A Walk in the Woods

I want to begin with proper attribution. The title of today's post is taken from a wonderful book by Bill Bryson which recounts his hike on the 2,000 mile Appalachian Trail accompanied by his friend and somewhat less enthusiastic companion, Stephen Katz. I've hiked long sections of the Trail myself and it is no walk in the woods, but for through hikers--those that walk its entirety certainly a bucket list accomplishment at any age, and Bryson was 60 when he undertook his adventure. It is by turns funny and instructive and it resonated strongly with me as I am sure it would with anyone who has done their share of walking in the woods and on the mountains that run from Georgia to Maine.

As an one time native of New Hampshire and an avid hiker, the Trail held an almost mystical allure and in my twenties I became a member of the Appalachian Trail Club whose mission is to preserve the trail, repairing and renewing sections that become impassable due to weather, erosion and use. There was a time when one could walk all day--sometimes for days on end and never meet another soul. But today, I'm told there are lines in some well travelled spots, a queue if you will to amble its paths.

Walking, if that is truly the best way to describe what one does on the Trail, is about the most peaceful, soul satisfying thing I've found to do. To be alone with one's own thoughts, with the time and lack of distraction, to say nothing of awe inspiring scenery and the occasional daunting challenges of bad weather, an unwilling body, sketchy meals and the odd blister, that, is my idea of heaven. It wouldn't be without the adversity--it's the salt that makes the weary rest at end of day feel well earned.

My love affair with the Trail began early and reached its zenith in my twenties when I met the man who surveyed it and some regard as its godfather, Benton MacKaye. Uncle Benton as he was introduced to me by his grand niece was a very old man by then, and he suffered from narcolepsy, lapsing into somnolence in mid speech but awakening at some point to continue his tale without missing a beat. I spent quite some time with him in his little cabin in NH, and heard stories about many places I lived or had hiked in New England.

There are other grand trails to walk, especially in the Pacific North West, and other places where the terrain presents magnificent vistas, peaks and valleys, streams and waterfalls, all the trappings of untamed land and water. Those are my happy places, my refuge from the getting and spending, my places of meditation. Carrying a 60 pound pack on your back through ground mist, torrential rain, and hail--all of which I've done and at that all in the space of a single hour, doesn't sound like most people's idea of fun. But, when the sun burns through and steam begins to roll of your body as you sit against a boulder and eat some nuts, a bit of cheese and some apricots while sipping on ice cold water you purged from a spring that morning, you know bliss in its purest form.

So why write about this today? Simply to say that when the world seems unapproachable, when the body blows of daily existence and incessant bad news threaten to drown you its time for a walk in the woods. Nothing else can clear the mind and renew the spirit so fully but to waken to a brilliant morning, the crisp air and not quite silence of nature a gift of peace to unwrap all day long.