The first night after Mountains Crossing found us at a campsite at Bull Gap. In addition to a bear can restriction, Blood Mountain Wilderness also had a fire ban.
While hiking in Vermont, a thru-hiker named AKA told me that on the AT, they’d just make a fire every night. So far, there had been zero fires, and I was itching for one.
Bull Gap is a popular place to stop after Mountain Crossing, so there were a small group of hikers collecting. “Hey!” I called from where we were setting up. “Y’all want a fire tonight?”
Alex, making dinner near the fire ring, looked up. “Yes please!”
We were letting our tent dry out from the rains (it was the first dry day), so as it dried, Church Mouse and I spread out into the woods and gathered a couple armfuls of wood. I also found some incredibly dry bark and some handfuls of leaves.
At the fire ring, more people were starting to gather, including Moxie, a ridge runner. Ridge runners are hikers paid to hike a section of the AT to help maintain it and ensure hikers are doing well. No pressure; just an expert woodswoman watching over my shoulder as I tried to build my first fire of the season.
Once the kindling teepee was built, Alex offered his fire starter. “Let me see if I can get it started without it first,” I said.
“Who thinks she can do it with one match?” Moxie called.
“I do!” “Hmm, I dunno.” “Maybe!” A chorus of bets rang from those watching.
No pressure.
I pulled out my match, struck it, and held the tiny flame up to the leaves.
It lit. It lit, y’all. And not just where the leaves burn without catching the kindling, which is what I expected to happen with how damp everything was. The bark (hallelujah for dry bark) caught and crackled, slowly catching the rest of the kindling on fire too. The campsite cheered.
Kayla, sitting comfortably in a backpacking chair across from me, leaned forward. “Do you have a trail name yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Sparks, then.” She grinned. “You sparked your family into backpacking, you sparked this trip, and now you sparked this fire.”
How could I say no to that?
Coming into this trip, I was nervous about what my trail name might end up being. I know I have my share of quirks (speaking of, look at this amazing piece of bark I found), clumsy moments, misspoken words, and jumbled thoughts… Which one of them would define me these next five months on trail?
Turns out, I didn’t need to worry about it. A good name found me, rather quickly. One I can feel good about and embrace. One I can bring home, keep, embody.
So let me reintroduce myself.
Hi y’all, my name is Sparks. I’m hiking to Maine.
Leave a Reply