MassHole

Massachusetts...that's where I'll get back on. It's a feeling that I had, yes it would mean skipping 1/2 of ME and all of NH and VT but something told me to get on in Mass. So I did.

"You're not going to cry this time, right?" my mom asked with that I'd be so proud even if you did look, "Definitely not!" I assured her. This would be round three to the finish I thought.

So my mom hugged me, teared up, said that she was so proud of me, then hugged herself and waved, only to catch up to me 30 seconds later, hug and tell me how proud she was of me for a second time, and snap a picture. Then I saw my dad. Another wave and some more, "Bye...love yous," a few more steps, byes and I love yous and then just me huffing. I had been three weeks off the trail resting my foot and I sure felt it.

There are apparently 5 stages of grief:

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression and
5. Acceptance

By the time I got to the Wilbur Clearing Shelter I was in denial. My right ankle isn't really giving me trouble, it's nothing that a little stretching and massage can't take care of, I thought.

I realized I forgot my water purification tablets in the car and quickly dialed my mom and hoped the call would go through. They were at the top of Greylock Mt. enjoying a burger in the lodge. "We'll leave them with the receptionist," coaxed my mom.

I was just three miles away from Greylock, however, the storm was still storming and I knew that I'd better give my perfectly healthy ankle a rest.

Buzzz....Buzzzz....my phone was ringing again, "Hi honey, guess what I'm doing right now...hiking the AT!" I've met Detroit Dave," "Deleware Dave," I corrected, "right and Dilly Dally." Just then I knew I needed to get to Greylock.

By the time I met my mom I was at stage 2: Anger, but I was keeping it in. When my mom saw me she shrieked, "Jilly!!!" as she scuttled to me to give me a big hug. She went on to say how happy she was to be on the trail and how she could now say that she completed part of the AT and how she wished she could hike the whole thing. She continued to say how there was such a positive energy on the trail, that everyone is so kind and that she was again so proud of me. I felt terrible, one for not matching her enthusiasm and two for pretending that nothing was wrong when yet another injury was brewing.

"Is everything ok?" my mom asked after slightly skipping and commenting on the vibrant green leaves and the great smell of the outdoors which was met with a "mmmmhmm,"

"Ok, what is it?" my mom asked with a furrowed brow. That's the thing about moms they always know when something is wrong even without you saying anything. Side note. I get blotchy when I cry and this dreadful blotchyness lingers for hours after I sprinkle and no matter how long I used to wait to go down stairs after episodes of water works to allow for the scarlet to clear up she would always see me and say, "have you been crying?"

So it was at this point that I did not keep my word about crying. I sobbed, and felt sorry for myself. I was angry for attempting the trail yet again only to have my body say, "No, no, no, not gonna happen."

"Give me your pack," my mom said with the athority of Superwoman. For a second I thought I caught a glimpse of furling cape. I protested. The pack was heavy and she wasn't used to it, and we had only a mile left till Greylock. But she insisted and had a pep to her step the whole way back to the car.

Stage 3: bargaining, crept in, what if I rested it for a day, then continued to hike, maybe I just need to break in my hiker feet again.

4. Depression. I failed I thought. What am I to do now?

Back at the car my dad told me that after I left he told mom that he was going to miss me but then he thought, well she'll be back in a week.

More sobs. "Oh! I dedicate this song to you Jilly," my mom said as Ozzie sang, "Mamma I'm coming Home,"  over the car radio. More sobs. My dads shirt was soaked in tears and nose pudding.

My dad has taught me that the best way to deal with difficult situations is with humor. During adolescence he was notorious for making you feel terrible about the bad thing that you did and then making you laugh right after. Back in the car after a moment of silence I said, "I feel like one of those spoiled rich kids. I want you to drive me three hours West then I'm going to hike and then I'm going to call you when I get too tired so you can come and carry my pack the rest of the way. Then I want you to get me  Dairy Queen."

Now I'm home. I'm sure some of you have seen me or heard from another person, but I am home and ready to own it. At this point I am at stage 5: acceptance.

Everything happens for a reason. I realize that I am not meant to be on that trail right now and my body is telling me so. So now it's on to the next chapter in my life, although we'll leave an earmark at this one, since it is possible that I will continue it at some point.

"you don't need to hike 2,000 miles to figure something out," my dad said. He's right because I have figured lots of things out, that something is wrong with my body and I need to find the root of the problem, that my family is there for me always, that people are going to say, "Aren't you supposed to be on that trail," and that I may feel like I want to wear a hat and sun glasses when I go out, but more importantly, life happens and when you flow with it it will eventually open you up to an ocean of possibilities, ones that I may not have seen had I been battling the current while swimming up stream.

The trail provided me with lots of material to write about, many people to connect with, and a feeling of independence and fearlessness. I can say that I walked barefoot through the woods by myself...check. What's next...swimming with sharks...we'll see about that.

The Jon, Part IV: karma

I learned a lesson from my attitude toward the Jon, that what goes around comes around. I wished Jon off the trail, when it should have dawned on me that Jon was out there by himself and was maybe a little scared or looking for some companionship. As annoying as Jon was, he was harmless and just looking for a friend.

When I got to Monson, I learned that Jon had gotten off the trail in Caratunk, Maine. Phew! I thought. Problem solved. But that night Karma crept into my bones and after the third day after hiking out of Monson, I experienced foot problems. I stayed an extra day at the Pleasant Pond Lean-too after a not-so pleasant realization that I too would have to get off the trail in Caratunk, Maine.

It has taken me a while to post about the Jon, because every time I got my laptop open, I'd experience a surge of guilt upon thinking about broadcasting the story. It is now that I realize the important lesson I learned which has allowed me to share my experience. Karma is real. We should all remember the golden rule, that you should treat others the way you would want to be treated. All of my negativity towards Jon could have been avoided had I been honest with him. I could have simply explained that I wanted to hike by myself, since that was what I set out to do. Jon was not a mean-spirited person and would have given me my space.

But now I am off the trail and thinking about Jon, and hoping that he is well and got his project done. After all, what's so bad about me staring in his work...unless he's decided to use my picture as a dart board...did I just feel a jab in my sciatica?

The Jon Part III: We'll Take Him

When I didn’t think my spirits could plummet any further, Adam appeared like a woodland wizard. Wohoo! “Hey Adam!” I was so happy, I wanted to skip and dance and spin. That night we played Uno, ate our food together, I answered Sam’s random questions like, “have you ever lied? What is you favorite type of tree? and Do you know anyone named Josh?…do you like him?”

Jon doesn’t like spiders so he set up his tent at the tent sight in front of the lean-too while Sam, Adam, Aubry and I situated ourselves in our sleeping bags. It started to poor, lightning and thunder and the roof started to leak on my end so we all squished together. We turned on a headlamp and sent Jon an S.O.S. signal to come join us in the lean-too so that he did not have to get soaked but he never came.

That night I told Adam that Jon was annoying me. “We’ll take him,” he said.

The next morning I had a serious poop cramp. I got up as quietly as I could and tip-toed to the privy to relieve myself. Then I tip-toed back to the lean-too and started packing up, as quietly as possible. Normally I would have changed, had breakfast, taken everything out of my pack and reorganized it, but this morning I forfeited breakfast, kept my sleepwear on and literally stuffed everything in my bag, all while dreading the squeak of Jon’s air mattress. 

When I finally pulled my pack on and clipped the waist-belt, Adam stirred and breathed out a forlorn, “bye…” “Adam, you guys are cool, I just need to get away from him,” I said before I gave a smile and scurried up the second half of White Cap.

With no sustenance I was surprised by my energy as I flew up the rocky incline. I kept thinking that Jon would wake up, see that I was gone, and leave in the same fashion I did to catch up to me, but I reminded myself that he hated hills and would be slow moving up this one and that even if he got up the second I left I would smoke him. At the peak I dialed Linnea and left a patchy message informing her that plans changed, I would be arriving a day early for my pickup from the KI road. Originally I was going to take two short days, but I needed to shake Jon and the only way to do so was to hike like a bat out of Hell and disappear. 

After 3.5 miles I put my pack down and had a couple handfuls of trail mix, then I kept motoring. After mile 7 I dumped 3lbs of food and the rest of my isopropyl alcohol off at the lean-too signage; with my pack weight down, my shoulders stopped aching and I was able to move faster. Pine forest is prickly on your feet so I put on my smart wools. The problem with them was that they were my dad’s socks so as much as I pulled them up they would slip down and the excess toe would flap especially after getting soaked with mud. I then cut off the toe portion. This exposed my dirt caked nail beds. I looked like a hobo. 

Four miles from KI a thunderstorm began. Just keep hiking, hiking, hiking, I sang inside my head. The rain fell hard and the lightning and thunder flashed and rumbled almost simultaneously so I knew the storm was right above me as I ran over rocks and sloshed through mud puddles. My glasses were coated with a liquid lens and steaming, I had to constantly take them off and slough off the water and secure them back on my bridge as I dashed on forward. I slipped a lot and I feared for my life the entire time. This is when I ditched my hiking poll, I did not want to allow for any chance of me getting struck by lightning because I was holding on to a metal rod. 

The adrenaline and the falling rain gave my heel wings as I pressed on to the road. About a half mile from the road I happened upon a curious man in on the trail playing with his remote control monster truck.  I wanted to give him a bit of warning instead of sneaking up on him because I know that I looked scary, between the muddy/cut socks, the the soaked button up shirt that was blood and mud stained, the steamed lenses, bandana, bug net and wooden hiking sticks. This man would soon become a trail angel. 

The Jon Part II: My First Escape

On the morning of day 6, I opened my eyelids to here the Jon's noisy air mattress and him saying, "What's the plan?" It was on this morning that I discovered Sam, Adam and Aubry. 

“So, are we all hiking together today?!” Adam asked. "Heck yes!" I blurted, anything to reduce the concentration of Jon during my AT experience was inviting.

At the top of Bearman Mountain, which was not much of a mountain, Adam and I sat while we waited for the others to catch up. He stated that he did not think Jon was hiking the AT for the right reasons. “I agree,” I said, “he is so negative.” I explained that he was always complaining about the bugs, heat or elevation.” Not five minutes later, Jon mounted the crest of the hill, slumped down on a rock and cursed the black flies. Then he took out his camera. “When are you planning on getting to Monson,” Adam asked me. Before I could answer Jon stated, “We are planning on getting to Monson on Monday.” “No, I am planning on getting to Monson on Monday”, I corrected. “Yeah, but I am following you,” he rebuttled. Then he snapped a picture of Adam and I and proceeded to take out his GPS. “What mountain are we on,” he asked. I told him and bid adieu. I knew that it would take a minute or two for him to record the GPS coordinates which was just enough time to get far enough away from him down the mountain.

I was able to hike those 6 miles all to myself that day however, I was not in a state of zen since the whole time I feared that at any moment I’d hear Jon say, “There you are.” 

The perspective lean-too was half-way up White Cap Mountain. A 1000 ft gain in elevation over 2 miles. My steam had completely run out during this ascent probably from the over-expression of adrenaline which provided nitrous in my heals which fueled my escape. 

When I finally reached the lean-too, I started a fire, changed, combed out my hair and waited. It was about an hour and a half before there was movement on the perimeter. A huffing, lumbering, cursing…you guessed it, Jon. Ugh. I asked him where the others were, and he told me he thought they were staying at the other lean-too. Now my spirits were really low. I sort of gave him the cold shoulder, “That climb sucked,” he said, “You know it’s only going to get harder from here, we have the White Mountains and those are much more difficult than the mountains we've experienced so far.” “Yeah, but there are only two ways of getting out of this hell whole, hiking 70miles back through that crap or hiking 40 more miles to Monson.” Did I mention Jon was negative?

This made me think that maybe he was considering getting off the trail. The second day he complained about a knee injury he got while serving and that it hurt to put pressure on it. I told him he should have called a shuttle to Millinocket at White House Landing, or at least spend the 20$ and buy a knee brace in the camp store, he opted to not do anything about it but complain for the remainder of the hike.

Another curious thing he said was, “I could always change my project so that I don’t necessarily need to hike the AT.” But during the same conversation he said that we should exchange numbers so that after I meet up with my parents in Monson I could call him so that we can hit the trail again together.

“I see you’re having mashed potatoes tonight.” Thank you Jon for stating the obvious, again. I think I made a noise in response. I went to wash and came back to see Jon staring at a smoking fire. Now I have showed Jon how to start a fire, you start with birch then surround it in a tipi of the extremely dry twigs the ones that snap off of dead fallen trees, than you surround it by slightly larger twigs, light the birch, get it going and continue to add larger sticks to the fire, until it gets hot enough to burn logs. The fire requires care, you need to stoke it, move logs around to optimize their burning, sometimes add more kindling, Jon, however, would sit and say, “Jill we need your magic,” and wait for me to do something.

Jon did do nice things, for instance, he always hung the bear bags and occasionally offered me a peanut butter sandwich.

I hopped that Jon would get off the trail in Monson and stay off. I believed his negative attitude was no match for the white blaze. I needed to be surrounded by positive energy because this experience is voluntary and you need to constantly remind yourself of the reasons you are doing it. 

It was then that I began to write down my plan of escape from Jon the next morning. 

The Jon Part I: What's the plan?

Again, let me preface this story by saying that I am again not proud of the way I handled "the Jon," however, I definitely learned my lesson, which is that Karma is real and will come back to bite you. 

The start of the 100miles of wilderness exhibits this looming signage that says something along the lines of, “This is the 100miles of wilderness do not attempt this section unless you are in good physical condition and have at least 10days worth of food. I would revise the wording to mention something about a bug net.

3.5miles into the wilderness is the Hunt lean-too, it was there that I happened upon the Jon, a 28 year old former marine, although I would have never suspected, with round blue eyes and gnarly teeth. He had a geeky demeanor which was confirmed almost instantly by the contents of his pack which he showed off. A kindle, GPS and laptop (all off which lost charge by the next day), and upon his introduction of, “anyone, know how to start a fire?...I can only get it to smoke,” to which I responded, “You need birch bark." That coupled with the fact that he started almost every sentence with, “well let me explain,” always stated the obvious, “I hear water,” upon approaching a babbling brook and the fact that he was socially challenged. After only two days of knowing me he invited me to a wedding in September, an event that would require that I hike with him every day for the next 3 months and spend $250 for an Amtrak ride to Iowa.

He told really bad stories, I asked him if he had ever had any encounters with ghosts and this was the story that I got word for word:

“Well let me explain, this one time I was driving on the highway, and I probably shouldn't have been driving because I was very tired and off in the horizon I saw what looked like a giant pulsating spider.”

End of story.

Oh, and he was very annoying. Every time I stumbled or stubbed my toe he would say, “There are things on the ground,” I felt like one of the prisoners in Chicago’s cell block tango number, the one who is telling the story about her husband chewing…no popping the gum…”if you pop that gum one more time,” she says and after he does she fires two warning shots into his head. I am a klutz so I must have heard him say this a few times a day for the six days that he stayed leached to me. 

I am always interested to learn why someone is hiking the AT and Jon was supposedly doing so to complete a school project that required him to snap photos and record their GPS coordinates which would be incorporated into a book. This was great and good for him and I thought I was safe in agreeing to have my picture taken while combing out my hair in the lean-too the first day of our introduction, but it seemed as though every time he took out his camera I happened to be in the picture. At first It seemed innocent, but when I came up out of the water after river bathing one night and turned to see Jon laying on his side on the bank clicking his machine, I started to get the weirdo vibes. Flash forward I saw me in a room explaining to the cops, "I guess I should have known" as they slide a flyer with Jon at the top of the 10 most wanted. 

What else was annoying about him, let’s see…oh, the fact that every morning I got up and he heard a zipper or a yawn he would sit up on his noisy air mattress and say, “I guess I should get up…what’s the plan?!” It’s as if he had radar and could detect my eyelids opening. 

Jon was also very negative,  he was always complaining about the bugs or the elevation or the heat. Why are you hiking the AT? I wondered. The Northern part of Maine is virtually flat and it is all uphill till New Hampshire. Whenever there was the slightest increase in elevation he would say things like, “Would you sign a petition that allowed handicapped accessible ramps and elevators to be incorporated into the trail?”  Even more creepy/annoying I would fly up these inclines not only due to their mildness but also because my legs where built for climbing and when he would finally catch up he would say, “There you are.” 

So I have done a lot of bashing of the Jon, but you would not blame me for doing so if you spent 6 consecutive days with him out in the wilderness where your only chance of solitude was a stinky, bug infested privy. Isn’t it ironic that the only way I got away from Jon was by visiting the jon?

Day 1 Part III

I held out until the last two miles before my emotions could not be held back by the dam anymore. I wailed for the loneliness I would feel, for the pain in my knee I would have to endure, for the uncertainty of my living situation, for the people I was about to let down (several of which I had inspired to pursue their own dreams...what would they think of me now in my lowly state). I felt as if I had hit rock bottom…pun intended.

The miles seemed to carry on forever, and it did not help that I was making my way down as if I was in a drunken stupor meandering left and right, each step weighted and clumsy while the tears gushed out and blurred my unsteady line of sight.

I would then cork the water works, breathe out some hot air and try to focus on the hike only to step deeper into my pit of emotions, all my friends and family at the party I will have to explain my failed attempt to, on top of this,I was reminded of the two cavities in my teeth, the home that was in the process of being sold, the car keys I gave away, the numerous bills I owed for doctors visits, insurance, and school. And here I am literally walking away from it all, and how am I contributing to society? I wondered.

I continued this ebb and flow of ocular flood and drought always turning about to confirm my solitude on the trail before I allowed the gates of catharsis to open once more. I felt like Dianne Keaton in the movie, “Something’s Gotta Give,” when she is typing, and having waves of wails, then shakes her head and continues to type only to be overcome by more tears. If you have not seen this movie you should really make the time.

But I digress. Part of me thought that I might see my parents back at the campsite waiting for me but when I turned on my phone I saw that my invitation text had never sent.

So after my umpteenth time of sobbing hysterically, I saw that I had reach Katahdin Stream Campsite through my receding tears and that there were people, the first people I'd seen all day. S***, that’s embarrassing. I checked the time: 6:59pm it took me about 8 hours to complete the 8.2mile hike. I knew that I was blotchy and I was not feeling social as I trudged passed the tent sites and lean-toos in search for leat-too number 5. One woman waved from a picnic bench and I sort of gave a heavy-hearted wave that probably looked more like hand twitch.

This is when I saw the ranger, the one we had run into when my parents were dropping me off at Abol. “Hey, how did it go?” Then he noticed my blotchy face and dampened state. “What lean-too are you in?” I choked it out. When he asked for my name, I could only say my first, then I had to pause and fight back the tears, gave a peep of an apology and a sniffle then I gave my last. I think it was so hard to say my name because I was not proud of my name at the time. The ranger did not once ask if I was okay or what was the matter. He was trying to stay positive. I wasn’t sure if he was used to seeing this sort of behavior. 

I crawled to the back of lean-too number 5 and saw fruit, a bottle of water and notes. I realized my parents were my first trail angels. More water works and lights out.  

When I shared this story with my aunt and cousins later on my aunt stopped me mid sentence and asked, "how long had it been after your parents dropped you off that you started to miss them?" "8 hours," I replied and we both erupted into laughter. That's the great thing about embarrassing stories, as painful as they are in the moment, they provide some of the best material later on to joke about, not to mention the great abs you'll have from laughing about them.  

Day 1 Part II

About a quarter mile in I started to feel guilty and I pulled out my phone to text my parents: Stay w me at Katahdin Stream tonight if ud like. I hit send and then turned off my phone to conserve the battery. I figured that they had paid for the shelter and I could tell them about my day.

The hike was hard and I proceeded almost painfully slow to prevent injury, analyzing every step before I securing my footing. 

With the fierce wind and driving rain it dawned on me that the trail was set up perfectly for a rock slide and I felt it urgent to get to the top; the top which seemed always to be over the next rocky mound. I finally relaxed at the summit of Abol where the clouds were moving swiftly overhead and the sunlight that broke through the gaps highlighted the vibrant green mountainscape with its yellow wild-flower applique. 

Hiking from Abol peak to the summit of Katahdin felt like walking through a mile-long wind tunnel. I hand to hunch over and focus on my steps. A few times I lost my footing due to the intense gusts of wind. 

After what seemed to take forever I saw the summit signage. I pulled off the smart wool sock covering my frozen hand and managed to turn my phone on long enough to snap a picture. I had full bars and could have dialed my parents from the top but I was in go mode. Must get down before the wind really picks up, I thought.

The Hunt trail is intense sections of trail only three couch cushions wide with drop offs on either side. It was when I reached this point that my knee started to hurt; a sharp pain that radiated to my brain when pressure was applied. They say that “every extra pound you carry adds up to 3 pounds of pressure on your knee joints when you walk (http://www.realage.com/check-your-health/chronic-pain-management/bad-habits-knees-knee-injuries),” so my knees were experiencing 105lbs of extra pressure with each step. 

It was then that the line from my 2011 Thru-Hikers Companion surfaced in my mind like a blinking neon sign, “every year several stubborn southbounders…insist on carrying their fully loaded packs up the AT…this results in knee injuries and aborted climbs or even entire AT hiking plans."

It was at this point that I started second guessing everything. Why would I voluntarily spend 5 months out in the woods in solitude, I thought. I envied my siblings for having established their marriages and families and their stable jobs. I was running away from all of that. I’m going to be alone. What good am I doing hiking the AT, I’m not bettering my situation. I’m still going to need to find a job when I get back. Then I started to worry about my knee; an injury that began a year before when my friend Steve and I had the bright Idea to hike the 22mile long Wapack trail in one day when we had nothing on our side but youth and determination. I started to feel guilty for the way I treated my mother on the way up, how I was so curt and how we didn’t have a proper goodbye. 

That neon sign continued to blink in my mind as I experienced more pain in my knee. 

Day 1 Part I

Now I am not proud of the events leading up to my departure, however, I learned my lesson and this part must not be left out since it is a cornerstone of the story I am about to share. So on the way up to Baxter State Park I was a bit curt with my mom. She was saying things like, “Oh, we should meet up with you in Monson" and, "what’s the next trail town?” “Andover,” I said flatly, “Oh, well we could meet you there too!” Then she went on to look up all the trail towns on Wiki and report rather loudly the population and the demographics and when the town was founded. I started to get a bit annoyed because at the same time I was trying to make an itinerary for her of where the drop boxes needed to go and when they should be shipped.

Finally, we rolled up to the gate at Baxter State Park and the ranger came up to the window as my dad rolled it down. The black flies were swarming, and while my mom and dad swatted them like cats batting a suspended toy, the ranger appeared to be unfazed by them pulling in for a drink on her checks and lips as she asked how many people were planning to hike and where we were planning on staying the night.

“Now would she prefer a lean-too or a tent site?”

I was about to respond when my dad asked, “which would you prefer?”

“Definitely a lean-too,” the ranger advised.

“What about the bugs?” my mom interjected with a furrowed brow.

“The bugs aren’t out at night,” the ranger assured her.

“We’ll take a lean-too,” my dad declared.

I felt like a little kid sitting voiceless in the back seat as my parents responded to the questions delivered by the ranger. Further more, "this girl" they spoke of was supposed to hike all the way from Maine to Georgia, by herself, mind you, and I imagined the ranger questioning my abilities because I wasn't making decisions for myself.

“That’ll be thirty dollars,” said the ranger.

I started to dig into my pack for my money, when my dad pulled out the bills and handed them over.

I explained to my dad that I had planned the whole trip and budgeted it accordingly, but my dad insisted that he pay.

I huffed and crossed my arms as I sat back in my seat like a child.

The ranger also suggested that she (meaning me) get a day-pack at the ranger station so that I did not have to hike with my fully loaded pack up “the single greatest sustained climb on the AT,” (according to the thru-hiker’s companion, all 8oz of it that was also stowed in my pack).

“We’re not like the White Mountains in that we don’t have switchbacks…our trails head straight up,” the ranger stated rather proudly.

“If it were me,” my dad declared, “I would hike up the trail with a day-pack…" addressing me, he continued, "the ranger said you could leave the rest of your stuff in the lean-too back at the campground.”

Call me stubborn…or childish, but I insisted that I was going to begin the real way with all 35lbs of my pack.

After my parents took multiple pictures with me rolling my eyes in between, I headed out after a final shot in front of the Abol Trail Head sign. After a few steps I looked back to see my parents following me. “Come on guys,” I said. I pictured spotting them poking their heads out of the trees miles into the trail. I just wanted them to let me go, so it never hit me that we didn't have a proper goodbye.