AT Musings: The interconnected “Hiker Trash” path

Reflecting on rebirth, paths and journeying

This post was originally featured on the Trek magazine! If you want, you can read it there, too.

It’s been a few weeks since my last post, and as I’ve noted before, a week out here feels more like a month. They are long, fulfilling days… Just a week ago, it felt like cold spring; now it’s going to be hot as hell until I hit New England in a couple months. The bugs and ticks have come out, and the term “water carry” is unfortunately more frequent. We journey north regardless — about 950 miles down, 1250 to go!

Rebirth is a word that has been stuck in my head over these last few weeks, and I don’t think it’s coincidental. The Trail has enabled me and other hikers to reflect on why we’re here and identify significant shifts in our character, objectives and overall mindset. We no longer resemble the hikers who walked through the Amicalola gates two months ago. In today’s post, I want to take a closer look into rebirth, and how the White Blaze will continue to usher in new life chapters for us all.

“The Appalachian Trail is a relentless teacher. Everything works out in the end; if it hasn’t worked out, it’s not the end.” – Twiggs, NOBO ‘13(?)

No two Appalachian Trail experiences are the same, but to begin the trail within the northbound “bubble” — between mid-March and early April when the largest crowd starts at Springer Mountain — lines you up nicely with a set of shared experiences: crowded Georgia shelters, a greater frequency of trail magic, constant war with norovirus, and the walk into Damascus for Trail Days festival.

Last week, I encountered John Kelly, an ultramarathon runner attempting to take Tara Dower’s crown for the fastest known time on the AT. As of mile 697, he is averaging ~60 miles a day and has a promising start to his potential record-breaking hike. My hiking crew got the chance to speak with his support team, who follows John up the trail during his 40-something-day trek. I liked seeing the recovery techniques and nourishment that they provide him with each day. It is hard to grasp that it has taken him two weeks to do the same mileage as my two months, but it also made me think about what I see as the interconnected nature of thru-hiking.

The interconnectedness of this path is as follows: despite the mission of hiking to Katahdin being plain and simple, everyone out here has their own unique objectives. It could be to hike 25 miles a day, lose weight, find god, align your chakras, or just make new friends. Some people want to escape into nature; others attempt superhuman feats like John and Tara. Regardless, it is the same 2,197.4-mile path for all of us, and I believe that the rebirth process means letting go of expectations and appreciating the oneness in our journey.

Perhaps my first case of rebirth was realizing that after 3 weeks of pushing myself physically, I wasn’t feeling fulfilled or giving myself time for spiritual exploration. For example, I got through the Smokies in just four days, averaging 20 daily miles and rushing through one of the most biologically diverse places in the country. I hadn’t opened any of my Kindle books or sat for a meditation since I started the trail, and I wasn’t using my shelter time to socialize because I was mentally and physically exhausted!

In that time, though, I would meet a dear friend named Doctor Poptart, who not only slowed my pace to a more comfortable speed but also enabled me to reflect and have meaningful conversations about life. We slept in fire towers, observed cool rocks and cowboy camped, and as I opened myself up to slower adventures, I felt more at peace with my path.

“All I can be is who I am right now; I can experience that and work with it. That’s all I can do. The rest is the dream of the ego.” — Charlotte Joko Beck, Everyday Zen

In this time, I learned more about the history and culture of this footpath from older hikers. I sat on the porch of Kincora Hostel with legendary trail maintainer Bob Peoples. I scouted the woods for Pink Ladyslippers with day hikers, and I started to find time to meditate and amplify my soul. Put simply, I started using my time more wisely, and I felt a greater mind-body connection from slowing down. It turned out that loosening expectations allowed me to live on the free-spirited trail that I was looking for.

There is a saying on trail that “12.5 a day keeps Mama K at bay,” implying one can still summit Katahdin even at a more modest pace. The sentiment of “more smiles, less miles” also applies. However, the last of many slogans that I’ll share is “hike your own hike”: everyone’s experience is different. There is no “correct” way of hiking the AT, and that is what’s so beautiful about it. But if there were to be one constant factor, it would be the constant act of rebirth and evolution that takes place within each thru-hiker.

My brain works in an interesting way insofar as I get an obsession over a specific word or concept and can’t stop talking about it. To me, “Rebirth on the Path” equates to understanding the importance of the present moment. It could take form in honing the mind-body connection, finding an impeccable campsite that cuts your day short, or taking an hour to swim and sunbathe by the river. It is about taking life’s adventures as they arise.

A few weeks ago, our group of about 20 hikers banded together to camp next to the Wind Rock lookout in Southern Virginia. While we could have gone further to the next shelter, we were rewarded with an incredible sunset, night sky filled with stars, and great conversations. After slowing down, the unanimous sentiment was that it was a highlight of the trail so far, with everyone feeling a stronger connection from this moment.

With rebirth, I have asked many hikers about what it means to them. At the Trout Creek road crossing last week, Survivor, a 2019 thru-hiker and trail angel, provided some of the best trail magic I’ve ever received: burgers and dogs fresh from the grill, a massive dessert assortment, beer, sodas, and more. Survivor has his trail name after losing his wife to a battle with cancer. He carried her wedding ring all the way with him to Maine, finding momentous peace at the northern terminus sign. Around the campfire, he told us that his path to Katahdin was one that turned a new page on life, helping him regain life fulfillment after such tragedy. He does trail magic at this road crossing every summer to give back to the trail, and I feel such gratitude for our encounter.

“We’re not supposed to live a horizontal life on the surface of things. We are supposed to live the entire gamut, from the heights of thought and imagination all the way to the depths of woundedness and the deeper capacity to love.” — Michael Meade, “Your own damn life”

Another such case of rebirth lies in the tradition of bestowing trail names. My friend Onespeed, a strong hiker from New Hampshire who fears no hill, said that he felt a form of rebirth with his trail name in that this rendition of his life as an AT thru hiker is filled with compassion, kindness and non-violence. He fully intends to connect his “Onespeed” self with the Zac from back home. As a Munk myself, I can’t help but agree that us thru-hikers have an obligation to live an intentional, loving life when returning to the “Paved Realm” after all is said and done.

One final conversation I’ll share took place outside of a hibachi restaurant in Daleville, Virginia with my friends Spigot (who has to pee a lot) and Plankton (she just really likes those microscopic sea organisms). We observed how after 700 or so miles, we are surrounded by a group of hikers that have a more promising chance of making it to Katahdin later this year — mind you, roughly 1 in 5 hikers make it annually. Plankton noted that the crowd still hiking here are the ones who have embraced the inevitable state of change along the trail. We have embraced injuries and mental hardships; we scrap the ticks off of our legs and keep walking because we are in it for the long haul.

“How would it feel to live with wise trust, with the sense that things will somehow work out, perhaps not in the way you think they should, but in some magnificent way?” — Jack Kornfield, “No Time like the Present”

While we still have a long ways to go before Maine, I can’t help but think of this as another instance of rebirth from the Munk/Max that started back in Georgia. It makes me think of a Thich Nhat Hanh teaching that I always botch in reiteration, encouraging us to act like a stone thrown into the river of life. The stone is often pushed around and displaced by rapid water flow and currents, but it never loses its composure through the tosses and turns. It allows the water to pass by while it rests at the floor of the river.

On the Appalachian Trail, there is no certain path — there is only one that embraces life’s curves and remains open to it all. Not necessarily right or wrong, but just as is. So long as we stay open, with our heart welcoming compassion, love, joy and kindness, I reckon that it’ll be alright. Embrace change or get left behind.

Namaste!

Munk (like Funk)