about you!”

I picked Spicoli up at the train station in Old Saybrook (I can’t believe I asked what he looked like….thru-hikers have a certain look) and off we went; Spicoli and I, driving to Virginia. Yes, that’s his trail name; you remember, Fast Times at Ridgemont High!

It felt so good to hug Cameron once again; I hadn’t seen him since that rainy day on Springer Mountain! After spending a day in Virginia, we were headed home when Cameron said “Hey mom, would you mind driving Little Bird back to Connecticut?’

Did he really just ask that? So we began our trip back to Madison, with Little Bird in the back seat! She had a job interview in Connecticut and since we were heading that way … well you know how it goes. She is actually quite interesting and very entrepreneurial. Little Bird is making necklaces along the trail and selling them for five dollars a piece. It’s a little piece of wood marked with a small white blaze. She signs and numbers each one and has sold several hundred at this point. Hikers wear them proudly.

So after months of hiking with people from all over the world, sleeping in hostels, spending time at hiker festivals, time with an aunt in Washington D.C and even experiencing a fiddle festival, Cameron reached Connecticut last week. I picked him up in Kent and brought him home for a few days. It was wonderful to have him home. Of course, he spent most of his time fishing!

At dinner, we’d listen to the stories about life on the trail. There were those that I didn’t really want or need to hear, but then there were those that made me realize how special this trip is to Cameron. Stories about the people he’s met; the beautiful countryside he’s seen. Stories of bush-whacking and yellow-blazing (hitch-hiking). Stories of the black bear, deer and rattlesnakes that have crossed his path, or perhaps he’s crossed theirs. The beauty and majesty of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah Valley. More importantly, the people that live in these places so far from Madison. He has experienced their hospitality; their culture.

As the A.T. Shuttle drove Cameron back to the trail in Kent, I realized that this experience couldn’t be taught. Books don’t do it justice. You have to breathe it in. Feel it.  I’m planning on meeting him at the top of Mount Washington as the trail goes right up and over the mountain. After that, it’s Mount Katahdin in Maine … the end of the trail but the beginning of the next chapter in his life.