Wandering trails

We’ve been working on upping our mileage on the trail. To get back home on time, we need to be consistently hitting 15 miles or more a day by the time we’re out of the Smokies (aka, next week). We’ve made from 8-mile days to 11-mile days, and now we’ve been doing 13-15 mile days. Next week will be our first week of solid 15s.

So far, the gentle increase in miles is doing us well. We haven’t had any major injuries or pains, even as we’ve already seen people pulling off the trail.

Another thing I’ll tribute our lack of injuries to: taking a Sabbath or rest day once a week. It hasn’t always landed on Sunday (in Franklin, it was Monday), but it’s been a beautiful way of giving our bodies a chance to rest and recover, and giving us a chance mentally and spiritually rejuvenate.

Despite the beautiful scenery, the bright sunrises and brilliant sunsets, the friendships we’ve been making, the memories and adventures we’ve been having… Despite all of that, these mountains are hard.

That’s good. That’s what gives us the adventures and the camaraderie, the beautiful scenery, the awe of what God has made. That’s what gives us the sense of accomplishment and pride as we tumble into our sleeping bags each night. It’s an incredible world out here, but it is not to be underestimated.

Today’s hike was a good example of this. We started off from Wesser Bald Shelter. The first seven miles was a downhill stretch to the NOC, where we could restock for the next two days, print our Smokies permits, and if we wanted (as many were doing because of the coming rain), rent a cabin for the night.

It was an incredible trek down. The first two miles or so was all ridgeline hiking. Either way you looked, you could see out over a valley. The temperature was perfect for hiking. The sun was slowly rising, casting different shadows across the scenery.

The trail would seem to fall right off of the ridgeline, twisting to follow exactly the edge of the mountain down.

It was slow going here, each step needing to be taken with care. The rocks under our feet were uneven, sometimes loose. There were a couple drops big enough we had to sit down and slide off.

I know many of you have been praying for us, that we would have smooth paths, straight paths. However, I have been praying for paths like these: twisting, rocky, dangerous. Paths with incredible views. Paths that are hard. Paths that make me feel alive.

Even when we dropped off the ridgeline and the hiking was smoother, it was still a steep decent. By the time we got to NOC, we were both tired.

Thankfully, the little outdoor center had a perfect place to sit down, get your permits, and restock. We were hoping to stop at the restaurant there (we’re still craving burgers) but with the steep climb back up, we opted instead for a quick lunch of chocolate milk, granola bars, and chips. (No one ever said thru hiking was healthy.)

Jared, a hiker who was zeroing in NOC, stood at the bridge and was handing out Snickers, honey buns, and fresh apples. When we told him we were going to continue the climb to Sassafras Gap Shelter, he held out a couple more Snickers. “I’ve heard that’s one of the toughest climbs we’ll have until the Whites,” he said. “You can do it, but here, have some more Snickers.” I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, Jared, but those Snickers got me up that mountain.

He was right. It was not an easy climb. There was 3,000 feet of elevation gain, which doesn’t seem that bad across 7 miles, until you realize that it’s not gently spread out. Instead, it’s sections of steep climbs punctuated by sections of slightly less steep climbs. Always, though, climbing.

It would be a hard climb if we had just started that morning from NOC. But it was 1:30 pm, and we’d just come down several strenuous miles before.

All I can say is: It hurt. I devoured Snickers bars. It was a green tunnel without any views. You couldn’t find the end.

When I finally got to the shelter, I dropped my pack and sprawled out on the wooden floor.

“That was some climb,” said the couple peacefully eating their dinner at the table.

“That was,” I gasped.

A river cuts through rock, not because of its power, but because of its persistence.

Before I left, my coworkers put together a little booklet of quotes and notes of encouragement.I pulled them out at the shelter and read through them again. One had that quote on it.

Hiking this trail, we’re all focused on the big “win”: Summiting Katahdin. But it seems to me, these little wins are the more important ones. The private wins, fought only in your own mind, on smaller mountains, smaller summits. The victories only you know about. The ones that leave you sprawled out on a shelter thinking, I did it.

One day, I may come back and hike this section again. I may think this climb isn’t as hard as it was today. I may laugh at myself for being dramatic, point out the place where I almost cried and laugh about how frail I was.

But I can only do that then because I didn’t stop now. I can only make it to Katahdin by completing these mountains here. It’s the full journey that counts, not only the completion. Perhaps, it’s this journey here, this day-by-day hiking, this persistent continuing that counts far more than the summit, far more than that final climb to the final blaze on Katahdin.